

Epic Death

Mike Doom

Published by Mike Doom at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Mike Doom

Check me out on Facebook at www.facebook.com/mikedoombooks

Or my Smashbooks Page at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/mikedoom

Smashword Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Foreword

Chapter 1-13

Chapter 13-26

Brief History

Foreword

This book is dedicated to Katie. I always said to myself growing up that I would dedicate whatever I published first to you.

I do this for two reasons:

First, because of a ridiculous sense of historical dedication bordering on the obsessive. I spent far too long pining after what was, what could have been, and refusing to let go and become the man I was destined to be. For better and worse, but mostly better, leaving was a pivotal part of my childhood that I would never take back now.

Second, having now reconnected, I dedicate this to you to wish us both the best. That what happened, as hard as it was on me at the time, everything was exactly perfect in the end.

That said, and likely poorly at that, this is my first stab at a novel. I hope everyone likes it and doesn't rail on me too harshly for the logical inconsistencies that I am SURE still exist here, typos that I missed, and names that are too hard to say. I promise I tried my best, but that I will try even harder the next time. Know that my favorite part was naming the restaurants, and that my favorite character is Truckee because I love his name and I think he is the character I am the most (and least) 'like'.

# <1.0>

GovNet Police Report

**Filed:** Torrance Clover

**Location:** Ju-Ju Cha-Cha

**Time:** 9:15 PM - Selba CST

**Description:** Scene appears shot up. Displays of candy shattered. VI called when Owner triggered alarms. Statement of the Owner and one Witness claim a hold up by the Accused. Accused shot up store after Owner confessed to lack of physical rico on hand. Accused was prone when I arrived on scene, surrendered to authority without incident.

**Accused:** White male, body aged 37 years, appears complete organic human. Checked retinal files, nothing pending of interest. Small time hired man, is likely.

Nothing else to report.

**Requests:** VI scrub of videologs for information on possible theft. Need Auditor sent to assess damages to facilities and loss of product for insurance purposes. Due to loss of security via window alarms, stationing two police at site until glass is replaced, estimate 2 hours repair time.

# <1.1>

Sunshine Apocalypse is sitting in a pool of honey. Her black dress covered in various levels of glucose, sucrose, high fructose and other various sweetening items even less related to canes and organic oils. Her blond mass of curls is disheveled, peppered with jimmies and those really, really tiny gummy bears. She assumed she would get cut with the glass, but nothing. She's fine, if sticky as fuck is considered fine. She is sure someone would presumably pay money to see a model in this condition. She gets up and attempts to dust herself of errant Coconut Hollabacks, whilst writing a note to herself in her LiveJournal:

[Ask to buy the surveillance video.]

# <1.2>

Peppermint White Ninja is choking an assassin. Okay, more of some douche with a gun. Douche couldn't be more than forty in actual, wearing a suit two sizes too big and entirely too expensive for the piece of hardware he was clumsily brandishing. Pepper sighs heartily, settling into properly strangling the man. Today, started normal enough:

Pepper opened his candy store in the Astral Complex of Hojo City, a very good location for a store selling stress release foods. The business clientele tended to show up angry and leave angry with a sugar high. Pepper wasn't terribly fond of his clientele, but a retiree has little room to talk if he gives up his main profession to work at a candy store. It's not like he doesn't have other options, if he was willing, but being low-rez is easier in some industries than others. Regular Thursday, until a supermodel got thrown through his front window. Speaking of, where is that skinny bitch?

# <1.3>

_The Legendary Transvestite Nightmare®_ , Truckee Dumpstar closes the case on his most prized possession. The Jewel of the Ancients is no longer his, technically. Its power meant for someone with slightly less debt, and hopefully more creativity. Truckee only asked the gem to make him a universally renowned creature of interest, and it enhanced his own innate "talents" to make that possible. Ten years hard living on Selba Prime, and Truckee is under twenty-two trillion rico to some "interesting" characters. So it's give up the gem that got him here or give up his life.

Truckee puts the box in his wall-safe and codes it with a wave of his palm; he's late to the marketing department. Char-els wanted his okay on the sensivise campaign for the Race of the Ancients. You see, Truckee is a woman of spectacle and no mere auction would be enough. No, he paid the Tusk League handsomely to hold a contest for the Jewel, and the product and sensicast rights are what will pay off Iced Mocha and stop the ridiculous charred animal skulls from appearing in his front fountain. Truckee is now positive that his dog was playing with a blackened Pelarian wildcat skull this morning. He had almost lost his appetite from it even. Well, whatever appetite he ever has to begin with. Girl's gotta keep her figure.

Truckee locks his office with a simple wave as well, the optical mechanism reading the biometric wetwiring in Truckee's wrists. He actually only has to flex his right index to lock the door, but the wave is a bit more flashy.

An icon blinks in his peripheral vision, a little purple circle. Voice-only. Probably Char.

" **Char-els, what is it I can do for you a mere ten steps from being in the same room as you?"**

" **We need to ki-ki about this ad."**

" **Right... let me just pull it up..."**

Truckee coughs slightly, the video plays directly in his eyes. More of unfolds in a disturbing car wreck sort of way, mostly because it is of a disturbing car wreck.

" **Okay, so this is supposed to be what, exactly?"**

" **It's a woman getting hit by a car."**

" **Yes, I am fully capable of receiving lumens. Why is it a woman getting hit by a car?"**

" **It's a race ad?"**

" **I am also aware that I asked your office to produce this ad for my race. And am presently doing you the service of ignoring how you used a speedster to promote it. For the moment."**

" **It's hot."**

" **I can see her intestines."**

" **They fall out to spell your name."**

" **Yes, I can see that."**

" **T-beez."** Truckee scoffs at this. Char-els so behind the times.

" **Disregarding jargon, how does this promote the biggest event in Selba Prime's history... exactly?"**

" **The blood spray says the date."**

" **O—kay."**

" **Want to see it in motion again?"**

" **I don't think that'll be necessary."**

" **You could probably use it for the sensivise trailers."**

" **Wh-What perspective did you film at?"**

" **Last Chance, the girl, she's fully wired."**

" **So... You filmed an ad. For my race. From the perspective of a woman getting hit by an one hundred and sixty thousand rico race car?"**

" **It's hot."**

" **Just throw it in post, I want this... this thing... in the world by tomorrow morning."**

# <1.4>

" **Dinner at ten, then?"**

" **Of course. Normal place?"**

" **You ice?"**

" **Frigid."**

" **AIDS?"**

" **Full-blown."**

" **Then normal place is fine."**

# <1.5>

Cirrhosis Induction is trying on his new, fully logo'd, jumpsuit. An attractive man, if you consider men who have probably seen (or in Cirrhosis' case, definitely seen) their fair share of a scuffle. Geneering and rejuvenation can only clean a face so much. Eventually the solid stare and pugilist nose are still giving everyone the real story. He's not what you would call a particularly tall man, six-three, two hundred and seventy pounds of usually muscle. You can tell he sees the inside of a gym on a regular basis, but has the body of someone who trains in the more traditional sense as well. Not just a pectoral delivery system. The suit seems to only be showing the small bits of fat someone holds if they don't shy away from pasta like a model to a discount retailer.

" **How's it fit? Are you comfortable?"**

"It's a little tight. You can see my foreskin through this..."

" **There'll be padding."**

"I think I brought my own." Cirrhosis jiggles his stomach using his hands. Probably about five years until he'll need to hit the tank again.

" **I'll schedule you a trainer."**

Cirrhosis flexes in the mirror. Smiles. Opens his mouth fully, and then closes it to a frown.

"Yeah. Like anytime after eight."

# <1.6>

Sunshine manages to get most of the candy off of her, but her thousand rico black corseted day-dress isn't going to be serviceable. And she is pretty sure she has honey all over her body. Like everywhere.

The Ju-Ju Cha-Cha looks like a supermodel got thrown at it, then like that supermodel was shot at by some guy in an ill-fitted gray suit. The open floor plan allowed for some of the displays to stay intact, but cases are shattered everywhere. The florescent lights blinking rhythmically, the owner must have triggered the alarms.

"Hello? Is anyone still alive?" Sunshine can barely hear her own voice. The gunfire has left her a little dazed. She tells her eButler to set her an appointment with a doctor.

Peppermint White Ninja leans up from behind a display for Coco Sexos, his long dreadlocks twisted in a knot. "Just finishing up here. You okay, Miss..."

"Sunshine."

"Pepper."

"A pleasure?"

"Want a shot at guy here?"

"You seem to be choking him rather satisfactorily."

"Thank you. Do you know this person?"

"No, actually. He's turning a color, you should probably stop doing that now."

"Such is life."

# <1.7>

" **Cirrhosis."**

"Yes?"

" **How do you like the new uniform?"**

Cirrhosis is in an elevator in the official headquarters for the Race of the Ancients, T-Net Tower. A five hundred story starscraper dedicated to intergalactic programming. Sensivise programs, live sports and news, advertainment, and everything else someone might be willing to pay a few rico to point their eyes at. With all his padding on now, Cirrhosis looks like a very well advertised superhero, but barely got an eyebrow raise in a building filled with model/actors and actor/models.

"It makes my penis hurt."

" **Well, the tailor can let that out after the press conference. Do you have your lines pulled up?"**

"Yes, I got the LiveText a while ago. Why are we even holding this, everyone already knows I'm running in this circuit."

" **You need to be very public for the story to come out perfectly."**

"Story?"

" **Get off the elevator, Cirrhosis."**

The doors slide open quickly. A man of some particular age is waiting, leaning against the wall opposite. He is seven feet tall, at least a hundred pounds underweight, and bald. He is wearing a thin suit, tailored very specifically to his awkward dimensions. His eyes are heavily lidded, like he is but barely conscious. Must be half-diving, half in and half out of the intergalactic computer network, the World, as it is known colloquially.

"Vii." Cirrhosis grunts as he exits the elevator. Somehow he redirected Cirrhosis' texts, when he actually thinks about that though... not exactly the biggest feat ever if one hacks the server of the building. Cirrhosis wasn't even using an external line, which would have been a feat to hack. Not to belittle Vii Ariable of his skill, as Truckee has some of the best internal firewalls available. Gotta protect that IP.

"Walk with me a moment." Vii gestures slightly with a long thin arm, his fingers boney and just a little on the side of arthritic looking.

"To start with—" Vii has a deeper voice than Cirrhosis would assume, throaty. Perhaps he chain smokes to keep his alien-ish figure. Cirrhosis knows Vii from reputation. Their circles cross, but they have never actually met. Vii came into power about when Cirrhosis started hitting the narrow.

"I'm already working for Toro. I own him a l—"

"You own him seven million rico."

"Yes. And I intend to pay him by winning this race."

"That what he tells you?" Vii Ariable smiles thinly, sinister and sickly all at the same moment. Cirrhosis walks along, but makes a point of putting more lateral distance between them.

"He tells me what he needs to. I'm not on the take, he is legitimately backing my team."

"I obviously already know that. However, I need the prize."

"The Jewel of the Ancients."

"Yes. And I will gladly pay Toro back for you in exchange."

"And the catch is?" Cirrhosis pauses, press conference is two doors away, no use being seen with Vii there. That and he smells something foul. The deal. If that gem is worth threatening him and seven-million rico in words, it must be worth much more to Toro. Enough to put a crossbow bolt in the back of someone's neck, for instance.

"That I will kill you if you refuse. Enjoy the press, Mr. Induction." And with that, Vii turns his back on Cirrhosis and walks down the hall back the way they came. Cirrhosis grits his teeth, fiddles with his zipper and pulls up the speech from his LJ.

# <1.8>

"Truckee, why is it you are giving up this gem of—"

"The Jewel of the Ancients." Truckee leans in on the mic, the increase in his voice negligible, the room is crowded with reporters, some from the Low Tech prefects using actual cameras, most using wetwire sensivise rigs, recording the event with full-reporter-emotion and displaying that nearly instantly on the World, and then through ansible to the Federal Colonies at large. All in all, twenty-five billion people are logged into this broadcast in its many forms. Truckee has his eButler pull up the feed on the girl questioning him, her heart is racing. A pretty little girl if not a little too ordinary, brown hair, frail, with a smallish nose. Slight imperfection to her left eye, not enough to be interesting and therefore attractive, just enough to be lop-sided and thereby somewhat unattractive. Fucking commoners and their hack-job genetherapy.

"Yes—Why are you giving that item as the prize?"

"Because I want the Race of the Ancients to be the biggest event in the Colonies. This year, or any year. And to promote the Selba Tiger himself—"Truckee looks over his left shoulder and an aide or bodyguard or whathaveyou, opens the door and in walks Cirrhosis Induction, Champion. Selba Tiger. Human Billboard. VI relational software generates billions of advertisement messages keyed to the billions of viewers, instructing them to visit their local Captain Suzaku's Hot Pick'n Go-Go Chicken and pick up one of the several commemorative holostills of the Selba Tiger doing various media friendly sporting poses. The reporters clap to a satisfactory level, general emotional feedback is positive and relatively excited.

"Hello, everyone. It was my sincere goal to take the title again, and get this prize for Toro Intergalactic."

Truckee raises an eyebrow slightly, and looks Cirrhosis in the face. A handsome man, if a little testosterone heavy, he has full five o'clock shadow and Truckee is positive he had this man shaved and tailored not four hours ago. His jaw is clenched and his blue eyes focused firmly on the crowd.

"Mr. Induction, did you say—"

"Yes. I am sorry, but do to circumstances beyond my control; I must pull out of the Race of the Ancients, immediately."

# <2.0>

Selba Prime Concern - Kids Corner

Word of the Day

LiveJournal (n): LiveJournal is a core product of Asynk Core's Biosynch technology. LiveJournal, or LJ for short, is the memory core for an individual user. LJ can be used to store emails, texts, voice messages, or any other file. Size limits vary with the memory core of the user, but tend to be around 10 terabytes to start.

# <2.1>

Last Chance is covered in her own blood, her intestines spilled all over the simulated concrete. Her heart rate is nearly twice normal as she bleeds out in the grooves cut in the road. Her hair is spun like a pinwheel about her head, falling expertly over her face. Not covering her eyes or mouth, just framing the horror in her eyes, as they glaze over with her blood continuing to spill and her heart starting to slow.

Then the director yells "cut", and she gets picked up by a stage doctor who helps her adjust the bio-logic software on a small robot servitor, and it quickly steadies her vitals and cranks in her lower intestine. The squat machine hovering over her, small arms and gadgets probing her all over.

All in all, easiest ten-thousand rico Last has earned. A real break. Billions of people will see her intestines spelling out the name of _the Transvestite Nightmare®_ herself. Like a dream, really.

"You did good out there, Last. I really think the audience will park-out over your performance." Insta, the director, says while coughing. The most he's said since she got here. Last can't really remember how she got this job, it was in her LJ the last time she detoxed enough the read it.

"Thank you, sir. I'm just happy to be here, really."

"Well, take your time healing up here. I need people wrapping this up, like ago!" He says only half looking at her. Stage hands of all sorts start tearing down the backdrop and moving the sense-receptor machines to this and that set. The moment of her death gone, as quickly as it happened. Hoses washing the blood over to a corner drain.

Within five minutes, Last Chance is walking out of Stage 16 and down the hall. Her coat pulled tight against the air-conditioning, the saline in her blood giving her the chills. Last is pulling up the number for her dealer, just to get a little back in her system after all the cleansing, when she sees her.

The halls are dark, the building on its night-routine, encouraging wandering employees to exit "like ago." Last is at a corner office, taking a spoke-like hallway coming from the center of the building. A center room is a necessity for a stage as it needs the room and lack of windows of the central pillar of the building. Down that hall, by that corner office, Last sees Sunshine Apocalypse as clear as day.

A fellow model. Sunshine and Last have been rivals. Well, if you consider a successful supermodel and a downed supermodel to be rivals. They went to the same high school, at the very least. Vindictive bitch stole Last's boyfriend, and took him to a rival school's prom. Leaving her alone, well not alone, but incapable of making him jealous with the date she did get. He may have been borderline psychotic, but he looked nice, and it would have been fine as long as no one talked to him. He did not like to be talked to.

Last clenches her fists, and walks slowly closer to Sunshine, trying to stay out of her peripheral vision. Sunshine is wearing a black, fuck-me-now-pay-me-later dress with strappy boots that make her look like a five-rico hooker in some cheap blue sensivise. Her hair is busted as well, all curly and knotted to one side. Last grins to herself, victorious.

Then the alarms go off.

# <2.2>

Cirrhosis manages to slink out of the press conference without Truckee using his face as a napkin, but he is well aware that Truckee Dumpstar is not a woman... to be messed with.

Cirrhosis chuckles slightly as he exits the elevator. He's been trying to get a hold of Toro, to explain, but the net has been jammed. Truckee is probably putting the building on lockdown after his little stunt. Regardless, Cirrhosis is headed to the main office to drop off his code-key and be rid of this whole thing. Toro will protect him, he's sure, because dead he isn't worth seven-million rico.

Cirrhosis rounds the corridor and there he sees Code Name walking out of Truckee's office. Code is a thirty something anglo-ethnic who is prone to wearing closely tailored suits in exotic colors and materials, today he is wearing a gunmetal number that makes him look like he's in armor. Not exactly a popular look, but Cirrhosis remembers them being big about two years ago. He's carrying a small red box. Cirrhosis swears he saw that box, that box with the elaborate gold trim, somewhere before.

Then the alarms go off.

# <2.3>

" **This had better be good news, Char-els. I'm not in the mood for more ridiculousness."**

" **I got the ad from Susa-no, Sunshine looks beautiful getting humped on the horse."**

" **Just as I said she would."** Board has been forcing Truckee to do two ad-campaigns for every one project, citing Truckee's creative proclivity to extreme creative proclivity. You do one solid gold billboard and you never hear the end of it. He has to run two campaigns past two boards, in hopes that one makes it into post. Allegedly keeping him busy will keep him from getting over encumbered in a more fiscal sense.

" **How did you get her? Isn't she filming something on Isis?"**

" **Hiatus. Timor Allude is in some sex scandal or something."** Truckee had thought more of Char-els. Not knowing basic celebrity gossip is tantamount to flagrant incompetence, particularly in their line of business.

" **Right. Caught blowing some endangered species."**

" **No. A sentient non-contact species. Broke several Federali sanctions."** Low-Tech sentients are required to be left completely alone to their own devices until they are capable of spaceflight beyond their home-system. After which, there are sanctions involving levels and trade that Truckee is completely unaware of. Just knows that some alien technology you can buy at a store, some you buy from a van.

" **Well, it's going on the World as we speak."**

" **Beautiful, Char-els."**

" **About Cirrhosis, sir..."**

" **Dead to me."**

" **He's getting us ridiculous press."**

" **Stunts always do. I'll do a talk show whirlwind in a few hours. Get me a recording studio and a transmission staff deploy. I'll have my secretary get me on the evening news a couple of places. Soak it up."**

" **Consider it—"** Char-els cuts out. Truckee tries his eButler, but the World connection is down. Truckee curses to himself. He is presently in an elevator headed to the seventieth floor, the mood-lighting of the "night" mode is as soothing as it is cost-effective. Truckee isn't one for soothing, but the Board liked the decreased energy bill, and Truckee really doesn't care enough to fight over something as trivial as blue-lighting. Too busy keeping the Race on schedule. The door slides open on the fifty-third floor, Truckee's main office. He tries to remember if he pressed the button on accident, then the door opens and a man is standing there.

The man is tall and thick, not fat or overweight. Just thick. His face is very angular, an anglo-centric gene-line, with a brutish nose that shows wear-and-tear of a man with commonly broken cartilage. Truckee would remember if he was a racer. This man isn't a racer. Perhaps some sort of action star? Truckee smiles as if to begin talking, and the man stands still. He looks Truckee Dumpstar in the eyes, raises his right hand in the shape of a gun, cocking back his finger as the doors on the elevator start to close and just as the doors touch—

"Bam."

Then the alarms go off.

# <2.4>

Cirrhosis is following Code Name down the yellow-tinged corridors. The mood lighting going all pissy with the alarms. Code is running with that box under his arm. The prize Toro wanted Cirrhosis to win for him. His seven-million rico meal ticket. Cirrhosis has no plans of letting that box out of his sight. It is apparent quite quickly that Code is running from Cirrhosis, not the alarms. Cirrhosis hadn't thought to yell anything, so he wasn't sure the chase was official until Code threw a knife at him.

The knife missed horribly, but alerted Cirrhosis to the fact that, he too, was being chased. A man in an ill-fitted gray suit was running behind him.

"What the fuck you want?"

"Vii." The man grunts, pulling a gun out of his baggy jacket. Cirrhosis has to admit, Vii is a man of his word. He doesn't, however, feel obligated to get shot to prove that point. He dodges in to a corridor to his left and then takes the first door to his right, locking the doors behind him with his code-key, a dull green plastic octagon dangling about his neck.

Code has to be heading for the elevators; Cirrhosis just has to get there first.

# <2.5>

"He locked the door behind him, sir."

" **And you'll be punished for your malfeasance at a later time. Change of assignment."**

"What?" The man in the ill-fitted absently scratches at his balls with a loaded gun.

" **Sunshine Apocalypse."**

"The supermodel?"

" **Yes. She is in the building. A zeroin-whore by the name of Last Chance has her placed at Truckee's safe at the time of the alarms—"**

"She has the thing?" He is confused, almost positive the guys he was chasing had the thing. Not sure which guy, but definitely one of the two of them.

" **So you aren't completely inconsequential? Find her."**

"And when I do?"

" **Take what I want. Do what you will with her; just leave no messes for me to clean, will you?"**

"Yes, sir." Shrugs, turns around and heads for the direction Vii sent.

# <2.6>

Last Chance exits the building through the side entrance, as per Dynamite's instructions. Her dealer perked up quite a bit when she told him what she saw. Last rightfully assumed Sunshine was up to something and is being rewarded. That bitch has finally proved worth something. The package she is to receive is reported to be "most generous" and "on the house", both of which sound beautiful to Last. She is to meet Dynamite outside the Suzy-Q's Bar & Stew across the street. Which is good because Last is starving. Dying can really take a toll on a lady.

# <2.7>

Epic Death and Baby Doll Judah Stardust are sitting at the booth closest to the windows and bar. View and decent bartending, being the key factors to a successful date between the Federation's two most noteworthy bounty-hunters. Suzy-Q's is your typical chain restaurant, all flashy lights and waitstaff that point at you when they speak. Epic and Stardust pick this place for two reasons, one being that they don't water down their whiskey and two being that this is the location of their first Hunt. Together, at least, which isn't common or generally legal, because like most things that are enjoyable in life, GovNet has lawyers writing scripts and guidelines and memorandums of understanding and bills and contracts with big elaborate seals on them requiring everyone to register and tow the proper line. All just to allow a simple man the right to kill someone for money. Generally, you are only allowed to work in groups with Federali approval, unless you are handling a case above a certain level, and then there are allowances for absolute age. That said, Epic and Stardust were first-lifers back then and Selba was a bit seedier back then as well. So allowances were made, seals were affixed and cc's were b'd.

The cook was on the take, and was funneling munitions off-system from the Hinterlands. Easy first catch, but you always remember your first. Well, Epic actually doesn't remember his first. Was some guy in a gang on Chotella 7, ended up bagging seven people that night. Either way, this place never did find a guy who could make a steak like that one guy. Damn shame.

"So I just flew back from Toris. Caught a bitch there worth ten-million rico. Apparently, this fat cunt had strangled like two congressmen in one weekend." Flew back being a more rote blanketing of probably stopping at three stations, switching flights, etc.

Stardust is extremely rash, but always intelligent enough to keep it frozen when it comes to escape plans. No Federali protection is given between assignments, and both Epic and Stardust technically have rather high hits on them. The nature of being an active Hunter is being sued by the families of the criminals they catch. Usually they evaporate, as almost everything they do is officially sanctioned through the Rules of the Hunt, but like everything else, it takes time.

"Toris is a shit-hole, serves them right."

"But get this; bitch was hiding inside a missile."

Epic snorts his drink a second, Stardust giggles at him and looks away while he wipes up.

"She—what?"

"I was looking for her all over that damned asteroid cum-dumpster they call their LaGrange, people said they saw her, but nobody knows where she was. Run around, run around, ask this fuck to talk to that bitch and then that cunt needs ten blood-elf tears to complete the quest or whatever. Typical bullshit. Checked all the manifests, nobody. Checked all the hotels, nothing. Then I'm at a dock at like three-am, drunk off my ass—"Stardust sips her cocktail, some bright red concoction of grapes, vodka and tastes-like-gasoline. Stardust likes her drinks like her men, stiff and unapologetic about it.

"This hatch is open on a cargo flyer. I hack the server, more for fun than anything else. It's like a million years old and my dive software can barely even talk to the thing.

"The AI tells me the fucker is full of beets. Bitch puts up a manifest for seventeen thousand KILOS of beets, like that isn't suspicious at all."

"Who the fuck eats beets anyway?" Epic laughs, eating his substandard steak through a grin.

"Farmers? This fat bitch, bitch must have weighed five-hundo. Must really fucking shovel those beets in the old feed hole. Anyway, so I go in with my gun out and lo and behold, no shit-ton of beets."

Epic gets an LT, a little red dot appears in his peripheral vision. Epic tells his eButler to read it and file it, and sips his beer.

"So I go in this hold and the AI is still swearing up and down this thing is full of crates and there isn't shit in there, but a missile the size of a fighter."

"A fucking de-commissioned D-Stroy?!"

"This psycho spent probably like three hundred thousand on this missile, a classic if you like fusion weapons from two hundred years ago."

A hundred and seventy years ago was the last big war. Bunch of planets in the Sprawl wanted the Hub worlds to eliminate the tax on fuel at the LaGranges. Hubs weren't in for free rides. A station got hit. A war started. Epic's father fought in that war, and he's never heard the end of it. Oh, you just killed forty gang members? Well, I decimated an entire planet and I did it for my country. Etcetera ad nauseum.

"And so. I'm of course really interested now. I mean what if I open this thing and it blows the station? What if it really is some beet-missile here to blast us to kingdom fucking come with dirt-flavor?

"So I get a flame-welder to open this thing, had to pay him out the ass to come this late, and what do I find? This chick has built a mother-fucking HOUSE inside this missile. A three-bedroom, one bath, missile."

"What did she do when you busted in?"

"Get this— She yells at me for not using the door."

"I got a mail; eB tells me it's urgent." Epic grunts, the red dot growing a circle around it.

"Me too, full-blown... Fucking can't wait till I finish my cocktail."

"They'd be waiting forever." Epic lifts his glass to toast.

"True." Stardust clinks glasses with him as they both smile.

Epic closes his eyes, easier to focus on the words.

[Epic- I heard you were on planet. I have a big favor to ask you. Meet me at Isshin in one hour. Come alone, but be sure to be armed. -Truckee]

"Fuck." Epic slams the rest of his beer. Stardust opens her eyes and grins slyly. She has an amazing smile. Like she has the purest form of happiness anyone can find, even though she probably had to fucking beat someone to death with her shoe to get it.

"Sweetheart, seems we have a caper."

"Yeah. Who got you?"

"You know I can't say." Stardust licks her lips and bats her lashes. Epic has an urge to fuck her on the table. Settles for ordering shots.

"These meets."

"Short and infrequent."

"Fuck."

"Hope to see you soon?" Stardust shrugs.

"Fine. Normal rules apply." Epic says as they both raise their shots to toast. To the job at hand, or whatever.

"Of course, my darling Epic Death." She grins again.

Click. Drink. Check. Out.

Epic bumps into what looks like an anemic anorexic alcoholic, her black shock of hair all twisted and gnarled. Her lipstick half on her teeth, maybe five foot six and about thirty pounds underweight. Considering the neighborhood, safe to assume model, actress or stylist. If Epic were off-duty, he would stop to find out (i.e. fuck her in every hole), but as she looks about ten seconds to immediate death and with feet being in play, he decides against. Even with modern technology and genetherapy, there are always new diseases in these skanks. Against character, he apologizes for no reason and holds the door. Bitch obviously needs to get her eat on.

# <2.8>

Peppermint locks the door to the Ju-Ju Cha-Cha, despite the front window being shattered, he figures better safe. The cops took the suit and didn't question the hand-shaped bruises on his neck or his consciousness-level. Having a supermodel around, particularly one covered in honey, can be to one's advantage when dealing with the law. Albeit, this is all her fault. Hence why Pepper just happened to forget to tell her that he has a full bathroom at the store. He kind of half hopes she gets mauled to death by rogue band of bees.

"So... why was that guy after you? Don't worry I won't tell the cops." Pepper looks at her, directly, for the first time. She's the girl from "All in the Hay", that colonial-era slasher movie. Movie was really big, what with the tentacles and the sweeping vistas of barn-filled Checktiza, which put her career into the big digits, finally making her an S-class. She hasn't really done much since then, few minor roles in award fodder movies released when people are supposed to be paying attention to their families. Heard she quit to teach children to read or some such shit. Her tits are bigger in real life, though.

"I really don't know. I just wrapped a shoot for the Race." Sunshine mutters, trying to adjust her hair in the store's remaining window. She's having her eButler search for a bounty-hunter. Sunshine needs to get off planet, but with people after her—who knows how far she'd get without protection.

"Oh yeah? No drugs, or?"

"No. I never liked how they made me feel, all... confused? I barely know what's going on without something else taking it from me. Down-programs sometimes, but nothing major."

"Maybe something else—" eButler. Inquiry into— "...Seriously?"

"What?"

"Bitch, someone has a death wish for you something fierce. They just put a hit out on me." Cops on the take? Hacked surveillance?

"How do you know that?" She looks startled, looking around for potential assassins.

"Let's just say, I'm out of retirement. How much money you have on you?" Peppermint says, looking over his shoulder as he walks through the destroyed window. He's going to need guns. Plural.

# <2.9>

Isshin is an Asian-fusion restaurant in the Box District. The streets are all wide for trucking of this and that freighter, and the looming bulk of the Gravsling sits idle in the background. All manufacturing, warehouse and freight. The smog is palpable, even with hybrid vehicles, pushing a building down the street still takes a lot of energy. Let alone using anti-grav pulse generation to toss it into orbit. That said, it's actually a decent side of town, security being privatized on Selba Prime, as is the case all over the Colonies and most of Federation Space, as well. It means that the locations with the most to steal are also the most covered in GovNet cruisers.

Epic Death walks down an extremely well lit sidewalk; he's wearing a black-leather vest over a dark red suit-shirt. His jacket got a little overbearing, so he has his smokey-gray duster slung over one arm. Metal flecked jeans and his dad's contribution, vintage combat boots (gun holsters included and loaded), and the look is complete. Bad-ass waiter, vicious rodeo junkie, roadie for Izzie Bloodwake, etc...

Isshin is busy. Busier than Epic would have chosen for a meet, but Truckee Dumpstar doesn't do "small". The restaurant is brimmed with tech types who run the cranes, security between shifts, and hip social seekers looking for somewhere trendy obscure to eat between zeroin binges. Epic isn't excited for this one. The money will be there, but with everything Truckee has going on right now, this shit has to be huge.

Truckee is sitting near a window. So it's not a hit on him, at least. Epic hates assassination cases; tedious following of suspects isn't really his bag. Give him a guy with a gun; Epic will give you a guy you can strain your pasta with. Give him an ex-wife trying to poison some oil magnate, and he'll end up giving you pasta when he should have recommended a good marriage councilor or some shit.

"Glad you could make it, Mr. Death."

"Epic is fine. What do you need, Truckee?" Epic quickly looks Truckee over. He's wearing a wig that looks like it was rescued from a tree hit by a hurricane. Some sort of florescent fabric dress that changes colors from green to gold. Must be all the rage somewhere where rages happen to be all. Epic thinks it looks like some kind of mistake. Also like a pile of vomit he created once. Harsh hangover, that.

"Forward, I like that. Okay, I'll cut to the chase then. You heard of the Race of the Ancients?"

"I was born with a head."

"I'll take that as a maybe."

"Like, maybe I have a head?"

"Like maybe it functions."

"You called me." Epic shrugs.

"Valid."

"Okay. Race. I get it. And?" Eyebrow raise.

"The prize."

"A jewel or some shit."

"Stolen."

"Heard about it."

"Already?"

"You know who by?"

"I have an inclination."

"You should get that looked at."

"You heard of Iced Mocha?"

"Yeah, he's leader of the Destiny, a gang out of Torch in the Sprawl. You think he did it?" Epic knows Iced Mocha, and Iced Mocha is a sky-crane, this is completely out of character and above ability.

"One of his goons was on the floor where I kept the Jewel not seconds before the alarms sounded. In my office on 53."

"Okay. You got history with this kitty?"

"I owe him some money." Truckee was fiddling with his food. At some point they had been served, despite Epic never ordering. Epic's plate has eyes. A big squid. What is this asian fused with, anyway?

"How much?"

"Thirty-three."

"Million?"

"No."

"Billion?"

"No."

"You fucking buy Torch on credit? From a gang?"

"Heh. Let's say you could if I were to pay you what I owe him, and leave it at that." Truckee looks out the window. Shame spiral?

"Okay, so this race was supposed to pay him off I assume?" Where did Destiny get that much money from? Destiny is not that liquid, not that much money in drugs.

"Yeah. Mostly. Why I'm pushing it so hard."

"Gotcha, so why steal the prize, then?" With that much money, couldn't he just buy it?

"To keep me working for him. Forever."

"He could just extort you with the info, or threaten you by force. This seems... fishy. Destiny is barely small fry, where the fuck would this guy even get thirty trill from?" Poking his... this is NOT squid... for effect. Epic pushes his plate away.

"All I know is my contact with him was at my office when the Jewel was stolen and he gunned me."

"What? Where?"

"With his fingers."

"That is disgusting. " Looking at the 'squid' for effect.

"No. Like this, bang." Doing the gun motion, Epic gets up.

"I'll check on it. I'll LT you if I get anything, till then lay low."

"Like that will happen."

Epic shrugs as he walks out the door. Gang fights and stolen shit. Now that sounds like fun. But seriously, does everyone owe some drug-dealing train-wreck nauseatingly large sums of money or what? Iced is like barely important, unless he became considerably more level since his last refresh.

# <2.10>

Cirrhosis runs as fast as humanly possible through the various corridors and office backrooms and comes out just as Code dives through a window. On the fifty-third floor. Just for his own consideration, Cirrhosis goes to the window. There is only a light wind and it's rather warm. Code is gone and Cirrhosis is generally fucked. Also confused, but with a focus of fucked. He needs to get out of here before Vii's guy catches wind of him. Avoiding the elevators, he takes the stairs.

He makes it about five floors down before realizing that he forgot to quit while he was up there. Considering everything, he figures he can just mail the code-key when he's no longer getting shot at.

Cirrhosis hits the ground floor on a flurry of coughs and wheezes. That'll probably serve as his cardio for the day. The city is bright with action, it's only around nine-thirty. As soon as his foot hits pavement, his eButler reports World-contact. Also that he has like forty LT's.

He instructs Jeffy, gotta name him something, to sort them and bring up anything that is not about the stunt he pulled at the press conference. Jeffy gets that number down to four by the time Cirrhosis sees himself in a shop window and realizes that he's still dressed like Captain-Captain Suzaku's Hot Pickin' Go-Go Chicken. That being a mouthful, Cirrhosis decides a trip to the homebase is necessary. He LTs a taxi and is off in a moment. Hover service in Hojo City is straight AI, but some of the best he's ever experienced. Taxis aren't even covered in urine.

The car takes a ramp up the clear carbon-fiber street to the thirtieth floor and Cirrhosis dives into his mail.

[Cirr- I need to talk to you about what happened. I checked into what you said, but it seems... we need to talk. Additional players appear to be on the board. Have my secretary set something up. ~T]

Jeffy is smart enough to ignore orders sometimes.

[Cirrhosis Induction, Sir- We again extend the hand of welcome to you to visit exotic outpost, and tourist hot-spot, Torch. As official sponsor of your team, Captain Susaku's Hot Pickin' Go-Go Chicken, requests your presence at our yearly investor's luncheon. Several hundred of our investors, as well as the Media, and celebrity presenters will be present. We would like if you were to take a tour of our R&D department with the Media, perhaps give a small press-conference on the last night of the tour. If you were to look at our contra—]

Cirrhosis has had enough mail. Perhaps a trip to Torch is in order, although what the hell sort of R&D a chicken restaurant could possibly be running eludes him completely. Gang violence is totally hot right now. However, there is the small item of Toro and Code. Also the matter of his being banned from Torch under pain of severe and flagrant dismemberment. Perhaps a cocktail at the house, a shower and some pants that don't choke the hose will clear the head.

**[Incoming Call]** Cirrhosis curses as he swipes his palm over the reader on the door of the cab. Cirrhosis lives in a high rise in the Sahari District. The Sahari District is lower downtown, meaning south and east, which places it farthest away from the Gravsling. Nice place, open floor plan, good light.

"Acknowledge. Hello?"

" **Cirrhosis. What the fuck?"**

"Noseta Stone, long time no swear at me for no reason."

" **You know damned well why I am swearing at you, you filthy goddamn motherfucking son of a sewer-rotting cunt-whore."**

"You should really take to naming restaurants, Noseta."

" **Fuck and you. Consider your place."**

"What does Toro want?"

" **I don't know? To be in the fucking loop when his lead racer decides to quit the team before the largest race in Colonial history? Perhaps?"**

"Vii Ariable threatened my life, inside that building not ten seconds before I did that."

" **What?"**

"He knew about my debt, the amount of my debt, and promised to pay off Toro if I got him the Jewel."

" **Son of a bitch."**

"He knew amounts and plans. You have a leak in your organization somewhere."

" **That doesn't explain –"**

"So I try and LT and Truckee has done the whole radio silence thing." That wasn't until after, but what Toro doesn't know.

" **Then what?"** Hooked him.

"I go to quit, which I haven't officially. And I see no other but Code Name stealing the item in question—"

[Line Ended.]

Cirrhosis is chuckling to himself, peeling off his bodysuit, and halfway into the shower when he gets another call. Jeffy warns him who it is this time, warns him by saying its Omega-encrypted. Cirrhosis steps into the shower, audio-only eS connections only pick up what he says, which is to say what he is thinking of saying. He doesn't even actually have to speak out-loud; it's just easier to conceptualize that way.

"Mr. Abobo." Cirrhosis says, scratching his balls and trying not to moan. Aloud or mentally. Free from tyranny.

" **Cirrhosis, you saw someone steal the Jewel?"**

"Code Name. I know him from back when I used to run with Iced Mocha." Cirrhosis used to be a bit of a gang banger, running with Destiny before Iced took charge a few years ago. Eventually he outgrew the guns and moved on to crossbows. Similar when you really think about it, which Cirrhosis only does when he is drinking. Cirrhosis pads to the kitchen for a vodka warbomber. Drinking in the shower, now there is the life.

" **They are centered out of Torch now."**

"I... you want me to go after him?"

" **You get it for me, we'll call it even."** Toro is being very direct. Too very direct. To think of it, Toro has never just called him before. Although this is what they were grooming him for since four years ago, when Truckee announced the Race. And Cirrhosis has known that the prize was what Toro wanted. Not fame or money. If he didn't win the race, Cirrhosis was positive that he would have been asked to steal the Jewel, and would have done it as well, if he hadn't been beaten to the punch. What the fuck is this Jewel, anyway?

"I'll do the meet with the Captain while I'm there." Brownie points might get him a guarantee he doesn't just get force-tanked when he gets back.

" **Sure you do that."**

[Line Ended.]

# <3.0>

LiveText To: Last Chance

LiveText From: Torch Interest Front

Miss Chance,

This text is to inquire if you might be available for a short-term position as a SRAdgasm for our new Torch promotion. We need someone who is fully wet and can work 24/7 from Torch in a semi-scripted sensivise reality program we would like to use to spark some additional interest in our station, in light of the Race of the Ancients being held in Crimson.

Please come to our office in Corialisana so that we might speak one-on-one, assuming you are interested in the offer.

Thank you in advance,

Horota Arnis

Director of Marketing

Torch Interest Front

# <3.1>

Peppermint White Ninja lives in an old four-story warehouse in the Corridor. Basically, think of where columns of cement and clover-leaves of highway converge into a knot of unnatural monolithic girth. Add some gene-line enhanced trees that can live off of artificial light, and the dull roar of the slingshot trains. Well, let's just call it dense-urban pre-gentrified.

The warehouse is made of concrete and metal for color. It looks like it will be here in ten-thousand years, but also like it has been condemned for at least that amount of time. Pepper calls it "homey", Sunshine looks at the steel doors and calls it a "rape factory". Regardless, she still follows him inside, because one of the local crab-analogs has followed them from the train station, four streets ago.

"He likes your perfume."

"He is vermin."

"He was here before we were, so maybe we're the vermin."

"Crabs live to be like, eight."

"Okay. His ancestors or some bullshit. I'm just making conversation, you want a beer?"

"Do I look like I drink beer?"

"Vodka?"

"Now you're talking." Sunshine sits on a large wooden table. The inside is still set-up like a warehouse. Big bulky furniture in sparse supply if not sparse in size. A well-lit rape factory, at least.

"Here." He hands her a glass, a huge glass. He brandishes one for himself, fills it half-way and chugs it before pouring her one. She grins while he pours himself a second, sipping her own demurely.

"So you are a retired..." She knows.

"Bounty hunter, yeah." Pepper sits on a nearby couch, it's covered in paint for some reason or another. There isn't a drop of paint on any surface of the rape factory, so it must be imported from some other location. Perhaps there is a franchise of them.

"Why did you quit? I mean, what are you—thirty?" Sunshine lies, he looks forty at least, but people live to be three-hundred a shot. That is nothing. Hell, he could be a re-fresh junkie and secretly be her great-grandfather on his third-body. Never hurts to compliment.

"A job. I was hunting a guy by the name of H.O. Abobo, real dynamic fella. Liked doing freefall murders in open space. Gang leader. Drug dealer. Overall, class act.

"Anyway, he worked the Sprawl for like eighty-years, and the Federalis let him because it was lawless in most parts and any strong character has a habit of stabilizing his domain."

"They just let him kill people?" Sunshine has never heard, or even thought of Colonial Government, much less the Federation, as anything but the people who protected you from pirates, manned the LaGrange and demanded fifteen-percent of her checks. Her contact is much more in the GovNet sense, with the politics and general bull-shittery that comes in planetary governments, but even that is more of the blur she hears on the news-vids while getting her nails painted.

"Let's just say they had an unagreed upon agreement. He keeps his shit small and off the big worlds, and they look the other way if a body is seen orbiting Tarnek-5.

"Anyway. One thing leads to a mother and a senator's ship stalls out orbiting a little shithole called Tenda. Deep nowhere, but if you want to shoot-the-loop in less than a week, you gotta skirt the Sprawl.

"So Abobo's men fucking kill the Senator without so much as a ransom or shit. Strip his cruiser and they, get this, try and sell the parts to the Senator's home planet."

"Small universe."

"For real. Anyway, that shit is too blatant to ignore, so the Federalis hire me and my buddy to axe him."

"Just the two of you?"

"See that's what I wanted, but the Federalis throw us each a team of six agents. Buddy of mine invites his girlfriend, she has her own team. Then the Federalis have an all Federali team. It's a cluster. Biggest problem is, bounty hunters are two things:

"They are solo projects, and they can only be trusted to watch out for themselves. Code of the Hunt."

"Question?"

"Yes?"

"This isn't making me feel safer."

"I'm retired. I sell candy now. Trust me. Trust the candy man." Pepper smiles, his dreadlocks forming coral-reefs in midair. He's kind of handsome in a ridiculously goofy sort of way. Physically about forty, about six-flat and on the thinner side of flabby. A man who was obviously active in previous years, but obviously no longer living the rigorous life of his physical twenties. That said, his eyes say that he is at least a hundred in actual. Pale skin, a dusting of a beard, hands that are scarred and calloused from manual labor.

"Follow up?"

"Yes?"

"Refill?"

"Quite."

"So you have these teams..."

"Yes. Three teams. One is Federali pretending to be Hunters. Then one led by me and one by my friend.

"We go into this guys place, fucking hornets' nest of fuckers. Everywhere my eB is poppin' yellows."

"What?"

"Bounty-heads. So we split up, playing it cool. Well, one thing leads to another, the Federalis we got teamed with were bloodthirsty freshman at their first spring break. And it is a blood bath every which way to the air lock from the bulkhead.

"Lost my original left arm. Fucker shot me, and then came at me with a fucking chainsaw. Who the fuck fights with chainsaws?"

Sunshine shrugs. She does not, in fact, know who the fuck fights with chainsaws. She doesn't intend to find out either. Pepper scratches his arm, protectively.

"So yeah, comes down to five people in the mess hall. Abobo, me, my friend, this guy named Toro, and this bitch my friend wanted to bone. Oh yeah, his girl tagged with us, completely breaking the Hunt, should have known that would lead to trouble. Some jackass had hit the grav control with a sub-nuke and we were like free-fall sword fighting."

"Okay, so, swords but not chainsaws?"

"Guns plus windows equals explosive decompression. Guns are okay for internal corridors, but the mess hall was on an extendable arm for morale or some bullshit.

"So we slice around, I have my remainder of an arm tied off in a sling and I'm all hopped up on stims and adrenaline. I get a good one in on Toro. Young kid, he's big now."

"Oh yeah. Toro is behind the Race isn't he?"

"Big contributor, yeah."

"He's a bad guy too?"

"Son of the space killer guy, yeah. So, I slice him something brutal, kid has a twelve pack and his internals are considering external positions. And then the fucked up part happens.

"H.O. pulls the hatches. All of them. He has a fucking pendant that looks like a Genova Hex. That octagon with the six stars with the lines joining them into one bigger star. He pushes the middle one when my buddy hacks him something good, H.O. was a terrible swordsman, and the fucking pendant controls every hatch on the station."

"Holy shit."

"I know. He kills all his men to get us."

"But you and Toro survived."

"Four of us did, yeah. By... well..."

"Yes?"

"We found two guys in a pod. We killed them. It was us or them. Fast or die. We killed them in cold motherfucking blood. Just two douches who working the engineering room, no bounties. Completely breaking the Hunt. Cold motherfucking blood in cold motherfucking space."

"So you quit to sell candy?"

"Pretty much."

"Anyone else live here?"

"No, why?"

"There's a woman upstairs watching us."

Pepper spins around so fast you'd think he was possessed. But the ghost is upstairs.

"Stardust."

# <3.2>

Last Chance wakes up a new woman. Okay, so she wakes up the same woman with several thousand more rico in her account and enough stims in her system to give a racehorse a heart attack. She showers in her shit-hole little apartment in the Lower Chokehold, the place where dreams go to get smothered in industry and advertisements for same. Puts on her best dress, newest stilettos and primps her crazy woman afro into something resembling more of a mildly mentally unstable look, and hits the street. The Chokehold is near the Gravsling, northwest Hojo City, buried under factories that are in turn buried under warehouses. It is dark, but continuously maintains a damp warmth.

Late last night, Last got an LT for a job. Big one, but they want to meet her in person and test her wiring. She tried to point them to the ad, which they had obviously already seen, but they didn't want the anguish and pain of death. They actually laughed when she said she was too classy to do nude scenes, which is awkward in text form. Last agreed to the meet, mostly just to get out of town for a while.

Regardless, Last chance gets up early and catches the first slingshot to Corialisana, the Ivory City to the south.

The train-station near her house is the best part of the neighborhood. The building is tall and clean, with all of the clear hov-roads leading in and out of it at various heights. Thicker carbon composite ramps lead the many shots in and out of the station. The shots are cool green cylinders running in between two tracks of ionicly charged rails. Last doesn't understand the concept, but she knows it's like magnets only not. Inside it looks like a normal train, just with better lighting and less homeless people. Also there are folding seats and places to put your purse that lock and unlock with your fingerprint. Maybe it's more like the scramjets low-tech worlds use, Last ponders, putting her purse above her seat. Last has never ridden the Gravsling to get off-planet, but it _is_ exactly like that, as the companies supplying the interiors are the same.

The countryside is a total blur, the shot moving at seven hundred miles an hour, but the video-screens show footage of the area and you can dive the Rail's website and sort of do a walking tour. Last isn't much for tours, even virtual ones. The video is rather soothing though, if you find salt-water taffy production details to be soothing.

Last wakes up at the station, refreshed, and with her hair only slightly more disheveled than it was when she originally styled it. She walks off the platform to a building of sleek white lines and tall corridors. Dark green holographics point to this location or that on the tiled walls. She pulls up directions and an arrow appears semi-translucent in her vision. She LTs the company and her arrow is adjusted for a car they sent for her. Like a dream, really. Sunshine would totally gag.

"Miss Chance, I trust the trip was to your liking?"

"I absolutely loved the video-thing. Who knew they made so many things out here in the woods?"

"Corialisana is the second largest city on Selba Prime. It is not just woods."

"That's what I thought until I saw the video."

"Have you bothered to look out of any windows since arriving?"

"No, why?"

"Walk this way, Miss."

"Oh."

Coral-Cor was started by Victor Corialis after the Colonial Revolution and was the leader in jump-gate technology, developing (with partners) the intergalactic ansible system and the LaGrange system that eventually overtook the traditional jump-gate. This made the Corialis family rich beyond most peoples' ability to even consider spending. Eventually, two or three cloned bodies later, Victor decided to retire into political life in the Sprawl, where he thought he could do the most good.

His eldest son, Stephen Corialis took over the company business, and focused his father's ideas beyond the original jump-gates and ansible service and into big business. Stephen Corialis is a visionary entrepreneur, it is said he could sell a man his own pants for profit, then convince the man to sell them back at cost. Developing extremely major breakthroughs in travel, communication and science is his major endeavor. When it came time for Stephen to retire, his idea of retiring was buying about a thousand square miles on a then first-stage world in the Selba System. He called it Corialisana, because he felt cities were always women, and that he didn't want people to think he had a big ego.

To say Corialisana is lavish, might be correct but doesn't get across how very clean it looks. A city of marble pillars, clear multi-level hov-roads, giant starscrapers made of screens that project themselves invisible except for the pillars. Everywhere pillars and arches. People used to question if Corialis' "pillar-fetish" was a more personal desire... Regardless, due to its particular design, there is light everywhere in the city, regardless of whether you are on the ground floor or the nine-hundredth. Hence the Ivory City, the City of Light.

Needless to say, most of this is unknown to Last Chance. Not that it wasn't mentioned in the video, just that she fell asleep before that part. The city is quite crowded, but still has an airy feel to it, very fresh in its neutrality. She is first stricken by the sheer size of the place, easily as big as the main brunt of Hojo City, and that all the cars are silver or white.

"Why are all the cars silver or white?"

"Corialis' orders, Miss." Last is helped into a small hover, she sits in the back.

"He's still alive?"

"Oh yes. Alive and building, running this city (more or less) with his seven sons and their twenty children, and on and on."

"What sort of business does he run, then? Like an architect?"

"He started off in development of new technologies. He created and helped to build the first Gravsling on Mars. After he ran a multi-system company off that technology, and its improvements. He had his hand in, along with a group of others; on the amplification systems that incorporated full World access through the ansible networks. Now he really is just into architecture though."

"Oh wow." Last had really stopped paying attention after the first sentence. The city is quite charming, all clears and whites, with grey used sparingly. Even the people dress in neutral tones, and they all look pretty well off as well. Perhaps they all work for Corialis, or maybe they hide the poor people on the bottom floors. Seems to work in Hojo City, at least usually.

"Please do watch your step we are about here."

A giant structure hulks before them. A huge series of rectangular buildings, all stone white, interconnected by semi-translucent tubes and walkways. The car pulls into a large archway and stops in a courtyard lined with coarse sand. Last about loses a shoe on her way to the door.

"Welcome, Miss Chance. I hope your trip was a safe one. Please follow me." Says a man of slight build, taller than Last, but thin. He's wearing a white suit, just like the driver, which makes Last feel out of place in her dark clothing. The lone bit of color in a world of ivory cleanliness. She wants to ask about his diet, but thinks that inappropriate job interview talk. That and she's too busy admiring the hallway. Easily thirty feet tall, the thin walkway has vaguely gray doors and a faux-marble floor with spinning veins of pink and teal.

The guide steps in front of a door and it turns clear and slides up into the wall. Inside is an office with sense-recorders, a chair, and a desk. All whites and subtle grays, apparently Corialis can control people's offices as well.

"Please sit. Horota will be with you, momentarily." And with that he leaves, presumably to go purge his latest meal. Last is feeling rather bloated.

A door behind the desk sort of appears, and a man walks through. A bigger man with a big mouth and deep set eyes. He looks rather jovial; he is the kind of person who might be fun with a couple of beers. Last is thirsty.

"Hello, I'm Horota Arnis. Care for something cold?" Horota gestures at his desk and the move is lost on Last.

"What?"

"Drink?"

"Water?"

"Lemon?"

"Please."

"So, I saw your latest work. The ad. Brilliant piece of marketing. Truckee really knows how to reach the people of the Colonies."

"Yeah. I'm pretty proud of that. I think my intestines really sold it."

"Indeed. Well, I guess you might want to know why I brought you here." Horota starts speaking as Last takes a sip of her water. He taps at his desk for a second. He has a recessed keyboard positioned out of Last's sight. A view screen appears in her vision. It is of a satellite colony orbiting a dark red gas giant.

"Torch?"

"Yes. We need to get word out to tourists and executive types that Torch is the hub of choice for jumping the Sprawl. We believe, with your current notoriety, as well as Torch's involvement in the Race of Ancients, that choosing you would be the best way to communicate Torch's strengths while taking advantage of the spotlight the Race will bring to everyone involved."

"Isn't crime a problem there?" Last remembers a news-video from last week, some sort of gang violence or something. She really had just been waiting for her dye to set.

"That is just the view we need to erase, Miss Chance. With advanced Federali agents being recruited as we speak, Torch is becoming one of the safest locations in the Inner Arm." Inner Arm meaning the sort-of-Sprawl, the no-man's land between where the inhabited systems are plentiful to where they are sparsely splayed out.

All interstellar travel started at Earth, for humans obviously, but as FTLs got cheaper the planets nearest Earth got colonized first. Scientists quickly found that agreeable conditions exist on a least one planet in every ten systems, particularly when terraforming using nano-machines and germ-line geneering are factored in. That said, the biggest number of colonies exist closest together, as jumping is still somewhat expensive, in so far that it requires resources as well as at least outpost stations to refuel, and the length of physically possible Lagrange leaps makes a sort of wall as to how far people can reasonably go and still expect to get back in a reasonable time frame. The outliers, be they bad ventures by planet-swapping entrepreneurs or colonies started by non-traditional organizations with ideologies outweighing their business models, have tended towards lawlessness. There are certain zones of sanity and proper governmental function, but with near infinite space and resources, even if there is no money to gather those resources, there is a lot of room for corruption. As those resources that are truly necessary, heavy helium and nuclear materials, are not either easy to gather or in particularly high supply. This leads to localized governments, a lack of observance of the Federation or GovPlex protocols, and a divergence from the social norms. Some parts of the Sprawl are even off the World, choosing to be completely alone.

However, the Sprawl is in the center of known space. This is the reason places like Torch matter, because to get to Selba from Earth, one must shoot the Sprawl. Last has no idea why this is so; something about hyperspace distortions and gas giants, as well as a sort of circular route around the area that initial colonization took and the locations of other sentient species colonized areas, but suffice it to say the Federation only has so many posts, so unofficial stations run by big corporations or the Colonies themselves, are the primary refueling resource. Big business. Big money. Last finishes her drink.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Simply put. We want you to live on Torch for a couple of weeks, record how life is there from an outside standpoint. We'll record live and broadcast via ansible to the World."

"So a reality show, then? How heavily scripted?" Last is in negotiation mode. She isn't terribly good at learning lines, but with in-eye teleprompting she only needs to be literate. That said, she still isn't very good at lines.

"Scripted events, trips to all the bars and governmental facilities. You'll have a "job" on site as well, but what you do at those locations is up to your discretion."

"How much?" Last sort of sighes, looking at a sculpture in the corner. Some sort of polyfiber motion structure, looks like a man getting raped by a building, all torso distortions and beams. Last learned quickly that while you should always ask how much, you should never seem interested in the answer. A independent film where she had worked four months in the Hinterlands in a tent in thirty-below weather for a grand total of room and poorly cooked board, had taught her that well enough. Horota coughs.

He is holding an index card. Crisp. Last takes it gingerly, attempting not to touch Horota's hand. No flirting in business. There are too many zeros for this to be correct. She looks up. Horota smiles, he leans back in his chair.

"No nudity."

"Of course. This is for investors, Miss Chance."

"Seriously. None."

"Yes."

"At all."

"Of course."

"When do I leave?"

# <3.3>

" **Where are you?"**

" **Walking out of Box. You know where I can find Destiny on planet?"** Epic is stomping down an insanely bright sidewalk, wishing for sunglasses or a down-program or like full retinal removal. Also it would be nice if the woman directly behind him would kindly shut the fuck up.

"Could you stop screaming?"

"EEeeaaahhhh!!!"

"No. Seriously." Woman looks to be about fifty, her eyes are squirreling back and forth, and she hasn't closed her mouth in six blocks. Her dark-brown hair is pulled tight and wrapped with copper wiring that looks like it was stripped out of a television, and she's wearing a dress comprised of semi-transparent layers of plastic. She looks like a severely groomed puffer fish.

"EEeeeaaaahh!!!" Her tongue darts forward quickly. In and out in and out. Epic turns around and continues walking. Wishes he'd taken the girl over the shots.

" **Destiny is held up in a few locations in the Captial. You need a specific—"**

" **Nah. Can't give the tip**." Plus he's not really sure who he wants to talk to exactly. Girl went quiet. Epic starts walking slower, closer to the store fronts that just started alternating with warehouse offices.

" **You talking out loud?"** Epic LT's his contact. Fucking crooked cops can't be trusted, apparently. What's the world coming to? Epic dodges into a store marked Big Big Baby's Shoes for Babies.

" **I'm in my office, why?"**

" **Bye bye."** Code words for 'you're tapped'. Epic should have disguised himself for the meet. Rookie mistake. Screaming bitch was probably a druggy with her eyes hacked. With money on the line like Truckee says, there are no limits to the irritating bullshit these fuckstains can throw.

Big Big Baby's Shoes for Babies is a local chain, a few obnoxiously red stores with blinking strobes and holographic children dancing on stripper poles. Very old fashioned. Epic has apparently hid in the flagship store. Android children are everywhere, gyrating on sale signs, dry-humping actual children as they try on stiletto-heels to go with the latest micro-mini. Fucking general public would buy anything they see on television apparently, even if it was on television on Earth like seven years ago.

"C-C-CAan I help you?!" A small African-ethnic 'child' asks, using the deep booming voice of a race announcer. Epic is reminded why he hates children. Even artificial children. The child is wearing a thong-diaper, four watches and blue high tops.

"I'm looking for the Jewel of the Ancients, you got that here?" Epic asks, walking into the store quickly. Try to get as far back as possible before the shit hits. The child follows him in.

"Leeeeet mee seeeeeee....." The baby dances as it searches the inventory, looking citywide, looking distribution wide... "Item not fizzzound!" The child jumps, Epic jumps, the front window shatters. Bullets start hitting walls, Epic intuitively grabs the kid, runs through screaming randoms, and leaps over the sales desk.

"Call the cops, kid."

"Calling!"

Epic peeks over the counter. A thick haze has filled the air around the desk. Force-armor. This must be where the physical rico are kept. A few bullets hit the shield, and they are gently pushed away and into the walls to either side.

"You got an ETA?"

"Police ssaaay they will beez at location in X-actly seven-T four secondzzz!!" The baby is dry-humping Epic's calf, Epic grimaces and pushes the child away by the forehead. Epic has seventy-four seconds to get out of here if he wants to get to Destiny before they can plan a better attack.

"Is there an escape route from the location?" Three guys are wandering through the screaming civilians and horny infants. They keep kicking huddled people to see their faces. They don't know he's back here for sure... The smoke mixed with the shield's haze.

"Yeeeaahss. O-nly accezzz is to employeeez, b-b-baaby!"

"Then can you open it please, we are in danger."

"Let mee think... Ak-sezz allowed!" A small hatch begins to open between the crescent-shaped counter and the floor. Epic sees a latch in the carpet and pulls to see a set of rungs leading down a sort of slanted habittrail. Epic climbs in, looks at the kid, and decides to bring him along. There might be more doors that need opening or something.

About thirty minutes of climbing somewhat down and somewhat straight ahead, and the dimly lit tube opens into a storage room. A storage room full of guns. Exotic guns mostly; grenade launchers, polarity shifting pulse weapons, taser whips, exotic matter shots, some sort of quantum dildo looking thing the size of a horse's... lots of wrist darts.

"Where are we... uh..."

"Big."

"O—kay. Big, where is this?"

"SAA-ide businezz, son!" Big toddles over to a set of grey wallmounted drawers, and pulls out a baby-sized handgun. Epic grins, apparently the androids moonlight as GovNet security. About a hundred and sixty-eight years ago, after the war made people wary of governments with guns, planetary police functions were privatized. Typically city's commissioned local businesses, but the capital is zone-based, and at least one of those zones is protected by android infants with sex-drives. GovNet runs the country security, with the GovPlex running planetary, Colonial running interplanetary and the Federalis doing non-planets and space. Add a small bracelet and you complete the look.

"I'd like to hire your services, Big."

"K-krazzy."

"Alright. You got a car?"

"Wheelzz? Upstaarzz!" The baby breaks into a run and dashes for the left. Big running is a brisk walk for Epic, a few flights of stairs and they get to a garage with two street tanks and a hover. Epic heads for the hover.

"Can you drive?" Epic raises an eyebrow as the door irises open. There is a regular sized lounger in the driver's side and a few small stools in the back. The hover is a long smooth teardrop with nobs for the grav-pulsers underneath and a couple smoothed into each side. It's red and there are a couple of police barcode scanners on the roof, as well as a strip of holographics along the roof and sides. Normally this car would seat four... ish, but with the stools and the size of these officers, Epic would assume eight.

"A—AYE!"

"Is there a manual override?" Epic sits in the driver's seat and turns on the engine. His eButler sends a hello to the car, and the car accepts. A steering wheel folds out under the GPS screen. "Do you know where I can find the Destiny gang? They caused the attack upstairs."

"Accesssssing... Our pA-trol picked up sixxx gan-g memmmbers in the Gravshot arr-ea. Files place a major hii-deout in a bro-thel callzz Chesty's Barrel of Salt Water. P-pendin' warrrrant." Big sort of gurgles as he sits in the passenger stool. His legs kicking as he belts in, leaning back and forth against the half-back to his seat. Safety isn't as important for AI, as they have no internal organs per se, and are sturdier regardless.

"Car...?" Epic sort of taps the wheel.

"James." A disembodied 'British-ethnic' voice says calmly. Cars always seem to be English...

"James, can you put that location on the GPS?"

"Ten miles north and west, Sir."

Epic Death begins to de-park when a missile destroys the back half of the hover. De-lightful.

# <4.0>

Selba Prime Concern - Kids Corner

Word of the Day

**LiveText (n):** LiveText is a core product of Asynk Core's Biosynch technology. LiveText, or LT for short, is a way to send direct text messages or area based text messages between two or more World users with Biosynch memory inserts. LT can be sent instantly to anywhere on planet, and with very little lag time even to other star systems.

# <4.1>

Cirrhosis is dead tired. A long day of chasing whilst simultaneously being chased can do that to a guy. The cab dropped him off at the Gravsling station, the hulking giant which the whole city circles around, but also avoids like a pariah. While the process is as quiet as you would think using controlled fusion anti-gravimetric repulsion would be, that also happens to be about the loudest sound one can hear and continue to have that ability. Said, the roads leading up look like a primitive hedge maze made of vibrant foam. The dampeners cancel all but ten-percent of the noise, and are usually bone white, but with holo-ads and graffiti they look as vibrant as the morning sunrise. The Gravsling itself looks like a factory centered around the world's largest catapult mixed with the world's largest cannon. A haze of steam floats idly around the complex, pulsed outward when the arm shunts and the cannon fires. It's beautiful in a mechanical shock and awe sort of way.

As one gets closer the coming and going of slingshots and scramjets gets more apparent, and as you round the last soundbarrier it starts to look like any large transport station. The silence is disturbing however, as canceler poles are placed on every corner, bumping back waves to keep the travelers sane during the wait time. Customs is typically at least three hours and the Shot can only fire once every fifty seconds.

Cirrhosis breezes through customs, the operator is wearing his jersey. Cirrhosis wishes he'd packed some stims. All said, he has a small duffel with his suit and two days worth of clothing. Well that and a ceramic wristdart launcher. Just in case.

The terminals are dimly lit, with a mandate keeping the holo-ads below their typical blare. All said, an ad for Reecher Ale makes Cirrhosis' mouth water, which makes Cirrhosis curse his eButler's software encryption. Looks like Jeffy needs an upgrade.

"Fuck it." He heads to a bar anyway.

Buttery Sluttery is a Chovian bar, a race Cirrhosis vaguely remembers from the news. Regardless, they are a mildly tentacled race (read: long arms) that is known simultaneously for being generally unbearably unbearable and ridiculously serious about it. However, when humans introduced them to alcohol they became the race of the party. A Chovian is working the bar, his large eyes closed to slits.

"Come in. Come in!" He sort of laughs through thick lips. Their heads are kind of longish. They have huge black eyes, but they are only open fully when on the offensive. A slit for a nose, no ears to speak of (something about their jaw handles that), and a meaty looking mouth full of rounded teeth completes the look. The bartender is dark for his race, a deep dry green. He's wearing a Hawaiian print shirt and thick denim pants.

"Thank you. A beer, cold and large." Cirrhosis sits down next to a beautiful red head.

"Pitcher, sir?"

"It's like three o'clock. Sure, why not, eh?" He speaks to the woman. She is sipping a Holocaust Ash smoothly. She has slight features, a large mane of barely kept hair twisting in elaborate arabesques. Her eyes gaze at him drowsily. Barely interested. Her mouth opens slightly, she lifts the mug and holds it near her mouth. Her tongue only barely visible, hanging over her teeth. Her mouth purses gently as the mug comes in closer. She pulls it back a bit, breaking her hold on him by temporarily closing her lips together.

"Heh. Any longer and I'll think you are recording." She grins and sips her drink, giving him a once over and then purposefully turning to look at a vid screen to the opposite side of the bar.

"I'm sorry. I was just struck by your beauty."

"Wow. Are you being cute or just a sleaze?"

"I'd like to think a little of both, Miss?"

"Chance."

"From the ads?"

"Yes. I—" She turns to see him, the compliment of being recognized making her slightly less dismissive. She looks at Cirrhosis again, and then her eyes look past him. E-query. She smiles broadly, a warm smile. "Cirrhosis Induction."

"Funny, you didn't recognize me and we must work in the same building."

"The building is at least five hundred stories." She giggles.

"Your ad is also for my race."

"I'm not into sports."

"Neither am I, but gotta pay the bills right?"

"Money is nice."

"So it is. So it is."

"Where you going?" She half looks at him, swirling her drink with the mushroom cloud umbrella.

"Torch. Got a meeting about the race there."

"Wow. I'm actually going there. I'm doing a sort of reality advertisement for the station."

"Small universe."

"Smallest we got." She giggles and drinks her drink.

[Alert: Twenty-six minutes to Boarding.]

"Oh."

"Want to walk together?"

"Sure."

The actual plane you get tossed in is rather huge. A long cylinder with shuttered windows and a covering of nubs and retracted antennae. Gunmetal all over barring a few identifying barcodes. From the station's windows it looks like you are going to space in a giant baked potato. The metal dirigible hovers lazily at a docking spindle, baggage being shoved in this and that cargo hold.

Cirrhosis and Last barely have time to sit before lining up begins to get in there. The walkway has no windows and it leads into a round room with chairs circling it. The seats have elaborate straps and the passengers must stow all their belongings in one of the several storage units held on each row. There are stairs in four sections leading up and down to additional platforms of chairs and storage, with the pilot being on the top slice.

Cirrhosis and Last ask a steward to set them up in adjacent seats, and they get strapped in without incident.

The ship closes its doors and the whole of it begins to rumble as its gravity-well is created internally. Outside one can see the potato start turning on one end, internally it feels like falling and the chairs swing to compensate as the floor spins on an axis to stay below them. The internal center is now the gravity center of the ship. The floating metal building cues up in line to get tossed into space.

"That never gets better, does it?"

"I kind of wish I wasn't drunk." Last sort of smirks. Her eyes close as she turns on a program. She winces and then smiles, various chemicals being released in her brain compensating for her intoxication; or at least for the nausea so caused.

"So how long are you going to be on Torch?"

"A couple of weeks, I think. Recording all day. It's going to get kind of stressful."

"Yeah. I had to do a week of that in preparation for the Race. You know, show how I work out, prepping the horse, target practice, the works. Watching everything you look, think and feel is really fucking hard. Is yours twenty-four seven?"

"Yeah."

"So... when you—"Cirrhosis had accidentally pissed on galactic ansible. Luckily, he hadn't looked at his cock or anything. Still, he gets random LTs offering ridiculous amounts of rico for exceptionally disgusting work.

"Out of my contract. If I go in to a bathroom, or my bedroom, cameras are off." She winks at Cirrhosis, who chuckles politely.

"Good good. So when are they opening the bar?" Cirrhosis coughs suggestively.

"Not soon enough." Last smiles demurely.

# <4.2>

Baby Doll Judah Stardust leans against the banister on the second floor. Her hair a swirl of spikes and highlights combating lowlights. She is a tall woman, even for the germline spacers she is bred from, lean but still in a feminine way. A tomboy who wears micro-minis with tube tops. Both are green, with a grey vest over top. Her lips are covered in a deep red gloss, her eyes with heavy mascara. She's smoking a small cigar, rolling it back and forth in her teeth.

Sunshine Apocalypse is new to the world of assassins, but with Peppermint White Ninja's story and her relative confidence in just dropping by, Sunshine knows to be nervous. Sunshine hops off of the table she had been sitting on. Stardust's eyes follow her. Sunshine's eyes dart to Pepper, Stardust smiles.

"Long time, no see, Pepper. Hear you gave up the Call to sell Hachi-Cheechas to bloated businessmen in the Astral District." She sort of giggles on words, Pepper looks angry. Stardust knows how to push his buttons. She's known where he was.. for how long?

"Yeah. After what we did—"

"We did that to survive, Pepper. Survive is the second rule of the Hunt. And the first—" Stardust takes a big puff of her cigar.

"Always kill the target if the Call doesn't say otherwise." Pepper mutters. Blinks. Sunshine gets the wind knocked out of her as he tackles her through a rack of magazines. Six bullets carve holes in the cabinets behind where Sunshine's head would have been.

"Holy—"

"Yeah. I'm going to need you to keep it cool. Go under that counter, there's a passage near the fridge."

"What?"

"Bounty hunter. Now go."

"Pepper, darling? I know you aren't dead, my eButler is still reporting across spectrum jamming. Please do come out, I'd hate to ruin your lovely interior decorations. Early period murderous steelworker?"

"Sorry, minotaur period pedophiliac gangster."

"What?" Baby mutters and turns to see a knee-high blade come rushing at her from the wall to the left. She hops it easily, but she loses Pepper in the distraction.

The ceiling begins to drop heavy panels, Stardust jumps for the first floor and only gets clipped by a tile, but it janks her landing and she has to roll. Pepper is holding a gun to her head as she rights herself.

"Fourth rule." No home-court advantage shouldn't be exploited.

"Fucker, I wasn't really going to kill her."

"Lies."

"Yeah. She your girlfriend?"

"No. Client. Sort of, not really. Jealous?"

"You wish. Guess that means you are a target too." Stardust looks at Pepper, her left leg darts out and trips him, he manages to catch himself, but she boots him in the gut just as he reaches stance, and he falls over a chair, losing the gun. Pepper draws another gun from his left shoe, and positions himself behind a broken (now) table. Stardust takes a couple of loose shots at him, more judging distance than anything else.

Pepper shorts the lights, clenching his eyes shut while blocking them with his forearm. The lights go nova, then out.

"Fuck!" Stardust yelps. Pepper stands to shoot, but Stardust is gone. She shoots, from behind him, straight up. With a flare. The sprinklers start as the fire hits the roof, putting it out.

"Fuck." Pepper dashes behind a support beam. With Stardust's hack-level, the only level of eFerence possible is Complete, which means for Pepper too, but direct contact protocols can be implemented with bio-metric IP addresses. But the water shorts his bone-amps' connection to his house drive, handled through a direct connection to the wiring inlaid in the floor. Translated: No more traps.

"You always were the planning type, Pepper."

"And you were always borderline psychotic, Stardust."

"How many times have I told you—" Pepper turns as a leg blurs at his head, he manages to dodge it somewhat, the knee grazing his forehead. The left catches him on the side, causing him to fall backward into a stool.

"Call me—" She pulls her pistol to aim.

"Bitch?" A chair slams into her skull from behind and she slumps over Pepper, shooting a round into the concrete.

"Weren't you supposed to run?"

"Weren't you supposed to protect me?" Sunshine grunts, kicking Baby Doll Judah Stardust in the head, just to be careful.

"Touché. Let's grab some supplies and JK."

"Where to?"

"Airport. Now move." Pepper looks suggestively at Stardust, inferring that her eButler could still record what they say if they do it in front of her.

"Okay, whatever. But I get a gun next time."

"If you're good."

# <4.3>

"Anything new?"

" **I'd call you right? I'm checking up on your lead. It's hot, so I think I'll get it taken care of on my next— Fuck! AI drivers are fucking maniacs!"**

"What? Where are you?"

" **Doesn't matter. Look, lay low and keep as quiet as you can, I'll LT you when I get the thing."**

"Right." Truckee Dumpstar closes the window in his vision; fucking bountyhunters take forever to get shit done. Truckee would just buy people until he found his answers, of course that is how he got so far in debt to begin with, so...

Regardless. Truckee is bored and irritated, and ready to go proactive. He throws on his biggest fur trench, slips on some stiletto thigh-highs and hits the elevator from his penthouse apartment in T-Net Tower. Twenty-five minutes until the next dive interview. Truckee is fully wet, so he can do the broadcast from wherever, unless he wants there to be photos or low-tech options (then he needs a studio). Right now, wherever is going to be a cab headed to the Hinter. Truckee generally refuses to leave Hojo City proper unless being directly transported off-world, but the heathens of the urban sprawl have their uses.

"Char-els?" Truckee mutters under his breath, he hates when people eS at full volume, they look insane. Technically, one doesn't actually have to talk at all during eS or full World-dive, but it is common, particularly with the under privileged. Truckee adjusts his day-glo beehive. Complete with animatronic bees. They itch, but such is high fashion.

" **Yes, sir."**

"Who's the next eS?"

" **Cocodochi Laser Balloon Comedy and News Sexplosion."**

"Okay, I never agreed to extended cable."

" **They are offering one-hundred thousand rico, and they only present in sense-color anyway."**

"Fucking avant-garde deep-space news channels. How the hell am I supposed to understand the news presented only in colors and smell?"

" **I have no idea, sir. They requested you take the dive in a restaurant. It's very aqua, apparently."**

"Whatever the fuck that means. I need you to get me a contact in the Hinter."

" **We talking named streets or wilderness, sir?"**

"Doesn't matter. I need to find Iced Mocha. Not his gang, the individual."

" **So you want me to find this Mocha person?"**

"No. Find me someone who can find me him. I don't need you getting yourself killed; you already know how to make my coffee correctly."

" **Thank you, sir. I'll LT your eButler as soon as I can."**

"Thank you."

Truckee sits for a moment, the city a blur of windows and floating taxis on semi-translucent streets. Considering how much money he owes Mocha, it would be logical to have a direct contact number, but all Truckee ever does is leave envelopes in bank vaults. Hell, the finger-gun guy was the first of Mocha's men he'd seen in over six months. He breathes heavily, and LTs the taxi to take him to the nearest restaurant. Gotta get aqua.

Beatdown Bistro Bar and Lasik is a traditional food chain, like Your Mama's Lips or Interplanetary House of Swarms. It's from back before germline genetic engineering got so cheap that street urchins had full twenty-twenty. So basically country-faire plus on-site laser eye surgery, although the tables are mostly for show now. Only the bartender is even trained to do corneal replacements.

Truckee is sitting by the window in the back corner of the waiting room, trying to decide between something disgusting he'll need to throw up later and something disgusting he'll have no choice but to throw up later. For some reason a waiter has decided to introduce himself immediately, instead of allowing Truckee to work up his nerve. "You want to hear our specials?"

"I'd rather not. Get me a Coke and something that isn't deep fried." Truckee closes the menu in disgust and pushes it across the table to keep it away. The foul words. Bulimia should always be a choice. "Oh, I'm doing a dive interview, so if you could just—"

"Of course." The waiter nods and walks away.

Truckee straightens himself, pulls his chair in and puts his eButler on record-alert. In case someone tries to shank him while he communicates in pepper and magenta, or whatever the hell. Truckee closes his eyes and hits the tap. His skin warms slightly as his wet wiring accesses the net. A dull whirring sound only he can hear, resonating in his bones.

He opens his eyes and is somewhere else.

His office is sparsely decorated, green walls, hardwood floor, a single chair pointing at a wall mounted crystal-matrix television and a gunmetal filing cabinet in the corner by the door. With what Truckee does for a living, his house in the World should be an opulent estate, but Truckee isn't really into elaborate faux domiciles. Besides the bandwidth he saves makes full-sense ansible possible without a diving board. Completely worth it.

His eButler enters through the door, a small garden is visible outside. The Board makes him keep it. His eB is an unimposing older gentleman, wearing a simple black tunic and shined black shoes.

"Sir, you are wanted Downtown in five minutes."

"Thank you, Isla. Please pull the car around." Truckee flicks through the filing cabinet, no email worth checking, and steps out into the garden in time to see Isla pull up a small black hover. The door irises open for the back passenger seat, and Truckee makes himself comfortable. The interior is all black, a small video screen is showing Selba Primetime, the national news. Isla is not visible in the car, a mere program, he is not required to maintain spatial integrity like sentient denizens of the World. At least not inside his owner's car, as technically his eButler's actual location is in a chip attached to Truckee's brain.

The car starts driving down the winding driveway to the cul-de-sac, then that leads to a Road which leads to a Street. Driving and elevators are different in the World. The World, to be completely logical to exist over the entirety of known space as a cohesive whole, must have rules. Spatial and time construct rules. One cannot teleport in a world where download times could affect commerce between galaxies. So people move by foot, by car, by plane, whatever. But because it isn't like the world outside, people can move at relativistic speeds in anything enclosed, so no light-speed bikes, but cars are good. Cars and the people inside go intangible on anything above a residential zone cul-de-sac, and move at the speed of light. That'll get you to any terran location quite fast. Space travel allows for swallows far deeper and farther than any engine a man, or any other race for that matter, could make. So travel is thousands and thousands of times faster, but not instantaneous.

Regardless, to make THAT work without killing people with G-shock, is that the sense connection people have in the World is severed during travel. When a person, such as Truckee is now, is traveling, the windows go black and they feel nothing. Not anything Worldly or worldly. Nothing, but the sense of sight. About seven hundred people a day become junkies to the null between the departure and the arrival, riding bullet elevators up and down endlessly. Usually end up dying of starvation in the real world. Regardless, it makes watching the news the only thing on Truckee's mind for about ten minutes, which is a good vacation of sorts.

Truckee gets out of his hover in front of a dull brown disk of a building, a disk on one side. Black fish swim across the surface, and the field around it is thick and lush, with no marked path to the front door. Truckee trudges through the grass to a small round door, knocks once, and ducks inside. The interior is far more plain, just a sparsely decorated earth-toned palace to cubicles. Plants growing everywhere, not really in any particular direction or order.

"Truckee?"

"Present. Where... are you?"

"Follow the ivy."

"Like I have any idea what that even means." Truckee asks his eButler to give him some pointers on botany, and manages to sort of lose himself in the general direction of a circular room near the center of the building. In the room is a large ring-shaped table in the center, long tall windows giving a vague light to the biomass-theme of the area. Two men are sitting there in awkward poses, Truckee remembers a boring class with hand cymbals in a gym on a backward planet in the Sprawl. Awful what one has to do to carry on business.

"Yo-ga." He mutters under his breath, disgusted. Filthy habit, wasting ones time with relaxation when a simple down program does the job. The two men stop floating above the round table, extending their legs to the ground in unison.

One opens his mouth and everything goes white. It takes Truckee a second to realize that it isn't what the man is doing on purpose. The entire room is white suddenly, like a flash of light that tainted everything equally, only outlines and shadows remain. And the men are frozen in place, one mid blinking the other mid introduction. Truckee panics, he can move unlike his hosts. Some sort of elaborate lag issue? Are his bone-amps broken? It is like this that a fat man enters from the left. Truckee stares at the man, who judges the two frozen businessmen with a shrug and sits at the table.

"Who are you?" Truckee grits his teeth, some fucking extreme hacker. The man is about six feet tall, about four hundred pounds, wearing a light grey suit with silver buttons. He looks unagreeable, like a person who is constantly in opposition to others. Right now he is grinning dully at Truckee. Truckee sits across from him. Or, as it is a round table, at about one hundred and eighty degrees from him.

"A conscientious objector."

"To what?"

"Stealing?"

"What do you mean—"

"The Jewel."

"Was stolen yes, but not by you?"

"No."

"Then who by?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Then why are you talking to me?"

"Because I need to."

"And why did you go to such, elaborate means to do so?"

"Because I need to do it now."

"And why should I believe you?" Truckee has no need for a fat man's opinion. Doesn't like looking at them and doesn't care what they have to say. If he was important, he'd damn well look like it.

"Because I am Iced Mocha."

"What?" Truckee jumps from his chair, his hands pound the table. No way this is him, even with top-level plastics, it would take... but this isn't real life. But the Conventions on World Access don't allow for people to modify their avatar by anything more than ten percent (age, height and weight are common, but usually flatteringly so) off of your biological situation. This man looks absolutely nothing like Iced Mocha, and worse, he appears to be sweating through his suit. "You have a mod avatar?"

"I froze time." Gesturing at the two suits.

"Right. But Mod avatars are illegal. You would have to constantly hack the Servitors to even..."

"Mods are the least of my worries."

Truckee shouldn't be arguing now. He knows that this is serious. The man he owes his life to, his livelihood to, hacked into the World to tell him something, when he could have just followed him and used the Lasik machines to boil his eyes or something.

"Why are you here?"

"You have someone poking his nose somewhere it doesn't need to be." Epic, he knows about Epic. Truckee leans back in his chair.

"I had something stolen. I was simply looking for it."

"Why would I need to steal something I could merely ask for?"

"Valid."

"The Hunter. Call him back. I don't have your item."

"But I saw-"

"That man definitely didn't work for me."

"But he-"

"Learn to actually LOOK at people before you make assumptions based on their appearances."

"Fine. I'll look at your underlings more thoroughly next time."

"You are late for your interview. Check out illicit sales." And 'Iced Mocha' disappears from the room. No walking, just gone. The color flashes back. The man who was about to talk says nothing, instead a smell comes out, like cooked turkey sandwiches and Truckee just knows it's the first question.

# <5.0>

Infotainment Advertasm

<Start>

Sunday at Dj Laser Eyes! Come hear DJ Douchenozzle spin the ones while you runs for the border, 10am-3pm. South American food cooked by legendary Chef TacoTaco, so fresh you'll swear you are sitting in the habitat domes of Earth. For Happy Hour, listen to Fishmuffin throw it down as you eat our epic surf and turf buffet, starting at just 10 rico! Then at 8pm, Dr. Thrust closes our night with tribal beats straight from Isis, while we are serving up your favorite fusion cuisine. No cover, all ages until 3am.

<End>

# <5.1>

Epic Death finds himself standing in the Dusker district under an underpass, but over an overpass. The missile had been launched by some sort of ridiculous defense program in the garage. Apparently manual override equals death. So Epic had to call a cab to take him to the whorehouse. Traveling in style. It is in the limbo between over and under that the cab drops Epic and Big. A dinged alleyway staring at this shitty factory on top of a shitty old skyscraper, this factory that is a brothel. A hooker factory. Chesty's Barrel of Salt Water is Gravsling adjacent, meaning it's within the first dampener wall. Epic has his eButler filtering sound, but it's still about ear bleeding levels of loud. The pillars are covered in some sort of algae, the water runoff from the overpass drizzles down the building, making the windows streaked with dirt as opposed to completely composed of dirt. Epic couldn't guess what the factory was originally for, maybe wiring, nothing too big because the steam vents are too small for anything heavy.

Epic cocks his gun before crossing the street, pockets it and walks over, Big toddling behind.

"Not a-allowed to enter! No warrant, b-baby!!"

"Right," Epic walks in the front door and the kid stands there. Epic shrugs, and walks back out, lifts the kid and continues inside. "You play nice, okay?"

The place is lit by shards of holographic plating stuck here and there. It's a typical strip club setup, bar to the left of the door, behind the attendant's podium. Six stages with barrels for chairs, back wall has a dj booth and four curtained doors to the backroom. Attendant looks at Epic, the baby, and back at Epic.

"Two please." Epic puts his left thumb on a scanner on the counter. The attendant smirks and waves him in. The inside has blocking nodules attached on the support pillars, so Epic can finally hear. The music is a sort of tribal beat mixed with guttural moaning, very popular in the Hinter. Epic thinks it is trashy, but appropriate considering the bartender appears to be: around seventeen, drunk, about seven months pregnant, and topless. Well she doesn't appear topless, she definitely is topless.

"What you have'n?"

"Syphilis most likely later, but how about we start off with a double shot of whiskey. Kiddo here'll have a milk. Still growin'." He says, putting Big on a stool and taking one next to him. Bartender pours his drink, slams it, and then repours it for him. Baby'll end up retarded, but considering the parents, that was probably to be expected. Big drinks his milk with a straw.

" **You got any scanning software, my wetwiring is jammed."**

" **Scanning... Bartender has a GUN."**

" **Anyone else?** " Epic sips his whiskey and eyes a stripper working the stage to his right. Slim blond with six tits, a half-breed or a germer with a sick sense of fashion. Regardless, it makes Epic glad he doesn't have to drink the milk. There are about twenty men, four strippers, the DJ, the bartender (her baby) and the door guy. Dramatic lack of bouncers. Odd. The smokey haze is reflecting holographics and lasers, the beat is steady.

" **Four men behind the curtains."** Big finishes his milk and starts to get off his stool. A curtain flits slightly, the bartender drops to the ground, and Epic dives for the kid. Shots ring about him as he crawls behind the bar, the bartender is fucking with her gun. Epic kicks her in the head. Looks at Big, and kicks her in the stomach. Better off that way.

" **I need cover. Can you hack the lighting?"**

" **Lets seeeeeee---- Accessing!"** Big sticks his hand down the front of his pants, Epic grabs the bitch's gun. Loads it, and checks his. Set to take a look around. His head goes up just as the lasers start spinning randomly, the fog machine billowing smoke. Epic can't even see to the end of the bar. No idea who's friendly... he can't just shoot wild. What he needs is to get to the back, if Mocha is here he'll be back there. Straight shot if he hops the bar, and hooks at the six-tits.

" **Okay. I am going to need you to stop playing with yourself and hold your gun. Er... the metal one."** Epic grunts, trying not to look at Big, who is obviously masturbating. Epic is going to find whoever owns that fucking store and fuck him in the eye with a taser. Big grabs his gun from Epic. Epic wipes his hand on the bartender, only to get stickier. Yeah, syphilis at least. Epic throws the kid at the six-titted stripper's last location, sideways like a grenade. Kid is shooting halfway through his arch above the first row of barrel chairs. Epic jumps the bar and chases after. The smoke is thick, the lasers blinding, and his eButler is getting hacked, so some sort of spiral is freaking out in his peripheral vision. All that and he still sees the hooker with the pool cue in the corner of his eye, and he kneels while shooting slightly up. Manages to get sternum between all those titties. Damn shame, beautiful set, if a little grimy. Big is shooting at someone ahead and left, the flashes and noise are at least accessible stimuli.

A goon appears to his right, one of the patrons in an 'I boot for Newts' T-shirt, some sort of tree hugging group that believes woodland creatures deserve World access. Guy fights like he votes, with one hand and without really paying attention to the real issues: such as coming unarmed to a gun fight.

"Fucking pacifists." Epic shoots the guy in the mouth thereby ending his freedom of speech. Or ability of speech. Or something. Places to be.

The spiral in his eye is getting bent, warped, darker. Epic cuts the Network, and reroutes his eButler through his internal holographic memory array. His vision clears and the normal suite of icons appears in concentrics. Small gold axe selected and Epic is in Threat Assessment™, a program that assesses objects and non-objects placing them on possible vectors, etc etc whatever. Dude with a gun rushing from left. Epic shoots him square in the face, not even really looking. Epic pays a lot of money for top of the line dampeners and unlike expensive liquor, it's actually worth something.

Small semi-transparent arches from the 9pm and 1am zones, Epic dives behind a stage, half a dead hooker dangling over the edge. Not a looker, of course being in two distinct pieces has that effect, but even still.

"Why are you here?" A man yells.

"How could you not know?"

"What?" Hard of hearing or does he really not know?

"Well, now it's not going to be funny?"

"What?" Epic is halfway around the stage, he can sort of see a bald man in a tight tracksuit. Too tight. His voice sounds choked, his stomach looks choked.

"What's it to you?" Epic mutters.

"Heh. Not much really." Epic pulls his gun right at Mocha, inching along the ground. Mocha vanishes. Fuck, the lasers aren't hacked. What happened to...

Gunshots from behind the curtains. Epic rushes through, gun first. A typical strip club backroom, dinghy, poorly lit, populated by arbitrary garbage. Chairs with wide arms and thick sturdy legs. A few booths or something, lots of bullshit doors, presumably to "guest quarters" or "bathrooms". One has itself open and inside is a blinking light. Threat Assessment™ can only ID shit Epic's ocular can see, so he kicks the door the rest of the way open. Six vectors flash crimson, Epic jumps back as slugs hit the wall behind him, one grazing his left shoulder. His eButler handles the pain and attempts to halt the worst of the bleeding. Epic's right hand gets four shots off, hitting two men in the chest, some sort of high backed chair with restraints attached, and some guy's arm. The room is huge behind them, but Epic can't catch baring that quickly. The guy who had the arm, was holding Baby by the foot, but drops him, it. The arm and the child, both. Big is unconscious, or off or something, probably got em-pulsed. Judging from the room Epic saw, he took at least four guys down before that, so Epic probably owes him a rescue attempt.

Epic rolls left, putting a wall between him and the assassins. Big is still in there, so he reloads and throws his left hand around the corner popping three shots at chest level as he spins on the jam of the door and into the room.

Shots actually hit a guy, but a flurry of gunfire greets Epic as he shoots back in kind. A cavernous depot full of random boxes and cords and other actual factory items. Apparently the whorehouse remodel is recent. Or the operation here requires the machinery. Regardless, there are three guys hiding somewhere in what looks like an assembly line for twisted metal parts, and Epic needs to find the real Mocha.

He risks running to Big, putting the chair by the door between him and the expansive room that extends just off the platform with the boxes. The chair has pivots and there are controls behind it, must be for whatever all the room is full of. Whatever guys Epic hasn't killed already have pulled back into the assembly area, leaving Epic alone with Big and two dead bodies.

" **You alive?"** Epic asks. He has his eButler do a direct-connect and attempt to reboot the kid. The factory is really quiet, no hums or metal moving. Epic looks around, Threat Assessment™ is blanking out. Just the two of them and pipes. Well, and like conveyor belts and some sort of grinder, maybe.

[Rebooting... please wait.]

A machine starts somewhere overhead, pulling chains around the factory floor. Chains with hooks holding android bodies. Fuck, hooker factory. Six vectors turn crimson, Epic hides behind the chair.

[Rebooting... please wait.]

" **Hurry the fuck up!"** Epic darts his head out and spies two flunkies riding the head conveyor. One is hanging from the finished product hooks. There must be another control panel, most likely in the rooms across the warehouse. If Mocha is here, that'd be him. The floor is about a tavis field long, vaulted ceiling to a point, exposed beams with the windows are all shuttered. Huge overheads light everything blandly. A second floor rises on the far side, a few unlit windows in a big rectangle held by girders and only accessible by a ladder or perhaps by jumping off the top of that grinding machine. Recycling old droids for newer, bigger breasted models. Civil rights violations added to the docket, Epic slides under the chair to the control panel. It's the primary, Mocha must be hitting the emergency shit in the office. It's a ton of buttons that Epic can't make heads or tails of, and without World access he's stuck with blind presses.

" **Hello, son!"** Big is to his left. Epic isn't sure they should be here, besides his brethren are being slaughtered. Bad form, really.

" **Can you access these controls? I need to stop that grinder."** Two vectors, Epic hits one, and the other ducks behind a bin full of ears and labia.

" **eFerence makin' connection unavailable!"**

" **Yes, but can you work the machine?"** Epic is squinting at the hook guy, still dangling there like a fucking sloth. Do they even train gang members anymore? Epic pops him between the eyes and he doesn't even drop. Shit. His hand slides the grip on his gun back, almost like he's going to spin it by the trigger, historical drama style, but the butt aims straight back when he hits the secondary, blowing a small explosive back. Shooting the gun clean out of his hand and halfway across the factory and also blowing a sizeable hole in the thigh of the guy standing behind him. Guy yelps and falls down the stairs to the right. Epic is making freshman mistakes now, and is down to one gun.

" **Schematics found."** Epic smiles. Of course, a droid would know how to run the kind of factory it was born in. Perfect.

# <5.2>

Peppermint White Ninja never feels comfortable at trendy places. Give him a burger, a beer and waitress in a tight shirt and you'll get a good time, but you get him in an alien-themed restaurant that uses gravlifters to make it freefall and you'll see the old man drop his chicken six times before getting it with the chopsticks.

"It's freefall, how can you even drop something?" Sunshine Apocalypse rolls her eyes.

"Fuck if I know. Why are we even here?"

"You told me to pick the last place I'd find you."

"So you pick DJ Laser Eyes?"

"I'm hungry."

"I thought models didn't eat."

"Myth."

"Like the sex nebula?"

"I thought that was real."

"Don't think so."

"Definitely got hit with that one then."

"Gullible."

"At least I can do chopsticks in zero gee."

"I'm sure that's a marketable skill."

"You'd be surprised."

"You are a model, right?"

"Sure, why not?" Sunshine tips her head slightly, her hair floating absently around her head.

"So you have no clue why you are being chased?" Changing gears.

"Not one. You think—"

"Nah. They wouldn't have told Stardust anything."

"Perhaps because I'm—"

"You're not that pretty."

"Wow."

"What?"

"You a _confirmed_ bachelor?"

"What?" Pepper's turn.

"Or just an ass?"

"Okay, who even says 'confirmed bachelor'?"

"Who calls a supermodel out on her beauty?"

"I was being facetious?"

"Or just an ass?"

"Probably both." Pepper shrugs.

"Given."

"But I doubt a crazed fan hired Stardust. She isn't cheap."

"She was wearing a micro with no panties."

"She's a slut."

"Given."

"Just not cheap. She wouldn't do a C-grade without some serious rico behind it."

"C-grade?"

"Assassination of a civilian would be C-class, well only if it's a celebrity."

"I'd like to believe I'm more of a B, at least."

"With me in tow, you are a low A, actually."

"Why, thank you."

"Which means more money."

"Which means more attempts." Sunshine picks at her pasta, noodles floating around on arbitrary vectors. Silence.

"You got family? I wouldn't trust anyone but family."

"I... no. I can't." Her eyes close slowly, remembering something.

"Endanger them?"

"Go back or that either." Her mouth purses.

"Daddy issues?"

"Prostitutes have daddy issues, models have low self-esteem."

"So what's the deal?"

"My parents disowned me about sixty years ago when they decided to join the cult of Mu'halla and didn't appreciate a movie I made about their religion."

"Oh right! I remember that. You played Infinity; didn't you win Best Actress in a Religious Cult Reenactment, Musical or Diorama?"

"Yeah, but I apparently didn't portray their living god to their liking."

"Awkward."

"Parents are the worst critics. They love you for your shittiest work, and disown you when you actually manage to learn how to act." She is getting despondent, Pepper decides to redirect.

"Whatever. Look I got a safe house in the Sprawl."

"Sprawl, ew."

"It's that or getting friendly with Stardust. She isn't dead and she will be looking."

"Does she know about your house?"

"Nah. Bought it just this year, retirement present. Scrubbed money, so she wouldn't find it unless you were followed. I have more enemies than just her."

"Where?"

"Everywhere?" Pepper shrugs.

"Not that where."

"Checktiza."

"Deep Sprawl. Ew."

"Heh. It's not that bad."

"I hear they have, like, organic farms."

"Religious cults are common on new worlds."

"What if I get mauled by like a cow or something?"

"That's not something that would actually happen."

"Really?"

"Weren't you in some period-epics?"

"No. I think you have me confused with someone else." Sunshine looks at him, almost alarmed.

"No, no. Weren't you in 'All in the Hay'?"

"Oh. OH. Yes, those were all CG."

"Right."

"I don't do livestock." Case closed.

"Let's find you a way off-planet." Pepper says through a sigh.

"What about you?"

"I will play decoy." Smile.

"Decoy. Won't you need—" Confused.

"A decoy. Yes." Frown.

"I have a stunt double."

"Local?" Eyebrow raise.

"Yeah, she's a bit of a fighter." Shrug.

"Rather not use another person I'd have to protect..."

"I got nothing."

"Wait. Red light district." Matter of factly.

"Um... I... ew." Looking Pepper up and down.

"Yeah. No. You're relatively, well known."

"Why, relatively, thank you." Broad smile.

"No problem. Now, what does that mean?"

"That a guy over there by the bulkhead won't stop staring at my tits." They both look and wave, he looks away.

"No. Robots."

"Okay. I have like a maid, but unless you want her to fold that bitch's thigh-high socks or something, no compos."

"Seriously, do I need to spell it out for you?" Pepper shoots a snowpea at a woman floating in the booth above them. Fucking inertia's a bitch. Strangely his absentmindedness with a chopstick is not correlated to his freefall fighting ability. It's the delicacy of the operation that is his problem. Never been a finesse man, which is why he plans everything ahead of time.

"Apparently so."

"Fine. Finish your food we're going on a field trip."

"If you rape me, I'm sooo not paying your fee."

"Understandable, pass the crab."

# <5.3>

The Gravsling throws the F.C. Peaches into high orbital inclination, the ship then fires its gravlifters and uses a brief repulsion to skirt the gravity-well for the jump gate. The giant potato activates slots along its surface, allowing the displays internally to show the passengers a brief view of the universe before the lifters create their temporary Lagrange and the ship swallows to Selba Station.

"Man, we really shouldn't be this drunk."

"Heh. Probably not." Last smiles haphazardly.

[Prepare to disembark at Selba Station. Thank you all for riding with us.]

"Fucking Gravsling should just throw actual ships." The F.C. Peaches is just a throwing vehicle; a real starship cannot go planetside, despite what Cirrhosis might prefer. Fusion engines tend to scald the natives; also the equipment isn't really made for huge gravity fields. But mostly it's the burning alive part.

Selba Station is several habitation rings on a central spindle. A metal stick with glass and complex composite-metal rings around it. There are eight total rings, for various purposes and decked out accordingly. Each end has a thicker ring which passenger ships dock to; there are hundreds of ships docked and several coming and going along computer-guided vectors. AI pilots handling all, but the smallest ships, and even those are required to use AI to land at the station. It takes about sixty minutes for the F.C. Peaches to get through the queue and get scanned for explosives. It takes dock on the highest ring of the spindle. Oros is a large habituated dome in the center of this ring. Ten minutes later and Cirrhosis and Last are stumbling onto the promenade with their luggage going through some sort of robotic tunnel or another. Either way, they have six hours on Selba Station, their next ship is running late.

Oros Promenade is set up like a small city, measuring only twenty miles in diameter. The central arm is hidden behind a huge waterfall that fills the central lake. Gravity is only at about .66 Earth-standard, so the water flows languidly, spilling in spirals around the rotating pillar. The lake is lush with birds and moisture hungry trees, boats floating lazily filled with lazier tourists. Canals run through the whole city, small thin crafts taking people here and there. The buildings are all very tall, averaging at least seven-hundred stories, as space is limited. That said the city has an old world charm, Venice if Venice was in space.

"What do you want to do?" Cirrhosis asks Last, looking over a banister at the lake. A guy could get into a lot of trouble in a city like this.

"I'm hungry."

"Aren't we all." Someone says.

Cirrhosis spins on his heels, Last barely notices. A tall man in a reflective black tunic is standing behind them. Thin in build, graying hair, but still smooth in the face. A stern look about him. His hand goes for his pocket and Cirrhosis stands between him and Last Chance. She glances over and her eyes widen.

The man pulls out an identification chip. Small clear circle with a gold star floating in it. Federali agent. Cirrhosis loosens his sphincters, but Last grasps his arm. Guilty much?

"What's going on officer..."

"I'm a big fan. You handle a crossbow like none I've ever seen."

"Hey, thanks. If only my manager thought so." Cirrhosis laughs heartily. Guy is checking his profiles; his eButler is reporting at least sixteen inquiries. Mostly in his professional record, but a couple in his previous "work".

"But that's not why I'm here."

"And here I was going to LT you a senser." Autographs are ancient history. It is all about sensers, the moment you meet a celebrity captured from their point of view. Down to whether or not his balls itched, which they do. Cirrhosis scratches absently, already bored, and turns to the lake. "What do you want?"

"I hear you're pulling out the Race."

"Yeah. Still not sure, I'm going to Torch to talk to Toro's board. Then press junk for Captain Suzaku's Hot Pickin' Go-Go Chicken . Actually, I'll probably still end up racing, whether I like it or not."

"Two weeks."

"Yeah. Very soon now."

"Yeah." The agent is staring at a big red boat near a pier to the left. It's floating low, heavy with passengers. A floating nightclub. Well, dayclub... whatever. The two floor ship is covered in beaded curtains, but occasionally the artificial winds blow just right and bright colored light escapes. A silence continues, so awkward that Last Chance feels obligated to leave. She taps Cirrhosis' arm and points at a nearby kebab stand.

"What do you want?"

"Toro."

"I believe he's married."

"He's a criminal."

"And I have hair on my head, and that lake seems to have water in it. Oh look, a boat."

"I want him arrested. The truce has lasted too long. We can't keep just allowing these things to happen." He gestures at the boat. A drunken topless woman stumbles out of a door. That kind of dayclub, apparently.

"So you want me to what? I'm not clean either."

"But you reformed."

"Sure, which is why my dealings with Toro are all on the level."

"You owe him how much money?"

"Restitution from before. Regardless, I'm paying that debt with legal acts. I've never been involved with Toro in any other way. He wants the Jewel, he's paying me to win it." Cirrhosis wants a beer. Sadly, no one is paying him for that. You so rarely get paid for what you really want to do, just what you thought you wanted to do when you were in college. Or when you got nearly fatally wounded in a knife fight in a bar on an orbital space station in the Sprawl.

"You know things."

"I believe I told you about the water and the boat, right?"

"About Toro."

"Not about Toro. I know better than to even learn one single thing about him." Cirrhosis nods firmly. Never. The agent frowns. Agent...

"What's your name, anyway?"

"Agent Lipservice."

"Charmed."

"You know things."

"About a lot of people, Vii Ariable for instance." Cirrhosis looks to Lipservice for approval, seeing none, looks away.

"There is something very big going down. I have word that the prize for the Race has been stolen."

"So what if it has? Toro has no reason to steal that which I would have won anyway."

"What if he isn't as confident in your abilities as you are?"

"Please. Who even has a chance?" Cirrhosis chuckles, besides Toro would have just made him steal it at the awards ceremony.

"Heh. I bet on you too, but a bet isn't a sure thing."

"Neither is armed robbery."

"No one said the thief was armed."

"Please, fucking grandmas are armed these days. And who steals something as well guarded as a Jewel without at least A gun."

"It wasn't that well protected."

"Fucking obviously." Cirrhosis grits his teeth. This conversation's is going nowhere, slowly. At least it could pick up the pace. Last is probably finished her kebab, kebabs sound good... forgot he is still drunk for a second. He grabs the banister for support, the spinning starting to set in.

"Look, I need an in at Torch. Either let me tag or become my—"

"It is a free universe. You want to go to Torch, you go. I won't stop you. You want to take Toro down, fine, but I am not going to double on Toro—"

"But if—"

"But if shit, Agent Lipservice. I do that and you won't be able to find a fucking quark with my quantum signature associated with it. I know at least that much about Toro." Cirrhosis squints into the Agents eyes, trying to see intelligence in them. Seeing only naïve duty, he turns and walks to the kebab stand.

Agent Lipservice grips the banister tightly. No luck today. His bones rumble and his eyes close, gotta check in.

# <6.0>

Hunter News Network

**General Call** \- Sunshine Apocalypse

**Wanted** \- Alive

**Rank** \- A+ (Updated)

**Bounty** \- 20,000,000r

**Caller** \- Unassigned

**Call** \- Sunshine Apocalypse is wanted for questioning in possible connection to the theft of the Jewel of the Ancients. Sunshine Apocalypse, noted actress and model, was seen in T-Net Tower during the theft of the gemstone. If possible, she is wanted unharmed.

**Update** \- Yellow has hired noted bountyhunter Peppermint White Ninja. Hunter Ninja was believed retired, but is likely still extremely dangerous. Rank and bounty increased accordingly.

**Last Seen** \- Ju-Ju Cha-Cha Candy Store, Hojo City, Selba Prime. 30 hours ago

**Deliver to** \- T-Net Tower, Hojo City, Selba Prime

# <6.1>

Having finished picking the tolerable bits from the greasy bits, and also having finished the interview in an aquamarine-paste smell sort of way, Truckee calls a taxi. Char-els had LT'd him an address in deep Hinter, like beyond the Low Tech Zone level Hinter. Going from lower downtown Hojo City to the Hinter requires a decision. Slingshot to Corialisana or Teuvnasis and take a cable car or hire a driver, but Truckee is still in the mindset that drawing attention to the theft is unwise. Also unhealthy, as those questions will make who he owes nervous. Nervous people with guns might accidentally pull triggers. So the less cameras and hired men, the better. The other option is go to Lowers and get a... low technology vehicle. Truckee is in a cold sweat.

Much. Much. Much. Keep going along that line, earlier than interstellar travel became a valid option for colonization. So, before Isis but after Mars, there was a population problem on Earth. Architects solved this by making cities taller and taller using counter balances, bendable carbon fiber beam structures, and early gravflux generators. Cities such as Denver, and city-states such as New York were in the high five-hundreds by the time Jovian scientists developed the gravlifters and with it the interstellar jump mechanisms used to trot this shit to that person and back. Most cities using the newest technologies hit nine-hundred in the downtown sectors. With the subsequent crowding of multi-tiered clear plastifiber roads and hovercrafts, there is a line (height) where light no longer reaches; this is typically below around the two hundredth floor. Lowers, as it is called, is filled with service roads where AI trucks drive on composite enforced concrete, some even using only hybrid fuels. The people of Lowers, and there are people OF Lowers, are an oppressed bunch. Oppressed by the height of the towers about them, oppressed by the rent of decent domiciles with at least the threat of sunshine to window ratio, but mostly just working in some industry where working is more of a physical activity than Truckee would be accustomed to. A typical person could live in Lowers and not see the sun for months at a time, while Truckee hasn't seen the ground properly for at least eight-weeks.

The ramps down to the Zero, floor two hundred, are particularly crowded at rush hour. Truckee has to wait a good ten minutes for the taxi to find a spot to settle. Then it's an elevator down to L16, sixteen floors below Zero. A giant garage with a service desk in a vacant parking spot is what greets Truckee as the doors open, and he actually lets the doors close, reconsidering the slingshot to Teuvnasis. Being shot only slightly worse than physically driving his own vehicle.

" **I need a lift."** Oh thank the fucking lords. Truckee couldn't be more excited to hear from a murderer.

" **Where are you?"**

" **I'll LT you a GPS hex. I think I got something, but we need to get off planet."**

" **I'll... be there in a moment."**

Truckee steps off the elevator, his heels clacking loudly on the pavement. The cars are all well maintained, for relics. Heavy steel typically given over to exotic plastics and composites, but the engines still run on dead animals or natural gas instead of fusion or even solar. Truckee swears he can smell burning flesh. The desk is actual wood, painted silver to look like metal. Covered in pens and rolled up tablet screens. Sitting at it is the oldest living man Truckee has ever seen. Well, oldest that hadn't done something to mitigate the damages. About thirty years past his clone-by-date, and that is pushing it farther than Truckee would ever consider socially acceptable for any but the silverest of silver foxes.

"Hello, what can I do for you... uh..." The man sort of grumble talks, a pleasant enough codger. Wearing a plaid button-up and blue jeans, covered in some sort of black fluid. Truckee is disgusted, he covers his mouth with his handkerchief.

"Truckee Dumpstar."

"Transvestite Nightmare."

"Very much so." Truckee mutters, looking the shop over.

"What do you need... uh... sir?"

"A vehicle to drive to..." Truckee attempts not to vomit; a man wearing overalls is washing a vehicle with a rag.

"The Low Tech Zone?"

"Yes. Something that can get me there without bursting open with internal organs or blood sacrifice or whatever these things run on."

"Oil."

"What?"

"They run on oil, well a derivative of oil."

"Okay fine, whatever. Just give me that one." Truckee points at a red hulking menace of a car. He chooses it as it is by far the most clean and the farthest from the man with the rag.

"Ah. A classic. An automatic too... you can drive a car right?"

"Of course." Truckee taps his head with two manicured fingers, ran a sensivise trainer all the way from the restaurant. Truckee holds out his wrist, the glint in the center registers with the computer on the desk. His eButler tells him of the activity, six hundred rico for the week. Cheaper than a cab, at least.

"There's an extra tank, so you should be okay for about a thousand miles. If you need more gas—" the man says as they walk to the car.

"I thought you said it runs on oil." Truckee kicks a tire; the men in the movies always kick the tires.

"Uh... right. If it needs fuel, go to a store in Lowers with a giant star, they'll set you up." He hands Truckee the key.

"Right." Truckee steps in the car and sits. Hands on the wheel, keys in ignition. Buckle in. Uh... mirrors? Truckee looks over the video again, it must be from twenty years ago and the announcer is speaking down to him. A tourist film, perhaps? After almost coasting into a trashcan, Truckee manages to ease the car onto a road.

The twenty lane expanse is littered with cars, giant trucks and the occasional semi-train. Truckee is instantly overwhelmed. He has his eButler feeding him directions, and his fingers are digging into the steering wheel.

"Fuck." Truckee grunts, checking his mirrors he sees a man cursing at him, about a millimeter from impact. Truckee decides to speed up to thirty-miles-per-hour, not sure what that means exactly. He gets an LT, a local.

[Learn to fucking drive or I'll fuckstart your spinal column with my fist.]

Truckee moves it up to forty-five, and crafts a response.

[Dear Driver, as per your request I am speeding up a bit. Hopefully, it will allow you to get home that extra thirty seconds early to your hovel to beat your daughter for not sucking your dick adequately this morning, thereby alleviating the stress you suffer from a hards day manually harvesting proteins from human waste. ~ Salutations, Truckee]

Truckee drives four miles towards the Gravsling, before he starts to recognize the area. Recognize the area as almost inundated in smog. Industry is booming in Lowers, construction and manufacturing being a near the ground sort of industry.

" **I'm close. Where are you?"**

" **Where are you? GPS puts you – are you driving a car?"**

" **Where are you?"** Truckee doesn't like being mocked. Also, not being able to see ten feet ahead isn't helping. Truckee is twenty feet from the GPS end point when a small child lands on his windshield and causes Truckee to swerve over on to the sidewalk and slam on his brakes, throwing the child forward into the smog.

"What the fuck?! What the fuck?!" Full panic spiral. Truckee opens the door, and begins to dash for the kid, when a man emerges from the dense cloud cover.

"What it is?" Epic Death grunts, holding the baby.

"What the fuck?! Is that dead?" Truckee is tearing up. Too young to be a murderer, but who expects plummeting infants? Do they have insurance for that sort of thing?

"Well, it isn't alive." Epic grins. The baby sits up in his hands, it has a cigar in its mouth. Truckee about commits to a pulmonary embolism before piecing it together.

"A fucking android?" Truckee yells, kicking at the pavement. Truckee wipes his eyes with a handkerchief, centering his hate into a fine ball. Then he takes a downer-program and points at Epic to drive.

Epic whistles as he gets in. Big buckles himself in the back seat. Truckee curses a while then gets in the passenger seat.

"This thing is a classic."

"A rental."

"Why?"

"Why did I rent it? I have a lead in the Hinter. I don't think it was Iced Mocha."

"Me neither."

"Why do you say that? You get something up there?"

"Besides polio, probably, I got the drift that Mocha isn't involved."

"How?"

"Killed like half his guys."

"And that proves what?"

"He is a small fry, at best. I thought with the rico you owe him, his involvement with the Race, I'd get a syndicate."

"And you got?"

"Like half a gang and an illicit hooker factory."

"So where did this child come from?" Truckee looks at Big, who is dry humping the cup holder in the back. "What kind of club does Iced Mocha run?"

"Oh. No. Oh no. Gross, no. He's from a shoe store."

"What?" Truckee squints at Epic, Epic is too busy driving entirely too fast to notice. He's also laughing a little.

"Either way, kid is a free lancer."

"This infant is a GovNet Lance?"

"I k-k-kan produce I-D, Baby!!"

"Okay, that child is creeping me out." Truckee looks at Big and then away, disgusted. Epic laughes out loud, changing lanes to pass a slow moving semi.

"So who are we going to meet out in, shit we're driving to Ex's?" Finally checking the GPS on the dash.

"Char-els found me a contact, apparently a lighting guy we have moonlights."

"As what, a syndicate crimelord?"

"Illicit gambling, I hear his name is Death—"

"Deathmarch Bloodstain. I know him, did a job with him like ten years ago. Good guy."

"He's an ex-hunter?"

"One of the best. Good to see he's on the level now."

"He's doing illicit gambling."

"Trust. In comparison, he's as clean as a virgin asshole."

# <6.2>

Baby Doll Judah Stardust wakes up in a dumpster. Like all bloody and ripped up. Her hair has a protein bar in it and her mini is full of day old chili con carne. Stardust jumps out of the dumpster, and lands haphazardly on a turned over trashcan and tumbles forward into a pile of newspapers. Fucker drugged her. She lies there for a while, staring up at the underside of a street, well several streets layered over each other. Cars flying, the occasional glimpse of something that might be the sun, but is probably only an advert for menopause-flavored orange juice or something.

It takes her ten minutes to reorient herself enough to curse out loud. Then another five to get her eButler to run a detox program. About thirty seconds of her leaning on a brick wall later, and she realizes the alley is occupied and its tenant isn't friendly. Okay, is but not in a preferable way. He's staring.

"What you want, anal seepage?" She grunts through her teeth, broke a couple of ribs apparently. She orders anesthesia to the area.

"I've been watching you." Says a homeless man. He has about four total teeth and a shock of gray hair tangled to near nest-like qualities. His shirt is holo-plaid, with women fingering themselves on it, ripped jeans and—

"Did you see who threw me in there?"

"I saw him good." He grins, quite proud of his abilities. Practically a ninja.

"Did you now?" She grins somewhat, his attempts to smile back are hampered by his lacking the proper accoutremé.

"Yeah. He saids I could watch if I wanna, but no touch." The man grins, he must be a junkie because retardation isn't possible anymore, even a zeroin junkie would get her baby germ-lined at this point. Stardust has her eButler search for an all night STD clinic.

"How magnanimous. Did you... Fill my skirt... With... Chill-eee?" She squints very hard at the man, his eyes dart to his shoes.

"Maybe a little."

"Huhhp—" She starts to walk towards him, doubling over to vomit a little instead. "You are lucky I need you alive, now, where did he go?"

# <6.3>

Sunshine Apocalypse is traveling in the utmost style. Okay, not even kind of the utmost style. Entirely closer to the least-most style, if anything. After dragging her to the red-light district, forcing her to purchase something called a "bodysynth model duplicate", Peppermint White Ninja ended up throwing her on the sling to Teuvnasis with nary an explanation.

"Where am I going?"

"Teuvnasis."

"I can see that! Why?"

"You need to leave from a different airport than me. That way there is no chance Stardust will see you AND me."

"Then why don't you take the trip to the LTZ, why me?"

"Because then the thing won't work." Pepper says, tapping the big box he's standing by.

"I'm not so..." Sunshine starts to argue, but Pepper puts his finger over her mouth. The universal sign for 'stop arguing and just get on the motherfucking train already'.

"Just take the first barge out."

"Barge?! You are telling me to hitch a ride on a supply transport?"

"I can't have you appearing on a manifest, Stardust will find you easily, and I have to string her along to thinking you went with me. Then I'll ditch her in the Sprawl, and come get you."

Sunshine thought the idea was a little fishy, but took the train to Teuvnasis without much more argument. Left Pepper on a street corner with that huge box and a grin on his face. He is getting a little too much out of putting her out of her element. Sunshine reminds herself to slap him next time the chance presents itself.

Teuvnasis is barely a city, even if it is the third largest on Selba. A tortuous giant mass of swirling streets and rambling parks and streams. The architecture is as much of a throwback as the organizational schema. A mash up of several Earth-eras, as well as a few other "greatest hits", all together it looks like London took a shit on San Francisco. After one exits the slingshot terminal, without eButler assistance, you become immediately lost. It would be good to note then, that Teuvnasis is the capital of the Low Tech Zone.

"Fucking absolute and total hell." Sunshine mutters as the Haze hits her, midway through a rickety cab ride from the station just outside town. The Low Tech Zone is for purists, or religious wackjobs, or the poor, or something along those lines. Regardless, it is not something someone is allowed to go against. The law of the land is nothing above pre-relativistic-tech time period. So: no wetwiring, no hovercrafts, no plastifiber, no germ-lining, no nothing. And it is enforced in the Zone by the Haze. In the very center of the jagged city is a large tower, about six hundred feet tall, all beams and struts, at its top is a large engine. This engine sends out an electromagnetic jamming field over the entirety of the Zone, and it is this 'haze' that jams nanomachines. Thereby, rendering most high technology completely useless. There are ways around it, hacks and jamming mechanisms, but nothing Sunshine would own. So she is stuck directionless in a strange city, riding in a hybrid taxi run by an actual person. So on a road, using some sort of dead animal for fuel, it's enough to make Sunshine queasy. She considers rolling down a window, then realizes that she would be able to smell whatever is burning in the engine, and tries to focus on the interior of the car, which seems at least reassuringly plastic in nature. The man driving seems to be from the area, meaning in dire need of reconstructive surgery, some sort of car-slave or something.

"You okay back there?"

"Yeah, peaches and cream. How close are we to the Port?"

"About twenty minutes, you want to listen to the radio?"

"What?"

"Music?"

"My butler is down, so-"

"Over the speakers."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Sunshine hasn't slept in nearly two days, and is not in the mood to be schooled on primitive technology. The driver looks puzzled at her in the mirror, and points at a circular piece of plastic with some fabric in its center, located in the front of the cab; it seems like the sort of thing music sometimes comes out of during a classical concert. Sunshine got dragged to one for a job once, runway over a full orchestra.

"Like analog speakers, they make sound through the air as opposed to-"

"Oh. Right, um... sure, whatever."

The car-slave hits a few buttons and noise starts coming out of the front of the cab, then he suddenly shunts over two lanes quickly; Sunshine grits her teeth, something about traveling on the actual ground making it more nerve racking. The music is easily five years old, and the kind of grating popular drivel that everyone knows the words to despite never intentionally listening to it even once. Sunshine isn't a hundred percent sure she wasn't in the music video for this song, she thinks it was some sort of spy themed thing where she made out with—what was his name? One hit wonder sort of guy either way, and that includes in bed.

"We're here, Miss." The car-slave says pleasantly, rousing Sunshine from her sleep. She hadn't noticed she dozed off, first time she'd slept since getting attacked last night. Or was that the night before? She pays him and walks into a large industrial looking building, the Intergalactic Space Port. Scramjets and small spacecraft dance complicated patterns around the hulking building and its surrounding expanse of concrete runways and giant metal platforms. Thankfully the Haze doesn't extend above the city very far, or the hundreds of passenger and freight craft would all crash into each other. On second thought, Sunshine thinks that a good fusion explosion might clear up the bad case of hideous that Teuvnasis seems to be suffering from. Pepper told her he has a contact with a shipper for Your Mama's Lips, and that she will be able to just meet up with him and get on his ship.

Sunshine gets slightly lost in the main hub, but eventually meanders her way towards the A-Terminal smoking lounge, where the contact is supposed to be meeting her. The Chaos Hold is a dinghy little hole in the wall, filled with laborers and spacers. Not exactly Sunshine's crowd, but they are her audience. So she gets a few looks when she enters and sits at the bar. The bar is smokey and dark, but with a sort of yellow tinge to the light, very much a beer sort of establishment.

"I'll—Goddess, what kinds of beer... oh, just give me the one with the picture of a dog on it."

"Miss, that is a cleaning solution."

"Fantastic. I don't know, club soda?"

"Coming up."

A man sits directly next to her. Sunshine's initial response is to grab her purse and slap him with it, run for the nearest train out of this back alley hick storm. Someone is most definitely picking his nose in her peripheral vision. The man, not the picker who is obviously encumbered elsewhere, puts a small red circle on the bar, sliding it to her under his left hand, and lifting his hand only ever so slightly. Sunshine's eButler activates, for just a second.

" **Hi, play cool. Name's Icer."**

" **Sunshine.** Hello. Long time, no see." Sunshine smirks at the man, going straight into fake seduction like only someone who is paid to seduce a camera can do: so, immediately in a sort of jarring bipolar instantaneous personality switch sort of way. The bartender gives her an awkward look when he drops off her drink. She smirks at him, placing her hand on Icer's shoulder.

"Busy man, a freighter. How are the kids?"

"Just waiting for their father to come home."

He lifts his hand again. **"We leave in twenty, you got everything."** "Honey, you have to understand that this is what I do. I take stuff from here to there, and I can't just come home whenever Chuck scratches his knee or Erin gets yelled at by her teachers."

"Of course. Of course, I know you are busy. It's just hard." Sunshine starts to cry.

"It's okay, baby. Just come with me. I'm home now. Let's have a night, you and I, okay?"

Crying, Sunshine tosses a few rico on the counter, and her and a man who turned out to be about an inch taller than her, head out into the terminal. She keeps the act up, him consoling her gently as they walk to the gate. Icer slides his thumb across a small black stand by the door, and it opens with a hiss. Actual passenger and most cargo ships don't land at the spaceport directly, they hover above the Haze and extend a sort of expandable elevator. It looks like a wire snake covered in a thin plastic, the weather is a little chilly still, and Sunshine can feel it through the walls.

"I'm going to Torch directly from here, okay. Pepper give you a plan after that?"

"Yeah. I take another one of his favor trips—" Sunshine gasps, looking out the thin clear part of the tube elevator, she can see that they are quite high up now. The streets are populated by hillbilly ants. Typically, a from-above angle works to clear problems, hiding a stomach here and a botched germ-line reconstruction, but Teuvnasis is still the twisted hulk of arbitrary and largely conflicting architecture, malformed, and half-paved with twisted streets

"You'll be fine with me. I got extra space, my second is on leave in the Andesian Penz, so you even get your own room." Icer sort of laughes, thinking of how Sunshine will react when she sees Selba below her feet when the ship hits orbit.

"Fantastic, I guess. At this point if someone isn't throwing me into a display case of gummy bears then it'll be an improvement. How long will it take us to get to Torch?"

"Well, we're going to take a straight jump from the LaGrange, so not more than ten hours."

The elevator ends at a large octagonal door with several handles and opening hooks. The actual ship is sort of light blue-grey, scarred with black heat burns and small chips and scratches. It opens as the elevator locks in place, and a small ladder extends. Icer enters first, carrying her bag (Pepper had ordered her some clothes last night, not exactly high fashion, but better than honey dress), turning on this and that switch as he enters. Sunshine follows, clamoring up after him, excited to be going anywhere at this point.

The ship itself is less cramped than Sunshine would expect of a cargo ship, tall well lit corridors leading to more corridors leading to more corridors. Lots of green panels, hooks, buttons, ladders leading this way and that way. All the connections are octagons, the doors are octagons, the corridors are technically octagonal. Sunshine almost loses Icer around a corner, just staring at this and that view screen. Her eButler switches on suddenly, updating her to a few LTs as well as bringing up a hundred view-screens and engineering reports that the ship is constantly monitoring, recording and analyzing. It's quite a lot to understand and pay attention to, and Icer is whistling while he does it.

"Now take it easy, okay? Lift out to orbit is going to be a bit harsh, you got a second-tier down program?" Icer gets serious all the sudden, throwing her stuff into a lockable shelving unit in the wall, gesturing towards a lounger by a large group of monitors. The room looks sort of like a normal room, with shelves, a bed in the corner, some "windows" which are actually crystal-matrix monitors. The lounger is like a reclined computer desk chair, except with arm, leg and waist restraints controlled by eButler. So like a kinky lounger. Sunshine sits down and opens her list of various sense programs, picking a downer, and activating it.

"I'm a model, of course I have down programs. Best not to ask why. So do you control the ship from sort of a bridge or a whatever? I've only ever been off-world on cruiseliners, never get to see the ship's crew doing anything other than serve drinks."

"No. We usually have our own things going on, and there is no real purpose to having us all in the same room, so I just hook up in mine. You can watch in sensivise if you want, we actually have a sort of war-room there."

"Not like I have anything else to do, and hell, maybe watching you type in vector coordinates and file docking paperwork will help me drift off."

"Suit yourself." Icer sort of laughs as Sunshine straps in, already getting pretty sleepy. Quickly the ship starts to rumble as it goes off merely repelling the planet's gravitational pull and starts its thrusters.

Sunshine closes her eyes, flipping through various LTs about how she has a hit on her. Apparently the media got a hold of it as well, which is fantastic. Maybe Pepper was right sending her to the Sprawl, at least there they won't have heard of it yet, what with their being banished to a time warp and all. Nothing from anyone too important, Sunshine does take note that she should probably LT her mom when she hits Torch, as six of her LTs were in all caps.

Finding her own life somewhat tedious, even too much so to allow herself to fall asleep to, she decides to access the, no doubt, riveting planetary exit. The sensivise suite of the ship, which is what she appears in once her senses enter the World, is more like what one would THINK a ship would look like. Lots of smooth lines, entirely more blinking lights per capita, and a well positioned war-room. Seats in a circle, monitors with lots of flow charts and bars rising and live-feeds to this and that random room in the engineering section. One huge window facing forward, pointed at the back of another frigate, as the ship is preparing to leave the port. At three seats are people, and at the center is Icer typing feverishly at his station.

Sunshine just sort of walks about, trying not to interrupt whatever it is they are all doing. A younger woman, not entirely unattractive if one doesn't look directly at her nose, is monitoring pressure gauges or something. An older man with a mustache is looking at heat sinks at the moment, lots of green circles, which is probably good. He seems pleased enough at least. The other guy is making sure all the cargo doors and various other hatches and latches are all locked and double locked and then have tape on them or something. Lots of clicking and typing and more clicking and typing and the same graphs over and over. Sunshine sits at the vice-captain's terminal and is immediately asleep, not a woman for menial labor in even the least menial sense of the word.

# <7.0>

Hunter News Network

**General Call** \- Truckee Dumpstar

**Wanted** \- Alive

**Rank** \- C

**Bounty** \- 17,000r

**Caller** \- Board of Directors, T-Net

**Call** \- Truckee Dumpstar is wanted for his possible involvement in the theft of the Jewel of the Ancients, an item to be given out as the prize for the upcoming Race of the Ancients. Truckee Dumpstar is highly mobile, with a large budget. It is likely that he has at least C-Level protection, details are not clear.

**Last Seen** \- T-Net Tower, Hojo City, Selba Prime. 72 hours ago

**Deliver to** \- T-Net Tower, Hojo City, Selba Prime

# <7.1>

After a nice lunch on a stick, or at least as nice as lunch on a stick could possibly be, Last and Cirrhosis decide a stroll around the mercantile district is in order. Open air shops line pedestrian walkways, with faster traffic riding rails above, or small boats in between. The shops vary between barge overstocks, strange wares from the Sprawl, and the normal sort of offshore items.

Last and Cirrhosis get a hearty chuckle over an argument between a Z'arkadar and a spinstery fishmonger. The woman is adamant that her fish is the freshest in the station, while the Z'arkadar politely points out (using a artificial voice box attached to its throat) that the fish is obviously from off-station, and quite old. Last can smell it from ten paces. The argument ends with the woman slapping the Z'arkadar with the offending mackerel, to which it (asexual alien race, Cirrhosis is pretty sure that they reproduce using rocks or something) responds by throwing the woman back using some sort of telekinesis or something. Cirrhosis reminds himself never to fuck with one of those guys.

"Well, we got five more hours of this, any ideas on where you want to go?"

"What, we can't just watch this all day?"

"Fights over. Alien judo beats stale fish every time. That's just science. You want to go catch a skiff, maybe see the rest of Oros before we grind?"

"If there are no more fish fights then I'm in."

Some drunken stumbling and the asking of directions at least three times within a two block radius, Cirrhosis and Last Chance find themselves at Horo-D'ant's Boats for Savants. A small shack overlooking a fleet of slim 'wooden' vessels, each capable of carrying perhaps four people with a driver. And that would be cozy. The shack is made of bits and pieces of old shacks, which is fine as Oros isn't known for its tsunamis or anything. Inside Last and Cirrhosis find the Z'arkadar minding a register, talking to his offspring in the back office through a small window made out of an old tire. His vocoder retelling the fish-story with much more emotion than a computerized voice-box would be expected to.

The Z'arkadar, briefly, are a race of deep space aliens that were the second race humans came in contact with when going abroad. A tall slender race of bipeds, they look like very very tall humans. Only with deep red skin of a thick leathery texture, and with four ebony oval eyes and four arms. Also no mouth or nose. The Z'arkadar have lived in space so long, that they have evolved for it, and rarely will a settlement be made on an actual planet. Their heads are slender, and thinner of jaw, with a long thin neck. They have sort of thick tentacles where hair should be, and pointed ears like an elf. On their chests are several large holes, or nostrils or something. Regardless, this is where they take in rudimentary elements from the air, or from rocks, and digest them. That said, the Z'arkadar only really wear pants, their long clawed feet are usually bare as well. This one is wearing a pair of tan cargo pants with several keys on rings hanging from the belt-line.

"Oh, hello guests. What service are you inquiring about?"

"Do you have a boat tour we could go on? We have a bit of a layover."

"Of course. Of course. N'ellandra! Please prepare a boat for... A two hour tour is acceptable, correct?"

"Sure. Fine."

The Z'arkadar sort of bows, bends slightly, something to that effect. And leaves for the backroom. Last looks at Cirrhosis, who shrugs.

"You should record this for your thing. Good tour footage is always filler-worthy, in case you don't get enough on Torch."

"Hmm... Yeah, huh? I'll start it when we get on the boat."

N'ellandra comes from the back, it is younger, so shorter and almost impossibly thin. It is wearing a sort of vague, white veil of a vest, open to expose the chest, and with frayed edges with very intricate bead work. Last starts recording she is so impressed with how intricate the bead work. Extremely delicate, particularly for a boat driver.

"Guests, follow me forward and out the door."

"Thank you." Last sort of mumbles, still fiddling with the levels on her recording suite. Cirrhosis puts his arm around her and they follow the alien down a wooden ramp to the waterway. The walkway above is a sort of cobblestone (made out of bits of the asteroid that lent a good chunk of Selba Station's mass) held up by thicker stone beams, a sort of city on stilts. Hydraulics work below the water to assure a stable ground despite the stations obvious spinning, and various other tidal shift issues that could cause a minor tremor here and there if not handled. The water is very calm at the moment, filled with slow moving boats sliding around like errant leaves. Very relaxing.

"How long have you been here, N'ellandra?"

"This one has lived on Selba Station its whole life. My lifegiver and I have been running this shop for nearing twenty cycles. Please do watch your step as you enter the boat." N'ellandra gestures down with one long thin hand, and gently assists Last with the other. Guests settled, N'ellandra grasps at a nearby oar, and pushes off.

"Twenty cycles, that's about forty Selban years.."

"Approximately so. One day, this one would like to explore farther reaches of space. Spread its wings amongst the stars, like the ancestors and explorers of old." N'ellandra looks of into the distance, all while moving the boat with remarkable precision and efficiency.

"Where are we going first?" Last says, fascinated by the elaborate struts and pillars holding the city above the water, probably not more than a foot or two most places. Light blinks the waterway in and out of shade; small wooden caged lanterns hold LED lights that give the whole causeway a magical sort of glow. Excruciatingly romantic. Last snuggles up with Cirrhosis, who is more fascinated with the movement of N'ellandra's fingers. All the ligaments are visible under its skin, so each subtle movement or adjustment in grip pressure, is shown throughout its long arms.

"The mercantile district is behind us, where we had originated, so the next place of particular interest is the financial district. Shortly, we will emerge into a major plaza, which you should both find rather interesting to view. Right now, we are under several ostentatious auction houses, where overstocked barges trade goods before moving on to the Lagrange."

The pillars and struts are getting thicker, braces with metal pieces creating elaborate lattice with the glowing lights stuck here and there. Large brickwork columns sit in between the smaller pillars, the buildings above looming heavy, as places with money in them always seem to. The boats are crowded around them, but N'ellandra moves with a delicate grace, flitting between heavy covered skiffs carting merchandise, with remarkable ease. As such they are moving at about twice the speed of every other boat, as lanes and more formal practices of roads simply do not apply to the world of boating. Even so, with a keen eye for the movements of people passing one another, as Cirrhosis has developed over years, one can see an order to the seemingly random trajectories of the boats. Small boats pass big boats, big boats tend to go as straight as possible to keep from wasting the driver's energy; medium sized boats tend to follow the smaller craft, riding the holes they leave in traffic. An elaborate dance which Cirrhosis is perfectly content watching, attempting to guess where this and that craft will turn or shift along its way.

"It appears we are almost to the plaza. Look ahead, please and thank you."

"Holy shit." Last mumbles. The tall buildings to each side suddenly give way to a large open plaza. Similar entrances line the many sides of a gigantic octagon, probably a mile across. Above, its walls are lined with auction houses, banks and office towers; in the center is a clear octagon upon which hundreds of thousands of people are wandering apparently aimless. All chattering, all dressed like bankers. Bankers from every world Cirrhosis could think of. Small ladders and clear stairs lead to the water, and hundreds of boats flit in and out through the openings on each side. Stairways lead upward as well, to clear bottomed conference platforms with full sensivise rigs and waitstaff with drinks. The economic center of the Selba System, and the largest in the Outer Arm, suspended above them about fifty feet. Small booths sporting small consumables and electronic gadgets line this and that spoke of the plaza. The sun shines directly upon it, casting dancing shadows as the finances of billions of people walk this way and that. On the edges, news reporters balk to specialists too stupid to walk away fast enough. Cirrhosis wonders if it would be as dazzling if they saw it at a regular angle.

"Almost all financial transactions of this system pass through Crystal Plaza at some point. Oso and the station in general, are paid for by the transaction fees generated here. Also, there is talk of pulling an asteroid into orbit here as well, forming a larger colony. Such talk is still highly speculatory. The plaza was a gift from Mr. Corialis, which is thought to be why his city was built so quickly and with so little regulation on Selba Prime.

"The plaza is said to symbolize the slow growth towards galactic unity that Corialis envisioned with the ongoing proliferation of FTL mobility. He is said to have viewed the crystal as the most perfect natural object, reflecting light but also bearing supreme clarity. He hoped that one day everyone could live open and pure, which he attempted to create physically in this construction."

"What's that?" Last states, pointing directly upward. At some point they had reached the center of the plaza, weaving gently around more deliberate movements of business people and more generic robotic tour boats. The lower center is a few staircases with docking areas for boats, as well as a below decks restaurant serving up exotic cuisines of the various races represented above. The center of that circular restaurant is a large glass pillar, which now that Cirrhosis focuses on it, goes straight up about as far as someone can see. At the very top is a glowing thing, the obligatory sculpture of any donated structure. That much is obvious. But now that Cirrhosis saw the top, he can see that the pole is glowing too. A swirling, gaseous sort of glow.

"It's full of deuterium?"

"Correct. Corialis had a spike planted in the center of Crystal Plaza to represent the stake every being has in the universe. At its apex is a fully operational Jumpgate, the original technology for Human FTL travel. The gate is made of a very strong, highly unusual composite, which is of similar properties to the Plaza itself. Inside is FTL ship fuel, or heavy helium. Deuterium, as the guest has said."

"Has anyone ever used that gate?"

"Jump technology is highly advanced at this point in our collective history, and the gate above uses technology that is most likely incompatible with any currently functioning ship. Much as many races are several steps ahead of humans, humans have moved several steps from such primitive FTL.

"The use of a functioning gate was more of a metaphor for how this station will be for commerce as a gate is for travel. The center of; and modus for. Guests, would you like to talk more on this subject, or will it be acceptable if this one steers the ship elsewhere?"

"I think I've seen all I can from this angle, you can take us wherever you feel is interesting."

"It is seen. This one was told that guests, such as yourselves, would find the agricultural district of interest, then perhaps it would be possible to take a dark-canal in a return trip to the lake and view the central pillar more closely." The Z'arkadar gestures in wide arcs, always careful to move slowly as to not rock the boat. Something Cirrhosis and his constant fidgeting might take to heart, as he nearly topples into the water craning his neck to see one of the rarer sights, a powered boat. A little red canoe with an off-board motor, putting quickly from behind them and through a few slower crafts, then diving below the water.

"Sounds fun." Last mutters, she's struggling not to fall asleep. The liquor wearing thin, and the tour meshing to produce a relaxed fit. The boat suddenly pushes in a sharp right angle, snapping into a queue for the corner opening nearest by, which wakes Last from her half-sleep. She looks around like she forgot where she is.

"You okay there?"

"Long trip so far, Cirrhosis."

"Oh. Right." He forgot she was recording. Cross-promotion for his advertisers couldn't hurt, besides they are going to be on Torch together anyway, so what's the problem here. Keep Toro from 'disappearing' him as well. Cirrhosis relaxes into it, getting himself into his "on" mode. Although, to think about it, she has been recording for a while now. It's hard to remember what is televised and what isn't when you are one of the most recognizable faces in Federation Space.

"So what are your plans? Once we get to Torch, I mean."

"Well, I have meetings with the Board of Directors of Captain Suzaku's Hot Lickin' Go-Go Chicken. Also I am to meet with some people behind the Race, seems that me quitting just isn't in the cards." Cirrhosis grins to Last, trying to make him being strong-armed seem jovial. Avoiding the trip he has to make to find Code Name, the particulars of which are probably not what Last's employers are looking for in tour coverage. She smiles back.

"So why were you going to quit the Race anyway?" She must know how expensive that question is, her grin widens. Money signs behind the eyes. Cirrhosis goes stoic, looks at the beams and struts as they float by. What the hell kind of lie is he going to have to tell now?

"I felt like... I felt like the Race had stopped being about the GAME of it. The real meaning behind the sport. That I was doing this to sell things, which is fine, but I mean..." Cirrhosis digs for his acting ability, looks away. His eyes glittering with emotion when he makes contact with Last again, his icy blues staring directly into her cameras. "I couldn't sell it short. I love this game so much. I love the roar of the fans, the LTs from all over. I just couldn't bring myself to make it this... This bastardization. One where I would race just to get some bauble. It all just seemed so fake to me. So I quit."

Pause. Have to think of what to say, have to end this with some sort of logical conclusion. The boat floats into a clearing, the sun flashing behind him as he starts to speak again. Perfection that cannot be planned for. He continues his voice deep and strong. "And I stand by that decision, but I came to realize how much other people rely on me to perform. The Suzaku Company, the Abobo Concern, and hell, the fans. They rely on me to race, to sell chicken, to take photo ops and make speeches like I am doing now. An entire industry follows in my dust, tethered to me like I am to my horse, and I think I forgot just how many people expect me to keep leading this train. I realized that I can't quit without betraying their trust, by derailing everything that we've all taken so long to build. So I came back. For the people of Selba, and for everyone else that I owe for everything that I, until recently, took for granted."

Last blinks slowly, absorbing all Cirrhosis had to say. The awkward laugh he gives at the end, as he turns to look out over the station as they reach the agricultural district. "Look at this, Last. It's actually kinda beautiful." He grins, pointing straight ahead.

The quarter ahead of them, a full quarter of the station, is hanging gardens. Thick vegetation layered over other vegetation. Long tracks of ripe fruits being picked by robotic arms. Small edible animals from various planets wander down green tracks between the plants. Homegrown meat bred from hybrid animals. The area is just dense with the smell of fresh life. A sort of exhilarating smell when it hits you after being in an aseptic spacecraft for any particularly long period of time. Small waterfalls pour over the edges and a thick mist hovers all around. The buildings closest are covered in thick condensation. The amount of air duct work that keeps this part so humid and the rest so dry must be intensely complex. Last smiles, looking all over the place.

"Does this supply all the food the people here eat?" Last asks, fascinated by all the plant life. Being from Lowers, she hasn't seen this much green since going to Corialisana. And before that... she couldn't even guess.

"Not nearly. It is said that the Hanging Gardens supply about a third of the necessary foods for the population of Selba Station. Mostly that is the fresh produce you see before you, some livestock are also kept, but mostly for dairy products. Everything else is imported with the barges that come through."

"Interesting. So you couldn't survive long alone then?"

"Correct. The station has a store of foods, but that would likely last no more than a month. The satellite is just too small to grow a sustainable amount of food stuffs. Particularly considering the varying types of nutrition required between the different resident races." Selba Station isn't particularly worldly, but as a major hub in the galactic travel circuit there are a fair number of people from various places in residence. The human race has been in direct contact with some forty races of spacefaring capabilities, and between five and ten that are considered 'developing'. There is some debate on the races farthest behind. Of those races, ten or so regularly deal with humans and are welcome to colonize Federali space. Of those, six have conclaves somewhere on Selba Station. The Z'arkadar being one.

"Is that why they are considering expansion?" Last asks, looking around quickly, attempting to catch everything on video.

"Correct, in part. They intend on expanding the agrarian output of the station, but with additions of several square miles of living quarters, it would be expected that the increase in population would make the sustainability of any homegrown output unattainable. Insofar as this is a trading station, however, that is not terribly important. Selba's Lagrange is at a perfect location to reach most of the Sprawl, and the Outer Arm would have to take a much more circuitous route to Earth and the Central7 were it to cut ties with Selba. As such, the necessity is unlikely to be worth the cost."

"I mean the big cities don't grow sustainable amounts of food either. The money keeps everything flowing. That plaza makes it so this whole station can live on just this garden." Cirrhosis chimes in.

"Precisely."

"Still, fresh meats and dairy have to be really expensive here." Last rebuttals.

"Most obviously so. However, with synthetics for cooking, such cost premiums are kept minimal. Would you like to see the lake again before we return?"

"Yes, please." Last smiles demurely to the alien, and then sticks her tongue out at Cirrhosis, who laughs heartily. Last leans into Cirrhosis, who holds her gently, pointing out interesting looking things as the boat takes a seemingly random route to get back to where they had started. Some channels are quite crowded with other boats, mostly people on business in sharp suits, but occasionally a more interesting vessel will pass. One such was a small green boat that looked to be made out of stained glass, the pilot is a Hulandian. Sort of a small squat hairy wolf sort of race, not common outside of the distant Sprawl.

"What kind of boat is that, it looks almost like it might break at any second..." Cirrhosis asks almost just thinking out loud. The Hulandian is wearing a dark robe, tied very tightly. His fur is dyed in places and in those places braided with beads. The boat is very thin glass, with intricate veins and very subdued colors varying only in shades visible when quite close. He is using a very long piece of wood to push himself, and the rod seems to be engraved with words in his native tongue.

"That is a monk to Mu'halla. He is probably on duty with the Church as we speak, hence the urgency in his movements."

"Mu'halla. The suicide cult?" Last mutters, half remembering a video she'd seen on a group of radical religious groups bombing another group on some planet she hadn't ever heard of. N'ellandra's hands clench the oar very firmly, and they take a turn a bit harder than usual. Cirrhosis notices that the design on its vest seems somewhat similar to the designs in the glass of the monk's boat. He gives Last a significant look, but she remains oblivious to her social ineptitude.

"The Church does not condone such acts. While acts of terrorism have occurred in Her name, it isn't wise to so blatantly call attention to news items one is not fully in understanding of. The Church follows our Goddess, who with the Divine Council of Seven, has created the multiverse for us all. Through Her actions this one is here to speak to you now, and it is that monk's calling to try and learn of the why of those actions. It is a holy calling to be sure, one not to be made light of."

"We're sorry. Selba isn't known for its religious diversity. All we know is what we see on the news vids." Cirrhosis attempts to defuse the situation. The Church of Mu'halla is the second largest religion in the Selban System, and the first largest overall. Its origins are older than the Earth.

Despite it being literally everywhere, and quite popular (particularly with first-lifes and the Bychosi), many people consider it a cult. Largely as the Goddess has a corporeal body, and is currently the Queen of Centromere. It's hard to tell people who are used to worshiping long dead gods that you're god just happens to be a three-hundred year old monarch on a planet that sits in the middle of a almost impenetrable haze of cosmic radiation.

"Such things are understandable, guest. Please accept my apologies for going on in such a personal manner so freely. This one should be focusing on the needs of the guests first, and learn well to ignore comments not made with malice."

"Yeah, sorry. I didn't know much about your Church, so I shouldn't have said anything in the first place." Last says with a frown. Cirrhosis is amazed Last had so little knowledge of a major faith. He makes a note to keep her away from any public events. Can't have her screwing up anything major with a snafu that extreme.

"Acceptable. Let us focus on the tour. We are about to leave the more congested sections behind. Ahead is the lake."

# <8.0>

Tetra-Phi 5 News

**Reporter** : Noxious

<Start>

N:I have with me here the legendary transvestite nightmare herself, Truckee Dumpstar.

T:Charmed.

N:It is her, correct? I mean, that is what all that means right?

T:In this day and age... No, not really.

N:Oh. I just thought..

T:There is a difference between a transvestite, a transgender and a transexual. I would say that I am largely none of these, but more something in between.

N:I didn't mean to bring up such a serious subject.

T:Gender is AIDS level serious to me. It is something I try to reinvent daily, whatever part of the spectrum I feel closest to that day will dictate how I dress. There is no logical reason that I can conjure that someone has to be one hundred percent anything at all. It is all choices and feelings, concepts lost on plebeians most times. I think that, above most else, fashion is the best indicator of identity a person can give. It is interesting that that indicator can change every day, is it not?

N:I guess so.

T:I can be how I feel, and I can show that outwardly or not. Such is the freedom of such choice. I have nothing to prove, but can prove it instantly with the change of a mere hairstyle or the switch from dress to slacks.

N:Yes, but-

T:But what? I understand that i show myself as something of a joke, that largely, I am a joke, but that does not give you the right to question me on something so basic. My title, chosen by myself, is a play on what people like you think every day when they see someone who does not fit in convenient boxes. I defy logic so that I can break it down. Tirade aside, now, did you really have a question for me?

N:I, well-

T:Then I will say good-bye then.

<End>

# <8.1>

The Hinter starts at the six-hundred block of Hojo City, when 600 Avenue gives way to Ambivalence Boulevard. Truly the Hinterlands started as urban sprawl in the East of Hojo City, but as the space started filling, and people started looking for new places to suffer in desolation, the Hinter spread through about half the continent. Selba Prime has only three real cities, four if one counts the Hinter as its own city. Teuvnasis, while the so facto capital of the Hinter, is not par for the course, so real tech still works out in the boonies. Truckee picked up a real car because AI drive programs aren't GPS updated outside of the numbered streets, and with the winding and dead end one-ways would be impossible to drive otherwise. A ground based vehicle is also necessary as the plastifiber roads give out at about 550 East, and the GovNet doesn't allow hovers outside of what would be the 650's.

Generally, Truckee just didn't want to get jumped by some hillbilly because he HAD thought he was going it alone. That said, he was happy Epic came along when they had to refuel the beast. Epic had done this before, and therefore saved Truckee the embarrassment of looking stupid in front of a shopkeeper who had a drifting left eye. He also saved him of the disgust of having to actually exit the vehicle at the truck-stop to buy said fuel, as well as get directions. Epic could only get so close with a GPS hex, and needs some sort of baring to get anywhere useful past the sort of pseudo industrial shanty town of tracked houses and cookie cutter yards fitted with hovers on cinderblocks.

"Guy there says we take this road up about fifteen minutes, hit the loop and exit. We should be there in like a half hour."

"You spoke to that urchin?"

"Okay, I'm positive you only call, like, kids living on the subway, urchin. That guy is easily fifty and lives in that trailer behind the station. Seemed nice enough guy to me, anyway." Epic points at a rather large looking car, and sort of shrugs at Truckee's response, being: Truckee almost loses his breakfast, lunch, and previous night's dinner.

"Living in a car? Is that even possible?" Truckee mutters as Epic gets back in the vehicle, pulling out of the station on to a road filled with as many active cars and dead and or smoking ones. That said, the speed limit dips a bit, giving time for a good look-around. Should one desire to do such a thing.

"Some people living in Astral Complex have apartments smaller than the car we're in now."

"True enough. And I suppose if one were to live in a car, you would know the roads better."

"That isn't a car. It's an attachment to a car."

"Attach? Like a semi-train?"

"Kind of. Some people live on the road so much that it doesn't make sense for them to have a house that can't move with them."

"But doesn't that thing run a fuel depot?"

"Gas Station."

"Sure. Isn't that store entirely stationary?"

"Yeah. I guess so, huh? Maybe this is where he was driving to?"

"I can see why you would choose to live here." Truckee mutters as Epic swerves to avoid several children playing with an old rusty keg-shell.

"You gotta live somewhere, right?"

"Regardless. Do you know much about this place?"

"Ex's?" The area beyond the named streets, but before you get to the parts where people tend livestock. Ex's isn't really a town or anything. Just a place where people go to find themselves, lose other people, and make money any way they can. "I used to live here probably seventy... seventy-five years ago."

"How old are you? I wouldn't have placed you as a refresher."

"Please, anything to keep me doing what I do. I'm about two-fifty, like... yeah, two-forty nine. Anyway, the area around here is pretty tame, get a bit farther and I wouldn't want to be wearing a fake beehive on my head. No offense."

"I don't consider it offensive that the 'people' of this area would be incapable of understanding the depth of my fashion."

"Okay, so I'll be talking when we get there."

"What I'm paying you for. Can you tell your child to stop doing that?"

"Big, could you stop fingering yourself?"

"It's how I charge mah bat'ries, Son!"

"Genital friction, eh?"

"Yeah!"

Turning to Truckee, "It's how he generates his power."

"I am well aware of that. Thank you for the update." Turning to the window. A lovely sight to behold outside. Fifty to an hundred story buildings as far as the eye can see, all with small to medium sized lawns for the area. Meaning they have about a half an acre to play with, mostly chain fences and dilapidated random artifacts of H

hinter-life. Your arbitrary playground equipment in this yard, a giant flaming alter to some God or another in that one, in another a pool filled with a fluid only the flaming alter God could guess at, etc. Truckee is positive his life has become a fever dream, or a parody... Perhaps he is being filmed right now, and the crew will come and laugh and laugh from out behind the barn filled with rusting hover-bases.

"It's what you pay me for." Epic chuckles lightly as Truckee pops the collar of his trench against the foulness outside the safety of the vehicle.

"Right. I'm just going to pretend to sleep, could you alert me when we get somewhere worth opening my eyes for."

"What? You don't like abject squalor?"

"Eventually even sights as lush as yonder tire fire are just too wondrous to take in further."

"You're not going to like your second update then." Epic grins, turning a corner and narrowly avoiding several overturned shopping carts.

"Why is that?"

"We're driving to that tire fire."

"Fantastic. Should I change, or is my current outfit up to it? Are tire fires a black tie affair? I kind of always assumed business casual, but I could be wrong. Big, your opinion?"

"Tire fires are against the law!" Big points at the fire, accusingly, as if one had to accuse the fire for it to be properly notified of its incorrectness. Truckee nods to Big, who seems satisfied with that being agreed upon.

"So stripes then. I'll see if I have anything in the trunk."

Apoplexxxy is where they are headed. A behemoth of a bar that just happens to be tire-fire adjacent. Or perhaps is the official sponsor of the tire-fire. It does appear to be taking up about half of the property one way or the other. Regardless, the bar is six stories, made of sturdy looking wood beams set in a sort of pseudo-Asiatic style, with several shingled roofs overhanging thin beamed balconies. The walls are white painted concrete covered in various graphiti and day-glo motion adverts. Mostly vulgarities punctuated with beer prices and topless women. Epic parks the car as far away from anything else as possible, and sets its alarms to synch with his eButler. The car is easily the most expensive in the lot, with most others of the one-door-is-a-different-color-than-the-rest variety. Truckee, at the behest of Epic, changes into a simple black pair of pants and a more reasonable orange button-up. With some additional goading, as well as upon hearing a cat-call from a rather dirty looking obese man driving the bottom half of an old ice cream truck, Truckee lost the wig with the bees for a more subtle brown wig set in a short ponytail.

"You actually have some semi normal clothes. What did you bring those for?" Epic asks, actually genuinely curious.

"Business. I can't go so stellar with my fashion choices when I am meeting with people who are considering dropping a billion rico on my race. Sometimes even I need to ratchet it in to make that donut money." Truckee sort of laughs, self-consciously straightening his shirt as they walk towards the bar.

"Big, can you keep scanning and eS me if anyone has a weapon."

"Sure!" Big laughs, toddling after them on his short legs.

The bar has a very open interior. Concentric ringed floors hold several round tables a piece. Each of the four sections has maybe eight total stairways to the one below. Each segment is perhaps three feet below the last, with booth tables lining the perimeter. The very center houses a square bar centered around a pillar covered in mirrors. The very back of the highest level is cut short, presumably the bathrooms and kitchen, judging by doors and who is entering and exiting them. On both sides are wide staircases to the floors above. The floor directly overhead seems to be a dance floor of some type, as music and the dull thud of people moving can be heard over the clamor of people eating.

The clientele tends to be skewing a bit older, with physical forty being about average. Everyone is very much from the area, looking weathered from the wind and sun. Clothing ranges from ten years ago fashion, to barely being held together by decaying threads and congealed dust. Truckee wouldn't so much as consider looking at a menu for a place like this, but Epic is hungry and so they end up at a booth near the back. A woman with a robotic arm leads them to their table. She is actually quite striking to look at, dark brown hair held back loosely with a small leather bow. Her top is filled quite nicely, a denim corset tied tightly with thick black string. Her curvaceous thighs held at bay in tight hunter green cargos.

"Can you tell Bloodstain that he has a visitor?" Epic grins to the waitress, as she hands him a menu. She smiles back, awkwardly at first. Looking at Epic, then at Truckee, then back at Epic.

"He doesn't work here, sir."

"I know. Here, but not. I feel that. But tell him that Epic is here to see him." Epic unfolds the menu, and only gives the waitress a sideways glance as she walks off. Truckee keeps watching until she goes down a set of stairs and he loses sight.

"A cyborg?" Truckee is almost unable to remain seated, his fascination almost palpable.

" Never seen one before?"

"Goddess no! I heard that such things used to happen many years ago, but I thought that anyone old enough to have undergone the process would have died or been rejuvenated with regular appendages."

"I had a robotic leg once."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Kind of a pain in the ass though, got rid of it pretty quickly. They work with your nanomachine subjectors, so you have to have your bone amps and most of the time your eButler is making it work 'naturally'. It's a big drain on resources, basically, but I'm sure with advances in technology, they are better at it now. Sides, being able to stomp through a wall was pretty fun."

"Why would you do that now?"

"Guess she must like the power or something."

"Maybe she was born without one the first time, so she didn't have the nerves to clone a new functioning arm." Although in that case, you could get yourself germlined during refresh sessions.

"She could be a purist." Someone who refuses cloning because it isn't natural, not a terribly common psychosis, but it is the basis of the LTZ.

"The Hinter is so fucking interesting sometimes."

"Yeah, say that when you get so hungry you are forced to eat whatever 'Chicken ala Tyler' is."

"Who the fuck is Tyler?"

"That is the question." Epic shrugs, his eyes move ever so slightly to behind Truckee's left ear.

"Why, I happen to be Tyler." A man says, walking up to their table. Epic is completely unfazed, but Truckee is confused. He expected Tyler to be some sort of a chef, wearing all white with one of those douchey hats, not a thirty year old wiry man in tight jeans and a leather jacket with no shirt underneath.

"Well put a cap on that rap, I'm not here to speak to the cook." Epic can smell a firstlife from a mile away, and a peon from even farther.

"Yes, Mr. Death. I am here on behalf--"

"Be-havin' your ass back there and get me fucking Bloodstain, I'm not here to fucking talk to some flunkee." Epic puts down his menu, and actually looks at Tyler. Truckee wouldn't want to have to meet with that look.

" **Man has a gun in his jacket!"**

" **Yeah. I can kind of tell."** Epic continues to stare down Tyler, who isn't really effected by the front. Probably used to people yelling at him by now, especially if he is the one who cooked what the table next to them is having. It might be duck. Might be. Tyler just looks at Truckee, who attempts to bore a hole into the table with his eyes, then Big, and turns to leave.

"Enjoy your meal." Tyler mutters, and walks off.

"Why did you do that?"

"Guys a gatekeeper. He came out to make sure that I am who I say I am. I had to prove to him that I am serious, and that I am worth the time."

"So how do we know if it worked?"

"If we don't get shot in the next six seconds, then someone should be eSing me in ten."

"Fantastic."

" **Upstairs. Back of the club, bring your friends."**

"Well, looks like we aren't going to die." Epic stands, lifting Big out of the booth and sitting him on his shoulder.

"I'm not getting my hopes up." Truckee says as he stands; best not to set your expectations too high.

The second floor is, in fact, a dance club, thick fog covers everything in a haze. Rapid fire lasers and holographic dancers add an air of sophistication to what amounts to a guy hardjacking his eButler into a sound system. The 'dj' is just sitting in the corner in a chair. The seventy or eighty people dancing don't seem to care, they are all either too high on sensers or too high on physical drugs. Epic and Truckee manage to meander through the crowd to eventually find the metal door leading to the back offices.

" **There are eWarfare shizzy in here!"** Big looks somewhat alarmed. Epic holds one finger to his mouth, and silences both Big and Truckee. Anything they say is being recorded, probably anything they send and receive as well. He cuts his link to the World, and gestures for Truckee and Big to do the same. No use in getting hacked two times in a row if one can avoid it.

The hallway beyond the door is dimly lit, the music reverberating echoes the whole way. Doors line both sides, but anyone would guess that the red door at the end was where this was headed. Epic reaches for the knob, but it opens ahead of him. A tall man, covered in moving tattoos, greets them.

"Deathmarch Bloodstain, you insufferable prick!" Epic laughs, shaking the thin man's hand firmly, then pulling him in for a one-armed embrace. Deathmarch laughes as well, old friends apparently. Truckee only vaguely remembers the man from the office, Deathmarch nods to Truckee and gestures them inside.

"What's with the bot?" Deathmarch is looking at Big, who is somewhat anxious looking, he'd be worse if his access was turned on and he saw how many bounties are on the man's head.

"Picked him up on the way. Useful here and there."

"This man has two guns on him, one in the desk, and six in the metal cabinet ova there!" Big points at Deathmarch, who feigns innocence by moving backward and waving his hands in front of himself, and grins.

"I know, kiddo. Thanks." Epic laughs and takes a seat in front of Deathmarch's desk. Deathmarch offers the two a drink, pours three and throws a bottle of water on the counter for Big to sip on in case he wants it. He sits behind his large gunmetal desk, and folds his hands.

"And you wanted...?" Rising intonation meaning question; and the answer is...?

"Someone stole the Jewel." Epic cuts the chase; Truckee snorts his drink a little in surprise.

"I see. You think I did it?"

"No. We think Iced Mocha did." Epic lies. They don't really know who stole it anymore. 'Iced Mocha' talked to Truckee, and now Truckee isn't sure. Epic met the gang, and now he's almost positive against. Why is someone dropping his name on them like this? What could they possibly hope to accomplish by leading the two of them around.

"I doubt he'd be able to pull something like that off. Maybe the theft, but not reselling it. Destiny has like two lifters worth their weight in the drugs he pays them with, and one of 'em is stuck running a fucking front restaurant on Torch. Something like that is one of a kind; you can't sell something that hot easily. Federalis would be on you in fucking seconds. Freeze your accounts over ansible, and you'd be fucking stranded wherever the fuck you decided to pull that bullshit. Nah. This is something higher caliber than that. You got enemies, Mr. Dumpstar?"

"Who doesn't?"

"You got enemies that could hack a government mainframe constantly for at least a couple of hours?"

"I met a guy in the World who could freeze time."

Epic and Deathmarch both look at Truckee carefully. Epic drinks his scotch, and Deathmarch lights a cigar.

"You—When did you meet this guy?' Epic asks finally.

"Right before I came to pick you up. He said he was Iced Mocha, but he didn't look anything like him."

"He live hacked his avatar AND froze time?" Deathmarch only half asks.

"And it was an ansible meeting, so..." Truckee mutters.

"Look. His gang is working from Torch right now, but I actually have no idea where that guy is. I doubt if he is who you THINK he is that he'd be there. They're spinning their shit down right now, I'm pretty sure his second in command is running the local racket until they solid an exit strategy. The crackdown of late scared most everyone out to-"

"Orii Chi Chi. The only colony that owns its LaGrange." Epic states blandly, holding his hand out for another drink. Truckee pours for the three of them.

"Yeah, all the leaders and most of their men left Torch a few weeks ago. He's not that big of a deal... At least I thought. Fuck if he can pretend to be such a peon for this long, fuck knows what ties he has to stay that fucking low radar. You guys probably need a lift to Orii right? And weapons... lots."

"Something very off the charts, and weapons we can take through customs." Epic says gravely.

"You got money for that?"

"I got lines of credit that boggle the motherfucking mind, can I please just get off this godforsaken rock all-the-fuck-ready." Truckee sort of laughs, and then downs his glass. Shit here is getting a little too serious.

# <9.0>

Tigeran Consulate Information Database

**Entry:** Central7

The Central7 is a grouping of human settlements which form the core of their political and economic framework, which as a group formed the GovPlex Protocol which runs the human Colonial Government, the leader of which is the elected emissary for the majority of the human race to the Federation Council.

As the name infers, the Central7 are the seven largest (and largely the first) human settlements, being: Sol, Orion, Andromeda, Isis, Paris, Gliese, and Arturis. Sol is generally accepted as the leading economy of the human race, both in economic scale and as the home planet of the human race.

**Warning:** Humans outside of the Colonial Government, settlements referred to largely as the Sprawl (see Entry: Sprawl), do not respond to the Central7 and have a separate delegate to the Federation Council. Tred lightly in human interactions involving this political division, as it is sensitive to certain individuals.

# <9.1>

Peppermint White Ninja boards a small transport elevator headed for a private ship, docked near the end of the tallest spindle of Selba Station. His ship to the station arrived about thirty minutes ago, he was sure to book his entry and exit as close together as possible, needing to make sure that he was looking like he didn't want to be tailed. Apocalypse is standing directly behind him; she's wearing a thick wool dress, a grey wig and has a thin mask covering her face, giving her the illusion of wrinkles. Pepper has his hair rolled tightly to his head under a turban, and he is wearing a very tight tunic that is common amongst Islamic technocrats. They are attempting to pull off an aging couple headed to the Sprawl for illegal medical procedures. Germlining their clone bodies to be more handsome, or tall, or with like raptor heads instead of human ones. Doesn't really matter.

"Stay close okay? I don't want you getting lost in the crowd." Pepper mutters to his wife in a low voice, working his best accent to stay in character.

"Of course, beloved." Apocalypse coos, but with an old woman voice. Easier for robots to pull off espionage, as switching accents and voices is just a control-function away. Pepper is kind of grossed out, old people aren't exactly common anymore. They kind of smell like death, and Pepper sadly knows that smell better than most. Besides, Pepper had grown fond of Sunshine, and isn't so keen on seeing her acting so far out of character. Feels like he's dishonoring her memory, even if she isn't dead or anything.

They hit a concourse leading to the docking terminals, it's at almost zero gravity, so there are elaborate rung and moving rung systems, dragging people up the spindle until they get to their docking number (you log it in with eButler), then the rung sort of gets grabbed by another and you dangle your way over to the gate. There are seats with belted chairs and some without, for the zero gee experienced. Pepper and Apocalypse pick the belted seats, and Pepper busies himself with hooking his wife in. They have about ten minutes until their flight departs, and he isn't sure if a glorified sex robot can be trusted to behave herself inertia-wise for that long. Her programming keeps her obedient, but she tends to do anything Pepper asks in a more sexually charged manner than he would expect from a normal person. Instead of just following him, she follows very close, and runs her hands up and down his back whilst doing so. Instead of just shutting the fuck up like he's asked, she starts purring and moaning intermittently.

Pepper sits a seat away from her and surveys the area. A long tube of metal, with pseudo-windows showing video of all the ships docking and time-lines for departure or arrival. Lots of people floating about, drinking out of plastic bags and eating bite-sized snacks. Pepper picked a busy flight to Colanaman, an agrarian world about three jumps from Selba in the Sprawl. He figured that seemed like a logical enough place to hide out and wait for shit to cool down, plus if he actually ends up being forced to go there, he's never been before so it will be entertaining. Except the whole fight Baby Doll Judah Stardust to the death part.

"Your wife is quite beautiful." A man leans over from the seat next to him, speaking in a soft whisper. He looks to be about seventy, so either a purist or someone who's a bit overdue for the renewal process. He's air-typing with his hands slightly above his lap, handling some business or other.

"Yeah? Thanks. We've been married for sixteen years, now it's off to renew ourselves and our vows."

"To a sex robot?" The man looks quizzically at Pepper.

"I—what?" Pepper feigns confusion, looking to his wife for comfort. Apocalypse tosses her hair and gives him a big wrinkly grin. Fuck, if a rando can pick up on it... Stardust better not be here, or she'll have him pegged as well. Pepper can barely breathe, but he tries to just act very confused.

"You don't have to lie to me, sir. Takes all kinds, takes all kinds. But if you don't want people to know, maybe you could deactivate her P-function in public?" He sort of leans in, like he's giving his old friend some useful advice about fixing his hover or something. Pepper looks around, and then leans in as well.

"How do I do that?

"Simple. Say 'P-off.' Firmly, and directly into her ear."

"Thank you, kind sir."

"Think nothing of it." And with that, the man loses interest and takes to watching some sense program or another. Pepper turns Apocalypse's sex drive off, and suddenly she's acting a lot more like the woman Pepper had crash through his front window. So, bitchy then. It takes him about two jumps to wish for the horny one back, and he spent most of jump one sleeping.

# <9.2>

Sunshine Apocalypse is startled awake by a blaring noise in both actual and virtual senses. A loud horn is going off about every three seconds or so. Followed very closely by a blink of the lights from very bright to the normal tonality. Virtually, her audio set up is feeding her a loud horn as well, and added to that someone screaming obscenities. There isn't a name attached to the feed, so she cannot tell who it is. A woman's voice, not her own, which tends to infer the other woman on the ship. Assuming all the crew members were in the war room she saw in the World.

"Who the fuck is screaming?!" Sunshine screams herself. No one answers her, and she buckles herself out of her chair. It seems like there are an infinite number of buckles and snaps, where there wasn't nearly this many before. The ship is still in freefall, so she knows they haven't docked anywhere. Her eButler isn't picking up ansible, so they must be outside of even an asteroid colony's influence. This means that whatever the hell blinking blinding white light means, it's not a landing issue or a docking issue, but something that can happen either during or between LTR. Sunshine takes a second to get used to not being sedated, and floats out of her cabin.

The main corridor isn't any more seizure friendly, and she cannot see anyone else milling about. The octagonal motif of the ship makes the bright lights draw awkward lines all over the place. The external monitors are showing a lot of red ex's where there used to be green rings. Sunshine is positive that that isn't correct. She never really asked where anyone else was staying, so she hasn't a clue where to pick for other officers or whatever, which leads to her randomly opening doors all down the hall. First couple are storage setups, deep thin rooms with lockers inside and lashed down equipment. Door three has a crew member. A dead one.

"Fuck. Space mutiny." Sunshine mutters, backing out of the big nose woman's room. She has a snapped neck. Well, the screaming must be a eS on loop or something, because Sunshine remembers only one female on board besides herself. Icer should be around here somewhere, so she continues walking down the hall. Mostly, as there is no real purpose in hiding if the ship is under attack, they'll either find her or vent her into space or something. May as well see your death coming... Sunshine curses gently to herself as she opens another door, breathing in sharply expecting a gun in her face. All she gets is another closet filled with canisters of some important gas or another.

" **Icer? What the hell is going on?"** Sunshine attempts an eS, figuring that the server on the ship would probably still connect them all together, regardless of their ansible connection. The feed on the screamer is still looping fine, so whatever the hell is happening, comm. should be on still.

"Fuck. This is... fuck." Is all she can say as she opens the next door. Icer is dead as well, sliced almost clean in half, gore and blood everywhere. A man is in the room with him, a very tall man in a black spacesuit with his helmet still fastened.

"Well, someone finally decided to wake up." He says through a speaker over his throat. The suit is all reflective and smooth, with lots of ribbing and nodules and hooks for gadgets. His helmet is a featureless reflection, barring the small gunmetal speaker at the throat.

"If you are going to kill me, could you just be sure to leave my face intact." She sort of says and sort of vomits into a conveniently placed vomiting station by the door to Icer's room. The man laughs as Sunshine vomits up her lunch, her dinner, probably a small portion of her digestive tract. Her body rejects her current situation as much as her caloric intake allows.

"Wanted alive."

"You're a hunter?"

"Of course."

"Do you work with Stardust?"

"I wish, but-"

"You all work alone. I remember that. Did you honestly have to kill these people?" Sunshine sort of sits on the ground, blood is floating around the room in blobs and rivulets. Bits of Icer's internal organs are floating lazily into the walls, his personal affects. She hadn't noticed. She slides herself around the corner of the room's door, as to avoid anything colliding with her.

"Kill everyone, unless the job says otherwise." He says with literally no emotion, not even sarcasm. Nothing. Sunshine heaves a bit, but nothing comes out.

"Rule of the Hunt... Fuck." Sunshine puts her head on her forearms, which are crossed over her knees.

"Calm down, he'll be discovered and refreshed before you know it."

"In deep space?"

"Every barge has a location it is expected at. They'll look along the normal routes for them. It'll take a week or two for them to realize that I hijacked the ship and took it with me. Station will probably send word to the Federalis in the area. Won't take more than two months for all of these kids to be live and well again."

"Huh..." Sunshine sort of moans. Knowing that he is right, but also knowing that without severe memory restructuring, they won't be coming back normal in anyone's concept of the word. Memory wipes are notoriously unreliable, particularly for serious trauma related deaths. Most families choose to avoid revival in any but natural cause or sickness related deaths, which are usually so uncommon as to be considered practically abolished.

"So where are you taking me then? I never even asked who took the hit out on me..." She begins again, after some moments pass in silence.

"Orii Chi Chi. I don't know who put the hit on you, but they asked that you be taken to the tallest building in the colony."

"The pirate colony, fantastic."

"It's best if you go back to your room and rest. I'll have us at the station in about two hours."

"Right." Sunshine mutters, she sort of staggers back to her room. She grasps at rungs like a woman possessed, but pulls herself forward with almost no force. The hunter doesn't follow her, he finds another room and straps in. The ship's lights stop blinking, and the horns cease, but for whatever reason, all Sunshine can hear is the loop of that woman screaming. Over and over in her head, she is not sure if it is still being broadcast, but she takes to analyzing her yell. Louder at the beginning and end, it warbles lower in the first ten seconds, and then rises in octave at the climax. It's breathy and wet, a gasp as it starts, the creaking of lack of oxygen at the very very end. That way, Sunshine passes the time to Orii.

# <10.0>

Tetra-Phi 5 News

**Reporter:** Alucia Touchbase

<Start>

A:Charles, is it?

C:Char-els. There is a pause for breath.

A:Apologies.

C:None needed. Your question?

A:You are Truckee Dumpstar's right-hand, are you not. Any comment on his recent disappearance.

C:He is the final preparations for the Race of the Ancients. The finish line reveal is about to happen, and he is working on the finishing touches on Torch.

A:I am aware of his itinerary, but no one has seen him on Torch.

C:It wouldn't really be a secret if he was making press conferences about it.

A:I'm ice with that, however, there are reports of the Jewel being stolen. Is that true?

C:The Jewel is where Truckee wants it to be, I have absolutely no control over my employer. I really must go, the next press event is nearly started.

A:Thank you for your time.

C:Sure.

<End>

# <10.1>

Torch is a colony at the edge of important space. A huge series of metal disks using giant gravlifters for gravity control in a system too complex to be at all interesting to explain. A meandering mass of metal and clear habitation tubes and orbs are placed in the centers, and across the gulfs between these disks. It looks like several different angles of the planet Saturn made into a diorama and then shoved into each other and connected with clear tubing. The station orbits a gas giant in a system filled with them. Smaller stations mine fuel from the planets, including two orbiting Torch's planet. Overall the system is home to about a billion, all without a habitable planet. Torch itself houses about six hundred million. It is home of one of the smaller Federali installations, as there are quite large ones at the stations one jump into the Sprawl. Protect the Central7 by keeping any trouble out of the area to begin with.

Federali control over travel and mobile colonies gets sketchy after Torch, but until recently was somewhat problematic even here. Gangs had been setting up shop, first legally though this and that sort of business, but then the filth spilled out of their shipments. Drugs, illegal hacks, illegal mods, prostitution, child labor, violent tempered gambling and robbery. The Federalis honestly had better things to do, until gangs like Iced Mocha's started getting so flagrant that a crackdown became necessary. The Colonial Government, the planetary GovPlex coalition, had pressured them into action, and they had scrubbed Torch clean. Well, as clean as it is ever likely to get. Still, with all that said, it is one of the busiest hubs in known space, due to its placement it is the major LaGrange point for 'shooting the moon', or going from one side of the Central7 to the other (which for those paying attention would include at least one stop in the Sprawl, usually either at the luxuriously disgusting Hess, or the equally palatious shithole at Checktiza).

Last Chance and Cirrhosis Induction walk off their transport shuttle into the main atrium of the colony's northern dock. The atrium is a huge expanse under a metal girdered dome, with tubes leading out to spindles where the ships dock. People milling here and there, small huts selling various foods surrounded with small black tables filled with tired travelers from practically everywhere.

"You have a hotel here, or...?" Last asks as they push through the crowd looking for the luggage claim.

"Huh... I guess I never even thought of that, just larked out here. Where are you staying?" Cirrhosis manages to get his eButler to find the terminal's baggage claim, and grabs Last's hand as he hooks left at a noodle bowl stand.

"Well, I mean..." Last blushes, Cirrhosis looks over his shoulder for a second.

"No. Like I'll get my own room at the same hotel." Cirrhosis smirks, never having thought of Last Chance as the kind of girl who would get flustered at sharing a hotel room.

"Oh. Oh, okay. Yeah. I am staying at the Jukka Grand, it is probably like a mile from here or something. There is a tube shuttle."

" **Are we recording still?"**

" **Oh yeah, since we started on that boat."**

" **So you got like five hours of me sleeping."**

" **You were cute."**

" **Thanks, and I imagine my mouth was like-"**

" **Wide open, yes. "** She giggles.

"Luggage terminal! Turn here." Grabs her hand harder and pulls her around a big family lumbering slowly under the weight of children and the shit children always seem to need taken with them everywhere. Stroller, vid screen (no wetwiring til you're ten, young man!), bottles of misc fluids (got to stay hydrated), sandwiches wrapped in holo-printed cellophane (get's them to eat their vegetables), action figures of the latest action hero/racer/prostitute-crimelord, a sweater or three, a fresh change of fucking whatever. Last is laughing pretty hard, mostly at how embarrassed Cirrhosis looks, the rest by the dirty look he gets from the woman pushing the stroller (What? Too fucking busy to sign an autograph? What are you, Jesus?). He sort of storms off, letting go of her hand, miffed that his most private moments are being broadcast all over, tarnishing his stoic image. Or maybe that isn't it, is it personal?

"Okay! Slow down! If I lose you here, there is no way I'll find you." She smiles at the woman, whilst giving her the middle-finger, and runs off after Cirrhosis.

Baggage finally in hand, and tempers unflared, Last and Cirrhosis arrive at the hotel. Last heads up to her room first, letting Cirrhosis handle his reservations while she switches into a night look. Cirrhosis knocks on the door to her room just as she is finished matting her hair into its normal situation.

"Hey." She says as she opens the door. He is wearing a nicely fitted suit, dark with a blue shirt with no tie. Sets off his eyes, she notices. Someone has a stylist. He's smiling while looking at his feet, embarrassed?

"Hey." He grunts back. She kisses him on the cheek, and he brightens up.

"Did you find somewhere to eat?"

"Yeah. There is a nice place near the river."

"Oh cute! What kind of food?"

"It's a surprise. We should walk there."

"Okay." She giggles, and grabs his hand as they exit the elevator. A short walk through some shops and a bar, and they are on the street. Their hotel exits to a wide pedestrian mall lined with hotels and their first floor shops and bars. A soft glow infuses everything, and the station is angled so that about half of the sky is the planet below, a huge swirling red ball. A torch in the night sky. The air is sweet smelling, the result of the blooming of a low hanging tree with spiraling blue flowers (native to Orion) which is planted evenly along the boardwalk. A light bit of music is being played at a park nearby, something acoustic and up-tempo. People are laughing and walking slowly, everyone is on vacation at this time of night, or in another part of town.

"This place is really romantic isn't it?" She nudges him with her shoulder, and he puts his arm around her as they walk through the sparse crowd of the mall. A gentle breeze blows down the way, and Cirrhosis can't help but agree, even if she is only saying it for the people on ansible. A relaxing way to spend an evening for sure, almost relaxing enough to make him forget that he has a meeting with the board of Suzaku's in the morning. Luckily he packed his uniform in case they ask for a vid-op.

Then it's probably time to check on his gang ties. Code Name probably isn't here, but the people who know where he is probably are. Someone is going to have to fence that fucking stone, and with it being as hot as it is (Cirrhosis saw that it's all over the World now, and there was that agent) that is going to require large sway to handle. Destiny shouldn't have that kind of pull or the hackers capable of producing it, so they are going to be making deals. Any sale big enough to be the Jewel is going to be intensely scrutinized by Federalis, so those deals are going to be extremely DL. Cirrhosis probably won't get more than a direction to look in, as his ties to Toro are well known to anyone with even a brain cell left firing. Most likely it is either an inside job, or one of the bigger gangs out of Dub-X are handling the sale.

"Where are we going? There are not a lot of stores now..." Last sort of murmurs, looking around wide-eyed, taking in the scene.

"Oh. Right. It's uh, looks like it's down that street to the left just a bit more." Cirrhosis stutters as he checks his directions, he had picked a more scenic route before, but having zoned out for a few too many steps, they'll have to take a boring one. The backs of two hotels butt up to them as they stroll through a pretty sizeable group of miscellaneous drunks and guardianless children. A shop is on the right side of the street, seeming to be where the drunks are from, a convenience store slash bar slash restaurant. About half a block more, and they turn the corner to see a beautiful restaurant dangling languidly over the river on its own dock. A long flat building with thin pillars trailing into the water below, its roof a mass of tangled ivy and underbrush with bright flowers, some of which glow in the night sky. They stop to look at it for a second, Last doing a panoramic shot of the waterfront. And it is like this that someone pulls out a gun and places it firmly in the back of Cirrhosis' neck.

"Fancy meeting you here." The man hisses. Think fast...

"Heh. So you got here before I did, huh? Quit kidding around, you're scaring my girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" Last turns suddenly, seeing the gun she tries to step back. Cirrhosis holds her close. The better to toss her away if it becomes necessary.

"Kidding?" The gunman pulls his gun back, but doesn't stop pointing it at Cirrhosis. People are starting to get that look in their eyes. The gazelle are flocking away from the dragon's mouth. Cirrhosis turns and puts himself between Last and the guy. Never seen him before, couldn't guess the gang based on his outfit. Just wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Well, that and a gun. Probably about twenty or so body wise, judging from his demeanor in public pistolry Cirrhosis would guess he's on his first refresh at least. Short hair in a very well shaved and angled cut, possibly ex-military. Brown hair, blue eyes, a heavy brow and a thick nose. He's probably about six-two, cracking two barely, fit but not particularly muscular. No tattoos visible.

"Yeah. Last Chance, this is an old buddy of mine from high school. Last here is working for the Race, live broadcasting her time here on Torch." Cirrhosis puts his arm around Last, squeezes her a little too tight. Hoping she'll get it to play this fucking ice. She giggles awkwardly and extends her hand for a shake.

"Say hello to about two billion viewers!" She smiles her best fake smile, which as she is a model (even if she is a slightly low-rent one), looks quite realistic. The man pockets his gun, like literally in his front pocket, and shakes back.

"Armor Trapezium."

"A pleasure. Cirrhosis didn't mention we'd get to eat with you tonight, and here I was hoping for a nice candlelit dinner for two." She pouts and looks at Cirrhosis, her eyes are asking 'What the fuck is this guy's deal?'

Cirrhosis shrugs.

"I was just popping by. Making sure Cirrhosis and I are still on for tomorrow."

"Yeah. By the fountain in the center of town, say about three pm?" Cirrhosis assumes his deal with Suzaku will be done by then, and the fountain is the single biggest tourist point in this habitat. Lots of people mean that their meeting will be more meet less –ing. Shoot-ing.

"It's a date. Pleasure meeting you." Armor sort of nods his head at Cirrhosis, smiles at the cameras, and walks off. He fades into a crowd like an expert. A hired hit. Things are getting serious.

"Let's get inside, I don't want to have to wait too long for a table, and it looks like people are starting to get the idea on this place." He puts his arm around her firmly, turning them towards the restaurant.

" **Who the fuck was that?"**

" **Fuck if I know. I'll meet with him tomorrow after my meeting with the board."** He has his eButler do a quick search on the guy. Nothing on the net worth mentioning, but Cirrhosis doesn't have access to bounty lists like a hunter would. If he did, he'd see that Armor is worth quite a bit dead or alive.

" **Shit. And he knows who I am!"**

" **It's fine. He also knows that you are recording a live stream to ansible; he won't try anything on you as long as you stay out of it. I'll handle him, but if things get dicey I want you to stay VERY public. Go on tours and see lots and lots of places. Never be alone, if you catch my drift."**

"O-okay." She mutters aloud.

They have to wait in the small front room for about ten minutes for a table, luckily Cirrhosis had made reservations otherwise they would be one of the jackasses waiting an hour and a half for dinner. They get a table right by the water, probably because the reservation was made by a celebrity (which Cirrhosis forgot to factor in). Everyone nearby is half staring at them.

"I completely forgot that everyone here would know me." He scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. Everyone else in the restaurant is wearing business casual or worse, he feels morbidly overdressed. Like showing up to International House of Swarms in a ball gown or something.

"How would you even possibly forget that you are a celebrity?"

"I guess I never think about it to begin with?"

"It's funny how I try everyday to become this big thing, and you ARE one but you don't seem to care." Last sort of looks out over the river, not mad, just mystified that her dream could be someone's life and that would be nothing much to them. Life is weird that way.

"I think that I didn't explain that right. I mean that I am so used to it. I got so scared at first, people following me, sense recording like everything I say or do. The media criticizing my every movement. You feel like you have to become this perfect version of yourself that never steps off this fine line that the media paints for you. The narrative of your life that is created somewhat by your actions, but mostly by the public's reactions to those actions and seemingly random occurrences. For a while I really tried to stay the straight and narrow, but it's just like eventually, you have this moment and it becomes normal after that."

"Like what moment, exactly?"

"Not when you filmed me sleeping." Cirrhosis sort of grins, trying to change the subject.

"I'm sorry about that.. but really..." Last doesn't get it.

"I had just lost my girlfriend in this fire-"

"I remember hearing about that."

"So you kind of know the story then? I was staying in a cabin for this weird circuit race on Athena IV; this was before the terraforming was completely finished."

"They have those terrible dust storms there, don't they?" Last vaguely recalls a direct to download senser about this, but she hadn't really finished more than half of it. The dust storms stuck out though.

"Yeah. So there was this drought all year, and then the dust storms had taken out travel. We were all camped in these makeshift cabins in the dunes. Me and like sixty racers, judges, stable workers, our horses, and ten media people with full wetrigs.

"Well, someone falls asleep and their fire burns their cabin down. Four people die there. And with the wind, it's blowing everywhere. My girlfriend gets caught in our cabin. I was out taking a piss. I would have died if not for my fucking small bladder." He gets a little coughed up here, and takes to looking at the view for a moment. The murmur of the people around them is unnaturally quiet. An audience. He remembers that he is talking to the fucking World at this point. He really needs to work on his short term memory. Too late now, exclusive interview already in progress.

"I'm pissing out behind the stables, and I smell the smoke on the air. I go dash over, and I find... I find Emily helping my roommate out of the tent. He had kind of tangled himself in his sleeping bag trying to escape. Well I guess they had inhalation issues, and I helped, but Emily was bleeding from where this piece of a table had caught her shoulder and there were burns. Fucking hell, my roommate looked like a charred log from the fire. Bits of his sleeping bag were melted into, IN TO his skin. I mean... they were both in this horrible way. I tried to console her once, and bits of her flesh came-" He coughs, and wipes at his eyes with the back of his arm.

"Okay. So we're stuck in this storm. This horrible. Horrible, fucking storm. And I know that Emily isn't going to make it if we can't get to a hospital. Our medical staff is equipped for horses and horse related injuries. A ripped tendon, hell even a stomping injury could at least be handled, but third degree burns are not do-able.

"So I am dealing with this. With Emily dying slowly before me, this beautiful thing just decaying like one of those videos where you speed up time, just rapid. I see her fading, and I realize something. The media guys, who could be helping us put out the fires, who could be using their enhanced rigs to contact help, were all just recording me. They were recording every moment and word, and subtle gesture I made. When I fucking dry heaved behind our tent, oh you can bet one of them was there. They were literally chronicling my emotional meltdown with this complete detachment to them."

"That's horrible. So..." Long pause, Last has to say it, but has no idea of any tactful way to put it. "—she died then?"

"A full day later. Just a full day of heart stomping suffering. I asked one of the guys to flag us a ship, even though they never would have came. I had to try. But he refused. Their bandwidth was for displaying information, but never to be used to cause events. This is a sort of 'code of the media' now, to never interfere with an event as it is happening. Supposedly how they were allowed into every city, state and political situation. And I beat the absolute shit out of him until one of our staff doctors had to sedate me."

"Her chip?" Memory core used for revival of deceased individuals.

"Dusted, completely. Melted out before she died actually. Caused some really painful looking seizures." Cirrhosis coughs a little, looking out the window with intensely focused determination for a moment, then back at her, but not exactly.

"Wow." She looks into his eyes, not as a broadcaster, but attempting to connect with him in this moment. He has this complicated look to him now, looking at her but past her. His teeth clenched in anger, reliving that moment in time like it was occurring at this very instant. A vein in his neck pulses out, the hairs on Last's arms stand on end. His fury is palpable, yet somehow very sad, futile. He pauses a good while, takes a good slug of his water, and calms down. He finally reestablishes eye-contact with Last.

"So about three weeks later, after the funeral's media three-ring ended, I just sat in my loft and thought about all of it. Really looked at what happened, and I mean the shit was fucked up, but there was nothing that anyone could have done. And I realized, I normalized myself with the fact that the media in its many forms is just this fixture. Not even real people exactly, just place holders and receptacles for wetwire sensivise rigs. Not a part of my life, or your life, but this thing that exists outside of it. An observer to it, someone who can manipulate HOW it is seen, but not directly in any way create or cause news. They give up something to become that too. A reporter can't be the center of anything without inherently losing that title. Unless you become this show, a spectacle on your own right, but that sort of news is entertainment, not actual palpable reality. To be an event is to not be a reporter of that event, and that means giving up the ability to have anything happen to you ever. To live a life of solitude surrounded by people, just some sort of public exile. Being the chronicler, but having nothing left to show of yourself.

"So I have this like moment where I feel all this stupid shit, and then the next time some guy stares me down, or some chick asks me how thick my cock is, I'm just over it."

"A reporter seriously asked you that?"

"Yeah, after the funeral. Like directly after, as I was getting into my car."

"She didn't ask you how you felt or something?"

"No. All she wanted was girth."

"Weird."

"Anyway, that was a really big explanation, but that is why I can completely forget about cameras and just be myself. Well, I guess not exactly myself, but really close." Cirrhosis sort of smirks awkwardly.

"You just view a world without them in it?"

"Do you specifically notice every chair in this restaurant? I mean, sure, you would notice if there were or were not places to sit in here, but in general this is the same for me. I see cameras, notice existence of, but I don't really think about them. They just are a part of the shit that is in a room when I get there."

"Wow."

"Something like that. Have we ordered yet?"

"I really don't think so."

"We should work on that."

"So. Did you answer her?"

"About what?"

"You know."

Cirrhosis smirks, "Ha. No, I flipped her the finger and walked off."

"That sounds right." Last giggles, he makes a gesture to her. She cuts the feed.

Cirrhosis leans in real close to Last, holding his left hand up and guarding it from the rest of the restaurant. He makes a quick gesture with his right hand.

Last is impressed.

# <11.0>

Arturis Central Kigh Nightly News

**Reporter:** Vi Brooks

<Start>

V: With me I have Anders Hotcarlson from Cocodochi Laser Balloon Comedy and News Sexplosion, ansible's only source for sense-color news. Anders, how are you?

A: Fantastic. It's weird to be on this side of the interview.

V: It's weird to actually hear your voice. Now, the question on everyone's lips is: Truckee Dumpstar.

A: Yes, it is crazy how a little interview about a race can turn into a last-known so quickly.

V: Exactly, but more so-

A: The hack.

V: Yes. You were hacked, let me remind my audience, Anders was interviewing Truckee probably sixteen hours before he was placed on the wanted list for stealing the Jewel of the Ancients from T-Net. Anders was speaking to Truckee about the race, and everything seemed fine, until-

A: Until I went back to edit the footage, and there is a gap. A three minute gap in my memory core, during the interview.

V: Looking back, was Truckee aware of the intrusion.

A: Yes, I'd say, looking at it again, that his reaction when the interview left that period of blankness. Yes, he seemed off somehow. I get that a lot with my format, but this was different. He was different.

V: Shaken?

A: Yes. That's exactly it.

<End>

# <11.1>

The Orii system is about six jumps into the Sprawl, so deep-deep in then. Federali control is hazy in the Sprawl in general, but once you get to five-in you are talking vague alliances based on LaGranges and supplies (Orii trades fuel for ansible access and technologies from the Central7, but that is about the grand total of its legal ties). There is a sixteen man precinct at the LaGrange station orbiting Orii IV's largest moon, but they are there just to send advance warning if something in Orii might affect somewhere that anyone actually cares about. That said, the Orii system is pretty much lawless in the traditional sense. However, like with any lawless area left that way for too long, some other sort of power takes charge. Here it is the Lords of Orii, numbering six (one for each planet, despite only Orii IV's moons, Orii III and the station at Orii Chi Chi being inhabited), they are the law of the system.

Orii Chi Chi (Pronounced: Or-ee k-aye k-aye) orbits Orii V, the (wild guess?) gas giant of the system. People go to where the fuel is, apparently. The station is actually made up of the leftover husk of Orii V's twentieth moon (as well as chunks of moon's seventeen and eighteen, but not nineteen for weird political reasons that probably don't need to be explained), which if you are up on your ancient numerals would make that XX, or.. yeah, so the architects weren't particularly creative in naming it. The colony is about half rocks and half giant metal structures built on in and on other giant metal structures. It looks like a mess of scrap with good lighting. There are small orbiting substations monitoring traffic, the mining that is going on in lower orbits, and holding weaponry to keep the peace. While Dub-X, as it is referred to colloquially, is technically under the control of Lord V (presently Blam Machinist, leader of the Guild), it is more of a neutral location for trade or what have you.

"Where are you going to land us? This place looks like it got smashed into something before we got here."

"Each ruler of the Lords adds a little to the station here as part of his time as leader. That tends to make a building look a little... sketch, after a while."

"So is there a docking bay, or..."

"Each gang has their own docking area."

"But we aren't WITH a gang."

"That's valid. We'll be using the merchant entrance." Epic pushes the ship into a neutral trajectory and allows the AI pilot to pull them in the rest of the way. Airtraffic isn't as advanced as a typical colony's, but it'll take you in if you get close enough.

The ship manages to dock without too much of a hassle, barring the major one that arises when they deplane with a government agent android baby person, a major celebrity and a Hunter.

"We are here on business." Epic states firmly, his hands held over his head. Truckee and Big are acting similar, Truckee standing behind Epic and Big sitting on Epic's shoulder. Surrender routines are pretty universal across the known universe.

"Business with who exactly?" Says one of several men holding guns at them.

"Well, that is a bit complex."

"I believe that you can spell it out for me."

"For us." Another says.

"Look, all of you know that something of extremely high importance was stolen from me." Truckee steps up to speak, the guns follow him.

"Jewel, right."

"Right. We need to know who is fencing it. I'm on a job, so none of you are at risk."

"None of us are at risk either way, far as I can see." The first man says, wiggling his gun with a grin.

"Look. Just give us a meet with Mr. Machinist, put us under whatever surveillance you want, we just want information and off we'll go."

"Hmph." The leader of the goons grunts, closing his eyes. Someone is eSing him. His eyes open, and he puts his gun in a holster at his belt. He waves the rest of the men away, and back to their jobs. "Mach is interested in you. Apparently he wants to speak. Go hang out in the bizarre and he'll send a guy."

A door opens, and the boys enter into a large rambling marketplace. Stalls setup as far as the eye can see, selling every kind of illegal object, download or what have you. Hundreds of people wander seemingly randomly, but all with way too many weapons for Big to possibly point at.

"This is... insane." Truckee murmurs.

"You have no idea how many yellows I have here. Like everyone here but you, for instance." He scans the room, mostly small fries, but...

"What? Do I have something in my hair?" Truckee fiddles with his wig.

"There is a hit on you too."

"What?!"

"Let me check." Epic closes his eyes. Truckee takes this moment to scan the area. Scary people all over, most needing a heavy shower session. The stall they are standing in front of is much like the rest, a roof with small stone supports. Filled with things on a table. The things on this table are parts of various semi-sentient to sentient species.

"Are those genitals?"

"Yeah. You got a problem with that Miss or Mister?" A particularly 'interesting' fellow barks. A human wearing about half a fur coat, three separate see-thru jerseys and a pair of double waisted jeans. His blond hair hanging in a thick pony stuck through the back of his filthy vintage baseball cap.

"I don't talk to ape men."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Nevermind. Epic, the news?"

"Seems that they are accusing you of stealing your own gem."

"Fantastic, so what am I going for?"

"Chump change. Seventeen thousand rico."

"Fuck, I can't even get this Tellurian uterus for that much."

"Dude, Tellurians are asexual."

"You just can't buy good sexual organs these days. Is there somewhere I can get a drink in this piece?"

"Good question. Big, are you getting anything on GPS, because my eButler isn't giving me any internal stuff on this place..."

"No-thing! This place is shielded from our fizz isles!!" Big says from Epic's shoulder. Epic swears under his breath while Truckee goes to the next booth to ask for directions. Never ask a genital salesman for advice on food or drink, as his answers will either be genital related ('the tip of this here penis') or disgusting ('the tip of this here penis') or both (see previous).

Sixteen stalls straight ahead, three slightly left along the side of a giant metal pillar of some sort, and you get to a large sprawling bar. Two floors filled with cutthroats, thieves, molesters, arms dealers, arm stealers, and the like. Truckee walks behind Epic, who nods at a few people he recognizes on the way in. The bar is open walled to the bizarre; a metal building made to look like an old fashioned wooden bar, all gashed and pocked pillars, and plastic 'wooden' tables and chairs. The bar is very high, with tall stools, backed with a huge mirror with random news feeds scrawling in small squares here and there. The boys decide to sit by the edge so they can be found should whoever is meeting them come to meet them.

"So are we going to be waiting here forever?"

"It kind of seems that way, doesn't it?"

"Well, whatever, at least this place serves regular food." Truckee points at something when the waiter comes by, Epic orders beers and a steak, and Big just asks for water.

"Do androids eat?" Truckee asks Epic for some reason, then they both look at Big.

"We get miz-ost of our enArrgy from our inside batteries and so-lar cells in our skin! Bizzut, some energy kan come from huu-man fizzy! I requizzire liquidz to work!"

"Is there some reason he talks like that?"

"Big, can you talk regular?" Epic asks nicely, perhaps the vaguely offensive stereotype is only an accent program and not his main personality. Adding additional crimes to the owner of that fucking shoe store.

"I guess!" Big laughs. Truckee raises one eyebrow slightly, was the child fucking with them this whole time?

"How did you become a lance?" Truckee decides to ask the newly understandable toddler.

"About six years ago, I was involved in an armed robbery at one of our stores in Lowers! I managed to get the man, mostly because he thought I was a holograph."

"Oh. So you were approached then?" Epic mentions between bites.

"Yes. I was asked if I would. A couple of my product line were tapped after that, which is when we built that base under our flagship store."

"Does Big Big Baby actually exist?"

"He's been dead for twenty years."

"Oh." Truckee mutters, not sure whether or not this line of questioning veered into bad taste.

"Is it okay for you to be gone this long?" Epic continues.

"Official business!"

"Right right. Finish yourself off, I mean your dinner. Finish your dinner." Truckee stumbles, Epic just grins and digs into his steak.

Dinner goes without event, and a man introduces himself on the way out. He's about Epic's size, so quite tall, but thinner. A spacer, a man bred for space travel and long term zero gee movement. They walk around the bizarre for a bit, taking a route that only seems logical to their guide. Eventually they end up at the front door of the big metal pillar. Several men with guns guard the door, a giant metal sheet with hundreds of mounted lasers welded to it, making the guards somewhat superfluous.

"What're they expecting the android apocalypse here or something?" Truckee mutters under his breath as they walk in.

"No one ever expects the android apocalypse!" Big says from Epic's shoulder. Apparently screaming constantly is part of his primary programming. Epic seems to be enjoying himself, greeting the various thugs as they pass by, Truckee is somewhat more nervous. Each doorway they travel through is a doorway that could be locked to keep them from travelling back out again. A stairway greets them as they exit another door, that would be number ten for trannies counting, and there are trannies counting. Their guide is taking the stairs two at a time, which is at least keeping Truckee away from focusing too much on his impending death.

"This house has entirely too many foyers."

"I'd have to agree. Buddy, we close?" Epic says as they reach a landing, the stairs look to go up at least ten more floors. Truckee is breathing hard, and Epic is tired of having a baby as a shoulder pad. The guy doesn't even turn around, just hopping up the steps.

"I'll take that as a 'fuck you', then." Truckee mutters, glad he wore flats.

They continue thusly until they reach the very top floor. By then Truckee is wheezing and Epic has switched Big to the other shoulder. At the last landing is a giant gilded door engraved with the image of a lion biting the head off of a dragon. It's quite beautiful if one is into graphic violence portrayed in gold on one's door. Truckee even finds it a bit garish; this is a military instillation of some sort if he isn't mistaken.

Inside is another hallway lined with pillars, between each is a long drapery depicting a skirmish. Each panel portraying another step forward in the battle, a story told in forty foot long tapestry. Epic whistles. The floor is a complex white marble, the ceiling vaulted very high and either showing or actually being, the outside of the city. The gas giant filling the entirety of the sky.

The door ahead is already opened, a double door leading into a brightly lit chamber. Books are lined on every wall, two floors of books. In the center of the room is a long wooden table, impossibly dark and veined with extremely light patterns. An ancient geneered variety of tree, native to the Sprawl. Truckee knows enough about organics to know that this particular slab of wood is worth several Tellurian uteri. At the end of the table is a smartly dressed man, a navy blue tunic with silver buttons, who looks none too pleased to be bothered.

"Come in. Please sit. Ace, can you get us some water and hit the field on your way out." Blam Machinist speaks in a very low timber, rolling out of his mouth like ancient runes. Almost indecipherably low in timber, appearing on seismograph readings.

Water arrives and Ace leaves them, hitting a switch as he exits. Big taps his forehead, inferring their sever from the World. Epic drinks his water politely, Truckee crosses his arms.

"What do you want to speak to me about?" Mach looks Epic dead in the eyes. Mach is a big man, not particularly tall, but of imposing size horizontally. He got to where he is by force, not by blood like some of the Lords. The Guild, one of the oldest galactic crime syndicates, is made of Hunters who broke away from the Hunt proper. Braking rules gets you thrown out of the Hunt, but once a hired gun always a hired gun, and so the Guild was born. Originally it was centered out of Mars, but as rules and politics became what they were, the Guild pulled its main operation out to Dub-X (a colony it had cofounded with the rest of the Lords). This was about four hundred years ago, so a few Lords have been in and out since then.

"We're involved in some deep shit. You catch the news?"

"Jewel stolen. You think I did it?"

"No, sir. There are things that aren't adding right, and I think you might know who's jinxing my math." Epic puts his cup down, placing both hands on the table. Mach leans his head slightly to one side.

"What's off? Some no name stole your shit, is going to probably try an fence it, and will then get caught by the Federalis. I don't know what you want me to do for you."

"Who do you know that could hack the net long enough for a sale to go through?"

"Each of us has probably like ten guys who could do that. But the funds would still be there. There would have to be some way to hide the money from the Federalis long enough that they don't see the connection. Hacking the system for more than an instant would leave a wave of lag too big for anyone to hide. What you got is an impossible crime."

"But someone is trying it, and I don't think that they are stupid enough to not be planning success."

"Look. I've got nothing for you. I recommend you check your security tapes and find whoever did this the old fashioned way. Now get out of my sight before I take your little girlfriend's bounty just for being a nuisance."

"Sir." Truckee mutters, and rises to leave.

As they leave, "If you find someone who can do all you say, you send him straight to me. Guy'd make me the richest man in the fucking Universe." Epic waves, not looking back, and they exit how they came. About halfway down the stairs, Truckee starts cursing.

"What's up?" Epic says nonchalantly, almost too content to walk back down.

"We came here for what now?"

"What we got."

"We got nothing! He said that he didn't do it, and that he didn't know who even could."

"Right. That cuts a lot of options down."

"And what the fuck are we supposed to do with that?"

"Less options mean less correct answers. Finding the Jewel isn't just about finding it, it's about finding where it isn't."

"What are you Buddhist? At this rate, are we going to go to every possible person and just ask them if they did it?"

"No. The Lords are out. I have a pretty good idea where we should go next."

"What?"

"Why are there no security cameras in your building?"

"T-Net has... the outage."

"Right. You told me the Net cut out right before it happened."

"Someone hacked the footage."

"Correct. Someone who has access to your cameras, your building, your office. We are both completely aware that you did not commit this crime, yet the GovNet thinks you did. That means there is no footage of a crime happening in a motherfucking footage factory. If T-Net doesn't have internal cameras pointing in every direction, during a motherfucking press conference no less, then I would be surprised to the point of mental decay."

"So whoever did this?"

"Wants you on ice, bad enough to spend some serious talent making sure it looks like you did it yourself."

"That's why they think it was me..." Truckee stops walking as they hit the bottom floor, half from exhaustion, half from confusion. Who could possibly hope to get the Jewel? Are they going to use it, knowing the cost? Epic looks ahead, and then at Truckee.

"Pull it together. We need to get out of here, hospitality is limited with pirates."

"One would think."

# <11.2>

Sunshine is brought into the station through the merchant entrance, her kidnapper pulling her by a chain attached to her wrists. He has some sort of badge that allows him by the checkpoint with little hassle, even with a woman in tow. Sunshine assumes that the lawless situation in Orii makes this sort of thing probably pretty normal.

He sort of pushes her through the bizarre, booths everywhere holding things even Sunshine hasn't seen before. Parts of this and that, guns of various sizes and legal situations, brews and vials of drugs or whatever. She hasn't seen the kidnapped supermodel sex-slave booth yet, so her new home is probably on the other side of "that tallest building in the colony", which appears to be the large metal monolith looming ahead.

"Are they going to kill me?"

"Doubt it. Otherwise they would have told me to do it."

"But Stardust..." Stardust was trying to... Was she hired by the same people?

A tall man and a transvestite appear in her peripheral vision. They only catch her eye in the crowd because she can swear she recognizes the man in the dress, and the other one has a baby smoking a cigar on his shoulder. That and they are both staring at her. Her eyes plead, 'Help me.'

The tall man curses under his breath, looks at the woman, and gives him the child. His hand goes to his belt, and Sunshine instinctively goes limp. She falls backward, pulling the chain with her, and her kidnapper staggers long enough to get a bolt in the back of the neck. Blood splatters everywhere, and the crowd barely walks around him. They seem more worried that the blood might stain their clothing, despite that train having already left the station in most cases.

The tall man grabs her chain and tugs her along, holding a finger to his mouth as they walk. He looks left and right quickly, and pulls the chain tight. He starts to run, pushing people out of the way. The transvestite flanks them from the right and begins running with them, holding the baby under one arm like a football. Stardust does her best to run, but people keep bumping into her and they aren't making great time. Stardust can see the people closing in on them now, standing between the booths holding various weapons.

"What're we going to do now?" The tranny mutters under his breath, and Sunshine recognizes him.

"Truckee?"

"Miss Apocalypse."

"What the fuck?"

"Exactly what I've been thinking for the last couple of days."

"Can you both kindly shut the fuck up and run, there are people with weapons." The tall man says over his shoulder, pulling on Sunshine to emphasize his point.

A shot rings off of one of the posts of a booth, someone is closing from behind, but the crowd is getting thicker. The loading area is ahead and there are entirely too many men with guns there. The tall man hesitates as the crowd thickens towards the docking area. He fingers his belt.

"When it happens. Run straight ahead, don't look back. We're dock two three eight, straight ahead second on the left." The tall man says very quickly, letting go of the chain and palming something. Truckee tenses, Sunshine pulls her chain into her hands, and the baby gets passed to the tall man's shoulder again. The baby pulls two plastic pistols out of his diaper.

"Close your eyes for three seconds, exactly."

The tall man shoots two people following them, and the kid shoots three ahead of them. The tall man throws something over his head.

"One." She closes her eyes right when a flash goes off. Even with her eyes shut she almost feels like the center of the sun is directly in front of her.

Two. Guns shooting and people screaming. Someone's hand pulls at hers, and she starts walking forward.

Three. Guns shooting and people screaming. The hand pulls a lot harder, and she tries to run with her eyes shut. Luckily she is wearing boots.

Her eyes open and there are corpses all around them, and people are running everywhere. The massive doors to the dock are slowly closing, presumably automatic. Almost all of the gunmen are shooting arbitrarily, blinded temporarily by the flash grenade the tall man threw. All of the non-gunmen, who are all criminals so they are just inactive gunmen, are definitely blind and a lot of them are shooting or stabbing wildly as well. Truckee and Sunshine run as fast as they can, and hit the dock with no particular incident. No one was stationed that far back, and the people who were back there originally are all hiding behind chairs or what have you on account of all the bullets.

"Can you open this thing?"

"Yeah. Epic LT'd me the code. Let me see. Oh god, we're going to like explosively decompress or something and I just know that my dead body will end up in the tabs. Fuck shit fuck shit fuck--" Truckee is literally vibrating with nerves, making typing somewhat problematic. He gets it on his second try and the dock door irises open.

"Is he coming? I can't fly this ship, can you?" Sunshine is breathing hard, only mostly from running. The ship is all lights and buttons, much more like she would expect from a space ship, but also entirely more intimidating.

"I can turn it on, and AI can undock us and take us to the LaGrange... but..."

"So we need him back."

"Him or the kid. Preferably both."

"What kind of child is that?"

"Android or something." Truckee says as they strap in. The ship they have is much smaller than the one she came in on, so it actually has a bridge. It is more of a trader, or a scavenger or something. Very little living space, lots of storage space. Truckee bands himself in and Sunshine does the same, figuring that if they can't make it out like this they are probably just as well getting shot in a chair. The room is long and elliptical in nature, with video screens where windows would logically be. All the virtual stuff in the last ship is actual in this ship, although they can all be operated in the World like before.

Someone bounds into the back loudly and the doors hiss shut. The noises get louder and Sunshine just closes her eyes expecting her death. A person straps in, it seems to take forever. The rip and grip of velcro and buckles, and then someone stomps forward, tapping her shoulder lightly. He chuckles as he passes, and Truckee laughs only sort of hysterically.

"Epic Death. Pleased to meet you." He says as he straps in, waiting for Sunshine to open her eyes and accept that her demise has yet to arrive.

"Sunshine Apocalypse. You get me out of this I will pay you whatever money I haven't already promised to the first guy."

"Fantastic, I love good motivation." Epic grins and finishes strapping himself in. The outside of the ship is getting pounded on by something, but it stops as Epic starts spooling up the fusion drive.

"Big, can you hard-jack into the ship for me? I need your processing power for this to work."

"Can do!"

"Okay, everyone hold your breath and hope that this doesn't kill us all."

"What are you going to do?!" Truckee screams, a lot of lights are blinking and the white lights are on again. Something bad. Sunshine feels like she is going to hyperventilate. They uncouple from the dock and pull forward entirely too fast, nearly ramming a transport vessel.

It would be good to note that there is a very specific set of differences between a LaGrange station like Selba Station and an orbital colony like Torch or Dub-X. That difference is on how they maintain artificial gravity. The exact explanation of gravlift technology is both complex and tedious, but like any other function there are outputs. Those outputs are shunted out of the bottom of the colony at a very particular angle to the planet below for reasons only the architects of the things probably have any idea how to explain correctly. The important part is that unlike Selba Station, there is a no-fly zone below the colony. As in no fly so your fusion drive doesn't go wacko and explode sort of zone. Only someone with a deathwish or a serious case of the mentally unstable would ever go within two hundred miles of the base of a colony.

"I'm going to jump the LaGrange under the station's artificial gravity well."

"What?!" Truckee screams, the engines are very loud. The artificial low has to go somewhere, the repulsion area would shoot them directly into the gas giant, and possibly punch a hole through the ship in the process. That is avoiding the whole 'boom' scenario.

"Is that even possible?" Sunshine joins in the yelling, it seems to be keeping Truckee sane.

"Um..." Epic squints, pushing a lot of buttons very quickly. His eyes are moving very fast, his tongue pinched between his teeth. The ship's AI would never fly this way, which is why the lights are blinking, so Big is forcing it to while simultaneously giving his processing power to the... process. The ship is diving very fast, dodging several more logically inclined ships. One of the asteroids with the guns is spinning on its orbit.

"Truckee, log into the external cameras. I need you to-"

"Dodge left!!" Truckee screams hysterically, and the ship pulls hard away. Sunshine logs into the cameras as well, and instantly regrets it. A huge missile barely misses them to the side and takes out the front half of a long segmented barge. Boxes of junk spinning violently from the explosion. Epic sucks in very quick, and they start spiraling. Sunshine is about a hundred percent sure she is going to vomit. Gravity this close to the planet is still above zero, particularly this close to the gravity well created by the station, worsening the effect is the rotation and strange combination of gravimetric forces one feels while hurtling between two opposing gravities.

"Above!"

"I saw that." Epic guns it, and they get hit somewhere in the back. Their spinning turns into an all out gyroscopic nightmare, going end over end and around. The ship's cameras are a blur of barely missing ships, boxes colliding with this and that instrument. All the while the ship is plowing towards the bottom of the station.

"Just. Got. To. Stable." Epic grunts, pulling on the steering wheel as hard as he can. The ship shutters and the lateral spinning stops as the ship starts speeding up, ahead a cruiser is sitting in wait. As their craft somersaults it appears again and again in Sunshine's vision. The specter of death sitting coolly, obscured by other ships that have noticed the ruckus and debris and are attempting to flee to other areas.

"Fuck!" Truckee screams, clenching his eyes shut. Epic screams incoherently. The lights are blinking and that horn is going off. What the hell does that horn mean? A missile hits them somewhere on the right part of the ship. Sunshine is positive the horn also meant ninja assassin has killed the crew in deep space. So the horn isn't really very descriptive. If anything it is only making matters worse. Freaking someone out who is already being attacked by either missiles or space ninjas is just cruel, and denotes a lack of horn planning on the part of the manufacturer.

The ship won't follow them below the rim of the colony, Sunshine is sure of it. No one is paid enough to do that. If they can get past it, there is nothing there but the shredding death of gravity. Epic must have done this before, right? Like riding a bike into a volcano, it gets easier every time you do it. Right? Besides being shredded to death can't be that bad, it's probably real fast like getting hit by an asteroid or run over by a sling. Practically painless, except for the searing, mind melting pain. The lights go red, and the horns are deafening. Truckee screams. Sunshine screams. Epic sort of grunts loudly.

And then nothing. Silence.

Sunshine opens her eyes, and sees that they aren't dead.

"We aren't dead."

"Seems that way." Epic coughs, unplugging himself from his chair. The video screens are showing random space.

"Where are we going now?" Truckee says, rubbing his eyes with his hands. Running SO many downer programs.

"That depends. Why were you being dragged into Blam Machinist's place?" Epic says, turning to Sunshine.

"I don't know. There is a hit on me, and I got attacked by some guy in a bad fitting suit in a candy store. I was just picking up my check and then..." Sunshine starts going hysterical, Epic grabs her shoulders.

"I know you had the hit on you. A big fucking bounty, I might add-" Epic says, but Sunshine is getting worse, change of subject?

"Where were you working?" Truckee half says to himself.

"T-Net tower." She says. Epic looks at Truckee, then back at Sunshine.

"There is a hit on you."

"They think I stole a gem."

"My gem."

"Your gem?"

"His gem."

"I know... I mean, I guess it couldn't be this serious unless it was that. So I didn't know, but now I get it. I had... I had a guy helping me. Oh god, what if they got Pepper too?"

"No. Fucking..." Epic mutters. Truckee is un-entertained by another dead end, she doesn't have it either. He goes and busies himself with something in the cargo-hold. He only remembered her name because Epic said it out loud when he read the bounty listing. Models are only temporarily acceptable wastes of money, and should be disposed of immediately after use. Like a condom, or a college education. But as she is in the newest advertisement for the Race, it would be bad business to let her die or become a sex-slave or something.

"Do you know who attacked you in the building?"

"Guy in an ill-fitted gray suit... not really. One of his bodyguards?" She mutters, her head tipping in Truckee's direction. Truckee clangs something very loudly in the back.

"No. But you had seen him around the building before?"

"I think so. I'm not sure. I thought I'd seen them talking before, but Truckee and I have never seen each other in person before. I mean I've seen him, we've been in the same room, but not together or whatever. He doesn't like to talk to the talent."

"Hmm... So then you just end up in Peppermint White Ninja's lap?"

"Generally speaking, yes. Then we get attacked by Baby Doll Judah Stardust at this rape factory, and I get dragged to the Redlights to buy a sex-robot, and then I end up in the Low Tech Zone, and our barge gets highjacked by ninjas. Well, ninja singular. Then you were with me for the rest."

"Fuck!" Epic grabs his nose with two fingers. Apparently bad news is his only weakness. The pieces in play in this chess game are fucking dangerous as hell, like if the pawns were all knights, and the knights are all on fire, and like carrying giant explosive axes laced with poison or something. Truckee comes back to the bridge with a smile on his face. Epic needs to think this over, but planning has never been his bag. Pepper was always the planner, he was the finesse man. Luckily, Pepper seems to be on his side on this one, and because they are both on the same side of the Hunt they can team up. Assuming he isn't dead.

"I got good news and great news. The good news is that the explosive decompression from the missile attack has been held back to the back four sections." Epic starts laughing, Sunshine looks at him harshly, and he attempts to stop.

"Well that does sound fantastic." Sunshine is more sarcastic than she has ever been before, her eyes almost rolling out of her skull.

"Who doesn't love explosive decompression?" Epic is definitely developing a migraine.

"Okay, I'm on a lot of drugs." That's when everyone notices that Truckee came back holding two bottles of mystery fluid.

"That does explain the whole 'dead behind the eye' effek you are giving." Sunshine says sort of looking through Truckee, giving the same look herself, more out of being shell-shocked than anything else.

"What's the other thing?" Epic interjects.

"The forward four sections are filled with space ship parts and booze."

"Okay, we fix the ship before we get drunk, Truckee." Epic half scolds him, and starts for the back. Epic waves for Big to follow him, and the toddler floats obediently behind him. The ship is artificially generating about half a gee, so at least movement isn't too awkward.

"And what use would I be in doing that?" Truckee slurs.

"True enough. Well, at least share some with the model. She looks like she is going to park-out at any second."

"Can do." Truckee grins and puts a bottle directly in Sunshine's face, and she can't help but smile back. Maybe things are going to be okay, or at the very least she can die a horrible death completely and belligerently wasted. Like her foremothers would have wanted.

# <12.0>

Selba Prime Concern

**This Day in History:** 2514he

It was this day in 2514he, that the Colonial Government joined the Federation of Races as a full member. Doing so was based on the universal ratification of the Federation Bill of Advanced Life, which requires many large regulations on sales of goods, but is most remembered for the outright ban of production on full AI android models, or Frees.

This protocol, first championed by the Z'arkadar race, was a major take for the new human government. Frees were used extensively, and to the major protest of the Z'arkadar ambassadors to the Central7, as free labor and front line troops during the Colonial Wars.

After escalating threats of attack by more extreme factions of the Z'arkadar government, partially backed by the other High Races after a friendly fire attack on the Tellurian Settlement on Andromeda IV in 2510he led to thousands of casualties, this ban made all Frees currently in function, or any partially in progress at the time of ratification, full citizens of the planet on which they were produced. Free advocates mark this day as a turning point in AI-Human relations.

# <12.1>

Colanaman is the fifth planet in the Nuro-Nuro System, the system's name being derived from the twin stars at its core, which is also why the colonization of Nuro-Nuro never really took off. LaGrange calculations are intensely difficult in a multi-star system, and with only one somewhat mineable atmosphere and two habitable planets (if you consider the ice planet Issiminst to be habitable, which only the Fiod do) the monetary policy just isn't there. That said, Colanaman is a perfectly habitable planet in a reasonably situated area of the galaxy, so of course eventually the colonists would come. Colanaman is about twice the size of Earth, having roughly the same percentage of land to water, it sits at a good inclination to the bigger Nuro twin, and has decent weather if one avoids the coasts during the tsunami season when the Nuros tend to fight over the world's oceans. A better planet for growing a solid crop and living in the throw-back lifestyle that was all the rage two hundred years ago was just not developing at that point, so a big group of survivalists and biogenetic purists packed up ships from the Central7 and took huge tracts of land and built ungodly messes of various geneered (no one could find an actually organic seed-line at this point if they wanted) crops to harvest using the newest servitor threshers, harrowers and whatever else the ships bring in to the tradeshows in the capital city of Minat.

Pepper lands without incident in Minat's lone spaceport, a relatively new gravsling set in the outskirts of town, where such things really should always be placed when you really think about it. Apocalypse proves to be somewhat helpful, as her World access allows Pepper to focus on checking for tails while she leads them to this baggage terminal and that taxi-service leading to such and such hotel near the beach, which Pepper didn't remember having placed reservations for until he checked his account and realized that he had done it during one of the moments where he had been attempting to ignore how bitchy this robot is and had decided a unobstructed ocean view might be nice.

"Are you getting in the fucking elevator?"

"Yes dear." Pepper moans, lugging several suitcases full of shit he had bought to make it look like he was taking a supermodel (while simultaneously looking like he is taking an old woman) to a colonizing world, and that would be a lot of shit. Apocalypse, despite presumably being stronger than Pepper, is just carrying her purse. And tapping her foot. Pepper doesn't remember the real Sunshine being this way, he was sure he had saved her from Stardust for a reason, while now he is waiting the seconds until she catches up and places a fucking bullet so—deep... Regardless, monitoring e-queries and interference, he has no evidence she followed them.

This move is pretty dependent on it working, as if she didn't take the bait, and did find Sunshine, the real one...well, not good things will be happening to a pretty girl on his account. Perhaps cuntbot is some sort of penance for what he's probably putting Sunshine through right now. That's when he hears her. Laughing just a little, in the bar behind him to the left. He would recognize her laugh literally anywhere because she laughed then. When they were leaving that godforsaken station behind, bodies floating out of airlocks here and there, she was giggling quietly. The sound turns his stomach as he throws the bags into the elevator and waits for the door to close without him.

"I was wondering how long it would take you." Pepper says, pulling the composite pistols from his 'gut', not turning around, seemingly talking to the elevator that just left.

"Your neighbor was pretty forth coming as to your next choice of venue. Then it was just a simple torture session in the Red Light District, and here I am." Stardust is carrying at least A gun, the man she is with is whimpering. A couple of women are sobbing, the World traffic is ridiculous. People calling for help, which means Lances on their way. Lances who will allow the Hunt to continue, and therefore will be of no help to Pepper.

"You kill him?"

"Porn monkey? Chili Hobo? Or are we both talking about my new boyfriend – What was your name again?"

"Mar- mar—"

"My boyfriend Marmar. Honey, consider a name change."

"I... uh..."

"Women like men of action, try not to talk while the adults are speaking, eh?"

"The homeless man, bitch." Pepper hisses.

"No I didn't kill your precious destitute, don't throw a rod."

"Come out here. Leave those people alone."

"Yeah, no. Come in here, have a drink. Bring your new girlfriend, I do so ever want to properly meet her. I owe her a little something."

"Bitch."

"Huh? I can't hear you, I'm having a lovely conversation with this—"

"I-investment banker... I uh... I have a family..." Pepper looks for cover. The elevators are in an open hallway, left behind leads to some doors, presumably the kitchen judging from placement. Right behind leads to a hall, probably guest quarters and then outside to the beachfront area. Directly reverse, there is the bar on his left, the front desk on his right, a fountain directly straight that sits in an open atrium to the front doors. So outside is out, he'd have to go in front of the bar, risking 'family man' as well as any other patrons and his own ass. Front desk isn't protected by anything, no physical rico so no shielding either. So it is left to kitchen, right to rooms, or up the elevator. He presses the up button as he mulls it over.

"That's not what you told me a minute ago, Marmar." Stardust chuckles, the man is officially crying and probably wetting himself. Some people start running for the front doors, providing good covering sounds for Pepper to make a decision during.

"Regardless, I find your presence disgusting. Could you go? I think my eye caught some other fishy." A crack of her pistol on bone, the man runs for the doors. "Honey, I'm coming to you now. Be sure to have a big wet kiss waiting for me." She purrs as the walks around the wall backing the bar, but as she points her guns ahead it isn't hard to see that Pepper is no longer there.

"So that's how it's going to be is it." Stardust smirks, and runs towards the elevators. As she gets close, the doors open, but no one is inside. So it's a left or right sort of thing. Beach or kitchen, beach or kitchen... Kitchen has more cover, and like knives or boiling water, but this isn't a Hong Kong action movie and throwing a frozen fish at her isn't going to keep the gun from going off. Beach is pretty much coverless, but there are the various bungalows, and if you get outside first you could feasibly set yourself up and drown the exits in bullets as soon as someone pops up.

Stardust attempts to think how Pepper would think, as she is one hundred percent positive she would have gone for the front door and stolen a car in his situation. What would someone who actually plans ahead do? Stardust heads left for the beach, but as she turns away from the elevator and rounds the corner towards the hallway behind, something hits her in the small of her back. Something small and round.

"FUCK!" Stardust dashes for the hallway, attempting to put distance between herself and the grenade. She keeps running for a good fifteen seconds, before she realizes that the grenade never happened. "Goddamn motherfucking piece of motherfucking—"

As Stardust dashes for her life, Pepper pulls himself out of the elevator shaft on the fifth floor. When the big scatter happened before, Pepper had lowered himself into the shaft, and when the doors had opened for Stardust, he was clinging underneath. He had hoped that she didn't stay watching the elevator for too long, as he had wedged it open for the next bit. Wait a few seconds for the elevator to be called by Apocalypse, throw his fake tumor at her (part of the disguise to make his gut look real to the scanners at the spaceport), and escape.

"Where is she?" Apocalypse asks, sort of frantic sounding, as she pulls Pepper from his perch.

"I'd say she is aware that it wasn't a grenade, but she has yet to figure out where we are."

"So..."

"She could be anywhere. That girl does the first thing that comes to her mind, every time."

"How do you fight that?"

"Fuck if I know. Right now, I say we find a way to get out of here. There are too many unplanable variables in this location. She's going to find our room in probably about twenty seconds, she'll be up here in about one minute. We don't have the firepower to handle her without potentially harming others, and I have to keep up the illusion that you are still the real deal, but it would help if we both worked together, and it's not exactly like she..." Pepper isn't really talking to Apocalypse anymore, running numbers and scenarios in his head as fast as he can. Apocalypse takes this time to go through their luggage, pulling out a shotgun from her dresses, a few hack mines from his boxers, a pistol from a shoe, and a taser-whip from an umbrella's staff. They have some weapons at least, Pepper notes while watching her place them calmly in front of him one at a time. He has to get Stardust, find a way to take her off the board, at least temporarily, before going back for Sunshine.

"What do we have here?" A man walks up to them; Apocalypse grabs the nearest gun and points it at the man. The safety light is still illuminated, Pepper stands. He is a tall thin man with grey hair, although he looks to be only thirty five, forty at the most. He has a stern look to him. Federali.

"Apocalypse, hold it. Did you get called when someone pulled the alarms or eS'd for help or something?"

"Nothing like that. I heard the woman here has something that everyone is looking for and— Is that an android duplicate?" He says with a very high level of anger behind it. Whoever told him that this Hunter had the girl is going to get demoted to the highest position possible on the most backward station in the Sprawl. Pepper smirks. Managed to fool the Federalis too.

"No. What?"

"Jewel of the Ancients."

"You think she stole it?" Pepper starts laughing. Shit, time constraints. Pepper squats quickly, opens and closes his hands then points at the tazer, the sign for 'give me' which is also pretty universal in known space. Sunshine throws the tazer at Pepper, and puts the pistol in her front pocket. Pepper puts the tazer down the back of his pants, and offers a hand for shaking to the agent.

"Peppermint White Ninja. I'd really like to have a long detailed discussion on how this is all a misunderstanding, but there is a hit on this young lady here. And one on myself as well. There is also a very angry young woman on her way up here this very instant, and she has at least one gun and the intent to kill the both of us. She will kill you if you get in the way, I might add. So I recommend we work on getting the absolute fuck out of here as soon as possible, and then afterwards, perhaps a light lunch where we can further discuss whatever the hell brought you all the way out here, Agent..."

"Lipservice. There is an operations elevator in the janitor's closet. Let's go." Agent Lipservice grabs Apocalypse by the wrist and starts running. Pepper drops his fake stomach and pockets his two pistols, grabbing the shotgun off the ground and chases after. He gives Lipservice and Apocalypse the 'shut off your shit' sign, and as the doors close he triggers the hackmines and slags any computer in the hotel that is presently attached to the World. Which includes their elevator, which starts an unhealthy plummet.

"Any ideas?" Lipservice screams sort of late, as Pepper is already jumping up and out of the top of the elevator. He grabs Apocalypse and Lipservice scrambles up. They have a good fifteen seconds to get this right. So no pressure. Pepper had, luckily, been planning this before they met Lipservice, and the one problem he had was not enough people. Elevators are run on maglifter technology, a technology somewhat complex to explain, but involving blackholes and revert gravitational something or other. Regardless, there are units on the top and bottom of every elevator that handle that up and down via push and pull mechanics that are much easier to explain. Pepper has fifteen seconds to remove the unit, activate it with the tazer and hope that he can figure out how to turn it off before it slams them through the roof.

Pepper and Lipservice start shooting the roof of the elevator, Apocalypse grabs the central orb unit and starts to pull, trusting the boys to aim. It springs free and Pepper tazes it as he activates his World-access, the unit shudders in Apocalypse's hands. Her skin burns slightly, but she doesn't let go. Lipservice grabs her left leg and Pepper her right, and they stop falling. Pepper can't get the unit to respond to his e-query, so the shock only gets it to do what it would normally do in a situation where access was down and power on, that being stop. So they are stuck clinging to a woman's legs in an elevator shaft. Then the elevator hits the bottom, a mind shattering blast of sound hits them, and Pepper almost loses his grip. Bits and pieces of metal hit them from below, but nothing substantive.

"What now?" Lipservice sort of grunts, realizing he can still hear.

"My arms are going to give in about three minutes, I'd recommend a decision before that happens." Pepper's eButler picks up some high-level hacking software probing the area. Stardust is still looking for them. How she avoided the EM pulse is beyond comprehension.

"Taken into consideration. Looks like we are halfway between the second and first floors." A drop of about twenty feet into a pile of sharp metal, they could live. However, they cannot fall down to the bottom floor. Any injury would only result in their deaths. Stardust was supposed to be blinded by the pulse, but as she isn't, this is going to have to be done with a lot more finesse. They cannot just go handing themselves to her on broken elevator platters.

"Okay, I love a good dangle, but could we be going somewhere?" Apocalypse says icily.

"This thing has slagged software functionality, all I can do is shock it into doing its lower level functions. Without being able to instruct it on anything else, we're just stuck here..." Pepper says, only partially to other people. Plans unfurling in his head, attempting to think of which is least likely to kill them. Or result in Stardust killing them.

"Well, I was going to use us both to... wait. This could still work." Pepper adjusts his grip on Apocalypse's right shin. "I'm going to swing my legs, try not to get kicked."

Lipservice adjusts his holding pattern to the back of Apocalypse, and Pepper attempts to pump his legs forward and back. Forward and back. His grip is getting tenuous as he picks up speed, but then his legs catch the wall behind him. A sharp twang of metal is heard, and he's pretty sure his right foot is going to need stitches.

"Okay guy, I need you to do the same thing." Lipservice nods and adjusts himself to start swinging. A couple of failed attempts and the two are in position.

"We walk, slowly, and then... Well, I haven't quite figured out that part." Pepper grunts, then the two men start attempting a rhythm. Apocalypse calls cadence after the first time Pepper almost causes Lipservice to lose his grip by falling behind. The walk is surprisingly easy, the gravlifter technology making their effective weight approximately zero, the lifter is pulling up at the force of their weight exactly and walking on the walls causes a subtle drop in weight. The thing is almost pulling them up. The struggle is to not stumble off the various electronic and metal items that elevators have sticking out of the shaft.

"I can see the door, now what?" Lipservice shouts entirely too loud, the echo attempting to give everyone a migraine. Pepper had been thinking about that, the only part he can't figure out exactly perfect is getting Apocalypse out unharmed.

"Alright. Here's what we are going to do: Lipservice step on to the elevator platform lip thing, don't let go of her leg."

Lipservice does his best to scramble his legs up onto the small metal step that links the doors when the elevator is functioning correctly. He cannot, however, figure out how to not be dangling to Apocalypse's leg and start actually standing on the landing. "I can't stand up."

"Okay, here's the tricky part. Is your grip okay?"

"Yeah."

"When I jump, I need you to fall back into the doors and pull her leg with you."

"What?"

Pepper pushes his legs as hard as he can, swinging towards the opposing wall. Lipservice gets the slack and slightly knocked back. He does his best to pull the woman to the side and risks letting one hand loose to grab the emergency open handle for support. Pepper hits his knees on Lipservice's side of the shaft, and manages not to let go of Apocalypse's ankle. His feet scratch at the wall, attempting to make purchase on some sticking out piece of machinery. His right foot finds something small and round, probably a nozzle for fire retardant foam or some such. They were lucky the fire alarms didn't auto-trigger when the access cut off. Lipservice pulls Apocalypse towards him until she shouts that she is getting to close to the wall.

"Okay. This is the hard part. Agent Lipservice, can you get the door open?"

"Maybe." The emergency handle clicked when he had pulled on it earlier, he lets go of the handle and attempts to push the doors apart. There is a small crack between them, and he pushes at one side until it makes another clicking noise. The doors both slide open. "They are open."

"Alright. Now, Apocalypse?"

"Yes?"

"I'm going to explain this first, both of you need to listen very carefully. Lipservice, I am going to need you to let go of her leg. When I float up, you need to grab me and try and haul me in."

"Okay. So is now good?"

"Whenever you two are ready, my wrists are starting to break."

"Alright. Go." Pepper grumbles. Lipservice lets go of Apocalypse's leg, and as the gravlifter was on equilibrium for the weight of the three of them, it starts floating upward. Pepper tries to walk up the side of the wall, and eventually is greeted with the agent standing in front of him. Lipservice grabs Pepper about the waist and hauls him forward with one arm, sliding his grip on the emergency handle for Pepper to grab unto it. Both men successfully on the landing, a sigh of relief echoes through the shaft.

"Okay, can you get me down from here now?" Apocalypse says coolly, not really the type for the big group hug after a life-threatening situation. That and she is still presently in that life-threatening situation.

"Okay, agent grab her other leg. Apocalypse, I am going to need you to be facing the other door for this to work. I am going to ask you to let go of that thing on the count of three. We are going to hold you steady as best we can, but you are probably going to want to catch yourself before you crack your face on the wall."

"Sure, whatever."

"One." The boys put their left arms behind the elevator doors, on the other side of the wall.

"Two." Apocalypse twists her grip slightly to make ready for the fall.

"Three." The boys pull her legs as she falls limp. Her arms catch the lip of the elevator, guarding her face from impact. Lipservice stays holding her leg, while Pepper grabs her and helps her into the second-floor janitor's closet.

"Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Okay, we need to get out of here."

"Where are we going from here?" Lipservice grunts, out of breath as the adrenaline slows in his system.

"I sent the real Sunshine Apocalypse to Checktiza, and if the hit on her is as big as it sounds like it is... Well, Stardust is the least of my worries."

"Speaking of which. How are we getting out of here? All of this will be for naught if she finds you, correct?"

"Can't you just arrest her?"

"She has yet to cause any harm to any person outside of the Hunt. As such, the rules are still in play. She has every right to follow you."

"Great. Do you have any clues as to who might actually have this jewel?"

"There are some irregularities in Toro Abobo's accounts for the team he is sponsoring for the Race of Selba, including but not limited to the Selba Tiger quitting the race mere moments before the heist. The Tiger is back in the race, and presently on Torch. There are reports that Sunshine Apocalypse is wanted for questioning on the theft of the Jewel, whereabouts unknown. There is a hit on Truckee Dumpstar, whose whereabouts are also unknown at this time, for the theft of same."

"I see. Well, I say we go find Sunshine and try and figure it out from there. " Pepper says to Apocalypse, who is presently twisting her wrists back and forth, judging their functionality. She looks at him and daggers of ice seem to shoot his direction. Even artificial women know how to make you feel guilty without ever saying a word. He turns to the agent, "We could use the extra man power. You want to come?"

"I have no other leads that seem very solid at this point. We can take my ship; I parked it at the station downtown."

"Fantastic."

# <12.2>

"So you aren't quitting on us are you?" Says the Captain.

"No. No, I had a momentary lack of sanity. I guess it just got too big for me to handle, I mean, this race. This race is something on a scale that no one has ever seen. To think so many people watching. I guess the pressure got to me."

"Son, I don't buy that shit." The Captain says, his voice booming, one eyebrow raised in his 'I don't buy that shit' look.

"Heh. Yeah, I kinda figured you wouldn't. Publicity stunt. Truckee planned it from the beginning."

"Just trying to get more cameras pointed at the race track. I can respect that." The Captain chuckles, leaning back in his seat to really get a good look at Cirrhosis. There are seventeen people sitting in the giant advertising slathered office, blinking neon everywhere making it difficult to read the old man's emotions. Most of the people are worthless peons to the actual members of Suzaku's board; there is no point to everyone being here when there is money to be made in the Universe. Cirrhosis is pretty sure his smoke blowing is going well enough, an attempt to make sure he has a place to go after the Race. Always have to have an exit strategy, even if the likelihood of Toro ripping apart his atomic bonds is rated 'high'.

"I wouldn't do anything to hurt our relationship, Captain-sir." Cirrhosis tries his best to look sincere. Captain Suzaku is an actual person, which is bizarre for a company to be basing its advertising synergy on.

The owner and CEO of Captain Suzaku's Hot Pickin' Go-Go Chicken used to be an Admiral with the Federalis. The story goes that he was stuck in a no-win situation, where terrorists were threatening to detonate a mining asteroid orbiting Andromeda IV. The deal was to give them safe passage through the LaGrange and sixteen billion rico. If that was done they would disarm the nuclear devices they had placed in various locations of the asteroid mining complex. If allowed to explode, it would cost the Andromeda system trillions upon trillions of rico to fix, basically ruining a Central7 economy and kill all the people living on the three asteroid colonies orbiting the planet. That would be about seven and a half million people. Federali policy is to never capitulate to demands of terrorists, despite their obvious willingness to make deals with organized crime. So the Admiral is left in a bit of a quandary. Allow millions to die to save trillions, make a deal and possibly save them all at the risk of this being a frequent occurrence, try and attack the colonies hoping to kill the terrorists before they kill the millions.

Suzaku did not falter. He asked to speak to the leader of the resistance group; they were a band of two hundred who wanted nothing more than to make a name for themselves and to start a new crime guild. To do that they needed to stop being a small gang on an asteroid mining colony and gather enough rico to buy themselves a part of Chi-Chi. Suzaku listened to the fervent explanation, nodded in agreement at certain problems with modern life that the leader couldn't bear any longer. Suzaku ended their conversation with a nod, stating that he had every intention to make sure that the higher ups heard what he had, and that their money would arrive on time assuming no casualties were taken. Then Suzaku had the station's gravlifters blown up, the entire station drifting slowly downward until it exploded in a fiery ball on re-entry.

A good million people died that day, but it was the best of all possible scenarios. Even so, Suzaku was demoted to Captain for his failures, and then told to retire. Suzaku was a congressman for a good while on Andromeda Prime, but eventually grew tired of the grind. Somehow that led him to being a media mogul slash chicken salesman, but Cirrhosis never quite understood what part A had to do with part B. Regardless, Suzaku is a man of considerable wealth and an eye for tradition. If Cirrhosis keeps to his good side, there will be endorsement deals coming his way. Suzaku is a man of honor and loyalty. That, and the chicken.

"Well, I have other fires to put out, son. You think you are going to win the race?"

"I am the odds on favorite."

"Still practicing?" The Captain is looking Cirrhosis over like a prime workhorse, judging his worth by the size of his musculature.

"Hitting the gym twice a day, sir."

"And the range?"

"As often as I can. Still the best shot in the league."

"Tell that to Paris VI." The Captain chuckles, an old sports rivalry exists between Selba and Paris. Cirrhosis only really has about six or seven people to worry about in the race and four come from the Paris league.

"Their kids are getting faster, that's for sure, but they lack experience. Drive. They just don't do it the way us old school racers do."

"Ain't that the truth. Heh, well that's good to hear, son. Make sure you don't take that for granted, don't get soft on me."

"Of course, sir."

Captain Suzaku stands firmly, if not quickly, being a man of a particular age. A man still sturdy and thick, but not nimble. He straightens his suit, repositions his cowboy hat, and tips it to Cirrhosis. Cirrhosis stands quickly, and salutes the man. Captain smiles, and walks out.

"Alright then. Down to business." Cirrhosis mutters as he sits back down, the flunkies of the board came to talk numbers with him. Tell him how this public appearance and that photo shoot changed the demographic uptick on the sensivise polls held by whoever the fuck cares, and how that relates to the sale of chicken nuggets on a region by region basis. So, you know, the exciting part of the meeting was just beginning.

# <12.3>

Last Chance wasn't allowed to sleep in as much as she would have liked. At about eight she gets a call from her handler on the station. A nice matronly woman who gives her an itinerary for the next week, which takes into account her 'relationship' with Cirrhosis. Last chuckles at the prim and proper woman telling her about how she should attempt to keep herself from fucking Cirrhosis until next week, as it should be as close to the race as possible to get the best ratings boost. The woman is somewhat mortified in stating anything sexual, and she is asking Last to treat her actual relationship like a sort of televised prostitution. Last doesn't have the heart to tell the poor woman that Cirrhosis has yet to even kiss her, the last night ending with a hug at her door.

Last muddles through the dialog bits she is supposed to use during her various tasks set throughout the day, and manages to get a decent shower and breakfast before having to walk to her job. The streets are barren, not nearly as bustling in the early morning. Shop keepers are opening doors, unfurling canopies over their wares. The slow movements of a market about to start bustling surround Last as she makes her way to the train-station, her eyes recording everything she sees. Last could get used to living in a place like this, but it would be murder for her career.

The dome Last and Cirrhosis are staying in is one of the more residential inclined locations on Torch, and to the other domes it is connected by various tubes and walkways. The train system runs both through the asteroid itself, and above the habitats in vacuum sealed tubes. Last has to go to the central dome, the Crimson district, where the city is much more business orientated. The train ride lasts only five minutes, but is full of breathtaking views of the red planet below and the sun cresting over a nearby moon. Last exits her train energized and excited for the next thing to happen, whatever that might entail.

Crimson station is all white, with subtle fixtures and a very ascetic tonality to even the motion adverts, which gives Last a moment to catch her breath before going up the stairs. The city itself is practically screaming with activity, people everywhere, buildings touching the top of the dome, personal transports zipping like gnats between the structures. Last is instantly overwhelmed, never taking a moment to think Torch would be this big of a colony. She stands on the sidewalk for a good minute just absorbing the lights and sounds before pulling up a map her eButler provided. Last is to be a model in a fashion show held tomorrow evening in a bigger hotel about half a mile from her hotel, but the agency is in Crimson and that is where she is going now.

"Miss Chance, wonderful to finally meet you." A small woman exclaims suddenly from Last's left.

"I. Oh, well, hello there." Last stumbles, realizing this was an intended accidental meeting that had been planned by the producers to give Torch a more 'home-town' feel. Last smiles brightly, remembering herself. "I just got here, and I never would have thought I'd just bump into someone I know right off the train."

"Well, I was looking for you. Plans changed, the designer wants to meet with you over lunch."

"Oh I see. Where to then?"

"Follow me." The woman grabs Last's wrist and pulls her down the street to a busy intersection. The woman's other arm is raised, and a taxi slides down from the traffic scrum overhead and parks in front of them. Last smiles and holds the door for the woman, who tells the driving unit their destination as Last gets a final look around at train-station.

"You coming?"

"Oh, sorry. This place is just so different than I expected."

"Get that a lot from newcomers, news isn't kind to us these days."

"Heh, it certainly seems that way. Well, let's get going then." Last says with a smile as she sits. A long day of fake smiling ahead, well, only half fake. This whole tourism thing is actually kind of fun.

# <13.0>

Selba Prime Concern - Kids Corner

Word of the Day

ElectronicSpeech (n): ElectronicSpeech is a core product of Asynk Core's Biosynch technology. Almost always called eS for short, ElectronicSpeech is a way to have a voice conversation with any one or more individuals with World access. Unlike a full sensivise session, eS has no emotional transmission, and only sends what the user thinks of saying. ES users do not need to speak aloud to transmit, but often do anyway.

# <13.1>

The remainder of the meeting went how the remainder of meetings tend to go once the people in charge leave: so nothing of actual substance happened just a lot of portends to this and that eventuality if this and that contractual obligation isn't fulfilled. Basically, each peon had his or her pet projects to purport for their master and Cirrhosis was expected to take notice of this very important imperative passed on from said master. All in all, it amounted to an hour long bitch-fest which Cirrhosis struggled to appear interested in. Most of the demands were things he was doing already (appear in public wearing Suzaku's symbolage), things he would do eventually (groom yourself for the race), or things he had no actual control over (win the race).

Cirrhosis left the massive complex in the heart of the Crimson district a little dazed. He got his eButler to hail him a cab and decided it was probably about time to get back to business. Armor Trapezium didn't give the air of a guy who would just wait calmly at a fountain for him if he was late.

The trip back was quick, the train arrived a little after he got to the station, and the walk to the center of town was pretty uneventful. The central plaza is about four hundred meters in diameter, with tall hotels on every side, and four large pedestrian thoroughfares leading in at the cardinals. There is a ring of small open-air restaurants with tables and chairs circling the bungalow used for cooking various delicacies of the Central7, with a particular interest seeming to be Earth cultures. Then closer to the fountain, a ring of merchant booths and stalls, selling this and that trinket from all over the galaxy, again tending to be more Earth focused than anything else. Then there are benches circling the large central fountain.

The fountain itself is about five meters in diameter at the base, with trellises growing smaller at about every three meters from the bottom. Six in all, they feature elaborate sculptures of tiny creatures playing in the water, many have jets where their mouths should be and supply the fountain with a more intricate display than the central geyser would offer. Most of the water comes from the very top, shooting at a high pressure that almost hits the clear composite dome before falling languidly from level to level, as the smaller jets squirt at each other playfully.

Cirrhosis can see about a hundred places for Armor to attack from, but at the same time there are no less than ten people staring at him right now. Being a celebrity does have perks when meeting assassins. If he gets shot here, which is entirely possible, there will be witnesses and people to call ambulances and the authorities. Although he'd like to avoid police interaction for as long as possible.

"Waiting long?" Armor mutters from behind Cirrhosis. Cirrhosis turns to find the man in a simple suit, a bit better dressed than last time. Cirrhosis came directly from the meeting, so he is wearing a light gray three piece with a gold tie held to his shirt by a Captain Suzaku's tie-tack.

"And here I thought I'd be overdressed."

"You know why I am here."

"Actually, buddy, I don't." Cirrhosis is pretty sure he does.

"You weren't supposed to come back here, Induction." Armor says through gritted teeth.

"Heh. Well, duty calls. I didn't really have a choice. Company man now." Cirrhosis says pointing to his pin.

"So you think because you came here to sell motherfucking chicken wings it's okay for you to break your agreements with us?"

"Look. I get it. I got out and that was only because I accepted banishment from all Destiny controlled locations. I get it, I totally avoided Lowers like it was the plague back on Selba, but I am here to do business."

"What the fuck kind of business do you think we'd want to do with you?"

"Are you feeding this directly to the man in charge?" Cirrhosis says, turning away from Armor, scanning the nearby area for anything of interest. Mostly looking for other gang members, but not seeing anyone who would fit the bill. Armor is a pusher or an enforcer, but nothing like a higher up that Cirrhosis will need if he is to get to Code Name.

"Why the hell would I be doing that, I'm just on cleaning duty, no reason anyone would want to see that."

"Okay. So you are feeding it then."

"What?"

"I'm going to say this very slowly, so you can pick up on all of it." Cirrhosis grins as he turns to Armor, who has a gun in his hand, hidden under his suit jacket. Cirrhosis has a stun-spike in his palm, his hands placed in his pants pockets. They both look to be having a comfortable conversation to passersby.

"Oh yeah?" Armor grunts angrily.

"Toro Abobo sent me here. I need information, you give it to me and I am gone."

"Why would we do that?"

"Because unlike me or you, Toro is dangerous. He doesn't get what he wants; he can do things that our little fucking minds couldn't conceive of. He's fucking insane and he has enough money to pay off the Federalis, let alone whatever shit ant little GovNet agency Torch has."

"If he is so fucking grand, why do you need us?"

"One of your guys did something to Toro, affected his interests. Toro doesn't want to have to get his hands dirty if he doesn't have to, but... Let's just say I'm 'good cop' and you aren't going to want to meet who comes sniffing at your door when you turn me away."

"Heh. Well you convinced them to listen to you, I guess." Armor takes his hand out of his pocket and turns away. As he starts walking down the steps from the fountain his head cocks slightly to the side. "Coming? Or I could just beat you unconscious and drag you there."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Cirrhosis mutters, bluff successful.

The wide open central plaza has four major roads, well, two that cross at the fountain. They take the east route along the river which eventually empties into a lake on the eastern side of the dome. The wide avenue is surrounded by tall starscrapers, most hitting the composite or coming awfully close. Some house stores or restaurants at their base levels, so there are quite a few shoppers milling about the street. Cirrhosis makes notes of every exit route he sees, which is any side alley that doesn't end in either building or recycling unit. Armor is keeping a good pace, and is always sure to stay out of easy conversation distance.

" **Where are you?"** Cirrhosis tries eSing Last, getting bored of people watching. Seen one rich fat guy, seen every rich fat guy. This street is literally littered with them, to the point that you'd think he'd wandered into the LTZ somehow. The women look well kept though, lots of pretty faces and well geneered bodies wrapped in shitty dime store souvenir T-shirts with motion adverts touting the 'best' whatever the hell local dive shit hole. Most are for a place called Chiki Chiki's Hot Box of Lox, which Cirrhosis will attempt to remember not to go to.

" **About to go into a shoot in Crimson."**

" **Ah. I just left Crimson, probably headed to something similar."**

" **Oh. Oh shit! You are with that guy aren't you?"**

" **Yeah. Having a scenic stroll down—"**

"What is this street called?" Cirrhosis asks a woman passing by. She recognizes him instantly and smiles, attempting to be seductive a few years past her sell by date. Not that that would stop Cirrhosis if the beverages were flowing correctly.

"Isst." She smirks as she says it. Cirrhosis smiles a broad toothy grin, and gives her a kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks."

"Um... Yeah." She giggles like a girl ten years younger, and Cirrhosis trots off to catch up to Armor. He actually catches Armor watching him over his shoulder, which gives Cirrhosis a good chuckle.

" **Isst. I'm not sure where I am going, but I'd recommend you get ready for things to get serious."**

" **I'm supposed to stay here."**

" **Yeah..."**

" **Did you want me to come with you? When you leave?"**

" **I mean if I live through this, I thought..."** Cirrhosis shrugs, not that she could see him shrugging. Shrugs don't translate well in one's voice. Armor is laughing to himself.

" **Oh. I mean. I guess. Do you think they'll sue me?"**

" **Maybe. Look I don't know, I just thought that you were in this with me now, but that's okay."**

" **Is it?"**

" **Fuck. I really shouldn't have said anything."**

" **Well, if you aren't dead later you should text me."**

# <13.2>

"So you work for me then?"

"Amongst other people, yes."

"Right, right. You're in my latest ad campaign for the Race."

"No. That was Last Chance."

"I'm sort of disregarding that advertisement."

"For obvious reasons."

"You did the respectable one, correct?"

"Yes. That and you've directed three sensivise dramas that I've starred in."

"Oh. That's why you look familiar. Sunbeam?"

"Sunshine Apocalypse."

"Oh right. Okay, that makes sense."

"Do you actually not know who I am or are you just pretending so that you seem more important?"

"A little of both?" Truckee drunkenly shrugs. Sunshine laughs heartily, swigging another mouthful of whatever the hell sort of black vodka Truckee brought up front with him. Sunshine would do an advert for free for the liquor, although she doubts she'll ever remember the name of the company at the rate they are presently consuming.

"So, you got stuck in this how?"

"Well, I hired Epic here to find who stole my rock. We caused a bit of a ruckus, and because of my extreme debt..."

"How extreme?"

"Extremely extreme. Trust. Anyway, we caused some problems and there was questions about the security in my building and then one thing leads to another and I am a suspect."

"Security problems?"

"A lot of unauthorized people were running around, and the net crashed right before the incident. Some gang members threatened me in an elevator, gang members to whom I owe a lot of money. You got shot at by someone who had just left my building, right?"

"Yeah, I think he followed me after I left."

"What were you doing in the office?"

"I had just finished some second unit shots for the pro-motion adverts, and I went to the main office and dropped off my temporary code key. My check was getting wired to me when the net crashed."

"So you went to my main office, but not my personal office."

"What? Yeah, I guess. I was just leaving and I swear I was being followed, but I didn't see the guy in the bad suit until I hit the pavement." Sunshine mutters, trying her hardest to remember the details.

"Interesting. What happened to the guy?"

"Pepper almost choked him to death, and the cops took him away."

"Pepper?"

"No, the choked guy."

"Oh."

"Well, the guy deserved it, he did try and kill me."

"I guess."

"You aren't very sympathetic."

"Waste of time. Care to open the next bottle?"

"Okay, you're a little sympathetic."

"Do you know who was following you? What gang he was with?"

"Pepper didn't know. I thought he was another bounty hunter after my head."

"Did you have a bounty when you hit the street?"

"I know I did by the time we left the store."

"Weird."

"Yeah. It is, isn't it."

Some clunking can be heard from far down the hallway, it slowly gets louder. In the cockpit, lights that were red start turning green, this and that meter fills and a rumbling returns to the cabin. The kind that you don't notice is there until it is gone.

"Oh shit. We actually might not die here."

"Yeah, maybe somewhere else. That's at least a start." Sunshine says with a toothy grin.

"Hey, try and have a little faith in your Captain, huh?" Epic chuckles as he enters the room.

"Where are we going?"

"Sunshine, where did Pepper say to meet him?"

"He has this farm on Checktiza."

"What? I am not going there. That place is for heathens."

"That's what I said."

"Okay, mother-fuck the both of you, we are going to Checktiza. Now buckle in before I vent you both into space."

"Oh shit." Truckee mutters, pulling himself wobbling into his chair. Sunshine's grin disappears as she struggles to cork the bottle and stand and sit into her chair at the same time. Sunshine slips, and due to the light gravity, sort of drift-falls into the hallway. Gotta be serious with drunks if you want action in any sort of reasonable time period.

"Ma'am! Please walk the other way, we are disembarking!" Big yells, catching Sunshine by the shoulder, ensuring she doesn't land glass first.

"Get up here; we're spooling in thirty seconds." Epic mutters through a grin. How he manages to get saddled with this many loads is beyond his comprehension. Whoever is at the forefront of this is getting a boot pretty far up their intestinal tract.

Checktiza is the forth planet in the Olmni-Ou Galaxy, and is firmly in the Sprawl. While Olmni-Ou has been a stop across the Sprawl for almost six hundred years, Checktiza was only firmly inhabited after the postwar colonization boom. Checktiza is a largely agrarian planet, as the jump-stop related business is based around the seventh planet, Olm-Tuvok. Regardless, for a Sprawl planet Checktiza is largely crime-free and generally stable. Run by a business dynasty, lead by Jor Usukta, a second tier nephew to Corialis. Someone who was always more of a tool, an brand over-extend, more so than any sort of genius in his own right. This said, Jor and his family are still obscenely wealthy. Wealth can cause problems for some, but peace, like anything else, can be bought. Civil unrest is completely foreign to Checktiza, a sleepy planet with no aspirations to greatness. How does it stay this way? Well, it's easy when you can just reassign people to other planets when their aspirations overreach your expectations. Usukta also has a heavy ownership on Isis, one of the Central7. You prove to be too energetic, want up the corporate ladder; well you get shipped off to where you belong.

As such, Checktiza is forcefully kept backwater. Better to provide geneered food items to its neighbors, and other high labor and low wage items. With the level of technology, however, even the high labor jobs are relatively low in general labor. So even though Checktiza is the 'bread basket' of the Sprawl, it probably has fewer citizens than Hess or even Torch.

Tracts of land are run by robots, and small families. They live the luxurious life of the underworked and underpaid that can only be enjoyed by people with no aspirations for anything else. Citizens line up every ten years to vote, and always vote exactly the same way. Freedom and uniformity aren't necessarily mutually exclusive when the electorate quite honestly doesn't care. Keep the paychecks coming in, keep off their land, and the people of Checktiza don't give a fucking rat's ass what you do.

So, as one could obviously deduce, with a planet-wide shrug attitude, Checktiza is full of 'quirky' individuals. Religious extremists, fundamentalist geneticists, and sexual perverts exist in a patchwork society where the only rules are 'produce your share' and 'stay the fuck off my lawn'. Cities are not the norm for Checktiza, and there is only one with a spaceport. The capital, Olm-tok. This is where Usukta lives and runs the business side of Checktiza, surrounded by men a little more ambitious than the rest, but not ambitious enough to get transferred off-world.

Epic manages to get docking clearance at the orbital station, which stays geo-locked with Olm-tok. A couple of rungs, a joke of a customs scan (they didn't even pick up that Big is AI), and the four fugitives are on a baked potato headed downward.

" **They seriously just let four wanted criminals onto their planet with, what, no problems?"** Sunshine texts Epic, right as they sit down. Epic is buckling Big into the special child's seat they gave them. The thing has like six extra straps and they are all really tiny and difficult to fasten. Big is attempting to help without being too suspicious. Truckee is looking out the window, just happy to be near some civilization where he is not being shot at. Also he's still a bit drunk, and is presently attempting to fight off vertigo related nausea.

" **I may have hacked their stuff a little, but their incompetence is why Big got through without an explanation."**

" **But I can tell he's an android with my bare eyes. He's built like a six month old and he's walking upright. That alone, makes no sense."**

" **You were the one who kept talking about how backwater this place is."**

Sunshine shrugs. **"Valid. But still, how good of a hacker are you?"**

" **It's not about being good. It's about paying for good shit. Never skimp on hacks. Never."**

" **I'll keep that in mind?"**

" **Hey, you never know."**

" **I guess I really can't argue."**

Sunshine looks at Epic, then at Truckee, back to Epic.

" **What?"** Epic asks finally.

" **Do you honestly think this is going to work out?"**

" **For you, probably. You really don't have anything to do with anything. If I can get you to Pepper's without us getting nabbed, we're leaving you there."**

" **What about meeting up with him?"**

" **No way to."**

" **You can't like, send him an encrypted message or something."**

" **Did he tell you to do that?"**

" **No. He said that would lead Stardust to me. But don't you have like, a special secret way to do that."**

" **Nothing Stardust couldn't hack. Or whoever else is on to us now. This is bigger than her. Someone is paying her. A lot. Someone is paying other people a lot too. Right now I have about two ideas as to who that might be, but without a bit more information I have no idea what to do. Something about this, something isn't level. The pieces just don't... fit."**

" **Pepper would know."** Sunshine looks out the window. The land is blurry with the flames of re-entry licking at the outer shell of the ship. Something about it is still comforting though.

" **That's why I'm going with you. I have no idea where he is, but if we're lucky, he made it here. Honestly, Stardust probably killed him days ago."**

Sunshine turns sullen, her eyes watering. She had honestly thought everything would be fine. I mean, sure, not fine fine. That woman screaming is probably going to keep her from sleeping in anything other than a drug infused haze for a good couple of months, but still. Epic is strong, Truckee is connected, and Pepper...

" **Look. I have no idea what I'm saying, okay? I don't deal with normal people often."**

" **Uh."** Sunshine looks at Big, who is masturbating despite his being tied down rather severely. A feat of engineering, to be sure.

" **Right. Exactly. I don't know what to say to you. It's just. Well, let's see what we see when we get where we're going. Sound like a plan?"**

"Sure. Whatever." Sunshine mutters, still quite sullen.

Epic looks at her, a level of concern plays across his face for a brief moment, but is immediately gone in a scowl. Epic stands, and heads down the aisle to grab a drink.

The hallway is thin, Epic has to turn and walk sideways past a woman talking to her child as she attempts to calm it. The kid is fussing a little, which is to be expected in intergalactic travel. No matter how good the technology gets, there is something physically disconcerting about exiting or entering a planet's atmosphere. Epic manages to squeeze by when he hears something. A small buzz in the corner of his perception. Epic turns on his full sensor suite without so much as thinking about it. There is a very heavy bandwidth conversation going on in the bathroom stall to his direct left. Epic dips into the right room and sits down, making a show of looking like he's going to go, and actually realizing that it isn't a half bad idea.

He hits a little green lance in his peripheral display, the hacking engine unfurling around his sight like a map. Waves of transmission energy are shown echoing out from their sources, the one of interest is bright green. Highly encrypted and quite strong. Whomever is doing it must have a state of the art rig, and an agreement with the company running the shuttle. No one could miss this, but in Checktiza, no one is looking. Perhaps that is why security was so lax today, someone was paying it to be lax.

Epic has his eButler download the transmission as he attempts to decode it. His bone amps start getting rather hot from the expenditure, this being a massive drain on his processors. Almost unbearably so, Epic decides it best to stick to just downloading. He could probably get into the cast, but not without either telling his location or leaving himself vulnerable to whatever electronic warfare might be lingering outside. Too much risk with the kids in tow. However, once they get planet-side, Epic will be looking into this further.

Epic sits in the bathroom for a good forty minutes, waiting for the transmission to end. Eventually it does, and he waits in the bathroom ten minutes after that, and heads back to his seat. Truckee is awake and a bit more cognizant now, but Sunshine has long since crashed.

" **Where have you been? This is probably the least interesting flight I've been on in days."**

" **Someone is up to something. Question, how did you find out to contact me?"**

" **To hire you?"**

" **Yes. How?"**

" **You were listed on the company files. I needed someone fast, and you were listed as a previous employee. Well, as 'employee' as someone like you could be listed, anyway."**

" **For T-Net?"**

" **Yes."** Truckee turns from the window to look directly at Epic. Epic is looking back towards the bathrooms.

" **I've never worked for T-Net."**

" **So you think?"**

" **Set-up. From the beginning."**

" **Why?"**

" **Hard to say. You and I both have enemies, perhaps we share one."**

" **That is likely considering the length of my list."**

" **And mine. Either way, something is going down on Checktiza. We need to get somewhere safe so I can focus on decryption. "**

" **And the girl?"** Truckee looks at Sunshine, fast asleep between them, her arm around Big. Against his own inclination, Truckee actually feels bad for her. Thrown into something she has no bearing on or with, and for what?

" **She might be stuck with us until this is over. My guess is the race is some sort of prime day in this time table. Whoever stole the gem is either going to sell it by or use it by then. We need to figure out what's going on before the race, and we have to get you back on Selba in time."**

" **Oh. Fuck. I forgot I was hosting that."**

" **Does this gem really 'do' something?"** Epic looks at Truckee seriously, Truckee nods slowly in agreement.

" **It's... it's hard for me to explain exactly. It. Fuck. Well, it..."** Truckee looks out the window exasperated. Epic frowns, leans his chair back a bit. The ship is traveling like a normal terrestrial plane now, it will still be another couple of hours before they land in the station.

" **Hmm. Try and get some sleep, you're still a little drunk to be of use."**

" **Right."**

# <14.0>

**LiveText To** : Sunshine Apocalypse

**LiveText From** : Mona Apocalypse

Sunshine, honey. Where are you? They told me that you were wanted for theft? THEFT? Aren't you successful? Did you waste the money you made on your last film? I know you have been doing commercials now, but I still thought you were okay. Sure, you were seated fifth row this year at the Sensee Awards, but you brought that filthy man with you. Of course they would demote you for dating someone who works extended sensivise. I've already forgiven you for that.

I know I raised you better than that. To be such a disgrace? The tabloids were right about you? What am I supposed to say to Condra Nightly? They won't stop texting me. Hourly, hourly I have to hear about your ridiculous exploits. My friends at the Manor won't let me hear the end of it either!

There is nothing I can do! Am I HONESTLY supposed to lie for you now? After you leave Selba without even a word to your own mother?! Ridiculous.

~M

# <14.1>

"Can we literally go anywhere without being shot at?" Apocalypse says bitterly.

"Is that a trick question?" Peppermint White Ninja groans. At some point they got caught up by three different bounty hunters. As Lipservice is currently under a light cover (in that if he isn't under cover then by rule of the Hunt he would have to declare the bounty on Pepper and Apocalypse himself), he cannot come out as Federali. So they are running to the cruiser that is inside a fifty story parking garage, whilst under heavy fire.

"At least we aren't falling down an elevator shaft." Lipservice grunts, popping a few cover shots while Pepper and Apocalypse advance past that next hovvan. Bullets riddle the van, not making it through the base where the two are crouching, but bursting various child safety items and stuffed VI toys.

"See that's the right attitude."

"Having that low of expectations is a little ridiculous." Apocalypse pouts.

"Hey! Run?" Lipservice mutters, throwing bullets in an arch.

"Sorry." Pepper laughs, vaulting the remains of the van and landing in a roll. Bullets shatter the concrete around his right side. Pepper dodges left behind the front of a sedan. He puts his hand over the side of the car, shooting his pistol randomly. Lipservice appears to his far right, near the back of the car.

"Heh, just fucking with you. This is kind of a blast." Lipservice grins, his tie loosened. Loosened where it isn't half blown off. Last few hours have been a little 'interesting'.

"Are you both making fun of me?" Apocalypse bitches when she catches up, running up between the two men.

"Why are we arguing with an AI composite of a supermodel?" Lipservice yelps while throwing a few more bullets up and right. Three men are shooting from farther up the section, aiming from between the gap formed by the angled area up to the next floor and several cars.

"Is that some sort of philosophical question?"

"I guess it is, isn't it?"

"Do I have a word limit?"

"Are you two treating me like a fucking essay question?"

"A little." Pepper chuckles.

"Well, I am a citizen of the country of Corialis and I do not appreciate being treated that way."

"What?" Pepper looks at Apocalypse strangely. A bullet hits the windows of the sedan, shattering glass everywhere. Pepper huddles over Apocalypse instinctively.

"Did I say something off?" Apocalypse says, sounding a little scared actually. Pepper looks for something in her eyes, but realizes his emotions are wasted on the wrong person. If that is even what you call her.

"No. I just. Nevermind." Pepper mutters, taking aim at a man hiding behind a two seater to their nine and above. Pepper isn't the best shot, but the hunter is loading his gun in plain sight. A blind person could feel his way into shooting him. They really don't make good hunters anymore. Pop. The gun will just have to stay half loaded, well at least until they get up there to scrunge it for ammo.

" **How much longer?"** Lipservice says over the shortwave. An actual eS in this situation is kind of asking for it, particularly if you can avoid it. Pepper is running up a few cars, attempting to take the turn and the final push around the incline towards the remaining two assassins.

" **I've hacked the VI of one of the hunters. His eB isn't really providing the information I would like it to have, but there is something of interest."** Pepper states back, pushing a few rounds into the rearview mirror in front of one of the hunters. The hunter yelps as glass shatters all around him, temporarily throwing him off stance.

" **Which is?"** Lipservice replies, while taking advantage of the opening.

" **The people funding these hunters. Vii Ariable and Toro Abobo."**

" **Together?"**

" **No. All I know is that the routing numbers belong to subsidiaries of subsidiaries of Abobo. Vii is a little bit easier to track."** Pepper throws a few bullets at the overhead lighting, which while not presently engaged, do provide an additional functionality of shattered plastic composite shards and fire-proofing foam. Pepper isn't going to explain to Lipservice why Vii Ariable is so easy for him to track. Pepper isn't sure how much he trusts the agent.

" **How easy?"** Lipservice runs up to where Pepper is hiding, with Apocalypse trailing only slightly behind, doing her best to shoot at least dangerously close to their assailants.

" **Easy enough that you know it's a trap."** Pepper says through a grin, nodding suggestively to Apocalypse. She smiles viciously.

" **And the other."** Lipservice is loading his gun.

" **About six hackers I know could figure it. I know the best of the best; he's the real deal on this. I have some guesses, but I don't want to point fingers until I am ready to point pistols. We should hurry to Checktiza; I want my eggs in a manageable basket as soon as humanly possible."**

"Apocalypse, it's time to take out the trash." Pepper says through gritted teeth.

"Final-fucking-lee." Apocalypse says with a snicker. They are standing directly behind a pretty big truck, a pickup electric on actual tires. To their left the central pillar of the building, a door leading to an elevator down and up, which they could take if they didn't mind having to deal with shooting their way out of it later. Ahead is an incline filled with cars, hovers, and the same riddled with bullets. Two hunters, one relatively hurt. Pepper places one hunter left, about six cars up, and the other at the last car or so on the right. Technically both groups are at an impasse, without moving they cannot get the upper hand, but with moving they lose their edge until they reach killing distance. Whomever moves first must do so with a superior strategy. Strategy is Pepper's bread and butter.

Apocalypse jumps over the truck, making a point to make it look like she was thrown 'cheerleader' style. She sprays bullets in a sweeping motion, left to right. The hunter on the left dodges down, but the one on the right has enough time to move and attempt to take the shot.

Pepper dashes right as Apocalypse leaps up, this places him directly in the line of sight of R.H. R.H. has a split second to decide what he wants to do, and he takes that second to shoot at Pepper. Pepper rolls out of the way and behind the next car on the right side of the incline.

L.H. has at this point righted himself to point his gun at Lipservice, who is running up the small space between the edge of the incline and where the cars park, doing his best high-speed tightrope along those cement things that keep someone from driving over the edge of a raised surface. Not that people 'driving' AI or even VI cars could possibly ever do something so pointlessly fucktarded.

Apocalypse rolls on her landing with literally no one watching her. She runs up the center of the incline for four cars before L.H. notices her. His gun swivels in her direction for an instant while his eyes watch Lipservice. R.H. also has eyes on Apocalypse, but Pepper is running up the right side as well. Knowing Pepper is a trained hunter, and a rather famous one amongst people who know such things, he trusts his compatriot to handle the girl.

Rapidly, L.H. attempts to take the shot on Apocalypse, who is getting a little too ballsy for his taste. Apocalypse, planning at least this far ahead, takes this moment to reveal her true nature and leaps about twenty feet into a roll. Movement this fast evades bullets intended for a typical non-combatant, placing her out of harm's way temporarily. She is now about ten feet from R.H. Meanwhile, Pepper has dashed behind a car avoiding a barrage of bullets. Agent Lipservice took L.H.'s opening and placed six bullets in the man's chest.

R.H. is now officially fucked. This is the tricky part. People who are officially fucked tend to act highly irrationally, even trained people who deal with fucking others on a frequent to semi-frequent basis. To learn and plan for the irrational nature of those who are with fuck is an art form. A tome of great length could be written on how best to handle those who are particularly fucked, and for those in such situations where their sensitive orifices are within arm's reach of a big cock/gun/fist/fist holding a gun, etc.

Peppermint White Ninja has had it both ways, and knows how to take charge of these situations. Basically you must act very quickly to diffuse the situation if your goal isn't to kill the person in question. If that is your goal, you should shoot them as quickly as possible. Never shoot to maim, as it will only make your fuckee more irrational.

"Hey guy. I'm going to need you to ice up on me, real fast. I'd like not to have to kill you, is that something I can get you to do for me?"

"What?"

"Drop your fucking gun immediately. Sit down and we will talk, or we kill you. Clear?"

R.H. drops his gun and sits. Lipservice holsters his gun at his waist and grabs R.H.'s gun. Apocalypse stands in a more normal stance and walks up the ramp, she turns slightly when she rounds the corner. "I'm going to go get the car; you three have fun with your conversation. I want to get the hell out of here already, and you will need to be done when I get back here."

"Deal." Lipservice says through a reserved grin, throwing Apocalypse the keys to his cruiser. "Forth floor, the wireless will get you there from here. VI's name is Aiko."

"Right."

"Now, who do you work for?" Pepper says as he sits cross legged in front of R.H.

"I'm a hunter, you know I can't tell you that." R.H. says exasperated, looking to Agent Lipservice for support, who just shrugs.

"Seventh rule of the hunt: You cannot be a hunter and a mercenary both." Pepper says calmly. R.H. flinches involuntarily.

"What?"

"You are one of Vii Ariable's men, don't deny it."

"How did you?"

"Please. I can't believe my reputation has fallen so low in such a short period of time." Pepper says through a grin, scratching arrantly at his dreadlocks.

"Haven't you been retired for ten years?" Lipservice says, again with a shrug.

"Yes, I suppose it has been a while. I guess you are off the hook, R.H."

"Actually, my name is-"

"Scratch that. Don't care. Vii, why are you here attacking me for Vii?"

"He never tells us anything about that. Just that I was supposed to make sure I killed everyone but you. Then I was supposed to tell you something and make it sound like I didn't intend on you knowing it."

"You're kind of terrible at this."

"What?"

"You could have still carried out your mission correctly if you had just folded to my interrogation."

"But you aren't doing a very good job at interrogation."

"Hmm. Well, you got me there."

"Regardless. What did Vii want you to feed us?" Lipservice attempts to re-orient the conversation.

"Checktiza. He wanted me to send you to Checktiza. I don't know why."

A hover pulls up behind them, Apocalypse leans out of the passenger side window. "Get in or I'll leave without you."

"You can't get that far, we still have to go to the roof and get the actual spaceship." Lipservice says matter-of-factly.

"Yeah. That is already powered up."

"How did you get into my ship?" Lipservice says with his eyebrows practically raised off of his head, he looks to Pepper who gets his turn to shrug.

"Keys." Apocalypse grins.

"Oh. Right." Lipservice says, getting up and dusting off the back of his slacks.

"Well, tell him that you told us the way you were supposed to. Otherwise he'll kill you. My son has always been like that." Pepper grunts as he stands, Lipservice sitting in the backseat.

"Your what?" R.H. yelps.

"Nevermind." Pepper mutters getting into the passenger seat of the cruiser.

# <14.2>

Cirrhosis gets punched in the gut. As far as punches in the gut generally go, pretty standard, not too hard, but hard enough to get the point across. The point being that Cirrhosis was not supposed to return to Torch unless he did so dead. Interrupting an ash scattering is a little beyond Destiny's limited scope of revenge. Hell, the person who banished him didn't even punch full strength. Destiny has been growing softer since the changing of the guard. Iced Mocha was never a man of particular violence or ego related clout. He was literally just the next in line when someone met the wrong end of an 'unfortunate' accident. Most people don't even think Mocha did that, but that a rival gang killed his predecessor just to insure Mocha the spot to make THEIR lives easier.

"Ugh... Well, nice to see you." Cirrhosis feigns pain, figuring it's the least he can do. He is a guest and all.

"Yeah. What the fuck brings you here?" Iced Mocha says through gritted teeth, holding his right hand with his left. Managed to hurt himself somehow in the punching process. They really do not make gang members like they used to. Cirrhosis takes this moment to 'struggle' to his feet, what with the agony and everything. One of Mocha's bodyguards is trying not to laugh.

"Business. Toro needs to know where he can find Code Name."

"Everyone knows Code Name ditched Destiny when..." Iced Mocha frowns, his eyebrows pushing together in thought. Code Name left because Mocha is an incompetent simpleton and even sense-junkies get tired of looking bad in public.

"He was loyal, is what you are saying." Cirrhosis fills in the blanks. Iced Mocha grins.

"Yeah. He was just a little bitch for Evans."

"Evans did have that effect on people." Evans was a total fucking psychopath, but at least he kept everyone in line. Cirrhosis is quite sure now that Iced had nothing to do with Code Name's little disappearing act. He never really thought that Iced would have the ability to even attract the kind of talent that would allow a man to disappear into literally nothing. Alien technology is probably the only possible solution, and that kind of tech would be embargoed to death. The advanced races are barely allowed to dock their ships in Federali space, let alone sell fucking personal teleportation devices. Cirrhosis isn't even sure such devices exist, in all actuality. He only came here because he wasn't sure if Destiny had developed a shadow leader recently, basically if Mocha was a false front.

"Well, I'd hate to be you when you tell Toro this, but I haven't seen that little shit since before you left."

"Years then. Alright. Can I talk to Cannata a second?"

"That bitch?"

"Yeah. She was Code's old girlfriend." Total fucking lie.

"Sure, whatever. She's upstairs counting money."

"Typical."

"Fucking tell me about it."

The headquarters of Destiny is located under a bar, which is now called... Chiki Chiki's Hot Box of Lox. Cirrhosis almost considered backing away from the door when Armor had lead him to the building. A restaurant set inside a starscraper, occupying the bottom five floors with an amalgam of faux wooden pillars painted with 'weathered' fuchsia paint. The wait staff is all women under the age of thirty wearing T-shirts with motion advert innuendos to boxes and fish. The lack of taste is palpable when Cirrhosis emerges from the 'MGMT' door next to the bathrooms. The hallway is covered in the photographic detritus of a hundred years of shitty dive-lite restaurants, holopaintings of historical figures; three-dee images of the shoes Sunshine Apocalypse wore on the set of He's Just Not That Into You 16: The Rapture; a tavis jersey from someone who never even won a World Cup; the despair of the wintering of galactic culture made solid and oozed like a shiny gel across about forty thousand square feet of children screaming and parents attempting to relive a youth that never even existed for the people they idolize.

The main room is a sprawl of urban waste, which Cirrhosis tries to handle with the firm grin of a celebrity being interviewed by someone currently taking a shit in their pants. There is just a hint of embarrassment for everyone around, and a general air of distaste. Luckily the bathrooms are by the kitchen, which leads to the actual management section of the restaurant. The kitchen is pretty typical for kitchens, even if the 'chefs' are all deep-frying onion pyramids or crop dusting everything in ranch dressing.

The manager's door leads to a stairway, which goes up very steeply into a very large office. The office is in a corner, with windows aimed over the river. You could tell that the restaurant is a false front by the tasteful layout of the manager's suite. All calm colors and subtle woodwork, a simple desk sitting by the window with bookshelves stocked with random novels and abstracted metal busts. Cannata is sitting at the desk, pushing around phantom numbers with her hands, appearing to conduct an orchestra. Cannata is a woman in her apparent twenties, but with the firm stare and clenched mouth of a woman ten times that age. This would be accurate. She is wearing her hair blond, cut into disheveled shards; her makeup is subtle and gray. Cirrhosis would probably consider dating her again, although he is quite aware she would never have him. He was a bit of an ass when he last saw her.

"Are you going to just stand there?"

"Possibly. Are you going to hit me again?"

"Dusty caps. Sit down; I imagine you are here for something important." Cannata pleasures Cirrhosis with a smile. Cirrhosis sits in a leather chair across from Cannata. An authentic leather chair, filled almost to bursting with some sort of illegal bird stuff. Cirrhosis hadn't noticed it right away, but anyone with an eye for the expensive would be able to tell that the things in this office only appear subdued. Ancient art pieces, original copies of novels, and a desk made of actual wood instead of a faux composite. Cirrhosis has found his shadow exactly where he thought it would be.

"You've been doing well for yourself." Cirrhosis says mildly, Cannata tosses him a bottle of water from a refrigeration unit under her desk. Cannata was a woman on her way up the ranks when Cirrhosis last saw her. He assumed she would have been Mocha's right hand by now, but she pulled the smarter route. Whomever is in charge of the money is the person who actually runs any organization.

"I get by."

"Biding your time?" Cirrhosis says with a raised eyebrow, Cannata makes a brushing movement with her hands. Pushing away imaginary filth.

"Not hardly. Being in the limelight is nothing but extra work."

"Heard you there."

"Why are you here?"

"Code Name."

"That liner? What do you want with him?"

"He stole something from my boss."

"And you thought he stole it for Iced Mocha? Iced Mocha wouldn't know his head from his ass, let alone be able to steal something, without already having been assassinated by now, from Toro Abobo."

"That's not what I am asking you."

"You want to know if he stole it for me?"

"Something like that."

Cannata stands up, walks around her desk slowly. She looks at her bookshelves purposefully, like she is taking inventory. She stands behind Cirrhosis and puts her hands on his shoulders. He isn't sure whether or not he should feel a chill or a sexual buzz. She was always rather forceful, so with her it could often go both ways.

"Are you accusing me of being a thief?" She whispers directly into Cirrhosis' ear, her voice full of venom. Cirrhosis is fighting an erection.

"I'm accusing you of hiring a thief."

"Code is not a thief." Cannata says levelly, her hands kneading his shoulders.

"Someone is though."

"Clearly."

"Something very major is going down. This kind of fence is not going to just float on the Dub-X market. No one could possibly get that much physical rico and the Federalis would zero anyone trying to transfer."

"Again, clearly." Her hands drift over his chest.

"So, I thought. Who would be able to handle such an elaborate bit of planning?" Cirrhosis says through a cough.

"Flattery was never an ability of yours."

"Heh, right."

"So you think I somehow gathered up this thing, what thing are we speaking of?"

"You know." Cirrhosis mutters. Cannata pulls away, and sits on the desk in front of Cirrhosis.

"Toro didn't even own that. Oh, but he was about to wasn't he." She is looking at the ceiling, spinning plans and numbers in her head.

"Exactly."

"You are here, so you must have physically seen the theft. You believe it to be elaborate enough to involve someone of my particular... talents. You are aware of my proclivities against theft, yet you came directly to me. Hell, you are aware that I would never trust someone as unstable as Code to even wash my hover. Yet..." Her eyes drift to Cirrhosis' crotch, and up to his eyes.

"I..."

"Alien Technology." She says slowly, letting it drift through the air.

"What?" Cirrhosis stiffens his posture.

"You know about my collection. You were there when I started it."

"Yes."

"So you think I have something that does..."

"Teleportation."

"What like a hover with a jump drive?" Cannata squints, giving Cirrhosis an uncomfortable level of eye contact. He shifts in his seat, his cock aching to be let free. She looks away slowly, closing her eyes completely. "No. You wouldn't be here for that. Any jackass could convince a Tigeran to give it to them for enough rico, not even 'officially' off-limits."

"Do you know where I could get something like that?"

"Jump to a place or jump to a free standing location. Is there a gate?"

"Could I find something that would allow me to jump, while running?"

Cannata's eyes turn to Cirrhosis very quickly, searching his.

"No. Nothing a person could have directly on their person. The smaller drives still have containment requirements for the radioactive and magnetic drivers. The human physiology would be incapable of surviving the kind of forces required to harbor that sort of technology."

"Is there something like that? Something that a human couldn't use?"

"Not. That I know of. There are rumors that the Z'arkadar have something like that, but most actual dealers play this off as humans being incapable of discerning individuals in other races." Cannata mumbles under her breath, her legs crossed on the table, her right foot grinding on Cirrhosis' inner thigh.

"Not what I was looking for."

"All I got is speculation. You saw Code Name vanish while you were chasing him."

"Jumped out of a window into thin air, just disappeared. No chute, no gravlifter. He was just gone."

"Smell like anything?"

"What?"

"Vapors? Any sort of odd smell? Ozone?"

"No. Not that I could think of."

"I'd say this: The answer you are looking for is probably less elaborate than you are thinking it is. Do you recall what scientists in the old days used to put in equations when they didn't understand something?"

"What? Like calling it magic or the will of God or something?" Cirrhosis imagines one of those old maps with a water dragon.

"Infinity. You are putting an imaginary number, a concept, where a real action, numbers, and motive sit. Usually what happens when you do not see the whole picture, when your formula is missing vital variables."

"So you're telling me to give up?"

"No. I am saying that we need more information to make an adequate guess of how Code Name did what you think you saw."

"Think i-illusion?"

"You were in a metavision studio, where you not?"

"Hmm..." Cirrhosis looks down at the floor, Toro is going to kill him if he doesn't figure this out, but his ideas are running south. Cannata taps her heel on her desk to get his attention, she at least appears sympathetic.

"Your sensivise data. You keep a live record correct?"

"My memory chip, yeah." Anyone with dive wetware has a small microchip attached to their brain that stores memories as they are occurring, as to allow the rejuvenation process that keeps the population at an average age of thirty-two despite a birthrate below one per couple. This chip interacts with several other wetware items someone of Cirrhosis' stature would have, which allows for him to give sensers to fans, run his eButler, dive the World, and to access his LJ.

"Send me that memory."

"Give me a second to pull it up." Cirrhosis leans back in the chair and closes his eyes. He queries his eButler to access the time period right after the net outage and right before he regained World access as he got outside of the tower. The access of memory data from a bit ago isn't usually too hard for a VI to scan through, but giving it some markers usually helps speed up the process.

"What's taking so long?" Cannata mutters irritated. Cirrhosis sits up very quickly, she widens her eyes. "Don't tell me!"

"Hacked. My memory core doesn't have a recollection of the time during the net outage at T-Net."

"Someone blocked an entire building from World Access, and hacked the cores of at least one person but presumably everyone at the location."

"Sure seems that way."

"Fuck."

"I know right."

"Code Name was an okay hacker, but you and I both know this is on a level he wouldn't have been able to hit."

"Who then?"

"I have nothing for you on that. I doubt I'd even know a head who could hire me someone of that caliber. This is beyond the S-class hacks. However, I might be able to point you towards his fence."

"What?" Cirrhosis about jumps out of his chair.

"About six hours I got pinged for a sale. A big one. Asked around, there are some people who've heard the call too. Tomorrow, on the D–est of L's, something is being sold. Not so much sold as there is something to see and a concept to invest in. Everything in the message was garbled in jargon, almost unintelligible. An open cipher based on colloquial speech patterns—I've lost you haven't I?"

"Not really the hacking type. Always been more of a shanker."

"Why I loved you. Now, the point is that someone is attempting to simultaneously publicize and keep secret a meeting."

"What the fuck kind of sense does that make?"

"Come on, you aren't dumb. Pull it the fuck together."

"The best things are secret things, but if they are really secret they aren't popular. The point is to make it seem secret but in all actuality not be secret. If I wanted something to seem sexy and mysterious, I would tell the S-class, but make it seem like they found it out themselves."

"Exactly."

"I knew owning a club would eventually be worth it."

"Sex wasn't enough."

"Meh."

"Moving on. They are making a point of making it seem like they are trying to keep a secret, when they actually intend on everyone knowing about it."

"Who? Who is doing this?"

"That's the weird thing."

"You don't know?"

"No. I do know. Heavily encrypted IP bounces, but I turned a couple Frees at it, and I got a name. Vii Ariable."

"Fucking figures. Vii was there that night; I don't know why I didn't think it would be him. Fuck, he even hacked my IP. He probably threw a worm in there while he was at it."

"You're getting lazy." Cannata laughes, pushing at Cirrhosis' stomach with her foot.

"Where should I go?"

"The gym?"

"The sale. Is this a physical event?"

"Has to be. There cannot be a cash exchange high enough to pay for what he has. Hell, cash probably won't work either. I'd guess there is more to it than that."

"Where?"

"Checktiza's capital, Olm-tok, place called Unz Unz Unzt. Tomorrow at midnight."

"I see. Are you going?"

"I was planning on sending someone. I can't trust Mocha to run the show for even the afternoon." Cannata says with a smirk, turning her head left and leaning back to check the time. Cirrhosis gets up, adjusting himself and turning to leave.

"However." She says.

Cirrhosis turns slightly on his heel. Cannata in the sunset is a sight. Her strong features smoothed by the subtle play of dimming light, just before the street lights start blaring the life out of everything. A small circle appears in the corner of his vision.

"However?"

"This is becoming interesting. I don't actually have any responsibilities per se; this is me keeping the doors open. The gears turning and everyone employed and working towards a common goal."

"What's the goal for a gang?"

"Gangs are businesses like anything else. That and I run the restaurant."

"So you want to come with me then?" Begin sinking feeling here.

"How were you planning on getting to Checktiza in less than a day?"

"That is a good point." Cirrhosis grins grimly. This is building into something not great. Toro wants the jewel, and Cannata wants the jewel. This 'friendly' act of 'kindness' is all a fucking joke. Cirrhosis remembers all too well that Cannata is not beyond betrayal and always holds a grudge. He was hoping that she would just kick him in the nuts and point him somewhat in the right direction. Best case scenario. This would be the worst case scenario.

"I'll grab my coat."

# <15.0>

Excerpt from the documentary, Corialisana: Ivory City

Corialisana is the second largest city on Selba Prime, ground was first broken in the summer of 2649he, with no time wasted in its construction. The several hundred square-mile plot of land to the south of Hojo City, the capital of Selba, is already a bustling metropolis.

What makes Corialisana different than most cities, even most cities owned by a corporate dynasty, is that it has several tenants set on its citizens for visual effect. The first thing you will notice when exiting the slingstation will be the lack of color. Corialisana has strict dress, building and vehicle color codes demanding grays and whites only.

Most citizens work for Coral-Cor, the benefactor of Corialisana, in some regard. This gives a sense of peace, prosperity, and orderly bustle to the movings and shakings of the city. Construction is constant, but Coral-Cor plans shift changes, traffic flows, and often housing arraignments in advance, making the city move like clockwork.

The structures themselves are even more interesting, in our next segment-

# <15.1>

"Open your eyes."

Last opens her eyes wide.

"Not that much."

Last almost closes them, her mouth pouting.

"Less pouty."

Last pulls her head back slightly, pushing air through her teeth. Hissing sexily.

"More arch."

Last pushes the small of her back, her head turning to look over her sternum at the camera.

"Flip your hair a bit."

Last whips her hair left while attempting to keep her face in a solid state, not moving even a molecule unnecessarily. Holding her breath.

"Now dive down."

Last whips her head forward, her legs sliding back as her shoulders fall forward. Last extends her left hand and catches herself into a highly angled pushup, keeping her head up and her face angled towards the lighting rig.

"Fantastic. Go grab some water."

Last gets up and walks to the craft services table for a bottle of water. She blinks, and her mind turns back on. She has been trained for years to just shut down and obey commands, pose when told, drink when told, and on occasion, fuck when told. The shoot is somewhat blasé; a hyper violent scene is literally dripping on the set, dead bodies, model burning buildings and holo-projections of running people and a destroyed city. Last is wearing a black leather jumpsuit, tight, her breasts almost bursting from the open zipper. Siren surviving or causing the apocalypse, a traditional shoot set up for the streaming videos. Torch flipping the bill for an ad campaign for some shit clothing line created by someone who won a reality show by making a shit clothing line on a show about developing shit clothing lines. Honestly, this douche-cannon wouldn't even get his trash released, let alone promoted, except that he was the only person releasing something the week before the Race and the people who hired Last needed activities for her to do between 11am and 5pm while Cirrhosis is with his 'friend'.

" **Are you okay?"** Last eS's Cirrhosis, not quite sure what answer she is prepared for. If he is fine, great, but what if he is running. Last still isn't sure whether she would go with him or not. Last has to keep eating, looking around the set, keeping her breathing steady. Her thoughts are her own, but her emotions are being fed to people. Are being picked apart on cable news channels. Are paying her rent for next month, and next year in all honesty. Last isn't sure what she would do if he asked her to come with her, and that if she did go if she would be going out of a sense of fealty or for monetary gain. Sensivise programs always make these decisions seem natural, that two people who have barely met are most definitely in love if they share more than fifteen minutes uninterrupted screen time. Regardless of whether they met in a plane, on a train, or on the surface of Sol.

" **Yeah."** Comes a good thirty minutes later. Last is already getting her makeup durabrazed off. She gasps, and the makeup person sort of steps back.

"Sorry. Must have gone a little too deep." She mutters, fiddling with her sand gun and going back to it without another word. Last could get used to this sort of life, even if luxury doesn't really suit her style. Not to say that she doesn't desire to be rich, but more so that people like her don't generally become rich. Last thinks highly of herself, but has been reminded enough times to know her place. She will never be a supermodel in the traditional sense, but she has always thought of herself as something a bit more interesting than that. A galactic woman of interest. What would someone like that do?

" **What now?"** Let him decide. Better than flipping a coin, because you can't blame change on change. That and Last only uses full bills, because she only ever has physical rico for drugs and she only gets it from prostitution.

" **I gotta go."**

" **Now?"**

" **Now."**

" **Oh."**

" **Look. I... don't know what this is that we are doing."**

" **Yeah."**

" **I've got things to do that I cannot... I'm not sure if I can protect you."**

" **From what?"**

" **I'm not sure. That is part of the problem."**

" **Aren't I already involved, or whatever?"**

" **Probably, but I think you would be safer here."**

" **Really?"**

" **I won't be here. So, yes."**

" **Is that what you want?"** Last's heart is beating harder, she tries to breathe slowly and grimace. Attempting to play it off as pain as the makeup person starts working on removing the blood from her chest.

" **Is that what you want?"**

" **I... I don't know."**

" **Look. I'm not alone. I want to... Okay."**

" **What?"**

" **Meet me at the finish line."**

" **Where's that?"**

" **It is supposed to be a secret, so don't book your flight too early or the Captain will fucking gut me. Crystal Plaza."**

" **Really?"**

" **Yeah. I kind of planned our trip a little."**

" **Heh."**

" **Is it a date?"**

" **Don't forget about me."** Last texts, her eyes watering slightly. Apparently it didn't go the way she wanted, not that she has any idea what the fuck she had wanted. Perhaps an exciting trip filled with guns and mystery was it. Maybe the sand is getting in her eyes.

"Sorry. I'll turn down the spray."

"Yeah. You do that."

A small circle appears in Last's vision, a new session. Her life moving onward. She opens the channel, and allows the ansible software to record it for the World to see.

" **Miss. I hear your boyfriend is leaving the station."**

" **I don't have a boyfriend."** Last is unsure of who she is speaking to now. She knows that her handlers would never talk to her like this, knowing what it could do for ratings. Last is done being sandblasted, and she takes to her feet. She is about twenty paces from a bathroom and the World-block, hopefully nothing happens until then.

" **Don't play stupid you fucking cunt."**

"Wow." Last grunts aloud and via eS before stepping across the threshold of the restroom. What now? Last is alone on Torch, could she even go to her handlers with this? Could she go to the cops without getting Cirrhosis in trouble? Could she catch him before he leaves? Last can't bring herself to try contacting him. Not after he left her here, what he is dealing with must be worse. This could just be a crazy fan.

" **Don't play clean you fucking whore."**

" **What do you want?"** This isn't a fan. Last has been hacked, her icons are acting weird, and she doesn't know what to do. She isn't sure if cutting World-connection would even make it go away, or just result in whoever this is just coming to meet her.

" **Where did he go?"**

" **What?"**

" **He left Torch. Where. Did he. GO?"**

" **How the hell should I know, he just fucked me for publicity. Our deal was over."**

" **Bitch."**

" **Right."** Last mutters into the mirror, her face looking more weathered than usual. Stress, the redness from the sands, who knows? Last wants to cry, but doesn't know the reason. Being in charge of her own security isn't Last's bag. She's too dumb to be terrified, but not dumb enough to be oblivious. She is stuck in rut of indecision that lasts for a good forty-five minutes before some assistant something something comes in to snort illegal baggies and notices her sitting on the bathroom floor.

"What are you doing there?"

"Panic spiral."

"Crashdown?" She brandishes a baggy of white powder in two fingers. Last's mouth waters.

"Can't make it any worse right?"

"Fuck if I care."

"Okay then." Last dips in a finger, puts the finger under her tongue and is out like a light in less than thirty seconds.

"Seriously. I got seventy thousand rico for this?" Baby Doll Judah Stardust says accusingly at Last Chance's inert mass, while adjusting her wig in the mirror. Having to work an entire day as the assistant to some peon bullshit in charge of, maybe, hair? He wasn't really doing anything in particular, but when he made Stardust work it was doing hair. Presumably that means he was in charge of that, in at least an indirect sort of way. All of it seems like a waste of money and time, something that could be done with at least half the number of feminine men and starving women.

"There is some fish swimming out there, a deal I'm not getting a cut of." Stardust says to her own reflection. She finishes her adjustments, and grabs Last Chance by what she had assumed would be a wig. Getting traction, she lugs Last to her feet and attaches a small gravlifter to the drugged woman's waist, making her noticeably lighter to carry. "This is like that fucking beet missile all over again, someone is hiding my money from me. And you, my gaping dripping cunt, are going to take me to it."

# <15.2>

Fifty minutes out of Olm-tok on a train leading out to Noulanto, the shit water little town Sunshine had locked in her LJ until she hit planetside, just to insure safety. Fifty minutes of peaceful quiet, well as much quiet as you can get on a packed train leading to the middle of nowhere on a backwater planet where everyone is actually HEADED to the middle of nowhere. Truckee managed to doze off, Sunshine was busying herself with a note to her mother (not that she could actually send it without giving away their position), Big was playing with himself (also known as 'the usual'), and Epic was making some headway on the decoding.

That's when their train derails. Some sort of explosion in the forward end, the room dips backward. Epic grabs Sunshine by the waist and trusts Truckee to hold Big. Luggage scatters everywhere as the train pushes past its end and flips slowly onto its back. Fire spreads in the forward section of the train, their car continuing to slide along the tracks.

"Are you okay?" Truckee says with several commoners pushed against him. Big kicks a woman in the face, which gets her to screaming. Truckee is only slightly too worried about the crash to be disgusted. Only slightly.

"Just fantastic." Sunshine grumbles, a woman's arm is in her face.

"If you have time to be sarcastic you have time to climb out of this burning wreckage." Epic says, pulling arms away.

"Can't argue with that." Truckee grunts, pulling himself along the rungs on the luggage rack. The train has mostly stopped, of course mostly is relative when a train is going a thousand miles per hour, but the screeching noise continues. The automatic brakes on the other cars are slowing the crash, but their car is still being pushed along the tracks decelerating with a burning aftertaste.

"But we haven't stopped, how are we going to get out of this?" Sunshine half screeches, looking out of windows covered in smoke. The bottom of the cabin is bending and gnashing at the friction with the tracks, fire retardant foam is gushing from the floor/ceiling which is making slippery work of climbing against traffic to exit the train.

"From the windows and the geosynch footage I pulled, we are in the outskirts of town." Epic says, kicking a window open while holding a pole for support.

"So farms then?" Truckee says, pushing the screaming woman behind him. She plummets down the car, which Truckee does his best not to think about.

"There is a bit of a warehouse district near here. We need to get somewhere with some coverage, I can't defend anything from a fucking burning pedestal."

"Again, another good one."

"But how are we going to get out of here?"

"That is a good question, as whomever did this is probably waiting outside of the train for us to show ourselves."

"I was more talking in a, without getting my face ground off on the tracks, sort of fashion."

"Just shut up." Epic yells forcefully, grabbing Sunshine around the waist and tossing her out of the window.

"What?" Truckee screams.

"Come on." Epic grins over his shoulder as he jumps after her.

"What?"

"HE WANTS YOU TO JUMP!" Big shocks Truckee mildly, using some sort of personal defense tazer built into his tiny palms. Truckee instinctively listens and is rolling out of the train onto a foam cushion before he even understands what has occurred.

"What the fuck is this?" Truckee laughs hysterically. They were just going very very fast, wait.

"Sides of the train deploy this foam thing, it's like shitty wings." Epic yells over the wind, they are still attached to the train. An accident mitigation device, the foam wings deploy on emergencies, allowing passengers a chance of rescue should something pretty terrible happen. However, this is a bit worse than that. Many of the passengers are in full panic, and Epic really can't think of a way to blame them. They are all truly fucked, these wings do not fly and eventually someone is going to fire rocket (?) number two. Well, not as fucked as the people in the first five cars (victims of rocket [still not sure on this] one).

"So we are still going-"

"Two hundred miles an hour and we're on fire." Epic points at the corner of the wing, which is ablaze. The train itself stops with the car in front of them. The cars before that had either exploded from whatever hit them, or had already been pushed off the side of the track.

"Holy shit." Sunshine screams, noticing that they are most definitely on a rail about three hundred feet off of the ground. Buildings are passing by quickly, some shorter, but many a bit taller. Businesspeople looking at them stream by, with a mix of confusion and terror. It is nice of them to stop filing paperwork and at least observe the train's demise.

"Okay. Listen VERY carefully."

"What?" Truckee yelps.

"Lis-sten TO ME."

"What?!" Truckee is looking at the fire, at the ground, ahead at the slag. People around him are huddling by the train as if it would protect them in ways the first five cars were incapable of doing to the people ahead of them.

"Seriously?" Epic looks at Truckee quite sternly, and that manages to at least trigger his upper mental functions into some sort of order.

"I'll come closer."

"We're going to have to jump."

"WHAT?!" Both Sunshine and Truckee say. Big is unfazed, which is expected as he probably would have survived a rocket hit car let alone a slowly-burning-and-possibly-falling-from-300-feet-in-the-air car.

"I'm going to blow off a corner of this wing, which we are going to plummet with. Then I'll throw a grenade at that building about four up. We'll ride the concussion and probably survive."

"What the fuck kind of bodyguard kind of bull shit is this." Truckee mutters, walking behind Epic to the corner of the wing, knowing at this point that going with it is just about his only choice, and seeing as how he is going to die anyway, might as well have someone to blame it squarely upon.

"This is so not going to work." Sunshine half yelps while she wedges her legs into the flame retardant padding, which nicely has hooks and what not to hook oneself into should whatever the fuck sort of accident they were actually planning for were to occur.

"Probably not. Well, here we go anyway." Epic says with a smirk and shoots the wing off, clipping a man in a suit who seems somewhat angered by the shrapnel. He glares at Epic as the four of them plummet from sight. Epic has his feet hooked into the padding; his right hand is holding an edge of the wing. The piece is triangular, a little long on one side and a little jagged in the hypotenuse area. He had Truckee and Sunshine sit near the middle, Big is by the far left corner pointing a small grenade launcher at the closing building.

"Three."

"Two."

"Fuck." Truckee chimes in; his eyes clenched, his teeth clenched, and his asshole clenched. Epic and Big fire simultaneously (or as close as possible) ahead at an angle, and the explosion crumples the top of the building inward. Pieces of concrete and burning tar paper spiral everywhere, taking chunks of the wing with them. Sunshine and Truckee are screaming, but you can't really hear it over the concussive wave blowing through the building as they approach. The blast slowed the wing a good deal, eliminating most of the lateral motion, but gravity is still happening everywhere and the building below is just getting unstable when a giant piece of shit with four people vaguely attached drops on it.

The wing plummets through the roof easily, breaking beams and wood floors, shards of granite from countertops and composite porcelain from bathtubs scatter amongst fake wood, bits of crystal monitors, cords from random devices, the fluff from inside beds, and other random shit people have in a house. Everything happens in instants, with floors breaking beneath them like boards in a dojo. No resistance, just carnage. A core sample sixteen floors deep is made before the wing breaks in half. Epic has to jump to end up on Sunshine's side, trusting Truckee to Big. Epic's half creaks through two more floors and lands precariously wedged between a central beam and some plumbing for the floor below.

"Omigodwhatthefuckinghellshitfuckingcrap." Sunshine is looking straight up at the wake of their fall, pieces of flooring, half beds, tendrils of meat that are most likely human dangling from thirds of couches mangled beyond only the most creative imagination.

"Yeah yeah. Don't seize out on me." Epic grunts, his position somewhat tenuous as he had never fully grabbed on, and now is sort of half hanging by one foot. He swings his weight a bit left, in an attempt to grab a nearby rung, but that gives the whole wing-shard an awkward lurch.

"Whatthefuckarewegoingtodo?"

"Fucking take a downer, shit. I'm the one who's about to die, and it would be nice if I could at least do that in some fucking peace."

Sunshine looks down very briefly, not a girl who's afraid of heights per se, but riding an ultra-coaster is not exactly the same thing as plummeting through a building after being in a train crash. An extremely loud explosion happens to Sunshine's right, Epic's left.

The wing twists in the pipes below, water spraying Epic's face, which is dangling over the edge of the wing. Epic attempts to pull himself up, but the water makes his hands too slick to catch purchase on the thin foam. Sunshine is screaming again, and then the wing starts lurching forward (Epic's backward). The water starts to gush; gallons of cold water threaten to drown Epic. He turns on his head as much as possible, to see the four floors open to him. The one at eye level is about half above him, without the water (which is making this somewhat difficult to even see). Sunshine is two floors higher, but it doesn't look particularly sturdy. Below, the wing is half tangled in the water main of a floor below him. If he let go now, maybe...

"Sunshine?"

"The train exploded."

"Obviously. We need to get out of here."

"The train."

"I hear you. I'm going to need you to do something for me before we both die here."

"Exploded."

"SUNSHINE!" Epic is starting to lose his patience. Okay, he never really had any patience. Sunshine looks down briefly at him, her eyes all crazed.

"I need you to slide down the wing. We're going to try and get to the floor below me before the wing falls."

"Right. I'm just going to slide down four stories."

"It's that or wait to fall a hundred."

"You really are romantic."

"You should see me on Valentine's Day."

"I'm letting go." Sunshine closes her eyes and pulls her feet out of their wedges. Dangling for a brief moment by her hands, she sucks in breath and opens her hands. Sliding down the wing slowly, but picking up speed as she gets to the wet part. "Holy shit!"

"Okay. Log a downer program, I want you limp in like thirty seconds." Epic grunts as he lets go, intending on catching the model when they both hit the bottom floor. Their weight should be relatively inconsequential to the overall weight of the thing they are on, but with any balance situation, one should not take the importance of any bit too lightly. As if to agree, the wing begins to lurch forward as Epic slides down.

"-elp." Sunshine gargles as she gets hit with more water. The mains are rupturing from the weight, pressure, and now increase in torsion. Epic gives their slide about fifteen seconds until it spins far enough forward on its axis to fall farther into the building. One shot.

Epic rolls onto the floor below, managing not to injure himself on the shards of plastic flooring or the jutting pipes. Sunshine is right behind him, but the wing is falling towards him, and she is definitely going to land either on a pipe or down the hole the wing is making into the next floor. Epic runs towards her, jumps and grabs her. Luckily she is quite limp, and practically unconscious. He leans back and hopes his feet don't slip. Hitting the wing with both feet extended, he dips into a crouch very quickly and pushes as hard as he can backward. The wing finishes its turn and slides downward as Epic lands with Sunshine in someone's destroyed living room. Epic knows it isn't quite over yet, the creaking above says that much. He grabs Sunshine under her shoulders and pulls her to the front of the apartment, managing to get to the front door before the top of the wing breaks through the ceiling above them.

The door behind them opens suddenly, Big and Truckee stand on the other side. Big grabs Epic by the ankle and pulls him backward with a force that causes him to trip forward as he flies backward through the opening. His face misses getting taken off by about a centimeter. Sunshine is thrown back against the door behind them in the hall, she grunts but no one can hear her over the destruction. The hallway starts reorienting towards the center of the building, the doors creak and crack. Pieces of the ceiling crackle and fall to the floor.

"Fucking shit." Epic smirks as he pushes himself up to his feet.

"We're probably all going to die this time."

"How did you guys?"

"I don't even know. We need to get out of here now. That guy with the rockets might know we are here."

"Shit. Right. Okay, I'll grab Sunshine." Epic stutters as he gets his legs beneath him on the slowly shifting floor. The building is going to collapse altogether soon, the trick is going to be getting out of here before that happens.

"Eh?"

"Sunshine, get up." Epic yells, pulling her up by the shoulders. Big is looking for a way out, generally the stairs should be the safest. Epic drags Sunshine, her feet barely working; he attempts to eS her eButler. Her eB throws some stops into the downer programs, and her legs at least start mimicking walking motions.

"Stairs look stable. We should hurry." Big yells over some not so reassuring explosions. The elevator shaft appears to be keeping the nearby staircase sturdy, but the building doesn't have more than four minutes before it collapses entirely.

"Those stairs aren't going to hold. We are too high." Epic says, half to himself. He pulls Sunshine to the window, or the hole where the glass cracked out of at least. Shards crackle under his feet as he looks out to see the surrounding area. Another building is near, but not near enough for anyone other than Big to get to. By being thrown.

"Which way do you think the building is going to fall?" Epic asks Big.

"Why are you asking him that?" Truckee says, getting a bad feeling.

"The wings pushed in two directions..." Big says, ignoring Truckee, who is not enjoying this line of questioning. Big's processor is running through scenarios based on the masses involved and the local net's knowledge of the structure of the building.

"The building will fall outward from the center slightly and then straight down." Epic halts the decoding for a second, thinking his survival might be a priority at this point. His icons go bold; he accesses Threat Assessment™, pulling through possible escape routes to the best of his ability. One of his bone amps seems to be offline.

"Sounds right!"

"Great. The stairs are out, we won't make it down. We need to get as far away from the center as possible." Epics says to himself.

"You have to be fucking kidding me. We're jumping to the next building aren't we."

"Help me kick down this door and you'll find out."

"On three."

"Three!" Truckee yells, tired of waiting already. They kick the door down to find a woman and her child huddling under the aggregate of their furniture. Truckee salutes the child as they barge in unannounced.

"Sorry." Epic mutters, shooting out the window with his gun. The next building over is only across an alley. He eases Sunshine onto the unsteady fire escape, before following her outside.

"Hey!" Sunshine points at a pull-tab attached to a metal slab on the side of the composite brickwall. Some sort of high speed escape slide.

"Fucking shit! Truckee, call that bitch out here."

"Miss, you should bring your son out here. This building is going to collapse."

"Oh."

"I'd recommend you weren't here when that happened."

"Coming." She says, dusting herself off.

"Okay. Looking at the instructions, we need to have everyone fold their arms and go."

"Right." Sunshine says pulling the lever as the residents come out onto the crowded fire escape. Truckee throws the grill off the side of the building, not liking how it is crowding him. A neon yellow plastifiber chute shoots towards the ground powered by some sort of small explosion. Small nails attach to the concrete on the ground, and a whirring noise can barely be heard over the building's creaking.

"One at a time. Sunshine go first."

"O-okay." Sunshine says. Just like at the waterpark, she crosses her arms and hopes her top doesn't fly off. Okay, not accurate, she hopes that the top half of her body isn't severed or something. She screams as she goes down, which does not make the kid going second work as well as time would recommend.

"Big, grab that kid and go."

"Come on, son!" Big grabs the kid by the waist and hoists him over his head, throwing the kid down the tube and jumping after.

"Eric!!"

"You're next." Epic points at the woman, who doesn't have to be told twice.

"Truckee."

"Right."

"If I don't make it..." Epic mutters.

"Neither do we. Hurry behind me."

"Heh. Right." Epic is focused on the icons and graphics cluttering his vision. Ten seconds. Maybe twenty. Vector analysis isn't pretty.

The building starts lurking sideways as Truckee is sliding down the chute, small gravlifters keeping the plummet to acceptable levels. He lands with Sunshine still standing near the building. He grabs her by the arm and pulls her across the street.

"We need to get the fuck out of here."

"But Epic."

"He's coming now. Run straight away."

The woman grabs Eric, Big jumps on Truckee's shoulder; Sunshine looks over her shoulder and starts to sprint with them. The top three floors slide inward, the center of the building buckles outward making a horrible grinding noise. People screaming can be heard over the implosion that marks the beginning of the end. Windows shatter throughout the building, everywhere that it hasn't occurred already. To their right, towards the tracks, two more buildings are also in the process of collapse. Fire is spreading in several more. Everywhere people are either running (intelligent) or standing and gawking (not-intelligent), hovers are zipping away in every direction, terrestrial cars clogging the streets as detritus clogs everything up where traffic doesn't.

The building they were in collapses seconds later. Truckee gulps for air, not looking back. He knows where they are going. That will not be enough, but at least he's got a goal. If...

"Is he coming? I can't see through this dust." Sunshine says, breathing heavily. Again happy she wasn't wearing high heels like usual. Sunshine is considering attempting a revival of steel-toed combat boots when this is over, not exactly kosher with a micro-mini, but little is anyway.

"Electricity and World Access are down!" Big yells over the car horns, and the obscenities shouted by their cars of origin. The dust chokes everything, visibility dropping from blocks, to block singular.

"Great. Woman, do you know where we are?" Truckee yells to his left, but the woman is no longer with them.

"I think she tripped at the last intersection." Sunshine yelps, she cannot keep this pace too much longer. She has two adrenaline programs going, but her body can only produce so much naturally.

"So we're two people with huge bounties, who are lost on a strange planet. Fantastic."

"I have geosync access, I can get us there, son!"

"I knew I didn't drop you for a reason."

"Turn left at the next burning car."

"Okay."

Another explosion, dust blasts from behind. Tiny stones crackle across everything, giving open skin painful abrasions. Sunshine winces but keeps running. Epic is dead, she's sure of it. Hell, she's pretty sure the woman and her child are dead too. Sunshine looks over her shoulder a split second, and sees nothing behind her. A wall of gray smoke and the occasional glow of fire, some people staggering out of the deluge blinded.

"He's dead isn't he?"

"Probably."

"Who is?" A man standing on the burning car states plainly. Truckee slams to a halt, dropping Big on his face. The man is tall; leaning back on his hips awkwardly, like his lower back has a couple too many vertebrae, his hands to either side. Holding large pistols with strange muzzles. Truckee has no knowledge of guns, but can judge from his posture and the size of the weapons, that this man is the rocketeer. Truckee knows him, and it takes about three seconds for him to pull it together, because he never thought he would meet this man anywhere ever.

"Vii Ariable."

# <16.0>

Tetra-Phi 5 News

**Reporter:** Alucia Touchbase

<Start>

Startling events occurred this evening on Checktiza. In a small city south of the capital, a train carrying six hundred passengers was hit by what first-responders are claiming was a missile attack. The first three cars detonated, killing over one hundred instantly. The four car flipped over, and eventually derailed, Lances managed to crash the car into a nearby warehouse, but casualties are still coming in.

A firefight with an unnamed assailant caused extreme damage to the city, collapsing four whole buildings and severely damaging several others. Cost expectations are to be in the trillions, with the injured and dead numbering over three thousand.

Information is still scanty, but we will update when the official press-conference is held in six hours.

<End>

# <16.1>

Cirrhosis and Cannata land in Olm-tok with no problems. Olm-tok, itself, is having problems, however, as there is a big train crash of some sort in the east, preliminary reports claim some sort of terrorist fired a rocket. Very little footage, most people were not randomly recording the train ride, but the two people that had sensers of the incident saw a man is a tight gray suit, very thin and very tall. Cirrhosis watches the footage six times as they ride a cab to Unz Unz Unzt, just to do a drive-by before the actual thing at midnight. The building looks like a normal club, a lot larger percentage of patio to inside space than Cirrhosis would expect back home, but backwater planets tend to be a bit sprawl heavy.

"Vii."

"What?"

"Vii Ariable is here. He shot that train. I would recognize him anywhere."

"Well, it is to be expected."

"Right, the sale. Anyone who is anyone should be here."

"Or at least have an emissary here, yeah. Although starting something that major during the sale is a little ridiculous. He must have wanted that train derailed very badly."

"Particularly as he is running the sale in a few hours."

"What could he be thinking?" Cannata mutters, the cab they are in parks in front of a small hotel complex. Three fifty-story buildings surrounding an artificial lagoon of pools and bars, two boulevards of trees lines the lagoon thinly, as to keep it viewable by the inhabitants of the hotel. A relatively standard three-star affair, but for a planet as purposefully mediocre as Checktiza it is the crème deluxe with cheese, a drink, and the He's Just Not that Into You 16: The Reckoning fully automated action figure included.

"This place is nice enough." Cirrhosis says, getting out of the taxi. He waves his wrist in front of the reader on the door. Cannata gets out the other door and brings her bags with her, walking away without looking back. Cirrhosis has to grab his bags quickly to catch up.

"I had about thirty minutes to book. Crawl out of my ass." She says, still looking forward.

"I was being honest."

"When did you start that practice?" Finally making eye contact, Cirrhosis takes a big breath. Finally time, eh?

"Okay. If we are going to work together it would be helpful if you didn't relate everything I say through the filter of 'he cheated on me forty years ago'. I think that, just maybe, we should be past that."

"That isn't going to happen." Blunt as ever.

"I was a first lifer, you were my first girlfriend." Lie, Cirrhosis was seventeen, but Cannata was his second girlfriend. First girl was a real firecracker, Cirrhosis always had a thing for crazy tom-boys.

"First and third." She says through her teeth as they enter the open atrium. Huge vaulted ceiling with a holographic metal sculpture turning light millions of ways, giving the whole room the sense of being underwater. Large stone pillars mark off arches in a semicircle, the second floor mirroring the first before hitting the dome, which has a fresco of Corialis founding the planet and the bland history thereafter. Many men and women with farm implements working flowing fields of grain. Cirrhosis would probably stop and look at it if Cannata wasn't being such a bitch.

"I made out with her." He says, exasperated, finally willing to continue talking.

"She touched your cock."

"Like grazed it."

"Grazed it back and forth until-"

"Seriously?" Cirrhosis looks to his left and sees the restaurant on the first floor is full of children. One is getting out of his chair, his eyes not blinking. Hoping to get a senser.

"You never even apologized."

"You wouldn't have known if I hadn't of told you."

"You want a trophy for that too?"

"Hello, kiddo."

"Sir." The kid says to Cirrhosis. Cirrhosis and Cannata fake smiles for the child. Cirrhosis pulls a shooting pose, recording his senses as he aims his imaginary bow at the boy, then pans up to shoot at the main doorway.

"Bang."

"You going to win?"

"Obviously, kid. Who even stands a chance?"

"Nobody!" The kid smiles as Cirrhosis sends the sense recording to a temporary address in the hotels bank.

"Go ask the main desk, I sent you a little something."

"Thank you sir!"

"No problem."

The boy starts to walk away, but turns around before Cirrhosis turned to leave. "You should have stayed with the first girl. This one is scary."

"I get that a lot." Cannata smiles to the kid, who smiles back. Satisfied, he leaves for the desk.

"You were groveling." Cannata starts again.

"I apologized when I told you. I'm not going through this again." Cirrhosis says, smiling and waving at the boy, but making a point of walking swiftly to the elevators.

"Oh, because it's so hard on you."

"Why the hell are you here?" He hits the button so hard he's sure the elevator is either not going to come, or plummet down the shaft and save him the trouble.

"You know why."

"You didn't need to come with me to get the fucking jewel."

"I only knew that was what they were talking about because you came." She says, getting into the elevator.

"What, so it's fair then?" Cirrhosis mutters, feeling sorry for the boy. Yeah, they aren't any better when you get older, kid.

"No. You plan on stealing the fucking thing out of here. I want it. We have a mutual interest."

"Except that I plan on giving it to Toro." Cirrhosis says, looking her square in the eye. She knows the stakes.

"We can fight about THAT later." She turns towards the front of the elevator. Conversation over, apparently.

"Fantastic."

The elevator ride is awkward to say the least, silence permeates the walls. It's hard not to be awkward when your ex-girlfriend basically states that she wants some ridiculous bauble over your continued life. They head to the hotel on the thirtieth floor in silence, only muttering to each other as Cannata fumbles with the door.

"Look..." She begins.

"We really will just deal with that later. We need to focus if we are going to pull this off."

"Hmm... Yeah, even with illegal alien technology we aren't going to be able to steal that jewel without some precise orchestration."

"Your specialty."

"Not your style." Flattery.

"I know." Cirrhosis says, unpacking various boxes from their luggage onto his bed. The room has two queen-size beds set in the 'traditional' style, which basically translates to a place that is fine for sleeping but too small and awkwardly lit to serve for awake functionality.

"It is unlikely either one of us will survive this you know." Cannata says, opening a small box, inside a red ball. It glows in an uneven way, some sort of power core.

"Is that you attempting to apologize?"

"Perhaps I do know that everything between us was a long time ago."

"It's hard to avoid thinking long-term when you live forever."

"I'm not that much older than you." She says, not looking up, but raising an eyebrow.

"Only 160 years."

"Hmm... that did doom us from the start didn't it?"

"Most likely."

"Do you know what this jewel does?" She states with curiosity, the metal bits she was twisting all seem to click together at once. A slow whirring sound can be heard.

"Not really. I know that Truckee used it to get where he is... somehow. Although how owning some expensive rock equals success sauce, and then makes you a media mogul, is a mystery to me."

"I heard... Hmm... Whatever."

"What?" Cirrhosis puts down what he was working on, some sort of long gun that Cannata gave his eButler the blueprint and instructions for, but not the use.

"Okay. I heard that it grants a wish."

"What?"

"I'm not sure how it works, I figure some sort of colossus hack program. I mean, ultimate amounts of money can buy you literally anything."

"True, but isn't Truckee in debt?"

"Maybe you can only use it once?"

"That doesn't seem right."

"What you think it's magic?"

"Not really." But Code Name did jump out of a window and vanish. Or was that Vii's hackjob? Who knows?

"You do don't you?"

"Technology sufficiently advanced beyond what you understand will look like magic."

"Regardless, it needs to be something big to be worth the trouble." She says, getting back to work on another box of parts.

"We can agree on that."

# <16.2>

"The secret."

"What are you vibrating about now?" Truckee mutters.

"I will ask you once. You will answer or I will kill that woman, your strange child, and yourself." Vii aims his guns at the three of them. Truckee knows what Vii wants, but also knows that he should probably not say anything for the sake of other people. Truckee doesn't care about other people, however. Although he doesn't want Sunshine to be killed either... A quandary for someone as self preserving as Truckee Dumpstar.

"Okay, fine. Can you stop pointing guns at me and just listen."

"Yeah. I'd recommend that." A woman says behind Vii, right before slamming the butt of a pistol in his temple. Vii drops off the car and manages a roll on the concrete, landing on his back. Truckee sees the woman, but turns to his left in confusion.

"Holy shit, you're twins?" Truckee yells, mostly because he needs somewhere to throw his anxiety.

"Not exactly, although I don't appreciate this freak pointing a gun at her. More principal than anything else." Apocalypse says shooting a tazer into Vii's face, even though Vii was already unconscious.

"Oh my god. Pepper is here isn't he?" Sunshine finds herself crying, not entirely sure why.

"Somewhere. He said he had a friend in some rubble or something."

"Fuck. Do you know where we are going?" Truckee mutters, hope almost filtering into his thought patterns. A disconcerting process for someone who constantly has his hopes dashed.

"GPS in the car; grab your infant and follow me." Apocalypse grunts as she jumps off the car.

"If you aren't related..."

"Some sort of sex robot."

"How many of these are we going to get saddled with?" Truckee says to Big as much as to Sunshine.

"I'm a SHOE salesman, son!" Big says, scratching his balls. Or, more accurately, where his balls would have been were he to be an adult model.

"Keep telling yourself that, artificial bait."

"Do you know where we are going?" Sunshine mutters.

"Not really, Big?"

"About twenty yards away from that rocket coming from over there!" Big screams, for once logically, tazing Truckee which makes him stumble forward and trip over a bit of concrete to land on his face. Sunshine takes the cue to dive and the rocket hits a group of pedestrians behind them. Blood- carnage-smoke-dust-bones-screams-carnage-smoke-fire-noise-more screams-dust-glass.

"Run, bitches!" Apocalypse screams and shoots blindly into a mass of screaming and running people.

"Are you even aiming?" Truckee says as they start running as a group.

"Not particularly."

"What if you hit some random?"

"Fuck if I care."

"Fair enough." Truckee yells as another rocket shoots above them, raining glass all over the street. Several people, stupidly, dive for the ground as opposed to the intelligent people, who continue to run for their lives. Truckee pulls Sunshine's hand, while holding Big like a football. "Which way?"

"That robot is leading us to a hover she is speaking to via a direct dive link."

"Fantastic. Should we trust her?" Truckee can barely hear himself over the random people screaming.

"Yes. She is working with Pepper!" Sunshine screeches, fires are breaking out in the ground floors of the buildings nearby.

"I..." Truckee looks back as a woman gets shot in the chest by their 'ride'. Apocalypse turns ahead again, running a few paces before someone starts taking pot shots at her from her right. Apocalypse dives forward over a car, Truckee sees the blur of a man shooting at her. Truckee looks back at Sunshine, who was dazzled by the blood spray and some bits of window falling from above.

"No." Truckee pulls Sunshine left into an alley, and keeps running. "I don't feel right. Cannot explain it."

"But..." Sunshine yelps, but continues running. She can't really argue about not trusting a sex robot with a gun. The alley is lurching right-ward, dust and rocks blowing everywhere. Less people screaming, less chance of rockets hitting you in the face.

"We need to find a way to contact your friend." Truckee yells as they hit another major street, looking left and seeing a wall of fire and right and seeing a wall of people. Another alley sounds like the plan, and they continue running straight.

"Why? He isn't going to have access either."

"Epic kept saying this Pepper guy was supposed to be a fantastic planner."

"Yes. I guess so." Except for the space ninjas.

"He probably left you a message. Did he tell you anything?"

"Pepper didn't give me... If I can get a signal to the World, I could eS his house servitor."

"He gave you?"

"A code to his house. For when we got there."

"Fantastic. Big?"

"Nothing. We have GPS from the satellites, but the World is being jammed! Localized interference is likely, as the power for the ansible is off-world."

"Smarter than I thought." Sunshine says, looking around a corner because the area seems a lot less busy than the rest. This street leads to some sort of train station, which is useless in this sort of train station explosion related environment. However, there is probably an overpass leading to the next neighborhood. They turn right and risk the station.

"Personality programming, bitch!"

"There we go."

"Just keep running." Sunshine laughs slightly, as much as someone can when they are taking stairs two at a time while running from both a robot duplicate of themselves with a gun and a tazer and a seven foot tall man with dual rocket launchers. Not to mention the buildings collapsing or the maniacal traffic clotting the streets or the people running incoherently 'away from'.

The station is barren, tipped over trashcans and shattered glass. A smoldering bit of train fell into the concrete building housing the payment kiosks. The station itself is two flights above the street, one elevator leading to the main platform, and with four elevators leading to the platforms people actually get on the trains from. It is like an open knot, eight twists of track lead into the station, and pull out somewhat logically at the other side. The main platform is relatively calm looking, plain concrete covered in motion adverts and holographic tagging. The crushed payment kiosk is still smoldering, but it doesn't look like anyone was caught in the crash. The car that hit the station looks to have been the conductor's, which wouldn't have had anyone in it.

"So Vii shot the second car then."

"Seems that way." Truckee mutters as they walk through the station. A small icon blinks violet in his vision.

"You saw that too?" Sunshine says as they both stop.

"The payment system still has World access." Truckee says, as Sunshine attempts to get her eButler to call Pepper's house servitor.

" **What can I do for you?"**

"Thank the gods." Sunshine laughs out loud.

" **I need to know if there is a message for me."**

" **Yes. The man of the house states that he is out. While he is out he says that the woman of the house should be sure to stay away from herself. Herself is not a good person to be alone with. She is, in fact, quite the robber baron. The good sir recommends that she get herself to her favorite restaurant and await her suitor. End of message."**

"What the time period is he from?" Sunshine giggles. Pepper is alive.

"So I was right then?" Truckee says, quite proud of his womanly intuition. Sunshine just nods.

"Robber... Oh, she must be working for someone trying to get the jewel. I wonder who?"

"This Pepper person seems to know at least. Where are we going now?"

"I know just the place." Sunshine says, realizing quite quickly that they are going to have to find a way to get to the capital in this mess. "Big, can you get us a car?"

"Lances always have a car. Go to the basement."

"If you weren't already fingering yourself I would do it for you." Truckee states, relieved. He puts Big down to lead the way.

# <17.0>

Arturis Central Kigh Nightly News

**Reporter:** Ari Swansong-Deathtoll

<Start>

Ari Swan here, I am outside the last vestige of Kuznetsk in the Outer Rim. Here on Walis, three extremely well known bounty hunters have captured the top four members of the Kuznetsk gang, one of the six Lords of Orii were amongst the members captured.

The Lords of Orii are the leaders of the six gangs which fifteen years ago bought Orii Station and the Orii System itself, a system which has fallen into lawlessness. The Federalis have attempted to re-establish the rule of law, which in part was laid on the Hunt.

Rankings of current hunters are often inferred, but the highest ranked hunters, the Omega list, who is known for handling the S-Class calls, has ten known members. Of those, three were contracted here in Walis. Peppermint White Ninja, Baby Doll Judah Stardust, and Epic Death are the top of the top. Holding, themselves, several million rico bounties for various crimes.

The yellow? An entire gang of six thousand members. Six thousand members just here on Walis. And they have been busy, this isn't the only crime scene scorched nearly to the ground, this is just the only one today. Hitting sixteen dens like the one behind me in as many days, the three hunters did what GovNet and the Federalis could not, they drove a Lord of Orii into a corner. And, according to ours sources, killed him where he stood.

<End>

# <17.1>

"Wake up you dumb cunt!"

"What?"

"Wake up."

"I—"

"You dumb cunt."

"Oh."

"I am not going to carry you anymore. Either start walking on your own or to the bottom of the crevasse with you."

It takes Last Chance about five full seconds to get her wits about her, look down off the path they are walking on, and see what a 'crevasse' could possibly be. She then juts into movement and jumps backwards for the central wall.

"What ship is this?"

"We're on a freighter headed for Hess."

"Why?"

"Does it matter?"

"Um..."

"I'm supposed to take you there. I am also supposed to leave a trail so your boyfriend follows us."

"What?" Last mutters, her eyes searching for other people. Someone to help her, to make sense for her, to do something for her as she is obviously incapable of structuring her own life. The compartment they are in is very long, filled with oiled and steaming tubes and thick arteries of fluids and fuels. Drums bubbling with fluids, steam coursing above and below them. "This ship is..."

"A deuterium mining ship. I needed something I could make a scene with without the Federalis doing too much shooting."

"You hijacked an entire mining colony ship?"

"The crew was on Torch taking a much needed vacation. Let's just say that they will get a longer one now. Well, except for the onboard crew. Got about six hundred creamed in the back, but I figured let them live for collateral or something. " Stardust tells Last matter-of-factly while walking away and down the service platform. Mining ships tend to run on extremely long voyages which often happen in regular time for exploration purposes, which means cryogenic sleep is the best way to keep your ship in top shape. AI can do all the driving, with only a small crew required to be active for maintenance and what not.

"Who are you?"

"A hunter, darling. Luckily for you, you aren't on my menu." She laughs back, opening a large metal door leading to another walkway; she pauses briefly and turns her head slightly to the right. "Baby Doll Judah Stardust, "and she walks through a large door, leaving Last to her thoughts.

Last attempts World access, expecting it to be blocked. However, they are on a standard line and she gets access to the ansible network easily. With her rigging, she is capable of a full dive. Last is too short sided to see that this is the 'trail' Stardust was speaking of. She is too busy finding a good place to park her body while she runs for help.

Slightly farther down the thin composite metal platform, she finds a descending staircase that leads to a monitoring station. Last sees the desk, metal like everything else, littered with polyfilm displays and tablet notepads. A larger terminal dominates the desk, with a big monitor with hooks for this and that probe uplink. Mostly unused as that sort of system is hundreds of years outdated, and only kept as a precaution. Last sits on the swivel chair, and pushes some notepads back, the screens bursting to life with colors and holographic diagrams of pipe fissures and valve pressure number lines. She puts her hands on the table, and puts her head onto that. She closes her eyes as her bones start rumbling.

Last opens her eyes and she is in a lavishly decorated sixteen bedroom bungalow by the beach. Last bought the deluxe package for herself a few years back when she had scored a short lived series on extended ansible. Something Something Vampires of the Deep, very short lived series. In the show she played the plucky neighbor girl who just happened to be a frankenstein. The whole show was filmed in full senses, and marked the point where Last went fully wet. To commemorate, she moved beyond the high-rise studio she kept in the World, and bought herself a beautiful piece of real estate on Isis' virtual planet.

"Coco?" Last yells, completely unnecessarily, her eButler wouldn't be out of earshot if she was on another planet. Coco appears on the stairs, she had been upstairs doing whatever the situation programming of the house demanded. Several NP-Servants are wandering around the bungalow, mopping the floor, dusting, etc. The luxury of luxury is in the details of the expense, and non-sentient workers that clean dust that falls on a preset schedule, that weed a garden of plants that grow based on the actual climate of Isis, that wash windows that do not even actually exist, is all part of the milieu one pays to have. Last spent a good two weeks after the show was cancelled, just watching the maids keep other 'people' off of her private beach. The effect so convincing, that when Imanaj had those earthquakes two years ago, Last logged onto her account just to be sure the maids were boarding up the windows. They were.

"Yes, Miss?"

"I need a car pulled around front. I need to see someone quickly."

"Yes, Miss."

A small black teardrop appears in front of the house shortly thereafter; wheels pour from the bottom and fill themselves as the car takes on weight. The front end distends down and forward, bubbling upward as it becomes the hood of an old-world style Jaguar. Last cycles through a few outfits in a nearby closet, picking a flowing red dress that clings harshly to her chest, but allows amply room for her legs by floating out ethereally in ruffles and wisps of thin mesh.

"Where are we off to?"

"I need to speak to Toro Abobo."

"Excuse me, Miss?"

"Take me to the space station, immediately."

# <17.2>

Epic Death pushes the last of his hangers-on down the escape tunnel at about the moment he knew that making it down from the building wasn't going to be as easy a prospect for him. With his bangs and bruises, a good run through a collapsing building would probably not be medically approved. Epic stands for a brief moment judging his horizons. The building is going down in under twenty seconds; there are no new projectiles to worry about as far as Astral Strafetm can see, but there is a lot of dust being thrown up. The street is full of people running erratically, fires bursting here and there, the occasional car crash. The building directly across from him seems pretty sturdy, but the building he is on isn't lurching forward like he would like it to. There is a medium level likelihood that he wouldn't make the jump across, at least before dropping a dangerous number of floors.

"Fuck."

Epic backs up to the window of the apartment, three paces and a vault. Nothing going. Time wasting. No chance. Time wasting. Epic scratches the back of his head, thinking that his name would be hyperbole forever. A truly boring end to an interesting life. "Bullshit."

Epic dashes and vaults the metal balcony enclosure, making a good twenty feet laterally, but losing altitude too quickly. He readies himself to land on the traffic below. Killing yourself is at least taking charge of the situation. Epic grins to himself and wishes he had a cigar or something to smoke. A last bit of vice.

Out of the corner of his eye, a hover picks up speed and dashes his way. Epic looks at the plates, but Threat Assessment™ isn't giving him anything useful. The car dashes past him, and then dives back towards, trying to match speed. Only a couple more moments to take it in. At least the in-flight is interesting.

The passenger door opens vertically, an older model hover. Epic decides to at least try for it and aims his descent into the door, landing horribly and cracking a rib. His hands manage to clutch at the door latch and he hangs there as the hover slows their plummet to a reasonable speed. It is at this point that Epic sees inside. And loses his grip.

"Whoa!" Epic rolls backward off the door and lands on the roof of a slow moving passenger vehicle, the top padded with every possession of the occupying family. A woman screams from inside. A man gets out of the car, the car is barely moving in the traffic, so he walks along side. Screaming obscenities at Epic, who is in too much pain to understand him. The driver of the floating hover is yelling back at the man, who decides to get back in the car.

"Peppermint White Ninja, you filthy son of a bitch." Epic laughs, clutching at his right side. He orders a downer program from his eButler.

"Epic Death. You really do pick the shittiest jobs."

"Did you find your bitch? She was with me for a while, but I'm not sure she can handle-" Epic leans up on one elbow, his back digging into a pair of skis. His left hand gesturing in a circle. "This whole fuckpocalypse."

"I think she'll be okay. She's a smart girl."

"Yeah, but she's with Truckee Dumpstar."

"The drag queen?"

"Transexual, I think."

"Is that different?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Can you get the fuck off of my car?!" The man is back.

"Can't you see that I am having a motherfucking conversation?" Epic pulls a gun on the man, who falls on his ass and ends up almost getting hit by a kid on a bike. Epic turns back to Pepper, who is leaning out of his window to talk.

"Get up here. We need to get back to the capital." Pepper lowers the hover closer to the ground. Epic stands, wavering on top of a awkwardly packed bag of clothing and shoes.

"I don't like leaving them here. Someone is shooting rockets." Epic grunts as he pulls himself into the car.

"Yeah. My son's here." Pepper says, moving his dreads out of his face.

"No joke?" Epic says with raised brows.

"Yeah. I should never have allowed myself to have kids. I knew what would happen."

Epic touches his side tenderly, his eButler running biometric diagnostics, at least one broken rib, but no hindrance to lung capacity. He orders his healing nanobots to work, his left femur rumbling as various systems start to work, his side throbbing even with the pain relievers running through his nervous system. Two hours and he'll be back to business, assuming that two hours are in the cards at this point.

"You... fuck... you couldn't have known what he'd become while you were gone." Refresh after the 'incident'.

"His mother should have been proof that he'd be a liability if nothing else."

"And that is why we don't share girlfriends anymore." Epic says out the window, he is using his gun sight for a binocular. Trying to see if there is anything worth worrying about. Someone seems to be having a bit of a firefight to the left, but only flashes and disturbances in the smoke movement can be seen from this distance.

"Yeah, because you still like the fuck-ups."

"Good in bed. All I'm saying." Epic shrugs.

"Got it right on that one." Pepper laughs, throwing the hover around a building quickly to avoid oncoming ambulance traffic.

"So Vii's here. That explains a little."

"There is something very large going on here. I can't quite place it."

"They are selling that jewel thing here. I intercepted a message."

"It is what I figured. There is supposed to be some sort of big meeting sale shit in the capital tonight."

"Which is where we are going?"

"Yes. Even though I am sure that it is some kind of trap."

"Which is why we didn't pick up Sunshine?"

"Correct. I am trusting someone I cannot trust to do exactly what they would do."

"Excuse me?"

"Long story."

"I would guess so. Where have you been? Sunshine said that you sent her ahead here, but everything seems to be going down here."

"Yeah. I never planned on that. I think someone wants us here."

"You can't be that stuck up. Sure, you and me are probably top ten hunters. Sure. But hawking the jewel solely to get us on some backwater for the sole purpose of exactly what?"

"I don't know. All I know is that my sex robot was sending out a constant stream of data the entire time we were together."

"Right."

"I was using her as a decoy to lure out Stardust."

"Oh. Is she here too?"

"I don't think so, but with her, you'd never be sure."

"She bought your ruse?"

"I think so. I lead her in the wrong direction."

"But Sunshine got kidnapped on her way to where you were sending her."

"Right. I'm lucky you bumped into her."

"You're lucky Truckee wanted her saved, and that I have a thing for damsels in distress."

"Where did you find her anyway?"

"Dub-x."

"Fuck."

"I know right."

"Who had her?"

"Some space ninja. Hired by Blam Machinist I think."

"Location?"

"Unknown. He is probably not off the table."

"Random, noted, but probably just in it for the reward. But, anyway, the robot said some weird stuff. She has odd programming loaded for an off the shelf model."

"Like?"

"She can use several types of guns and fly a scram."

"That isn't right."

"She also never betrayed me. She helped us escape. If she wanted me dead..."

"She could have?"

"Hey, even I have my off days."

"Something just isn't right about that." Epic mutters.

"No. It's not. There is some strange encrypting going on. It obviously points to my son."

"Which isn't surprising, you two were never close."

"But he doesn't plan like this. He would never do something this backhanded. He would come at me guns blazing if he wanted me dead."

"I can tell." Epic says, his right hand doing a circling motion in the air.

"He is a man of purpose." Pepper chuckles.

"Just like his mother."

"Exactly. Which leaves Toro." Pepper says, looking Epic in the eye. Epic's eyes show momentary confusion, like if Pepper had randomly switched languages mid sentence.

"As in that Toro?"

"Yes. His encryption was in there too. A routing address that lead to him kept appearing in the background of pings."

"Okay whatever."

"But he's not that sloppy. He's not as good as us-"

"Natch."

"But he's not this. Toro has the kind of rico that make a slip up like this seem planned."

"Interesting."

"Someone wants us to think it's Toro, but why? Why hide it in a double ruse? So they incriminate my son first, anyone who knows me would know that I wouldn't take anything for granted."

"Reason why you will always be number three, boyo."

"Taken, but they gave it to me knowing my proclivity for thorough investigation."

"Over-thorough. Excessive-thorough. Like serious, what the fuck levels of-"

"Swallow my laundry, Epic." Pepper makes a few quick stroking motions with his right hand aimed at Epic's face. Epic laughes.

"So they want him dead." Epic offers.

"Exactly, but why this way?"

"Yeah, hire me; I'd have it done in a day." Epic says modestly.

"That would probably include travel time. Killing someone that easy to find would literally be about getting his schedule off the tabloids and just showing up."

"Or Stardust, she'd do it in two."

"She did always like her pre-assassination drinking binges."

"Mmm... better make my estimate two days as well."

"Hell, make the price right, and I'd do it. I would make an exception for Toro."

"You know there is only one thing that ties the three of us to him."

"Exactly, but what the hell does that have to do with anything?"

# <17.3>

"Yes?"

"I have someone at the front desk asking for you, sir."

"I am in the middle of something in Actual. Who is it?"

"Last Chance, Sir."

"Pardon?"

"A supermodel by the name of Last Chance, sir."

"Eslex in the hiring department should handle inquires of that nature."

"As I am aware, and have related to Miss, here. However..."

"What does she want?" Toro attempts to remember if he had ever had sex with a supermodel by that name. Sadly, no files exist, but that doesn't exactly disprove anything. Paternity suits are quite the hassle, Toro writes in his LJ to send this woman's data to his secretary, just in case.

"She says she wants to sell information in exchange for protection."

"I see, had she mentioned from what she needs protecting?"

"She hasn't said."

"Superb. Send me her data."

"Sending."

Toro allows himself a brief moment, closing his eyes to view the LT his eButler sent with her information. Her dossier is relatively thin on professional records, and a lot higher on more 'colorful' records. Tabloid coverage of a horrible downward spiral after a particularly atrocious indie sense-vid. Several run-ins on Isis for drunken disorderly, mostly in the Hinter. Photo-bombing of a movie awards ceremony on Arturis Central Kigh. Dropped charges of molestation charged against her by several teenage sense celebrities at the Teen Select Awards. A long, and excessively videotaped, affair with one of the plaintiffs of said class-action assault-suit. A vicious, and allegedly one-sided, rivalry with Sunshine Apocalypse. Toro's eyebrow rises slightly at that.

Recently, she's been live streaming her trip to Torch with...

"Send her to my office; I'll dive in a moment."

# <18.0>

**LiveText To** : Cirrhosis Induction

**LiveText From** : Noseta Stone

Fucking hell Cirrhosis. You want to fucking explain to me what the absolute hell you've been doing? You say you are going to Torch on a press-junket, which is whatever. The Race is there anyway. Go early. I get it, you think Toro responds to brown-noses. He fucking doesn't. He responds to results. But I get it.

Shitstain, for you to leave with someone from Destiny? For you to fucking get yourself eye'd on ansible talking to gang members?

You can only do Toro's work for you as a legal member of society. Scrubbing that now, going back on your agreement so flagrantly. I'll kill you. Not even for Toro, just out of motherfucking principle. Toro will probably beat me to it.

Call me or I fucking ice your family.

~Noseta

# <18.1>

Last arrives at the outside of Toro's main world office. His wo is vast, even for a virtual location, as even virtual real estate is still worth actual rico. Stretching at least a mile in each direction, from the central door Last's wps dropped her at. Last steps out of her car, the vehicle dissolving like smoke into the air leaving a floating icon for Last to attach to her wrist interface. Last's interface is a small gold chain with a round bangle on it, everyone must have some sort of physical interface object in the World. Otherwise, there would be nothing to 'swim back' using. People need some sort of anchor to reality or there would be thousands of people a day stranded in the World because they can't remember how to 'feel' woken up. That and the interface acts as a sort of physical firewall to your personal data, allowing you to hide it, block it, etc. In addition to the encryption programs everyone gets from their service provider.

As such, a world without mass requires people to do things that in all actual logic should occur. Why does Last's fake car have to dissolve into or out of anything at all? All beyond what Last, herself, would ever consider or comprehend. She is someone who is going to a meeting with an intergalactically renowned criminal. Renowned for stupendously flagrant violence, murdering people for reasons almost arbitrarily low on a scale of offense. Last straightens her gown, tugs her fingers through the hair of her right temple, and still forgets that she has been recording on live ansible her kidnapping and trip to Toro's doorstep.

"Wow." Last mutters, craning her head all the way back. The wo is built of glass set in a straight grid, overlaid unto a grid at a thirty degree angle which holds a more murky blue glass with gold liquid flowing over it. The liquid runs languidly, shimmering in the bluish sunlight of Bellatrix, falling at a considerably lower speed than Orion's gravity would lead someone to believe possible. It takes Last about ten seconds of thought to realize.

"Liquid gold."

"Yes, Miss, it is. Will you follow me?" A man, who must have been standing directly in front of Last for a least a moment now, extends his hand to Last for a handshake.

"Oh! Last Chance." Last places her hand into the man's hand, who takes that more as a request for assistance up the short staircase to the door. The man guides her through the giant metal meshed door, which has a more intricate version of the buildings structure repeated over and over, giving an extreme depth to the thick doors. Last doesn't get time to be mesmerized, but does succeed on tripping over her own feet.

"I could say the same to you. Mezra Orinth, we eS'd about thirty seconds ago, ever heard of it?" Mezra shakes her hand, while placing his other hand on the square of her back. Adjusting her center of gravity while pushing her onward. Mezra mutters something under his breath, and Last hears a strange metallic murmur in her ears.

"Hey, I-"

"Upstairs, giant door at the end of the hall. Even someone..." Mezra mutters under his breath again. "Whom hasn't been here before, should be able to find it. No problem." Last can smell something off, ozone or something, like she is standing too close to a mobile generator. People's wos can be bizarre sometimes, reflecting the strange tastes of their owner.

The foyer is huge. Two spiral staircases with gold running over them in rivulets down to pools shaped like opposing paisley. A giant metal desk sits in the center, six people talking while typing, one space empty (presumably for Mezra). The room is made of metal, seeming to be almost submerged in oozing gold and conflicting glass lattice. The second floor has several doors visible from the main atrium; many people are walking briskly along the corridor. Apparently Toro doesn't allow his workers to move quicker than Actual while inside his office.

Last takes that as a queue and makes her way to the staircase at the left after Mezra gestures with his left arm before taking his post back at the large reception desk. The stairs seem slick, but Last knows that slipping isn't possible in the World, for most people anyway. Move over, she has to continue to remind herself of that, as globs of the liquid flow and cling up to her ankles as she grabs the banister for dear life. The bottom of her dress is thoroughly gilded by the time she makes it up the staircase. A woman almost knocks Last back down the staircase as she turns to descend.

"Jeezus." The woman grunts, clenching her paperwork to her chest and dashing down the stairs. Last turns her head after her, glaring in an attempt to will the woman to plummet the remainder of the way down. Farther along the hall, Last sees what Mezra was speaking of. A huge crystal door is dead ahead, something she would literally have to her eyes removed to lose herself on the way to. That said, Last is distracted almost instantly by a flashing light on the third door on the left.

Last makes her way there, quickly, trying her best not to be run over by various aides and runners, secretaries and administrative assistants, all working to make Toro more money through whatever avenue his fingers point at for the moment. Judging from the stress on people's faces, his whims must switch rather frequently.

Inside the door, is an extremely underembellished room, at least by this building's standards. A dark room with white granite walls and plush ivory carpeting; a single table is in the dead center of the room, barely the size of a card table. Last steps into the room, her eyes almost demanding that she investigate, if only to stop being assaulted by molten gold. In a room large enough to house a small sound stage, is one table. Last walks towards the table, determined to know what could possibly be sitting on the table. A small box is there, wooden, perhaps maple or some other analog. Stained red with a bronze buckle for a lock.

"Why are you here, woman?"

"What?" Last spins on her heel. Toro is standing in the doorway. Toro Abobo is about six foot six, built with muscle but not the thick type. Toro has the muscles of a wild cat, long and capable of fast movement. Even in the simple black suit and red shirt with a dull blue tie that he is clad in, Toro looks like the kind of person that could and would attack you at any moment. He is sizing Last up, which causes her to back up until she bumps into the table.

"Why did you think you could come here and make demands of me?" Toro smiles, moving slowly towards Last. His smile isn't friendly; there is no warmth in it at all. His hair is sleek, messy but in a controlled way, very black. Last resists the urge to jump over the table.

"I- well..."

"I will ask you once more. Why are you here?"

"Cirrhosis is in trouble."

"Obviously."

"I was kidnapped."

"Why do you think I would care about these things?"

"Isn't Cirrhosis one of your employees?"

"As much as anyone is I suppose. He is someone I hired to complete a job. Something he is not doing very well right now. He would probably be fired if I were his employer."

"By fired you mean..."

Toro chuckles slightly, his eyes glinting. He is imagining the exact mode of 'firing' he was intending to use, Last is sure of it. May still be intending to use. Last is worried that Cirrhosis might be dead now, in fact. She honestly thought that Cirrhosis meant something to Toro. Was worth something, in some way that she could use to escape her captor.

"So you want me to save you?"

"I don't know anymore."

"Who has you? I am honestly curious at this point." Toro sits on the table, stretching his arm out slowly and grabbing the box, putting it in his lap. Last follows the box with her eyes, half expecting him to bludgeon her with it.

"Baby... uh... Baby... Baby..." Last attempts to recall. She can picture her face, beautiful but obviously sociopathic. The kind of person that Toro would probably marry and destroy a few planets with. Last is pretty sure that they would know each other, in the way that people assume all homosexuals know each other. They have to be in the same club or something, met at one of the functions, exchanged pleasantries whilst eating canapés near an ice sculpture of a gun or something.

"Stardust?" Toro clenches the box in his hands. Lasts eyebrows raise.

"Yes! That is what she said." Last smiles, pleased with herself. Toro throws the box against the nearest wall, shattering it everywhere. Last closes her mouth. Toro's eyes burn with a fury that Last can tell is filled with murderous intent. She was right, they do know each other. Although the club meeting probably didn't go very well.

"Where is she taking you?" Toro says, his voice only rises slightly, but Last feels like she was scolded.

"Hess. I don't know why. She wants Cirrhosis to follow me, but I don't think that is good idea." Last murmurs apologetically. Toro stands from the table and heads for the door.

"You have no right to decide what is and what is not a good idea for him. The both of you will do exactly as I say, or I will kill you. Kill you both, for sport, for fun, or because it feels convenient at the time." Toro turns. Last is ejected from the session before she has a chance to plead for assistance. She awakens in the fuel ship with a start, dumped off of the World entirely. The ship has taken a LaGrange, putting her one step closer to death. Last's eyes well up as she slinks under the desk, better to hide than to just allow Stardust to kill her. Not that she could do anything to stop it even if she tried.

# <18.2>

Unz Unz Unzt, not anything spectacular, even by Olm-tok standards. A typical location on a typical street on a planet known for being lackadaisical in every regard. The clientele averages at about the mid two hundreds, mostly men due to the high number of televisions. Even with sensivise technology, men still prefer to watch sports events in the crowded stench of smoke and spilled liquor. Half the sets are still showing a tavis game on Earth. Even the preseason events aren't preempted for local news, although the ticker at the bottom of the screens is alerting people to the death toll two cities over.

The back room is reserved for a bachelor party, although the waitstaff has been instructed to 'stay the fuck out'. The general manager is thoroughly on the take, so the day of event people just think that some sort of orgy is happening in the darkened room. Most places with oppressive regimes, even dull ones, tend to have a rather robust sexual underground. Checktiza is most certainly that type of place.

"So..." A man with an eye-patch mutters, his intonation inferring a question. The man next to him squirms in his seat, knowing that even mildly worded questions are not recommended from junior members of lower house gangs. Vii looks to the eye-patch owner and blinks slowly at him, continuing onward.

"You are all here for a purpose. I have a certain object that is worth quite a bit of rico." Vii begins again, giving a stern look to the eye-patch for good measure.

"Screen." Vii blurts, apparently commanding someone not sitting at the table.

" **Isn't Vii in a completely different city right now?"** Cannata says dangling from a rafter above the conversation. Getting in wasn't terribly difficult, using third parties for security is never wise. They almost always leave holes in their defense the exact size of the amount of money they think they were shorted.

" **As far as I can tell."** Cirrhosis says, hanging from a vent on the other side of the room. Cirrhosis activates some more complicated programs, turning the room into a blur of red and orange. A remarkable amount within Vii, fluctuating and flowing with his breathing pattern, which like his continence, is highly erratic.

" **Well, who the fuck is that then?"** Cirrhosis eSes.

" **Judging from his heat signature, this is the real deal."** Cannata uses her ocular wetwiring to get a good look at Vii's inner workings. Everything appears normal, down to the lunch in his lower intestine. Be a hassle to kill him, dealing with postmortem bowel movements is the worst part of the job. Blood washes off, but shit smell is forever.

" **So the one out east is some android or something?"**

" **Set to cause a massive distraction, so that the GovNet force on Checktiza is looking at KC when the dancing is happening over here."**

" **Disguise the cash transaction as people fleeing a local bank or some governmental assistance, and you might actually be able to pull off this shit."**

" **It is perfect. Running all possible scenarios for this event, that is the only logical way to transfer the amount of rico necessary to heist the Jewel. I would have actually recommended doing this somewhere a bit more crowded, like an asteroid colony. Venting a habitat can really turn some heads."**

" **Seriously?"**

" **In theory. In theory. I would never intentionally harm non-combatants. Where do you think you learned that from, eh?"**

" **Yeah. Yeah. Well, this is all assuming there is anything to pull off. I still don't think this is right. Vii was there that night, but he wanted me to get it. Why tip his hand if his boys already had the fucker on lock?"**

The big screen in the center of the room is showing a picture of the Jewel of the Ancients. Actually, it appears to be a live feed with nothing happening in it. The Jewel is in a sturdy looking wooden box on a plank near a river. The subtle movement of water infers that the water is either deep or artificial in some way. Most likely either in a compound of some sort (if on Checktiza) or on some sort of space colony. In the front corner of the frame is a small black box with a blinking green light, presumably some sort of safety measure that will explode the stone should someone not say the secret word or something.

" **That it?"**

" **Far as I can tell. Box doesn't look right though."**

" **Sorry?"**

" **The box that Truckee kept it in. That isn't it."** Cirrhosis has a firm recollection of the box in Code's hand. Darker wood, gold etching, extremely gaudy actually. Exactly what you would think something that expensive would be in, but would never actually be something you'd keep that in. Very Truckee in that way.

" **So they either changed boxes..."** Cannata starts, after double-checking the video that Cirrhosis did have of seeing the box, at an early press event about sixteen weeks ago. There is a lot of light pollution from various cameras and other rigs, but she can easily see that the box is exactly what she sees in the video. With Cirrhosis being an eye witness, she takes it as a natural thing, that the box used in the press conference is some sort of temporary. Hell, that one was likely a fake as well. She tries to run a tap on the video transfer, but can't quite seem to connect to it. Very fancy security is being used on this stream. To be expected.

" **Why?"**

" **Exactly."** Cannata retorts.

" **Or it's a fake."** Cirrhosis was sure of that before they got here. To think that Vii would do such a lousy job, imagining that he had never even seen the Jewel is a little much. Although, the only people who could possibly know what the Jewel looked like for sure, that it isn't in the right case, are Code, Truckee, and Cirrhosis. Vii is probably just guessing what it would look like, assuming that everyone in attendance would never know better.

" **Why?"** Cannata says, turning her attention to the other patrons. Nobody she recognizes off the bat, which is strange. Criminal element this heavy, at least 3rd or 2nd seat people should be in attendance. She only has a vague recollection of the eye-patch-person, but she has literally no idea where that could possibly be from. The LTZ? She hasn't been there for over sixty years.

" **Fuck if I know."** Cirrhosis is feeling queasy. Covert isn't his bag. Hanging upside-down for this long is making his head hurt.

" **You recognize anyone here?"**

" **No. Not... maybe that eye-patch guy?"** Cirrhosis squints at the man. Unsure and unable to access his eB database because World access would literally be tantamount to asking someone to turn their head up and just tell him. Either way, the answer would be bullets.

" **I think I know him too, but where are the heavy guys?"**

" **I don't see anyone from the major houses of Dub-X."** Cirrhosis is pretty sure this is going code white in a really hurry. He is busy going over the exit plans in his mind.

" **Neither do I."**

" **We should probably—"** Cirrhosis begins, but the feces hits the turbine just then. In the front of the restaurant, someone is yelling. A gun goes off, a couple people in the room make for the back, but something loud happens in the alley. Sounds like someone slammed the dumpster closed or something. Metal on metal with echo. Car crash?

"What the fuck?" Cannata curses aloud as she throws a glowing red ball at the ground. She told Cirrhosis that it is an EMP sort of thing, so he turns off his wetwiring while it strobes three times on the ground. Guns come up to greet Cannata as Cirrhosis jumps to the floor, turning his shit on as he lands.

Cirrhosis shoots two people pointing guns at Cannata, and then turns his attention to guarding his own ass. Vii is coming and he has two shotguns with goddess only knows what type of crazy space ammunition in it. Probably fires flaming bees or some shit. Hopefully the red thing destroyed it enough that he won't be able to fire. Cirrhosis is badly off his game and this isn't the time to be learning.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Vii snarls, shooting a small barrage of metal balls at Cirrhosis. One connects with his right leg; it carries a vague electric charge that causes his quad to spasm him into a stumble. Best not to be hit by more than a couple of those.

"How are you here and there?"

"Here and where, dipshit?" Vii is getting too close; he swings the gun in his left hand at Cirrhosis and swoops his right arm up as he spins. Cirrhosis dodges the blow, and lands a right knee into Vii's side. Vii's right arm is coming around, going for a shot point-blank with electric ball gun or whatever. Cirrhosis goes for a sweep and manages to at least throw Vii off-balance.

"What?" Cirrhosis mutters, jumping backward from Vii and bumping into Mr. Eye-patch.

"Holy shit, Cirr—" The man grunts, and is taken out by stray fire from in front. Scratch, Cannata killed him on purpose. All the same really. Cirrhosis places his eyes on Vii, who is half a stagger from shooting another dose.

Cirrhosis activates the blue rod Cannata gave him. Sort of looks like a beam weapon from one of those shitty old movies. Blue rod with a button on its silver handle, pimp-cane from the year 3000 or something. It's supposed to be able to shoot magnetic waves at someone, which Cirrhosis isn't entirely sure why that would be a positive or negative (pun intended) thing.

He takes a shot at Vii's right hand, and the gun forcefully rips itself out of Vii's hand and flies over to the crystal matrix television, which shatters in electrified balls of light. Cirrhosis barely has time to duck, Vii is thrown forward, and two people closer to the set are set on fire somehow.

"Shit!" Cirrhosis yells at the cane. Across the room, he can hear Cannata laughing like a crazy person. Vii is getting up, the backs of his arms are bloody and his fingers are twitching.

"Motherfucker."

"No thanks, I already have plans for tonight." Cirrhosis says through a nervous grin, throwing the rod back into his belt holster, not trusting it for close proximity fighting. Vii lunges up and forward at once, going for sort of a rising left hook. Cirrhosis dodges easily, as this move couldn't be more telegraphed if Vii had sent him something in the physical mail telling him he was cordially invited to fist.

Cirrhosis kicks Vii in the chest, sending the lithe man into sort of a backward roll. He rights himself on all fours, his right arm down and left up, clenched in a fist. Cirrhosis finds this man completely terrifying, his body movements and facial expressions so completely twisted and foreign. As if he is missing bones in several important places. Vii is grinning, obviously on various uppers and painkillers to allow him continued motion with the backs of his arms hanging bits of meat, but clotting quickly.

Cirrhosis dives feet first at Vii, his left leg sliding on the dull brown carpet and his right leg balanced on top, when his body hits horizontal, his foot swings up to connect violently with Vii's jaw. A risky move, because it leaves him open to attack by anyone else in the room. Luckily, Vii's men seem taken aback by Cannata's laser hands. Her fingers are emitting some sort of burning laser effect, which doesn't seem to be hurting her like it should. Regardless, it is cutting holes into other people who get within about three paces of her, and burning people a considerable distance more than that. The smell of burning hair is sharp, as well as the subtle tang of ozone. More men are leaving the room through the back than staying to fight.

Vii is up again, ready to play another round. Cirrhosis is pretty sure they should wrap this up, as there is the small matter of whoever provided the distraction earlier. Someone else is invading this club, presumably there for the same thing as Cirrhosis and Cannata.

"You don't have it do you?"

"Heh. That easy to tell?" Vii rushes quickly, moving much faster than Cirrhosis anticipated would be possible in his condition, Cirrhosis can only roll backward and attempt to punt Vii up and over, which barely works. Vii stumbles but gets a heavy kick into Cirrhosis' mid section, knocking the breath out of his lungs.

"I was told to come here and fake a sale, solely to draw three people here instead of allowing them to follow the real sale."

"You... cough... know where that is?" Cirrhosis stumbles to his feet. Got to keep Vii talking until he can gather some strength to counter-attack.

"As if I would ever tell a simpleton like you. I am only to keep the targets busy, you are ancillary at best." Vii smirks.

"For a secondary lead I sure took you down a lot. You going to have enough energy left for the big boys?"

"Heh. Not a problem." Vii suddenly bursts into a dash, running directly for Cirrhosis. Cirrhosis hits a fighting stance, his right leg forward and bent slightly. One shot, gotta use that stick again.

"What?" Cirrhosis mumbles, his hand jumbling with the mag-stick.

Vii jumps very high, pushing with his arms off of a low hanging cross beam, coming in for a sort of flying kick. Cirrhosis pulls the stick up and connects with Vii's foot as he attempts to kick Cirrhosis in the face. The metal connects, at least partially, with the metal tip that serves to conduct his bone-amps to solid objects (mostly used on the ground). A shudder goes through Vii as his foot drives through Cirrhosis' grip and lands him on one knee on the ground, the stick tossed halfway across the room. Vii's skin seems to craw, his bodyhair standing on end. Then the wires explode out of him like hyperviolent tapeworms, ribbons of blood spray around the room, and Cirrhosis has to drop to the floor to avoid getting torn apart by the shrapnel that was Vii's wetwiring. Cannata is grazed slightly by some of the cords emanating from Vii's legs.

"Fuck!" She grabs a shin.

"You okay?" Cirrhosis goes for his weapon, not that he'd be comfortable using it again.

"Yeah. Just got nicked by some, holy shit." She actually turns to see Vii. He looks like he was eaten by termites. Long round burrows carve huge core-samples from his flesh, his face more so than any other part of his visible body. His clothing is shredded though, blood and flesh falling in lumps around his limp personage.

"Yeah. What the hell is this thing?"

"Fuck, Cirrhosis you were supposed to use that to pick locks."

"Oh." Cirrhosis looks at the round tube in his hand, and puts it into his belt again. Gotta pay attention in the pregame briefing.

"Holy shit." Another man says as he enters the room, Cirrhosis remembers him. Not specifically, but more like he's a monster from a fairy tale. Knows that he is supposed to stay away from him, but cannot remember the specifics, until the second man enters.

"Epic?"

"Hey... you..." Epic shrugs to his friend, the one that Cirrhosis actually remembers.

"Fuck. Looks like he finally got what was coming." Peppermint White Ninja mutters, pulling a cigarette out of his jacket pocket. Epic looks at Pepper, then at Cirrhosis, and then decides to light a cigarette as well. For solidarity.

"Peppermint. Why are you here?" Cannata says forcefully. Pepper looks up from his son to Cannata.

"Who the fuck are you supposed to be?" Pepper mutters blandly. Epic looks Cannata up and down and raises his eyebrows.

"You son of a fucking bitch!" Cannata screams as she runs at Pepper, pulling some sort of strange spinning stick with a spinning blade sort of hanging at the top. Activating it on her route, it spins near but not on the strange stick. It seems like it should be cutting her hand, burning her hand, or both.

Pepper is not impressed, he pulls a drag from his cigarette and hits a back foot heavy defense stance. Cannata screams and shoves her shiv forward, Pepper flows his hands around her smoothly and quickly, barely moving his general stance, Cannata ends up on her back and the shiv ends up in Epic's hand, who seems as surprised as anyone else.

"Ack!"

"Seriously? Who the fuck are you?" Pepper says incredulously, taking a puff on his cigarette.

"You killed my cousin."

"Oh wow, we're really going to have to be more specific." Epic laughs down at her, fiddling with the shiv. The swirling blade has the ability to move closer and farther from the rod, but it is unclear as to what exotic force is holding it together.

Pepper goes to one knee to better look Cannata in the eye. "Gang member?"

"Yes."

"Official hit, or bystander?"

"Bystander."

"Well, that sucks then. I'm sorry." Pepper mutters, scratching at his dreadlocks.

"What?" Cannata looks Pepper in the eye, his vision is clear and unflinching. He is completely disinterested by her assault on him, all while completely ignoring the high-technology item his friend is mere moments from accidentally killing himself with.

"Ounna-ah Exalia Torunga." Epic mutters. The blade stops spinning and then sort of puffs into smoke. A solid state holo-image. Cannata gasps. Epic tosses the stick across the room, and leaves through the door they came through. "Holla at me when you are done here. This party is played out."

"Why are you two here?" Pepper looks at Cirrhosis when he talks, he looks very tired at this moment. Burned out or something.

"Jewel. It was supposed to be here. It isn't." Cannata glares at Cirrhosis, but Cirrhosis knows when he is out classed. This was exactly who Vii was waiting for.

"Who you working for?"

"Myself sort of, Toro mostly."

"I see. This girl with you?"

"Not really, but yes."

"Is that so."

"Vii said that he was here to keep three people busy. He was being paid to hoax someone into this place."

"Sounds about right. He tell you who?"

"You two are probably the ones."

"I think you're in on this too."

"Vii didn't seem to think so. He called me a secondary character."

"He called you ancillary." Epic yells from the other room.

"That isn't exactly what that means. He has you here because he wants Toro somewhere. That means one thing. Why do you seem familiar to me?" Pepper stands, offering his hand to Cannata, who refuses and gets up on her own.

"Me. I am Cirrhosis Induction. Famous horse-cross racer, spokesman for chicken and other bullshit."

"Not that."

"Ex-member of Destiny?"

"That obviously means nothing to me." Pepper frowns slightly at Cannata, who attempts to bore a hole in his face with her eyes.

"I don't know what to say then..."

"How old are you?" Epic says, popping his head in the door. He has a sandwich in one hand.

# <19.0>

**Excerpt from the Documentary** : Human History Dwarfed - Earth and the Federation

<Start>

Human history is the story of people believing they are the best at what they do. Manifest Destiny, Individual Patent, even the great race to visit another star system, were all taken by one person or just a small group of select individuals. All of this has been placed aside.

The greatest change to the development of all human life was literally given to humans from outside. Now, humans have hit a new precipice. To literally subjugate as a race to the Federation of Higher Intelligent Life.

The original opening to other planets, first Mars, then so many more, allowed for the movement beyond nations, something unthinkable even one hundred years before First Contact. Yet, planetary governments are the norm now. Then as systems grew, system wide governments were the law of the land. All of this is small potatoes now.

The Colonies were forced to ban production of Freestanding AI Units, or Frees. Their use, particularly without pay, is banned in all Federation controlled systems. Abuses, with knowledge, are to be met with force. Something that the Z'arkadar are still threatening if full citizenship is not completely carried out per the amendments GovNet has recently passed.

Right now, in this very place, the newly elected Prime Minister of GovNet, Johann Hollis, is signing the Federation Charter. The final nail in the supremacy of man, at least in the views of man himself, has been laid. We are now fully at the mercy of beings with power so much greater, as to make our best weapons a form of non-violent protest in comparison. The time of man... Is over.

<End>

# <19.1>

"Can you drive any faster?" Sunshine screams.

"No! No! I am driving as fast as this thing allows." Truckee yells back.

"There are three cars following us."

"I fucking know that, you think that I don't fucking know that. You told me that like ten seconds ago, and I kind of hoped that they would just 'vanish', but I am not fucking mentally challenged and am fully aware that three cars are currently halfway up my motherfucking ass."

"And you can't drive any faster."

"You can fucking walk if it'll make you feel better."

"Focus!" She shrieks, Truckee jerks the wheel left, the hover banking across the edge of a billboard. The hover veers heavily into the wrong lane of traffic before pulling quickly back into the correct one. A van swerves close enough to flip Truckee off before buzzing ahead. Something is keeping their hover slow.

"Big. Can this shit go any faster?"

"Not without accessing its Lance abilities!" Big yells.

" Motherfucking AI. Will it do that if you drive?"

"Yeah!" Big yells, tapping his skull with two fingers. The wheel jerks out of Truckee's hands and the hover doubles in speed and jumps up a nearby ramp.

"Every time I start almost, almost learning to tolerate you..." Truckee mutters under his breath, crossing his arms. Sunshine looks out the window, seeing the three hovers jamming their way up the ramp after them.

"Big, do you know who those people are?"

"One of them looks like the car that copy of you was driving!" He yells, while diving the car around a corner entirely too fast and almost running over three people. By a margin that took out the purse a woman was holding. Money, makeup and several tampons littering the windshield. Truckee yelps, Big turns on the windshield wipers.

"We're all going to motherfucking die!"

"Wait." Big says, and the hover does a barrel roll through two lanes of traffic. Sunshine activates a downer program as to avoid vomiting.

"Fuck!" Big manages to bank out of the roll and through an alleyway, Truckee slams his face into the main console and cracks his brow harshly. Sunshine is thrown around the backseat, but remains unharmed.

"Truckee? Are you alright?" Sunshine sort of screeches, Big lurches the car harshly downward, sans-ramp, plummeting several stories before churning the hover's engines almost to a fault, and halting their progress on someone's rooftop pool.

"Holy shit. Holy. Okay. Fucking gods hell. Okay. Truckee?" Sunshine is hysterical, looking out the window, holding Truckee's shoulder, screaming. Truckee is bracing his face with his hands.

"Gods damn it. Big, you are NEVER going to drive this again." Truckee scolds the tiny robot child, who pouts in response. Truckee starts laughing, which confuses Sunshine. Sunshine sits back in the seat, turning around to see if anyone had managed to follow them.

"Well, we appear to have lost them."

"This hover is incapable of flight." Big mumbles, his hands moving on invisible keys. Truckee takes that as a cue to get out of the car. Sunshine follows suit, risking the small jump from the pool over to the edge.

The rooftop is rather spacious, the pool area probably being a common space for the people of whatever building this is. Seven deckchairs line the poolside ahead, with a small bar with a grill along the stairway entrance to the building below. The brickwork edges are lined with thick vines, which lead to and from a thatched overhanging which hides a few tables with chairs. A woman is sitting at the table reading a book, or more so, she is holding a book.

"Sorry." Sunshine shrugs.

"Can we play through?" Truckee laughs at the woman, as she drops the book.

"I always hated pool parties." Sunshine smirks as they all walk for the stairs, the woman just kind of shaking in her chair. Truckee sort of waves while he holds the door for Sunshine and Big, and then she is behind them.

"Now what?"

"Okay. Okay. Where are we?"

"The capital! We're about six miles from our destination."

"Okay. The World still works here, so we catch a cab."

"Won't whoever is following us be able to... like trace our accounts or something?"

"Fuck, Big, is that right?"

"I could do that."

"Okay. So we walk."

"Six miles?" Sunshine groans, adrenaline risking a turn to exhaustion pretty quickly as they take the stairs for the third floor.

"How long would that take us?"

"Half an hour." Assuming they take moving sidewalks for most of it.

"Fantastic. You have the location on your map, Big?"

"Yes."

"Then everyone cut access. We need to be a low rez as possible here." Truckee says, feeling like a professional.

"Oh. How many floors till we get to the pedestrian level?" Sunshine asks.

"Map says it's the next one down!"

"Great."

Olm-tok is much shorter in profile than Hojo City, the scrapers averaging in the low hundreds. As such, a lowers proper doesn't exactly exist. Sure ground-floor is still ground-floor, but the light hits the baseboards here a lot more often. Also the lower pedestrian level has quite a wide array of trees, playing into the general agrarian nature of the planet. It also tends to make the area blend well; every neighborhood looks exactly the same. Without Big guiding them, the two tourists would be aimless. That said, it still has the effect of making it seem like they are walking in circles, passing the same restaurant on the same corner over and over.

"Are we lost?" Sunshine mutters, her eyes drawn to a woman carrying six bags of clothing out of what looks like a pawnshop. Second-hand clothing being so bizarre that Sunshine almost trips over Big when the child stops at an intersection.

"Place is straight ahead, up two floors in that building!" He is pointing ahead a building that looks like every other building in absolutely all conceivable ways.

"Well, let's just hope that they found the place easier than we did." Truckee says, mostly under his breath and for his own benefit. Sunshine is out in space somewhere, he grabs her hand and they make the rest of the way in silence.

# <19.2>

"That will be a table for..."

"That is a really good question. If everything goes as planned, what, seven?" Pepper taps his brow. The four of them, Sunshine, Truckee, and an android.

"Is that right?" Cirrhosis murmurs.

"Are you counting Big?" Epic is only half asking.

"Can we just agree on seven and sit down?"

"Follow me. I trust you've been here before?"

"Yeah yeah. Who's spinning today?" Pepper musters the courage to ask.

"DJ Dunkin YoNuts." The host states with more excitement than someone should have for someone who is a house DJ at a chain restaurant on a sprawl planet at three in the afternoon. He leads them to a booth, Cannata sits as far from Pepper as possible, Cirrhosis sits on her inside right, which leaves Pepper on the opposing end and Epic splayed out in the center.

"I hate this fucking place."

"Dj Laser Eyes?" Epic sort of laughs. Having an opinion that extreme over a place this bland seems like overkill.

"I think it's kinda nostalgic." Cirrhosis shrugs.

"Where are they..."

"We've been here ten seconds; you have to give the girl time to walk up the stairs."

"Their crash was twenty-five minutes ago."

"At least they fell off grid after that, they probably are being good children and holding hands to cross roads. That'll add a few minutes to drive time."

"You two were watching them?" Cannata says sternly.

"They were being tailed by several hunters. The chatter was difficult to ignore." Epic shrugs.

"Then why aren't you there protecting her?" Cannata getting more angry.

"She'll never learn if I do everything for her. Besides, if we were to act other players might start using their pieces as well. Strategy is just as much about inaction as it is about action." Pepper mutters, seeming to be convincing himself as much as attempting to turn Cannata's opinion. Which is probably for the best, as Cannata would never agree with Pepper intentionally.

"You're worried for her?" Epic seems to mention off-hand.

"Of course. Of course, but I've put her in enough danger." Pepper mutters. "I watched her, and I threw some AI cars to deflect people, but there wasn't more I could do without tipping my hand. Without making it worse."

"Thank you, Pepper." Sunshine says, tapping Pepper on the shoulder lightly. His head snaps up, something complex on his face. Worry, happy, something else. Something very sad. Sunshine motions for him to stand, and gives the man a big hug.

"Hey hey hey, sit down. I need to stress eat." Truckee laughs. Sunshine turns away from Pepper, turns back to Pepper, and then grins.

"More zero gee eats. Fuck I hate this place." Pepper chuckles, Sunshine looks at him. Epic has seen that look before. That look is a very serious liability, in very large part because Pepper has that look too. He will not be S-class with his mind full of supermodels. This is an S-class mission, if Epic has any ability to measure it. The variables are only getting more complicated now.

"Hey. I just got an LT." Cirrhosis looks disturbed. Epic doesn't like that look either.

"From?" Epic says gravely.

"Toro Abobo."

"Motherfucker." Pepper mutters. Epic looks at Pepper, then back at Cirrhosis.

"He says that I need to go to Hess. He says he is going to meet me there. The jewel is apparently being sold from there."

"From Hess?"

"Seems that way. This is bad isn't it?"

"Really bad. Did he tell you why he is coming? Why he doesn't trust you anymore?"

"No."

"We have to assume something is going down there and that it has something to do with that day."

"Who else is alive from then? You two, Toro, and who?"

"You for one." Epic mentions. Cirrhosis was there. He doesn't remember it well, but he had his mind scrubbed after getting rejuved. Usually people don't handle that well, usually getting vented into space will make you uneven in some dramatic fashion. The human mind doesn't go for mental reorganization; all of the memories are tied to each other in ways that can't be predicted logistically. AI mind probes can test things, run scenarios, do the best job possible, but really traumatic stuff tends to surface in weird ways. Cannata was unusually angry about finding out how old her ex-boyfriend is, probably a point of contention during their break-up.

"All that is so fucking bizarre to me. That my parents lied to me for so long, and I have no way to prove it. I mean... it explains some stuff. Spooky stuff about me, but it's all so fucking strange." Cirrhosis puts his head down, scratches at his hair with both hands. Epic is worried that having all of them together might make Cirrhosis crack. Tempt fate too much.

"Cirrhosis. When is the race?"

"The what?" Cirrhosis looks up.

"My motherfucking race!" Truckee yells, and then looks embarrassed about it.

"Whoa. I... oh shit, it's tomorrow isn't it?" Cirrhosis looks frantic at Truckee, who checks his mental logs.

"No. Two days left."

"Shit! I have to train and go over the route and... shit!"

"Okay. So we need to split up." Epic states it as fact.

"Right. So the two of us, at least, are wanted on Hess for some purpose related to that incident before. Someone has an agenda for us, the survivors of that day. That means-" Pepper starts.

"That Stardust will be there as well, which means it is very dangerous."

"Right. Now, all of this is timed to the Race presumably related to the prize, which is what exactly?" Pepper asks Truckee. Everyone turns for the answer.

"Oh. Yeah. Well, it's hard to explain." Truckee scratches the back of his neck.

"Well hunker down and lay out the explanation already." Epic is getting testy.

"The jewel, well at least as far as I could ever possible tell. It sort of twists things."

"Twists them? What does it make pretzels?" Pepper ventures.

"Pull taffy?" Epic smirks.

"Calm natives?" Cirrhosis laughs.

"No. No, what it does is it twists reality. Things that aren't possible become possible."

"How?" Epic asks.

"You just kind of ask it for something."

"What do you pay for it?" Pepper asks.

"What?"

"What do you pay in exchange? Things always require an exchange. You ask for an apple and you pay half a rico. You want a car, you need steel and glass and plastics and paint. So what does this jewel need?" Pepper runs off, attempting to work through it.

"It converts probability. It takes a wish and makes it happen, but something bad happens too."

"What did you ask it for?" Cirrhosis is very confused.

"I asked it for fame. I was just a performer on a small stage on Selba Station before I got my hands on the Jewel. I asked it to be the most famous person in the known universe. Which was something very unlikely considering my particular talents."

"To say nothing of your demeanor." Epic interjects.

"Thank you."

"Sorry. Continue." Epic sort of shrugs.

"I asked it to make me famous, and that's what it did. I got asked the next day to host a small sensivise program. Then everything went up from there."

"What was the price?" Pepper directs.

"I am actually a very frugal man. Very frugal."

"What does- the debt?" Epic's eyes widen.

"Exactly. My money, I would lose it in all these extremely secure sounding investments, but it was like..."

"You drained your luck." Sunshine murmurs. Pepper smiles at her. Got it.

"So I think of it like this. The jewel takes something of a certain percent of unlikely, and then you wish for it. Well, say if I wish for a watch. I can afford one, so it's not extremely unlikely. Take that, one good thing. Then, you take your bad percentage of equal measure. So I'd like stub my toe or something."

"Even. Okay. So you only used it once?" Epic asks.

"I wouldn't risk it twice, the fucker was a little too harsh. I mean, I'm trillions in debt."

"So how does it work? Do you like hold it or rub it?" Sunshine asks, sipping her drink.

"You have to hook your dive to it, you dive into it and there is like a command prompt. Enter your wish, it says. You tell it and off you go." Truckee sort of makes a sailing motion with his hand.

"Do you have to be on ansible?" Pepper again.

"Not that I can tell. But I was when it happened."

"How long does it take from wish to it happening?"

"For me, I got the call about a full day after I wished. Probably exactly that long? I really have no idea. I guess that the decision to hire me was made earlier... so..." Truckee trails off.

"So we'll assume it is nearly instantaneous. Which means if whoever this was were to use the jewel tonight, he could throw the race." Pepper is rubbing his chin.

"What the hell would you want to do that for? I mean, he could wish for anything at all, and he already has the prize." Epic asks, not seeing the logic in this chain of reasoning. The vendetta appears to be with them, not with the race, at least not directly.

"I don't think that likely either, however, we have to keep everything open. We still aren't one hundred percent sure that this is about us. Truckee might be involved in some way that we aren't thinking of yet."

"Who are you most in debt to?" Epic asks Truckee. Money is always a good angle, right?

"A conglomerate owned by Corialis. He built T-Net tower for me, and I am still paying him off after some stocks went south."

"You owe him for the race location too?" Cirrhosis asks. Everyone turns to look at him. "Hey, I just went on a tour of the station, and found out that he built the fucking place where the track is being built." The end at least.

"The race ends in the Crystal Plaza, yes. He asked that we hold it there, he is promoting something new for his company and he wanted a big event to spark it off. Offered to knock a big chunk of my bills off were I to schedule something there and give him appropriate product placement."

"But it starts on Torch, right?" Sunshine asks the question all but Cirrhosis was wondering about.

"The jumpgate in the plaza." Cirrhosis says with too much food in his mouth. Truckee nods.

"That is a spectacle." Pepper says with raised eyebrows. Old stationary drives drained a lot of energy, and couldn't go very far, but they are useful for certain things. For one, they are completely devoid of radioactivity, so you can use them for tunnels. Or in this case a race from two stations. The mathematics for holding that gate open are mind boggling. This sort of thing is usually only done in system.

"You don't think?" Epic raises an eyebrow to Pepper. Pepper shrugs.

"I guess we won't know until we get to Hess, but we have to assume that someone in Corrialis' payroll, at least, has some involvement in this. Okay. So here's the plan: Epic and I are going to Hess. Cirrhosis and Truckee you need to go back to the race, fuck Toro, we'll deal with that. Cannata and Sunshine should come with us, I cannot guarantee your safety if you are too far away from us, as there are still too many people on the board looking to kill us all for money. Big, I need you to go back to Selba Station with Truckee; he is going to need protection and an eye on the ground. If you have any lances in the area that can help, please get them there by the day of the race."

"I am not taking orders from you." Cannata gets a furious look on her face and storms away from the table. Pepper looks at everyone, and then gets up to follow her.

Cannata is outside the restaurant standing between a potted plant and a cigarette snuffer. She looks like she is waiting for a cab after being stood up.

"I need you to listen to what I have to say."

"So, what the fuck does it matter? You are going to pontificate if you so desire. What does it matter what I think?"

"I don't think I did anything to you, specifically, to deserve that. I want to start by saying that I am sorry that your brother was killed, but more sorry that I do not remember doing it."

"Well, when you've killed so many, who is to be surprised if you lose one or two on your belt along the way."

"Oh, and you are so clean?"

"I... I never killed a child."

"Your brother was how old when he joined Destiny?"

"About sixteen."

"So only a child in that he wasn't terribly old. I am not justifying my killing a bystander, but he may have had a gun. He wasn't completely innocent either. Give him two years, and he would have had a bounty too."

"You would have taken it?"

"Never. I don't do small fries, and kids are always small fries. Not enough time or experience to get into anything too dramatic yet. I apologize for cutting his career short."

"That is a pretty fucking ridiculous way to apologize."

"I guess so, isn't it. Maybe it is because, even though I want to be, I am just not sorry. Your brother would have been a gang member, would have gotten decent rank by his connections too, regardless of any skill. Eventually, maybe in like ten years, someone would have done exactly what I did. More purposefully, sure, but they would have killed him. How much fucking crash did I keep off the streets? How many young girls not sold into prostitution? How many hovers left unstolen?" Pepper makes a sort of recycling motion with his hand, round and round, adding up the damages.

"You have no idea what he would or would not have done."

"Valid. I can't argue with that. But I also can't make it up either. He died, and there is nothing I can do or say that would fix it for you."

"I can agree to that."

"I'm only asking you to help me because we need more hands here. This guy, whoever it is, is fucking with you just as much as he's fucking with me. Pinning Destiny with the theft will make your life more difficult."

"That really isn't that big of a deal."

"Alright fine. You want money?"

"Not from you."

"Do it for Cirrhosis?"

"We broke up at least a hundred years ago."

"Then just do what the fuck you want then. I'm not trying to make friends here, I just need a fucking hand zeroing this guy out, and I thought maybe you'd like the challenge."

"Challenge of what, this seems like a regular switch and heist sort of deal."

"This guy can hack ansible, memory cores and apparently be in several places at once."

"Huh. That is impressive."

"Not to mention the whole 'wishing stone' thing."

"You seriously expect me to believe I'll get a piece of that?"

"No, but you strike me as a tech collector. I can get you some good stuff."

"I haven't seen you use a single item above human tech level. Hell, I haven't seen you use something that wasn't specifically made within the last ten years."

"You kids always want flashy don't you. Never get any points for style, it's always big explosion big explosion bigger explosion. Used to be a time that people used only what they needed to, pride was in using bullshit to make masterpieces, but now it's all fucked isn't it." Pepper mutters to himself mostly. He gestures for Cannata to walk into an alleyway with him. They walk a few steps and then behind a dumpster.

"One second." Pepper says with some effort, visibly annoyed with having to have a pissing contest with some tech-aku.

"So you cut my World access. Big deal, I bet the model could manage that with a hundred rico and the right mods to her wetwiring." Pepper holds his finger to his mouth, mostly to avoid shouting at her. Being flashy is completely against his character, but he had grown very used to being one of the most conspicuous hunters in the game. Cannata should be plenty old enough to know him better than just the guy who accidentally capped her brother.

"I will do this exactly one time, and I will not be recorded. Check your memory card and you will see that we never left the restaurant." Pepper says with boredom. Cannata leans against the alley's wall. Completely unimpressed by the warning, until Pepper completely disappears from vision. She runs every possible program in an attempt to pick him up, radar, sonar, x-ray, heat, and still nothing.

A moment passes, where she is wondering what the point of simply vanishing is, and Pepper returns. He is holding three items with him, a live dog, a Tellurian sniper rifle, and a cooked pork chop on a plate. He places the pork chop on the ground, feeding the dog with it, and hands Cannata the rifle. The gun has the ability to shoot through things, as in passing through them unharmed. It is on several banned lists.

"Bla-dow, I have been to Hojo City, my house in particular, and back. In about forty seconds. I also went to the pound and to a steak house about six miles from here. Which are awkwardly close together if you think too hard about it."

"How did?"

"I did literally nothing. You'll have no memory of any moment before this one. You want in?"

"Yes." Cannata says a little faster than she would have expected. Pepper raises his eyebrows and the next thing Cannata knows they are in a car headed for the hoverport. She has a feeling that she agreed to something, but has no idea as to why.

" **What did you need that chick for?"** Epic eSes.

" **We need an x-factor on both fronts. Whoever this is, she is the one person we have access to who has nothing to do with anything. With Big handling the race line, I need someone unpredictable on the station with us when we get there."**

" **Yeah but she's completely small time."**

" **Eh. She's middle time at least, we just have really high standards."**

" **Won't she just flip on you when the thing wears off?"** Epic is fully aware of the abilities that Pepper used outside. It takes an exotic level of sensors, but Epic and Pepper have worked together for quite some time and have some mutual friends and enemies.

Generally they have a pact against using exotic technology in public and to anyone below their power-level, but drastic times are just so very drastic. Code Name, or whoever is trying to pretend they were Code, has some stuff that shouldn't be available to ordinary people. Pepper's stash is the toppest of notches, completely verboten technologies that would literally get them banned from the system where they detected in use. There are only a handful of humans carrying their level of technology, all listed on the omega bounty lists, most of them dead or otherwise disappeared a long time ago. Having a lot of power tends to do that to a person.

So unless Stardust has another angle on this, then someone else who was there that day is around and still alive and using shit that is definitely beyond the realm that some second string gang member can 'jinx' out of commission. Yet, Epic came here to find Pepper and teamed with him for a reason. Pepper just knows what to do, simply and without a doubt, he just knows.

" **She's wet for my tech, and that is all I need to drive her to the spot. After that she just needs to shoot at people who aren't us. Either way, she or I or all three of us will probably be long dead by then."**

" **Touché."** Epic grins nervously, excited at the possibility of a real challenge after all this time.

# <20.0>

Tigeran Consulate Information Database

**Entry:** Tellurian Incident - Violation of the Pre-Relativistic Non-Intervention Protocol of Federation Bill of Advanced Life Section-VI Part 2, Directorate XII-b7 of the Federation Formation Treaties

**Incident Summary:** Human generation-ship was intercepted by Tellurian cruiser as it made a STL trip to [Bellatrix System], [2215he]. Human ship was 200 lightyears inside the non-contamination zone, but a Tellurian ship monitoring the contact zone saw the human ship faltering into a fatal gravitational well. Fearing a major set-back for the burgeoning race, the Tellurian ship gave primitive jump-gate technology to the human vessel. Moving human development two hundred years ahead, thereby braking the Non-Trading Requirement (Line 10.3.22-49 of FFT XII-b7: BAL VI.2)

**Result:** Tellurian government was sanctioned with 100 billion rico in penalties, officers of the ship were detained for 50 years to refresh freeze in Federation Penalty Center A7-R.

**Case Status:** Closed

# <20.1>

Stardust pulls the mining colony ship out of the LaGrange. She gets the expected barrage of LTs, dive requests and four poorly handled hack attempts. The Federalis are on her, trying their very best. However, she hasn't killed anyone on the ship yet. She did strand several hundred people on Torch, but commandeering a ship is allowed within the constraints of the Hunt, insofar as she doesn't damage the vehicle or pays the amount it is worth should she do so. Right now, she actually hasn't done anything wrong, even kidnapping Last Chance is technically covered as she does have a small hit on her for possession and public indecency. However, all of this is in the most slate of gray areas, and any awkward motion on her part will have the full brunt of the flaccid cock that is Sprawl law. Which is to say that Stardust was checking several gauges and planning her docking procedure while handling the 'covert' attack on the ship.

"Fucking flats. They might as well spread out nails to pop my tires." Stardust mutters to herself. World access is blocked, but she gets around that pretty easily. A secure line opens almost immediately.

" **You are here. Did you really have to steal something so conspicuous?"**

" **If I wanted to steal a woman on live-ansible, make it known that I did so to someone who is currently involved in a different firefight, and also not get the bitch killed during. Yeah, I kind of did."**

" **I suppose, but color me displeased. How do you intend on losing your tail?"**

" **I have my ways. Where am I expected to take her?"**

" **Get to Hess. You'll know the instant you get there."**

With that the connection ends abruptly. "Well what the fuck was that supposed to mean?" She mutters aloud. An alert blinks in her vision; someone has boarded the vessel on the back half of the engineering section. It will take her about ten minutes to even get there. She checks the crew manifest, nothing of interest in the area. She throws the vac-seals around the wing, and vents the whole section into space.

That handled, she heads down the main thoroughfare to check on Last Chance. Judging from cameras she is still hiding under the desk in the maintenance ward like some child. Not even an intelligent child, at least she could have found a closet. Stardust is intensely irritated by how useless this woman is, not even worth the most cursory of efforts. A well armed dog could kill this woman. Or a particularly poorly constructed desk.

"Woman."

"Wha-What?" Last jumps up, which works poorly considering she is currently under a desk. She knocks her head pretty hard, causing a desk lamp to spin around comically. Stardust laughs without thinking about it. Comically inept.

"Pull it the fuck together. We gotta move. Feds are all on our oatmeal."

"What? Are you going to kill me now?"

"Mu'halla weeps. Bitch, stand the mother-fuck up and come on. We got places and faces." Stardust says sternly, closing her eyes to monitor the Federali presence outside. They scattered a bit after she vented engineering, there are six ships outside, two went to rescue the raiders and four are pulling a wider perimeter, presumably taking aim for a firing protocol.

The AI they have hacking her network is pathetic, but she can tell they are attempting to turn the screws. They are going to have to blow her engines before she gets too close to Hess, less she risk the station in her 'stand-off' or whatever. They can't actually fire on her until she does something out of hand, and she had only vented troops that were invading her ship off of Hunt protocol. Technically she should stand down and turn her catch over to the police, but technically her catch was supposed to be turned over to GovNet and not the Feds.

Stardust can pick up heavily encrypted messages being sent through the ships outside and to Hess itself, working on crossing their T's before they nuke navigation. She has about five minutes tops to get the model into a transport and drop a major deuce on the operation. Luck being with her, she should make it out in the confusion. But Last Chance isn't walking like her life depends on it enough.

"Walk, whore." Stardust pulls a gun on Last, placing it heavily on the woman's shoulder, not at her, just close enough for her to taste the metal a little. Last starts trembling but begins to pick up her pace. "Thank you." Stardust lowers the weapon as the both duck through a hatch.

"This is a trap you know." Last mutters hurried, attempting to ingratiate herself with Stardust. A lost cause, but Stardust sighs and raises her eyebrows.

"You don't say."

"Toro knows where you are going. I called him."

"You were supposed to do that." Stardust smiles icily. She had kind of thought the girl wouldn't pull that particular stunt, and would call her boyfriend directly. Stardust curses under her breath. Toro isn't very forgiving, not that Stardust has done anything to deserve forgiveness nor would she want such, and their grudge in blood has lasted unsated for quite some time already. He will come for her, and it seems like someone is setting it up for that to happen.

"He isn't going to save me. I know that, but I think he's going to kill you."

"Oh he's certainly going to try, but there is a reason he hasn't succeeded in all these years."

"Are you really that strong?" Last seems suddenly actually interested, temporarily drawn out of fear. She is a flighty one.

"Top three, easily. Toro might be a big shot now, but I was a big shot when he was still a little baby. This is going to be fun, haven't gotten my hands really dirty in too long." Stardust grins, her eyes distant, imagining the epic firefight awaiting her where ever this trail is leading. The girls arrive at a locked hatch, which Stardust hacks through swiftly enough, and then they are inside a very small transport vessel. Only two chairs and a small main area holding necessary cabinets and monitors for applying and removing spacesuits.

"What is this for?"

"It's for sit the fuck down." Stardust growls and pushes Last forward to the co-pilot's seat, getting a little tired of the curiosity act and itching to get into the fray. Last sits in a huff and starts fiddling with the buckles and straps to get herself locked in place. Stardust sits as well, getting herself strapped in and then starting her eButler on the list of commands she needs to give the various parts of the ship they are in, and the mining ship as well.

She takes a second to peer outside, the rescue operation is nearing completion, and the surrounding ships are pulling away, which means that they must have gotten the okay to fire on the ship. Stardust breathes out heavily, mustering up the will to push the big button that puts all of this into motion. A huge grin spreads across her face, and she looks over at Last. Last has her eyes clenched shut for some reason or another. Probably praying to some out of fashion deity or something. Whatever to that mess.

Stardust vents all non essential areas of the ship (nothing tied to life-support), tossing tons of equipment, food, mined ore, canisters of unrefined gases, desks, chairs, random linens, exercise machines, several mining probes, six small landers, and the ship that Stardust is currently flying into the vacuum surrounding the ship. The Federalis shoot out their maglifters and drones, attempting to block and redirect the flying mess that Stardust is using as an escape route. She used the propulsion caused by being forcefully ejected from the mining ship to coast away, making a course that only looks to be haphazard, attempting to graze just enough other items to appear to be one of the pieces of random shit that leaked out.

Step two, Stardust orders the ship to begin a barrel roll maneuver. This is generally a sign that someone is attempting to do something reckless, like release a spray of fire in all directions. The actual attempt here is to move all of the shit that is still inside the ship out, and to do so that they have actual steady arches away from the ship. This allows Stardust to shadow some moving iron ore along a more direct route away from the ships. However, she cannot risk more than using the docking maneuver engines, which would get her to Hess in about three hundred years.

"What is going on out there?" Last says franticly.

"I dropped something. You wanna go out there and pick it up for me?" Stardust says with a raised eyebrow, not even looking for Last's reaction.

"I was just asking."

"Well, aren't you just the reporter of the century? You still recording, bunny?"

"What?"

"I hope so, because this next part is going to be worth it." Stardust laughs, and throws the ship into a forward roll. She accesses the mining ship's mainframe one last time, just to throw the engines into full tilt. This has the effect of sending a pretty sizable, and hot, plume of ions out of the rear engines. This then ignites several barrels of unprocessed deuterium, and several more exotic items that are floating about. Combustion is odd in space, but blowing a bunch of ship fuel is a brilliant distraction. A huge explosion surrounds the mining ship, but due to its rotating, it manages to spiral away relatively unscathed, as the shards of metal and melting molecular mass shoot outward unkept by any strong gravinametric force. However the maglifters set-up by the Federalis do attract some unwanted attention, getting shredded as exotic elements degrade into unusual patterns caused by the unnatural gravity well.

The distraction is plenty enough to get Stardust and Last out of there, although Stardust isn't sure she can avoid all the shit that is flying around them.

"What the hell was that?" Last cranes her head around as she accesses the ships monitors.

"That was a distraction. Now for the hard part." Stardust grunts, pulling their ship around a free-floating armature crane. She has to get them out of there before the Feds get their sensors back in order. A non-accounted for fusion signature, headed in Hess's direction will throw the plan all out of wack. They have to follow the mining ship or she is fucked, as this little boat doesn't have anything more dangerous than her pair of hand-guns in it.

"Holy fuck!" Stardust yells, Last covers her head. A chunk of platinum the size of a small dog hits the front window, being deflected by the forward shielding, but only barely. Everything in space is a potential murder weapon, as there is nothing to slow its movement. Except their skulls.

"Aren't you supposed to turn me over alive?"

"Not helping, bitch." Stardust pulls them around a twin mattress. They are getting to the edge of the detritus layer, but smaller explosions keep sending more shards of metal to bombard aft shielding, and the colors on the indicators are not getting more encouraging over time.

"Girl, I need you to do something for me." Stardust throws the ship in another spin, the turn a slight bit more sickening as the gravity from the surrounding maglifters is getting more severe. Their ship is about seven thousand meters from the nearest lifter, but Stardust has about half her processing power trained on it, ensuring that it reports nothing more than the shit that keeps buffeting it from the detritus cloud.

"What?" Last says frantic, Stardust realizes that the girl has had her eyes closed for a while now.

"Call someone for me. I can't dive, drive, and hack this maglifter. If you want to survive until someone else has a chance to kill you, I need you to make a call for me."

"What? Who?"

"Jor Usukta."

# <20.2>

Truckee and Cirrhosis take the first ship off Checktiza, paying extra to travel the red-eye bullet back to Torch, with only a seventy second layover on Torch, for Truckee and Big, who are handling the end-zone. The bounties on them have been lifted, at least for the moment. Ansible coverage of everything that happened at Checktiza, matched with the video pulled off the screen at the bar, showed that Vii Ariable was the man who stole the Jewel of the Ancients. Or at least, that Truckee and Cirrhosis had nothing to do with it. Parts are lies, but Truckee isn't going to correct them.

After a mild problem in customs, only mostly caused by Truckee's wardrobe, they managed to catch the last ship off planet. Their ship is a small ovoid number that seats people in lush cushions and runs a full sensivise suite the entire time. Truckee and Cirrhosis appear to be sitting in a giant stateroom, on two huge stone chairs at a marble table, sipping champagne.

"This is a little much isn't it?"

"You said no to the beach."

"I don't want to consider the bathing suit you would wear."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I imagine that you would take almost anything that way."

"Such it is. Did you get any sort of gameplan out of them?"

"Not really. I think they just want us to do our parts in the grand ceremony on Selba Station, keep it public and high-rez. Pepper seems to think that some part of the plan is taking place during the race, so I guess he just wants us to be ready for that?"

"Fucking hell, like I am some secret agent or something." Truckee mutters under his breath.

"So that kid is a Lance?"

"Seems that way. He has been pulling his weight, amongst other things."

"He reminds me of something..."

"Please say it isn't your childhood."

"No, I... Fuck." Cirrhosis gets an omega encrypted dive request. He gulps, knowing that it isn't good. Smells like it isn't good. Tastes so bad.

"What?"

"Fucking Toro." Cirrhosis says, and clicks out of their session and into another. He opens his eyes and he is sitting on a chair in Toro's office. Toro's office is brightly lit, his home star Bellatrix practically knocking at the windows. A large gold desk stands firmly in the center of the room, facing away from the star. Both walls are covered in small models of places, things, people that Toro owns or controls in some way. Cirrhosis knows that a jersey of his is on a shelf to his right, three shelves from the bottom, right next to a pair of car keys. Cirrhosis has long wondered what car they belong to. The desk is the origin of the melting gold of the whole building, its thick clawed legs oozing gold which runs in thick rivers through the red shag carpeting. Toro sits at a thick gold chair, a silhouette against the cool blue sun behind him.

"I understand you have been busy." Toro mutters.

"Yeah. Lots of people want me dead."

"Myself included."

"I thought we had a deal."

"We did. We still do. I am just misunderstanding what you have being doing lately. Or did you think that I don't have people watching ansible?"

"I know you have people watching everything I do."

"Good. I met your girlfriend recently. She's perhaps full functioning retarded, on a good day. She came to me expecting a handout."

Cirrhosis' throat dries shut. Last Chance has no concept of how much danger she put herself in so much as thinking about Toro, let alone requesting his assistance. What could have happened to her?

"I see you had no knowledge of her malfeasance. I am glad that you know your place with me."

"Under your thumb, Toro."

"Naturally. Miss Chance came to me because she has been kidnapped by an old associate of mine, a hunter known as Baby Doll Judah Stardust."

"Fucking hell."

"Correct. In a way, I can even understand how she would think I would want to become involved in something like this. Stardust and I have ancient history in common, she killed my father."

"Oh."

"Yes. I am going to pay her a visit. However, I have an inkling that this meeting is not as it seems at first blush. I have a notion that I am being lead somewhere, only in an illusion of free-will. I will not be fucked with, Cirrhosis."

"Of course not."

"Who is pulling the strings? Your new friends perhaps?"

"No. They seem to think it has something to do with the way your father died. They seem to think that you are all being lead there for something you did on that space station." Cirrhosis mutters, stops, and corrects. "Something we did on that station. A long time ago."

"We?"

"I found out something about myself today. I still have no idea what it means exactly. That I have this whole life before then, that I am several decades older than I thought. You don't care about that. I was on the station too, died and was revived from my chip maybe. I don't know. Mindwipe and blam, here I am."

"I don't recall you in the slightest."

"Neither do I. Would you like me to turn back? I am about to hit relative at Torch, I could take a red to Hess." It was his original orders, Cirrhosis' heart beats faster.

"No. I want the purse from the Race. You owe me at least that much for anguish and inconvenience. I will go to Hess alone, and close this disgusting chapter myself." Toro waves his offer away.

"Yes, sir."

"Before you go. If you ever find out who you are, you are to tell me immediately. I need to know where the leak was."

"Leak?"

And Cirrhosis is booted back to the beach. Truckee opens his eyes, enjoying a nap on the simulated beach. They are now in front of a large expanse of ocean, the sun just setting to their right. Two beach chairs with a small table between them, holding a chiller with a bottle of champagne in it. Truckee is wearing a micromini two piece bathsuit, apparently tucking the cash and prizes for later use. Cirrhosis chuckles, has his eButler switch his avatar to a pair of board shorts, and lies back in his lounger.

"Have fun?"

"A hoot and a holler."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Don't know. There still some champagne?"

"Of course. Pool boy brought it over."

"Good. This shit is getting too heavy to take sober."

"My words stolen from my mind."

"Toro is going for the trap too."

"Pepper seemed to think that would happen."

"I should LT him anyway, so he can plan ahead."

"Good man. You ready for the race?"

"I guess. I heard from Toro that the purse was worth a lot. Did they change that?"

"Seems that way. Char-els texted me that the Jewel was replaced with a trillion rico cash prize."

"Shit fuck!"

"Exactly. I'm positive they're docking my pay for it." Truckee mutters angrily. The two men take a moment to sip their drinks. Calm nerves, at least for a moment.

"This is not going to end well is it?"

"I never thought it would end any other way."

# <21.0>

**Announcement** : Race of the Ancients

<Start>

To all fans of the Tusk League! The Race of the Ancients has a startling announcement! The end of the race has been announced. Speculation has been rampant, as visitors to the top-secret race track in the Crimson Area of Torch have leaked to the World several strange buildings in the track. Speculation was that the track was to be built to move the racers over the spectators in the stands, a truly bold move.

However, the actual nature of the track has been revealed by the race organizers on Selba Prime. The race track is to have a traditional jump-gate installed in the next few days, which will change the end of the race to the Crystal Plaza on Selba Station. Tickets for the final ten laps and finish line are expected to go fast. Sale is to start in World, see T-Net for more information about local time and virtual line conditions.

<End>

# <21.1>

Epic Death, Peppermint White Ninja, and Cannata Celosa all arrive to Hess' LaGrange without any problems, or contact by suspicious persons. Barring Pepper's short call with Cirrhosis, which was only suspiciously informative.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Cannata shrieks as Epic attempts to keep them from getting killed by a forklift that floats directly at them as they emerge into actual space.

"Stardust can be such a colossal waste of complex proteins sometimes." Pepper says, exasperated.

"How do you know it's her?" Cannata says, breathless.

"Oh you just kind of learn a person's signature after a while." Epic laughs.

"So her signature is exploding mining vessels dangerously close to LaGrange points?"

"More just definitive destruction. You do have to keep in mind that we are both aware that Stardust, the two of us, and Toro Abobo are all en route to this exact location. That does limit the possible choices." Pepper mutters, he is diving through the Federali chatter. They don't seem to know where Stardust is going. She sent the ship into a spiral and exploded a bunch of random stuff, but they seem to think that she is still aboard the ship. Which is completely fucking retarded as nobody would still be aboard a ship that is venting oxygen like that. If it makes it to Hess in that condition it is by shear luck.

"Also it's all over the ansible, you know, if you pay attention to that sort of thing." Epic laughs, throwing hails out to the nearest Federali vessel, asking for clearance through to Hess.

" **Clearance granted. Be sure to avoid this area, as there is a situation under surveillance here."** The AI steward mentions.

" **You don't say. Well, don't let me keep you."**

"So they are just going to let us through?"

"Epic and I have certain allowances as hunters, and they assume that you are one of our yellows, so they will let us take you to GovNet as long as we stay out of their hair."

"Ridiculous."

"Pretty much. Should be about ten minutes before... holy shit. Holy motherfucking shit. Pepper are you seeing this?"

"Fucking hell."

"What?"

Hess is a space station that is about two thirds a Torch, sitting in geosynchronous orbit around a small ice planet that is a couple AUs out from a rather dense asteroid belt. The asteroids are the real draw, filled with lots of exotic metals left over from a mean fight between a planet and an asteroid. As such Hess is pretty much just a mining colony, which lucked into being a major moon shot for the outer arm. The place is dirty and small, and doesn't have nearly the population it was originally designed for. People just don't want to spend their lives hanging out in a big field of rocks.

Hess is one big station, a flattened ellipse with long thin spokes coming from its flattened edges. Ships and equipment dock at these poles, taking people and rocks from here to everywhere else. Hess does not have a sister station. However, it seems to have one now. A very familiar station.

"What the hell is that?" Cannata mutters, her eButler pulling up a picture of Hess. That other station is new and orbiting very close to Hess. Some sort of colony ship perhaps?

"That is beyond a shadow of a doubt where we are going." Epic says to himself.

"How... how could you even... I'm checking recent records." Pepper mutters, attempting to find some possible clue how a destroyed space station could possibly be here and how he could have no record of something this big being built. Video in the docking spindles show that the new station appeared less than ten minutes ago. So right after they came through the LaGrange. They do not show how it got there.

"Anything?"

"Ten minutes ago, that thing just is there. No record of how it got there, Hess doesn't have spectrum running in the spindles, so I can't tell if there was any exotic energy here, but I am running through the readings on our ship, and I didn't get any sort of burst when this thing appeared here."

"This thing had authorization for an approach vector?"

"Apparently, and it has most likely been in system for a while. Whoever is doing all this hacked the AI, there is no reason two stations would be this close together. I mean if you can hack memories, you can confuse a few cameras while you drive that shit in there."

"Yeah, but wouldn't there be GovNet chatter?"

"He hacked the whole thing. Everyone in the colony." Sunshine says in awe. Epic and Pepper look at Sunshine, then back at the monitor.

"Sure seems like it." Pepper mumbles.

"Shit." Epic laughs, and sets a course to dock with the ghost ship.

"Do we have a game plan?" Cannata asks, sounding slightly on edge.

"I can set my wires to block pretty much everything we could get thrown at us in there. That will cut-off any mind hack ability, and keep him from doing anything too drastic. This will also have the effect of shutting down all of our wetwiring, World access, and the like. So it'll be a low-tech fight, but I think that is the only fight we can win." Pepper says, getting out of his chair as Epic maneuvers into a docking bay. Sunshine is instantly lost, but nods to seem attentive.

"So by weapons you mean..." Cannata mutters, looking around the ship.

"I mean swords, projectile weapons, anything pre-realitivistic."

"You have a haze-engine?" Cannata says with raised eyebrows.

"Something similar yeah. It'll do us solid, in that we can actually trust what we see and hear." Pepper opens a few cabinets, guns and swords are filling every hold that should have more sensible equipment in it. He hands Cannata a long falchion. He attempts to give a large knife to Sunshine, but she waves it off.

"Yeah, but what if he is using the thing?" Epic asks as he gets out of his chair. Pepper hands him two short swords, which Epic already has holsters in his belt for. Cannata feels like she was left out of a planning meeting at some point.

"We have to assume that he is. However, if the jewel is as unruly as Truckee says, that means that anything he uses it for will have equal consequence to himself." Pepper says, putting on a loose fitting overcoat, and filling its inside pockets with smoke bombs, strobes, and a pistol. Explosive decompression is a possibility, but he has to have the option open should it need to be taken. Again.

"Or the station. He could end up taking the whole fucker down with us."

"That might be the point. Cannata, I am having second thoughts about having you on this station with us. I do not think that we are really in a place where survival is expected. If you want to cash out now, I would recommend it. Not that I really expect that my opinion on the matter will have any effect on your decisions." Pepper says, over his shoulder to Cannata. She grabs his shoulder and spins him around, careful on the inertia. Being this close to Hess makes the internal gravity on their ship a little wishy-washy.

"You are obviously misdirecting this feeling on to the wrong person here."

"I-" Pepper stammers, then everyone looks squarely at Sunshine as she puts on a bulletproof vest. Pepper looks to Epic, but he is in full agreement with Cannata on this one. Pepper has only one person's safety on his mind, and unlike usual, it isn't his own.

"We'll go scout the airlock, you hash this out. This might be the last time you can have a serious conversation with each other." Epic says over his shoulder, pushing Cannata ahead.

"What?" Sunshine says, fumbling with the locking mechanism under her right arm. Pepper comes to her aid, fastening the vest tightly. Their eyes meet.

"I'm so fucking stupid."

"What? Why?" Sunshine brushes her hair out of her face, and looks at Pepper straight. She's seen this look before, pained, but for once she is actually welcome to it. At least to giving it a shot, but she knows men enough to know that she has to let him spit it out.

"You. It's a job, right? I'm here to protect and serve, but.."

"You have done enough for me, Pepper. I want to thank you for everything. Even the horrible parts."

"Really?"

"No. I am seriously never eating at Yo Mama's Lips again." Sunshine says exasperated, trying not to think of space ninjas. Pepper looks to the ground, crestfallen to a level Sunshine is surprised to see. Emotions high, particularly with the dramatic lack of sleep everyone is working under at this point.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I need to pay my informants more."

"And maybe get your girlfriend a better ride off planet?" Sunshine says quickly and without hesitation. Decided.

"Yes, ma'am. I mean, what?" Pepper looks at her again, Sunshine is smiling to him. Warm and inviting. He smiles back for a moment. Then he nods and turns away to grab a few more bits and bobs.

"So, what is the plan now?"

"I have no clue. Just stay with me." Pepper says over his shoulder as he jams a few things into various pockets.

"Sure."

# <21.2>

" **Char-els, I need meetings postponed. I have a race to manage."** Truckee says forcefully as he walks into the war-room for the Race on Selba. He has had about seventy people demanding various meetings, tribunals, official statements, and the like, since he got on system an hour ago. None of them have even the remotest chance of actually occurring. The Race is in under thirty hours, and Truckee has a lot of shit to get hammered out before then.

" **The meetings are about your race, sir."**

" **Oh and I thought they were about my brief stint on the Most Wanted list."**

" **I told those people to wait for after the Race."**

"You should have told them to suck a fat dick." Truckee mutters to himself, stomping down a hallway to the main office. His office.

The office itself, the war-room, is a large room with seven rows of stadium-leveled tables, divided into individual stations by thin pieces of clear plastic. One main door, the one where Truckee is standing, leads into the highest level. Around the perimeter are three offices on each side, holding more traditional conference tables. The back wall has fifty crystal matrix televisions showing various graphs, video feeds of both Torch and Selba Station, and other necessary information for the forty people that are working and the various people milling around the office.

"Pleasure to see you in person." Char-els says with a brief smile, looking up from a stack of paper the size of several rather thorough dictionaries. He also has two monitors open, showing stock prices, commodity prices, travel itineraries and demographics of the live feeds pumping from the more prominent racers. Even that discounts what Char-els has going on in his visual arrays.

"All mine. Status report."

"Race is on-schedule. Cirrhosis is back on board, currently training with his team in Practice Arena 7, on Torch. Adverts are hitting the seven digit mark for viewership; P4V already has numbers in the low billions. Actual construction and modification of the Crystal Plaza is finishing up within the next three hours, which Truckee is to officially confirm after the 'leaked announcement' a few hours ago. Celebrity spokespersonalities are running full press spirals on all major and semi-major networks, vslogs and physical locations. We should have meme-status within the hour for both adverts you approved before your..." Char-els shrugs in embarrassment.

"My trip?" Truckee says, looking through some paperwork in the stack. Mostly number crunching for the seats, viewers, etc. Keeping track of demographic data as to correctly price advertisements and product placement on the podiums, in the training areas, and various other televised locations.

"Yes, sir. VIP guests should be arriving shortly, we have rented out the best hotels on the station." VIP got invites before the leak. Secrecy to drive interest.

"Fantastic. Remind me to pay you more, Char." Truckee mumurs over his shoulder as he turns to leave. Char has all of this under control. Truckee has to start shaking hands or the investors are going to park-out. That and he needs to walk the grounds, looking for a like a bomb or something. Whatever is on this end of the race that is so important to whomever is doing all this.

"Of course, sir."

Truckee takes off down the hallway, first stop is wardrobe. Can't look this disheveled with all these cameras around.

"Big?"

" **Truckee."**

**"Status?"** Truckee is getting irritable. The child has been off-radar since they got back. He knows he can trust the android, but he also isn't used to having workers that don't respond to constant direction. Big is only vaguely predictable, but hopefully that unusualness will lead to him finding whatever there is to find.

"I am not seeing anything unusual. I have alerted GovNet and the Federalis of possible terrorist activities, so the docks should be on lock."

**"So that just leaves stadium security for the people already present at the station."** Truckee says, trying not to think about the Torch end of the Race. Cirrhosis' problem.

"Right!"

"If you see anything weird, be sure to contact me and Cirrhosis immediately."

"Sure!"

Truckee enters makeup, still feeling uneasy. Whatever happens, at least it will be happening soon.

# <21.3>

"Cirrhosis, focus!" A trainer yells from the sidelines. Cirrhosis is in the middle of training, a crash course really as he was supposed to be doing this for three weeks leading up to the race, not just the day before it. Cirrhosis knows his sport like the back of his hand, but there is the horse to manage, and simulations of the track and the placements of the targets. Besides, he has several low-level injuries that have nanopatches on them, which need a bit of time to work as well.

"You think I'm not trying to?" Cirrhosis yells back. Cirrhosis is on his horse, wearing a blue T-shirt with Toro's logo on it, and a loose pair of cotton track pants. His boots aren't polished like normal, and in general he looks like he has been rolling around in the dirt. Which is true, as his ribs keep using pain to throw him off balance. Something he will need to get in check for tomorrow, as he can't have anything throwing his aim off.

"Well, if you didn't go to Checktiza and get in a fucking gang war, maybe you wouldn't be too injured to hold a fucking crossbow!"

"Oh yeah, because I totally chose that to happen!" Cirrhosis says as he gets his horse into a gallop around the track, aims his bow, and misses the target again. Motherfucker.

"How is it?" Someone says from the sidelines. Voice is familiar but, Cirrhosis can only barely hear, he is on a galloping horse. He makes the rest of the lap, hits three targets out of six, and stops in front of Noseta Stone. Noseta is about six-four, perhaps twenty pounds underweight, wearing a thin gray suit with his hair in some sort of foppish bang. Very classical, if you like the slit your own throat for your music sort of effek he is going for. Noseta isn't pleased, you can always tell when he isn't pleased because he leans backward from his legs and crosses his arms. Like a genie preparing to make a wish.

"Why would you care?"

"Toro sent me. I am thereby forced to care, or at least pretend to. Your aim is off."

"I just got back from fighting a gang-lord for a fucking fake gemstone. I took a few heavy knocks, but I should survive."

"We don't need you to survive, we need you to win."

"Well, I am not winning shit if I don't get my ribs back in order." Cirrhosis grunts, lifting his shirt to show Noseta his side. Two thick white bandages cover him from around his midsection, pulsing slightly with the engines and whatnot that are working on putting his internal organs back the way he found them.

"Will you be good in time?"

"Doctors say so."

"If you are not?"

"I got things to make sure I act like it, if that is what you are getting at."

"Exactly. That is exactly what Toro wants to hear."

"Any word from him yet?"

"About what?"

"His little trip."

"He's in Crimson, to cover for your fiasco. He looks fine on ansible right now." Noseta says, getting that glazed look to his eyes as he checks the ansible news. Cirrhosis has his eButler check around, and there is live coverage of Toro on Torch, but Cirrhosis knows it's a lie. Toro is really keeping this grudge close to his chest, especially if his assistant is completely unaware of his true location. He must have paid a lot to get an android duplicate through the level of security he would need to, as Toro is being shown in a press conference with the president of Torch. He wants whoever thinks he is biting the trap to think that he might not be doing just that, which is playing it safer than Toro is usually known for doing.

"Thanks? Honestly, I think I came back well from the whole 'I quit' thing." Cirrhosis says mildly.

"Yes, being temporarily wanted, then a romantic relationship with a woman who is one false move from imprisonment for pedophilia."

"She never touched that guy; she threatened to KILL that guy. Besides, it sounds different when you hear her tell the story. Less crying."

"He was thirteen and at an awards ceremony."

"I saw a clip of that, and he was totally axing for it."

"Are you drunk?"

"Downs, I am in a seriously epic amount of pain. Riding a horse with four broken ribs, a fractured femur and six broken fingers will do that to a guy." Cirrhosis says with a laugh. He is on so many different drugs right now. However, he is more lucid than he wants Noseta to have wind of. He needs to keep his cards close as well.

"Well, try not to die before the race is over."

"I'm not making any promises this week for that."

"I feel you on that one." Noseta says as he walks away. Cirrhosis wakes his horse up a little with a brief snap of the reigns, and canters off. He immediately eSes Truckee.

" **Truck, what is going down on your end?"** Cirrhosis says, as he really gets going around the course.

" **Nothing out of the ordinary. I had security run through the whole course, twice, and we have nothing to show for it. I personally had any VIP guest run through my eB just to see if we had any leaks that way too. I got nothing."**

" **Noseta Stone, Toro's right hand, came to visit me just now. He doesn't know where Toro is."**

" **I saw that bit on the news, so that's an android dupe then?"**

" **Seems that way. Honestly, I don't think this is a bomb threat sort of job."**

" **Too many steps for that I would think."**

" **Exactly. If it were me, I would have something really flashy. I mean, he is making a point of doing it at an extremely well televised event."**

" **Right. So it isn't going to be something stupid like a suicide bomb..."**

" **No. If it were me, I'd probably vent the whole station, or like detonate the entire Crystal Plaza."**

" **Fucking hell. Well, I am going to call station security about the general security of the station. I'll have some intern put on a wetsuit and dive around the base of this fucking place. Maybe we didn't see something."**

"Any word from Big?"

"He's rounding up stray lances to cover the event, he says he'll have about forty agents on the scene, in addition to the Federalis that are actually stationed for the event. I fed him all the data from Pepper, hopefully he can at least warn us before the station explodes."

"One could hope."

"I will keep you posted if we find anything."

" **I'll keep my eyes and ears open. See if I can't press some old friends for information. Assuming that anyone has any to give."**

" **See you tomorrow."**

" **Yeah."** Cirrhosis grunts, shooting three targets in a row, but riding quickly is still murder on his left side. He needs to stop practicing and hit a clinic for more drastic healing measures. At this rate he has literally no fucking chance of winning anything tomorrow.

"Done for the day?" A trainer asks as Cirrhosis brings the horse back to the stables.

"I fucking wish." Cirrhosis grunts as he hops off. Got a lot of calls to make.

# <22.0>

Infotainment Advertasm

<Start>

Astral Strafe! Are you a Hunter on the go? Taking dangerous yellows can be fatal without the proper modifications to your load out. Astral Stafe is the smart program which helps you and your modifications work their best, getting you from point A to point B without being shot in your T&A.

Available for all high-end chipsets at our wos on all Central7 planets as well as most other major cities. Dive our sites for more information.

<End>

# <22.1>

"Haze." Stardust mutters as they step into the station.

"Haze?"

"Haze. Looks like someone beat us here."

"Isn't that their ship outside?"

"Obviously."

"So didn't you notice they were here before now?"

"Yes, but that ship could be anyone's. This haze effect means its Pepper, and probably Epic too, who got here before us and not Toro." Stardust says as she opens a door and peers quickly in either direction. No one yet, and she can't use her wetwiring to pick up anyone either. Fucking Pepper, always playing it safe.

The ship looks exactly the same as Stardust remembers it looking when they arrived the first time, down to the blinking lights warning of an invasion force. Only thing that is missing is all the people she had to kill that day, none of those people seem to be around this time. Federali holiday?

"Hello?" Stardust tries. No response.

"Is it really okay for you to yell out like that?"

"Darling, they know we're here. See those blinking red lights?"

"Yes."

"They mean shut the fuck up or I'll throw you out the nearest airlock."

"Oh."

"Is anyone here?" Stardust tries a little louder, pulling her gun up preparing for anything.

"Yeah, but I'd prefer if you don't make a big thing out of it." Pepper says, leading around the corner by his gun. Stardust smiles, at least the fun hasn't started without her.

"You know who it is yet?"

"No. Do you?" Pepper raises an eyebrow.

"I have an inclination.

"You should get that looked at. Epic is up ahead. We were waiting for you to get here."

"Yeah well you can't rush catastrophe."

"I heard that."

"Are we all going to die?" Last asks Pepper, mostly.

Pepper and Stardust give each other a significant look, both turn to Last. "Probably."

"Hey, you guys coming? I am going to assume that the last stand location will be our big shoot-out moment." Epic says as he turns the corner. Stardust gives Epic a smile, Epic nods in return. Officially working in tandem.

"Last Chance." Stardust states like she isn't there.

"What? Yes?"

"I officially revoke my claim to your bounty."

"What?"

"You're below me. In so many possible ways that I cannot possibly hold the breath in my lungs to state them all. I can only take one hit at a time, it's the rules." Stardust says as she walks away from Last.

"Really?" Last murmurs to Pepper mostly.

"Yep." He sort of chuckles, starting to walk towards the others.

"But you?" Last gets defensive, terrified that she is being given the cold shoulder. Knowing that Toro will be here soon, to do... what to her?

"I'm protecting Sunshine. This is an extension. Also I have a hit on me, and am acting in self-defense." Pepper kind of tips his hand side to side, wishy washy. He has a good enough lawyer that this flimsy reasoning will probably only result in fines, slapped by the flaccid cock of GovPlex.

"I was paid to protect Truckee Dumpstar, and to get the jewel thing back. I am under the impression that the jewel is here." Epic says, feeling Last's eyes on him without turning around.

"I have to bring you here, but then I'd be ready to go. So I was planning on glomming-" Stardust says, turning to walk away. Leaving Last Chance alone to do... what exactly?

"Protect me." Last blurts out suddenly, the three hunters turn to look at her. Stardust looks at Last, then at Pepper who nods slightly. Stardust exhales deeply, swearing under her breath, then rights herself.

"Against who?" Stardust raises an eyebrow.

"I'll give you every rico I have to protect me from Toro Abobo." Last says quickly, before she can regret it. Stardust grins widely, too widely. Last takes half a step backward.

"I accept." Stardust laughs. "Fantastic this means I can go all out."

"And we don't have to forge anything when we get back." Epic says.

"Perfection."

"Do you guys have some kind of plan?" Last says with hope in her voice.

"Not really. Pepper?"

"Figure we see what this person wants with us. Go from there?" Pepper shrugs.

"Whatever gets this shit on the road already. I haven't shot anyone in like five hours." Epic mutters.

"This is why I'm madly in love with you." Stardust grabs Epic loosely around the shoulders. Last gasps until she realizes that Stardust doesn't intend to kill the tall man.

"Yeah. I really kind of doubt that." Epic says through a smirk.

"Well let's get this over with then. Cannata isn't going to watch the airlock forever."

"You two go on ahead. I'll make sure the hatch is locked behind us."

"Good thinking." Pepper says over his shoulder as he rounds into the next junction. Stardust grabs Last by the shoulder and spins her around, smashing her face only slightly violently into the outward wall.

"Wha?"

"Shut the fuck up you dumb, bitch. I need you to listen precisely to me."

"Yes."

"I am not going to play nice because your filthy whore ass is paying my way. Quite frankly I have no need for monetary functionality from flat-scans such as yourself."

"Of course."

"Quiet." Stardust pushes harder on Last's face, testing the tensile strength of her cartilage. Last grits her teeth.

"Good. Now, I need you to stay the fuck out of my way. If you get yourself killed it will blow my cover."

"Huh?"

"I'm not going to explain myself to you. I am only going to tell you this, when you see Corialis grab his big motherfucking necklace, I need you to run directly at him. Do not run away. Do not hide. Run directly for him, and grab him like your decrepit ass depends on it."

"Why?"

"Well, isn't that the ten million rico question." Stardust laughs as she lets Last crumple to the floor. She starts backward to the airlock, using some sort of small torch she welds the seal shut. Locking them in, but permanent. Like a tomb. Last coughs as she gets back on her feet, gingerly feeling at her nose. Still in one piece for the moment.

"Follow me, unless you want to be locked in this corridor for the rest of your life." Stardust says flatly as she walks on ahead. Last knows then that she picked the wrong person to protect her from Toro, because she is pretty sure they might put apart their differences to rip her limb from limb.

"Guys have fun back there?" Epic says mildly when the girls meet up.

"Traded tampons and everything."

"Gross." Sunshine says without looking. She turns and gasps.

"You!" Last says through gritted teeth.

"You!" Sunshine says with venom. Pepper chuckles by the door. Epic tries not to laugh, mostly because he is easily seen by both women.

"You ruined my career!"

"You never had a career you filthy prostitute."

"I was in six movies before you started stealing my parts by sleeping with the directors."

"I slept with one director. One. And you didn't even audition for that role."

"I wanted to, but i could smell you there before me."

"What?"

"And you took my prom date."

"That was over a hundred years ago, Last. And he was my boyfriend, we'd been dating for eight months when you attacked him in the locker room. The men's locker room, and tried to force yourself on him."

"He was just shy."

"He didn't even go to our school. You broke into a rival school's bathroom and attacked him, which is why he refused to come to our prom and I had to go to his."

"Oh, big loss."

"You are impossible."

"Ladies ladies. I need you to focus." Epic decides to step in, as this argument appears to be going literally nowhere. Cannata nods to Epic, literally giddy that someone stopped those two.

"Sorry. We just have a lot of... catching up to do. Pepper, is it okay out there?" Sunshine says cheerfully, pushing down the venom of seeing that psychopath again.

"Looks clear." Pepper says, shifting his head back and forth, his dreadlocks floating in the low atmosphere. A rumbling in the structure alerts them that someone else has docked. Presumably Toro.

"Oh great, that fuck is here." Epic grumbles.

"Yeah, well that means that it is officially on." Pepper mutters and waves the rest to follow him around the corner, another long hallway filled with nothing. If memory serves, it's two more hatches to the center crew common area. The ship spokes out from there, with a big area stuck out in the spoke farthest ahead, which would be where Toro's dad vented the station from. That is probably the destination. Everyone knows that.

"Where do you think he is? The guy doing this?" Last Chance asks Cannata. Everyone but those two.

"There's a big common area, probably we're going to hit some resistance there, but if this person is holding a grudge for back then. He is going to be at the end of the main spoke. That is where Toro's dad had his last stand, and-" Pepper starts, sort of coughing awkwardly at the end.

"Where he vented all of us into space." Epic finishes, locking a couple of side doors with a small laser, no need for surprises. Cannata and Last share a look, understanding what might be the result here. Stardust notices the look, yawns and walks ahead of the girls. Sunshine follows closely behind Pepper, which Epic notices immediately.

"He probably won't just do that again. Not exactly fitting revenge after all this time." Stardust says brushing her hand back and forth in the air, dismissing the thought of someone doing something so crass as a tit-for-tat revenge plot. No, it'll be something way worse.

The corridor goes silent as everyone imagines what possible trap they have all willingly docked with. Somewhere ahead and to the right they can hear gunfire, a dull rumble takes to the walls. Someone triggered a local decompression; the lights go a bright yellow for a full ten seconds, then switch back to their regular red hues. Sealed bulkhead. Toro isn't taking any chances on the vent happening again. Not after last time.

"What are we going to do when we get to the big room?" Cannata asks Pepper.

"We're going to wing it." Pepper says dismissively.

"Seriously?" Epic asks, actually surprised that Pepper would allow for such things.

"No. I have a plan, but my plan involves everyone acting as non-stereotypical for them as possible. Whoever this is, he's been studying us this whole time. This is nothing but a personal vendetta that has dragged on for way too long. He has been plotting for this moment for years, probably going over every detail of every step we made that day, and likely everything we have done afterward. He will expect me to plan, for Stardust to go in guns blazing, and for Epic to go in and try and sweet talk him. He will expect us to act how we do, to play our roles in this fucking game, but I'll have none of that."

"Nicely put." Stardust admits as they hit the last airlock. Pepper puts his hand on the door's crank. Pauses.

"I want everyone to think, what would my exact polar opposite do, then do that."

"Wow. So I am going to need a longer skirt." Stardust laughs, Epic grins slyly, and Cannata rolls her eyes. She can't stand a woman who uses her sexuality so flagrantly for her own personal gain. Cannata is positive that woman has some angle here, but she just can't finger it.

Last Chance and Sunshine Apocalypse trade barbed looks, which Epic laughs at. Getting glares from both women. He raises his hands in submission, and when that is grudgingly accepted, pulls out his gun.

Pepper opens the airlock, and it all goes south in a hurry.

# <23.0>

Infotainment Advertasm

<Start>

Getting shot in the back? Your bullets don't seem to hit the mark? Rejuvenation is expensive and time consuming. Death can leave permanent damage to your psyche. Well, no more. Threat Assessment is a program which places vectors on every moving object, gauges threat levels of every person, monitors your visual and alternative feeds for data intrusion and physical attack. Threat Assessment will move your collections up one class or your money back. See our wos in all major cities for more information and exact specs required for running Threat Assessment.

Threat Assessment, because you do not need to die anymore.

<End>

# <23.1>

Cirrhosis sits on his horse at his station on the starting line, he's breathing heavy from all the illegal chemicals coursing feverishly through his veins. The microsurgeries and dermpacs didn't clean all of his fractures entirely, he still has a couple of hairlines that are probably only going to go spiral during the race. His horse is calm at least.

The track is hexagonal number in Barrier Stadium, which is located on the west-side of Crimson. The stadium has a dome, and is used for race events as well as for tavis matches. Seating about 60,000 in thick plastic benches, the stadium has seven floors of seating, with box seats on the 2nd through 6th floors. Suspended from the top of the dome is a large eight-sided crystal matrix monitor. Augmented reality monitors are shown to all audience members with the appropriate wetwiring, showing stats and close ups of the racers as they prepare.

The course itself is lined with clearish barricades, which show adverts in the sensicasts streaming all over creation and back. In the center there are eight targets for every straight section of track, and outside there are eight targets at every corner. All perfectly round, made of a durable plastic which projects the typical red and black concentrics expected of a target. The stalls that the horses are parked in are at a slight angle to the starting line section of the track, at a stagger diagonally to the beginning at an opening in the track, allowing the racers to do the required hundred laps around without running into anything.

The course has several exits outside the perimeter walls, leading to the backrooms and loading bays of the stadium. One is clogged with several pieces of machinery which Cirrhosis does not recognize so much as know are used for the final laps which will take place on Selba Station. They will generate the jumpgate, which will likely kill everyone on the station. Or something.

Briefly, Cirrhosis is a horseback crossbow racer. The sport harkens back to the time when people used to use the word harken, when the universe was young, and Earth was still the home of most people, assuming by 'people' you mean humans. Originating on the Jovian colonies, the point is to win a race while simultaneously shooting targets with a crossbow. However, there is a catch. The center targets, the easy ones, are worth half a point, while the outside ones are worth two points. Sound easy? Well, you can only score points on the outer ring if you shoot across the course, so through the center of the ring to the complete other side. There are also extra points allotted for scoring shots in the center two rings of a target, but those are pretty rare considering the speed the riders are going. One must usually win the race to win the game, as the points deduct from your time, but generally the best shots are also the fastest, particularly the majors. Still a close race will come down to points more often than not, but a fifth placing is usually a death sentence in the finals. Last point of notice, you are docked ten points if you hit another racer, and twenty if you hit his horse. Obviously if you kill him, you are disqualified. That happens more than most people would think for a professional sport that is officially sanctioned in all Human, Tigeran, and some Fiod colonies.

Cirrhosis grits his teeth as the announcer begins his opening speech, shown in close-up on the monitors overhead. Truckee is in fine form today.

# <23.2>

Truckee Dumpstar is on a large platform floating above the stadium erected in the Crystal Plaza. His image is being broadcast to the main event, as well as to billions of other people across civilization. The Crystal Plaza was cleared of almost everything, leaving only the central pillar and the stairs at the cardinal points. The track is clear, of course, a hexagon of advertisements to everyone online. A thick plastifiber ramp spirals up nauseatingly to the pinnacle of the pillar, fanning out slightly to catch whatever, or whomever as it is today, will be coming through the gate.

To fit the part, Truckee is wearing a full suit, in a deep blue that is swimming with lighter colors, seemingly swirling and ebbing like the tides all over his body. Can't wear a dress with ten thousand people looking up your skirt, as it is not particularly lady-like even for someone as only like a lady as Truckee. His wig is short and blond, a sort of feminine military swoosh from the right to the left, showing his shaved head around his ears and the back of his head.

"Ladies and gentleman. Species of the universe. I bring you the spectacle. The drama. I bring you myself." Truckee starts, pausing for mild laughter and appreciative applause, which he nods to and continues. "I thank you all for coming to this, the biggest moment in my career. The biggest moment in these fine gentlemen's careers. The biggest moment in sports history."

"I ask you to watch carefully, because this moment will only happen once in your life. Your children will ask you if you were watching one day, and you will look at them and smile. You will tell them of the fine men who fought valiantly for a treasure of incalculable value. For the glory of their home system. Be it Selba." Heavy applause. "Be it Isis." Applause. "Be it Sol." Applause. "Or be it Paris." Applause, mixed with some unrest in the front rows. Selba is a favorite in its home system, which is of no surprise. Paris, being closer to Torch, has few people at the finish line. Reports on audience approval for Team Paris are considerably higher in Crimson.

Truckee pauses to add a touch of gravitas. Knowing that for once, it isn't bullshit. It is at least mildly likely that everyone in this stadium will die in some horrible fashion if Epic doesn't do something quickly. Truckee looks over the crowd; a hovering stadium was build around the surrounding buildings, above and in front whenever possible. Huge crowds swarm the streets across the lake, viewing the game on giant screens and beamed directly into their minds from various sources of emotion laden oculars. Nothing appears amiss, but Truckee can literally smell the doom swirling around him like a fever. Any moment, any breath, could be his last. Although, at this point, Truckee is kind of used to the concept. The crowd is quiet, waiting for Truckee to announce the beginning of the race. Truckee hesitates, afraid that any movement forward in the storyline will result in his eminent demise. Afraid that any word could trigger some hidden explosive or exotic torture devise. That and he's pretty sure it adds to the effect.

"And now the moment you've all been waiting for."

# <23.3>

"For the love of gods, come the mother fuck on!" Stardust screams over the gunfire, weird tazer crackles, and bits of wall dusting everywhere. Stardust is pinned behind a table that she had tipped over to block whatever the hell machine gun turret is directly ahead. Pepper and Sunshine had dodged right into a corridor, and Epic and Cannata ended up much farther ahead.

Stardust takes a couple of errant shots over her perch, and then peeks over the edge of the table quickly. The turret is still firing in sweeps, very quick sweeps. She has about a full second where bullets aren't peppering the composite table and/or the wall behind her. Another pass, and she takes a second quick look, Epic is directly ahead and slightly left behind an inlaid couch that is slightly above the true floor in the room, in a sort of raised crescent shaped alcove facing the windows on the left, which actually have a pretty terrible view of the crotch of two spindle-arms.

Stardust takes a moment to allow herself to focus her mind on focusing her mind, without directions from her wetwiring; she will need to throw about three bullets perfectly straight with absolutely no aim-time. Not a problem, just not something she is usually tasked with every day. It's just that planning isn't generally her bag, so making a point of aiming is somewhat new to her. More of an instinct girl.

The bullets hit the table rumbling it, and then move on. Stardust pops up and shoots three times then falls backward, in case she missed. Something explodes as she is getting back behind the table.

"You got it." Epic yells from his vantage. Stardust stands up, Epic is walking back towards her. Cannata appears from behind another jumble of furniture, she had Last with her. Stardust had almost forgot the woman. She was never very good at protection jobs.

"Pepper?" Last asks, looking around, like she expects him to just be here magically because she said something about it. Cannata walks over to the windows to survey the main spindle, as best as can be done from the awkward viewing angle.

"The airlock closed behind them. Let's assume he has a plan and move on without them." Epic says to himself, hoping Sunshine doesn't hinder Pepper's higher functionality. He is trying to think strategically himself, what would someone who actually thought things through do?

"So we should?" Cannata asks, turning back to the group. There is nothing much to see ahead. Some flashes of light from the windows. Presumably whomever was shooting up the place earlier. A lot more gunfighting is taking place than Cannata would have assumed from conversation earlier.

"Pepper would have us devise a sort of plan. I think that you should do it."

"Me?" Last Chance almost trips over a table.

"Her?" Cannata almost yelps.

"What?" Stardust says more nonchalantly, like she is almost disinterested in her own survival. Last gives her an odd look that Epic cannot place.

`"My idea is that Pepper said we should act unusual. My gut says that the most unusual way for a group of bounty hunters to act is completely not like bounty hunters. So that means we have a layman plan. What should we do, Last?" Epic says, turning to Last Chance at the question. Last squirms under the gaze of the three hunters. She has literally no idea what to say, or how one would plan an assault on a space station with all technology above a certain level blocked.

"We need to do what?"

"There is one long hallway ahead of us, and we need to get through there without dying. Preferably."

"Are there vents?"

"What?" Stardust sort of blurts out.

"Vents. Like air vents. People in the sensivises always climb in the air ducts when they are escaping trouble." Last says, mostly to Epic. She is pretty sure Epic doesn't want to kill her.

"What bullshit channel are you watching?" Stardust says, irritated.

"Does that matter?" Cannata mutters, already growing bored of this.

"Not really, but making fun of this prostitute is enjoyable to me."

"Oh." Last sort of says to the ground.

"I don't remember an airduct. I know there should be something like that though. I mean, air has to come from somewhere right?" Epic says and pats Last on the shoulder, looking at the doorway ahead and then tracing the top around the hatch. Logic states that these hatches should be air tight, so any ducts would exist inside individual sections and would probably have feeds to them that can be irised shut in case of decompression, collision, etc.

"I see ours in here. We'd have to go in that hallway and climb up to a thing that looks like this." Cannata is over by the couches pointing at a hexagonal vent about ten feet off the floor. At limited gravity, however, the climb isn't unreasonable. Epic smiles to Last, Last looks at Stardust, and Stardust just glares at her until Last walks over to Cannata to inspect her discovery.

"What is it with you two? Aren't you working for her now?"

"As much as I work for anyone."

"I heard that." Epic chuckles, gives Stardust a serious look, and then walks over to Cannata.

"So if you sort of jump, you should be able to at least grab the bottom of the thing." Cannata explains, then leaps to grab the grating and pulls it off with a quick flick of the wrist. Last watches avidly, as if watching Cannata do it would make it possible for her.

"I'll grab the grate and go first, then I'll pull you in. Then Cannata and then Stardust over there. Then we'll just head straight to the end of the arm and pop out at the end." Epic explains. To Last this seems natural, Cannata raises an eyebrow to Epic, who nods quickly while attempting to make sure that Last didn't catch it. This plan is destined to fail, but Epic is looking for that. People are their most incalculable when they are trapped in a failing situation. He actually has full intention to get caught midway through, with Pepper, where ever he might be, hopefully utilizing distraction.

"Okay, well we get one shot at this. Also, what do we do if Toro is standing on the other side of this hatch?" Stardust asks, as she is turning the hatch to open it. Epic sort of shrugs and pulls his swords from their place on his hip.

"Pop the hatch."

The walkway has doors on either side, the long arm is the crew living area of this particular station. Rooms line both sides and the arm goes on for at least half a mile. Epic doesn't see anyone when he peers inside, but expects that to change in moments. He has Stardust behind him, ready with a pistol. Cannata is ready, and Last appears at least fully aware of the situation they are in. As prepared as it will likely get then. Epic dashes over the threshold and turns to see the vent opening above the door and about a foot ahead of it. He jumps and pulls the grating off, throwing it into the main room his compatriots are still inside of. One more jump and he pulls himself inside.

Last Chance is practically hyperventilating in terror, with no idea how to handle anything that is occurring. Cannata spurs her into action by kicking her lightly in the ass, Last runs through the door and squeaks as she turns. Epic's hand is hanging out of the vent, like a dead body. She jumps, going far higher than she would have thought possible, and grabs for Epic's hand. He then hauls her in. The vent is far smaller than the sensers would make you think. And dusty. Very dusty. Last's eyes are watering almost instantly.

"Your idea, come in farther, we need to have room to let the other two in."

Last seizes her opportunity. "Stardust is trying to kill me."

"I know."

"What?"

"I'm not saying that I am going to let her, but we've met. Several times. I know her. She is totally going to try and kill you. That is who she is."

"I think she knows what is going on here. More than you know, I mean."

"Yeah. That's what i thought."

"So she is going to betray us?"

"You definitely. It isn't really betrayal if you expect it to happen."

"And you still like her?"

"Let's just say that I hate her least." Epic says after a moment, and then Cannata is scrambling in and the moment is lost. Ten seconds after and Stardust pulls up. Epic turns around and starts crawling on hands and knees down the dark dusty trail. It's very dark and the surfaces are all caked with fluffy bits of whatever. Epic isn't sure what is more strange, crawling through this disgusting mess, or the fact that a space station that was probably magically conjured by some sort of mystic stone is still so fucking dirty inside.

"I think my lungs are going to seize." Cannata coughs. Epic makes it to the first vent cover, he can hear a bit of racket outside in the hall. Toro is ahead of them somewhat, presumably fighting with another armed sentry guarding one of the airlocks ahead. Epic moves to the left side of the vent and tries to pass it without making himself visible, were someone to be watching from below.

"Only about 300 meters more of this." Epic sort of laughs, then immediately regrets that when he is stuck in a fit of coughing.

"Oh fuck this." Stardust grunts, and punches her way out of the vent. Leaving the three others behind, although leaving none of them surprised in the slightest.

# <23.4>

"Who do you think you are exactly?"

"You know exactly who I am. Why you are here. Why I brought you here."

"You were there, but how?"

"That is what I want to know."

"What?"

Peppermint White Ninja strolls in from an alcove behind both men, like he had always been there. Toro Abobo and Steven Corialis have guns drawn at each other; in Corialis' left hand is a blue stone. Sunshine Apocalypse keeps a safe distance back, aware that her presence is more hindrance than help.

Pepper does his best not to look behind him, trusting Sunshine to follow the route he gave her to the kitchen. He needs her eyes out there, but she still has to stay close as he suspects that this is more elaborate than it appears, even taking into account the appearance of a new spacestation. Pepper assumes the stone in Corialis' hand is the one everyone is looking for, and disregards it. He stares Stephen Corialis in the eyes, trying to read him. He knew that this had something to do with the dynasty, but had no idea that it went to the top.

"Your father." Pepper starts, the jigsaw is just a little off kilter to him, something just out of reach. He knows that Stephen isn't old enough to have been anyone of use back then, his father had just retired maybe ten years before. Stephen Corialis should have been on Isis at that point, running the show for the first time as an interim CEO, until he was later made official after successfully upgrading sling technology to the stuff seen now.

"On the nose."

"Your father. Retired. He left the Central7 and then..."

"He became a politician..." Toro mutters, his eyes widen as he looks at Corialis like he had never seen him before.

"Then he was the senator they killed on Tenda."

"Yes. H.O. Abobo killed my father." Venom in his breath.

"You've waited this long to get me back for killing your father? I did not even kill your father, I was here when that happened. I wasn't in charge or even vaguely involved, even in the cover up that happened later." Toro says sort of incredulously. All of this for that reason? Pepper isn't buying it either, there must be some other angle, something that made it take this long.

Toro is far from untouchable, particularly if you scale him back to... but Toro didn't kill Victor Corialis. Toro's father did. Corialis isn't young enough to have been unable to do something when the fire was hot. Why involve Epic, Pepper and Stardust? If anything he should thank them, they did kill H.O. and most of his men even. There is also the fact that they are standing in a replica of a space station that has literally nothing to do with Victor's death.

"You were there. When we had the shoot out with H.O. on this station. Your father was already dead, but you were here weren't you?"

"What? My father took no prisoners." Toro acts like he is being accused of something.

"That I can attest to, but he did take on a lot of hired help when he heard that there was a heavy price on his head. Then there was the raid. Someone could easily slip in undetected, waiting for the right moment to strike." Corialis' eyes dart from Toro to Pepper, his anger palpable. He was thwarted back then; he never got to kill H.O.

"You were-" Pepper thinks back, hard. Imagining that day, pulling up every possible face. Even if H.O. was being reckless, crime isn't something you just stumble into, particularly when you're talking the higher end criminal rackets that a Lord would be hauling. There is no way that Corialis could have moved up and into a position to be on that station in the couple of months it took the Federalis to hire Pepper, Epic and Stardust to finish that thing. A Federali agent, it is the only answer. While running the show is one thing, invading a space station in the middle of nowhere is the worst possible Federali gig, something that you would give to anyone who volunteered. Maybe even a promising young cadet, someone younger than Pepper, someone that he would have been introduced to almost directly before they left.

"I was in charge of the third team." Corialis completes the circuit for the two men. Toro looks at Pepper, and Pepper is looking straight at Corialis. Of course it was him. Join the main assault, the third team was told to act as covering fire while Pepper flanked from the right and Epic from the left. Stardust was told she could mop up anyone who straggled behind or was in the other parts of the station. More people to kill, so of course she was interested. Pepper remembers the boy now, hot headed, eager to pull a firearm in a bad environment. Lusting for combat. Pepper had always thought the kid was just a foolhardy freshman, feeling invincible because he hadn't seen anything real yet. Apparently that was only half the story.

"So you charged in and opened fire." Toro mutters, remembering back. It was chaos. His father had no idea how much the Federalis lusted for his head on a pike, had literally no idea what they would do to wipe him out. He had intended on killing them quickly, but the hunters they had sent were wily. The agents went down pretty quickly, but reports came quickly that a woman was killing ten men before they even got a good bead on her. Hiring haphazardly from his own lower ranks, he had stacked the deck for himself with numbers, but the numbers game was being beaten by the skills racket. Peppermint White Ninja was a brilliant strategist and his troops were completely outclassed by three hunters. Toro and H.O. had holed themselves in the back of the station, a giant atrium surrounded in crystal, where they usually all met and had a good laugh over food and drink. Toro remembered his father shouting obscenities into the air, talking to his lieutenants over short-range. Telling people to fall back into a defensible pattern around the engineering torroid. Not that it was working. His men weren't listening, and Epic Death was slaughtering them as quickly as he saw them.

"So my father called his men to pull back. We were going to defend this spot, pull everyone into the arm and then disconnect it. This room has its own propulsion, we could get away and detonate the rest of the station long before anyone could escape."

"I was close, I had met up with Epic and Stardust. Epic was fighting H.O. and Stardust was cleaning up behind us." Pepper continues.

Sunshine is hiding behind the kitchen counter, looking over every inch of the room, as Pepper told her to, she hears a clanging noise in the spindle, vague, but audible. Her eyes dart for the door and she crunches down as close as she can, viewing the hexagonal opening avidly. In walks Stardust, gun drawn. Sunshine's eyes meet her's, for a moment they look each other over. Stardust looks at the main room, and Sunshine, against her own logic, holds up three fingers then points. Stardust nods and keeps moving.

"I was right behind you, stuck in a firefight and trapped in the engineering compartment. I called to you, asked for reinforcements so that I could join the fight. Get what was coming to me. But you refused to double back, said that you would handle H.O. and then it would be over. No need for me to get my hands dirty."

"But you came anyway." Stardust says as she walks into the room. Uninvited as always, pointing her gun at Corialis, looking Pepper up and down, sizing up her chances. Pepper smells a double cross, his hands are on his sword, Sunshine should have warned him, although anything funny from her would have stopped negotiations even earlier.

"I came down the main corridor just as H.O. pulled the plug on the station, one of his men pulled me into a side room as he saw me go by."

"Cirrhosis." Toro says, like he knew it all along.

"Yes, I gave him a mindwiping as a present for that. Set him up with his new life, not that he didn't squander the money I shunted his way. I got him a second shot as a racer, tried to help him as I could, but without being to obviously about it. He saved my life that day, got the both of us to an escape pod in the back of the head engineer's quarters. Took us six weeks to get to civilization. I had a lot to think about."

"So you blame us for your father's death?" Stardust says, gesturing with her gun slightly.

"I blame you for stealing my revenge, and for trying to kill me in the process. I blame everyone in this stupid on-going match of wits. The hunters and the hunted, everyone working in a cycle to perpetually kill and be killed for monetary gain."

"As if you are so clean and noble yourself? Making trillions upon trillions cashing in on your father's genius and the blood and sweat of your workers." Toro argues, unable to fully grasp how someone could possible hate him for something his father did so long ago. To fixate so blindly.

"Corialisana is a perfect utopia, not that I feel obligated to explain myself to you. A paradise of modern technology and social engineering, but to think how much more it could be with this." Corialis says, holding the gem over his head, coveting its splendor.

"But you know what that thing costs don't you?" Pepper says calmly, this is going dovetailed real fast.

"Of course, which is why I brought you here specifically. I brought you here to die for your sins, for the sins of your kind. As the four biggest sores on our collective conscious, I know that the jewel will kill us all when I make my final request, and I wanted it to be here. For whatever fate decides for us to take place here."

"Oh yeah, well you're going to need to figure something else out then." Epic says from above. Pepper's eyes dart up as does everyone else's, Epic bursts from the ceiling in a cloud of dust. Corialis shoots twice, missing barely, before Epic is on him. Cannata and Last jump quickly after, Cannata landing in a crouch, pointing her gun on Toro. Last lands in sort of a heap. Stardust shoots Cannata in the shoulder before the woman has any idea; her gun spins to the other side of the room.

"I want that thing." Stardust says bluntly. Epic throws Corialis left and Pepper goes forward to grab Cannata. Toro spins on his heels and takes a quick shot at Stardust. He misses as his aim was thrown by the motion; Stardust jumps backward and takes a defensive position behind desk. The room is round with one spoke leading to it. Several doors lead in various directions, most have a cavernous hallways which lead to airlocks which lead to stairs which lead to escape pods. The room itself is set up for a large dining hall, smaller rooms sectioned off for various games, other tables, and the kitchen.

Sunshine watches from behind Stardust, able to move one alcove along side, she tries to make for the relative calm of the center. To where Pepper and Cannata are. That is when she sees Last Chance ambling into the crossfire. Cursing under her breath she dashes out, grabs Last by the hand and forcefully pulls her out of the way, marching to the viewing room ahead. Epic and Corialis are already getting into it, and Last was ten seconds from exotic cheese status. Full of holes.

"Who are you working for you filthy trollop." Toro says, searching for Stardust behind the desk while looking for cover for himself.

"I'm working for myself, darling. Like I always have." Stardust laughs as she leaps over the desk, pommeling herself into a high misty flip aided by the low gravity, spraying the floor with bullets. Toro barely manages to pivot backward out of the way, tripping slightly on the edge of a grating but pushing off to follow the motion into a spin, landing in a low crouch. Toro shoots wildly at Stardust as he pulls a thin sword from his belt.

"I know you well. Enough to know that you are lying and telling the truth in the same breath." Toro grunts as he pushes a rising slash upward as Stardust lands. Stardust kicks the blade, jutting Toro off-stance as she lands roughly into a roll. Stardust pulls her short sword from her waist but remains low to the ground in wait. Toro is a fast swordsman, probably a third to herself, who is second to Epic in speed. That said, he is still extremely dangerous, especially in low gravity.

"You okay?" Pepper says.

"Walk it off. What now?" Cannata grumbles cocking her head towards Epic and Corialis. Their fight has already evolved into an acrobatic sword fight, which is moving a tad faster than Cannata is comfortable with. She tries rising from her back, but her shoulder throbs meniacally.

Pepper sort of shrugs, fully aware that he isn't part of this until something happens in one of the two fronts. Sunshine pulled Last off the field, which solves one problem, but Cannata getting shot keeps him out of both fights. Beyond that, everything is going exactly like he thought it would, down to the fight with Toro and Stardust. Gives him time to wonder what you would call this sort of thing, a shit storm? "Not really."

"What?" Cannata says, attempting to hoist herself up, but Pepper puts one hand on her chest to stay her.

"Oh. Sorry. Just getting too old, or soft. We wait for the right moment. Don't move your arm, your healing functions are offline remember."

"Right." Cannata grumbles.

Epic and Corialis are in a feedback loop. Epic does a flourishing strike, Corialis dodges by jumping off a nearby wall. Corialis lands off that jump into a wide stance and slices straight across, which Epic jumps over, hitting one of many low hanging pipes filled with various necessary gases, both noble and plebeian. Epic lands on one foot, and repeat cycle. Occasionally they burst into a bout of quick strikes and quicker parries, but Epic is thinking it's time for something unusual. This man in his obsession with this whole event imagined this very moment from every angle, for years, probably while planning his stupid crystal city. Place is where phallic references go to die. Anyway, this fucker has a very specific idea of how things are going to go, probably based on elaborate scenarios run with AIs set to act exactly like Epic, talk like him, probably fuck like him too.

Epic smirks. Corialis takes this as a moment to strike, and out of character, Epic let's him have a little piece, the blade grazing his ribs ever so barely, but Corialis had moved forward to strike, expecting that Epic would dodge, anticipating that only his second or third strike would connect, he stepped in too far on his first to maintain stance should he get a legitimate strike in. Epic pounds his palm into Corialis' side, knocking the man into a stumble, and then slicing a clean blade right through his stone holding hand. The hand, and the rock, fall to the left, slowly. Epic eyes it, and kicks the fucker football style, carrying it on the flat of his foot and flip-kicking it up and behind him. That out of the way, he can handle the rich guy. Let Pepper deal with magic gemstones.

Sunshine drags Last to the first place she finds that isn't being actively shot at. Last slaps her hand away, which Sunshine takes as an excuse to shove her over the largish sectional couch enclosing the largish alcove. Last hits her head on the back of the next row of couches. Some sort of stadium seating set-up for group meetings or sensivise parties. Sunshine turns her head to eye if they were followed, but everyone seems busy. Epic is fighting the gravsling guy, Pepper is talking swiftly to Cannata about something or other, and Toro and Stardust are to her right attacking each other all over. Last gulps and clambers over the couch, rolling over the side and landing hard on her shoulder rolling into the next row of couches.

"You bitch!"

"Still not over high school?"

"I hit my head."

"Oh. Right. Sorry about that."

"I'm sure you are." Last says sarcastically as she gets herself righted. Sunshine isn't even looking at her. Too focused on the violence, which Last begrudgingly understands. Sunshine turns her head slightly to Last.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Now or then. You just... If this has all taught me anything it is that we have to watch out for ourselves. Friends will help, but it comes down to you for yourself."

"You think so?"

"Probably not in times like this really." Sunshine laughs, and against herself, Last giggles too.

Just then an errant bit of flooring cuts through the space between them. Sunshine dives behind the couch, and Last crouches as low as she can get.

"It is still our job to keep ourselves alive." Last gasps. Sunshine nods in agreement.

"Why are you here?" Stardust asks.

"For the Jewel, obviously." Toro responds with a thrust of his blade, Stardust smoothly parries, keeping Toro talking to give her a second to catch breath. Also to fuck with him.

"And just as obvious you know that I wasn't talking about that."

"Why would I tell you?" Toro grunts as he lands a strong downward blow, Stardust is slightly staggered from blocking. He takes the moment to mark a strong horizontal strike, which Stardust flips backward to avoid, he catches the bottom of her right boot though, and she lands with one hand on the ground.

"I only need to use it once, you can have it if you sound like you have an interesting enough plan. I have no interest in most things, least of all money or power, and you have both. I want to know what you'll wish for." Stardust laughs as Toro jumps to land a finishing blow to her back. He forgets their location, which allows for much higher mobility, Stardust backhand springs nearly ten feet away from the strike. Toro's blade hits the floor with a loud scrape.

"I have no need to put myself at your mercy." Toro looks up defiantly. Stardust grins widely, dashing towards Toro as he attempts to reform stance.

"We'll see about that won't we?" Stardust glibly replies, jumping clean over Toro, pushing off the wall to his right and throwing her sword at his back leg as he attempts to follow her movement, she catches his pant leg which holds him still for just a moment, long enough for Stardust to see the dismemberment across the room. The gem launches toward her, over Pepper, she has one shot before Toro gets up and free. The jewel comes her way, she steps quickly onto Toro's back and jumps up, kicking the rock left hoping her new employer knows what to do next.

Toro bursts upward, slashing Stardust's left calf in the process, nothing too serious, but it makes her land in a roll. Now she has no weapon and a low level mobility problem. That bitch better hurry.

"You should peek."

"Not likely. You're the independent one. You do it."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know, but it's true."

"Hell. Okay, in three."

Both women peer over the sectional, but it is Last Chance who gets clocked in her skull by the fist-sized crystal. Luckily her traditional drug induced state has made her somewhat impervious to slight blunt force trauma. Her vision goes white for a moment as she slumps into a sitting position in the footspace between rows, but she quickly looks left and then right and realizes that the jewel is to her immediate left.

"What is that? Wait... It's that thing."

"Wha?" Last says in a daze.

"The Jewel. We have to do something."

"What does it do?" Last murmurs, shaking off a concussion.

"Oh, right. Truckee said it grants wishes. We have to dive into it."

"No World, dumbee."

"Oh."

Sunshine closes her eyes and curses, while Last attempts to suss out how it may work. Whispering wishes to it like that religious movie, rubbing it like in that lamp movie, kissing it like in that frog movie, singing to it like that softcore porn movie. Nothing. She wishes that she could use her eB to check the web for more information on how things like this typically are solved.

"Anything?"

"I don't think it likes me."

"Let me try." Sunshine says, touching the stone momentarily. Last quickly pulls it away, refusing to let Sunshine help. It is her turn to win. She wishes that they could just check the World for something on how you do this, which is when she notices that her vision has an open sensivise window. She has to dive into it, but she can't just go limp in front of Sunshine.

"It has a open line."

"Really."

"Yeah. I want to do it."

"Okay... You know what you're going to ask for?"

"A way home."

"Truckee made it sound tricky. Be very specific when you ask."

"Okay." Last smiles, Sunshine looks at the rock then at Last. Jealous. Finally. Last grins wide and then curls herself into a little ball to get started.

"Hurry."

"Yes, mom."

Last opens her eyes to see a giant wooden room, seamless dark wood surrounding her in a sort of amorphous shape. The floor and walls sit organically, flatish, but the structure is more of a squat oval than anything else. Areas are more and less translucent, allowing a subtle bluish light to filter through in places. Eery.

"Hello?"

"Yes?" Says a man's voice.

"Are you here?"

"As much as anyone."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"You came to me. Is this the reason?"

"No. Not really."

"I see."

"What are you?"

"I am beyond your understanding. You are holding a communication device which allows you to speak to me."

"Are you made of wood?"

"No. I am only here in a more limited aspect."

"Are you an elf then?"

"No, not that that line of reasoning is even logical. I am beyond caporal existence if that makes sense."

"A talking rock..."

"No. I come from a race that existed a long time ago in the physical world. A few of us left communication devices behind in the physical realm, sort of a guidepost to finding us for people adventurous enough to try."

"To try what?"

"To move forward."

"Where?" Last says, looking around. This place doesn't look like somewhere you would move to. Maybe a good wo or something, but it doesn't even have doors.

"Hooooh-kay. I'll hazard that you are not here to move beyond the physical then."

"I just want to go home and see Cirrhosis." Last feels like that is specific enough.

"I can do that for you." The voice sounds bored now. The lights seem to get dimmer.

"How?" Last says, tapping the walls. They sort of undulate when she touches them. Liquid wood?

"Probability. I can effect the likelihood of things happening, however probability is neutral. There is only so much of it, and it must even out."

"So..."

"This is why the others don't do things like this... Do you want to return to Selba no matter what it might cost?"

"I guess so. Yes, I do. I want to see Cirrhosis, and I want this fighting to stop. If you can do that I'll be very happy."

"Acceptable. Brace yourself, I cannot guarantee anything once it starts."

With that the line ends and the rock gets very hot, Last throws it down as she hears a very loud noise from the main room, and some yelling.

"What is it?"

"I think the station is moving." Sunshine murmurs, she can't see a lot from where they are. "What did you wish for?"

"To go home."

"This is probably not good." Sunshine says apprehensively. Not that she would have wished differently.

"What the fuck?" Pepper yells, the station is lurching forward angrily, moving from its position near Hess, moving very quickly. Pepper saw the Jewel of the Ancients go overhead, and saw Stardust kick it into the nearest meeting theater, where he was pretty sure the girls are hiding. Judging from the action outside, he can assume an escape was the wish, however that level of fortune must have cost significant misfortune.

Pepper deactivates his haze generator to allow himself access to long range scanners, risking the implications to the two ongoing skirmishes. They are heading for the LaGrange. Pepper quickly dives through the available schematics for the station. H.O.'s station was rebuilt exactly to spec, which means spec of several years ago when this sort of thing was not exactly common. Given current structural integrity the ship isn't likely to survive a jump without venting their current location to space, but a move to the central pivot point should be survivable, however this ship doesn't have FTL capabilities. It needs an old timey jump gate used to move it into place after construction and in emergencies, technology that has been out of use for decades, something only available in one place in a powered up state.

"He thought of everything didn't he." Pepper mutters, picking up Cannata.

"What do you mean?"

"He's made our escape route into a one-way-trip to killing a whole lot of people." Pepper grunts, sending LTs to Stardust and Epic as he runs with Cannata towards the main entrance, by his calculations they have about four minutes to get off this station and hopefully break its drive before it appears somewhere else. If only he had a way to contact someone on the other side in time, get them to do something, but he doubts that even that would be so easy. There are still three pieces on the board that are unaccounted for.

"Sunshine! Last! We are out. Now!" He yells as he runs past them, trying not to look too worried. The room they are in has propulsion, if they can detach it...

Sunshine squats down and quickly finds the Jewel, that handled she grabs Last's wrist, who is still mesmerized by the forward facing windows, or that severed hand, and drags her for the doors. Time to go. No doggie bags for severed hands.

# <24.0>

Infotainment Advertasm

<Start>

Running out of steam right when you need it? Is your stamina just not what it used to be? Do you find yourself left behind the pack, unable to fulfill your carnal desires?

Full body modification is an option, but perhaps there is another, cheaper, but still quite effective way. Bone Amplification hardware can be installed in just a manner of days, with rehabilitation in our of our state-of-the-art clinics as simple as walking to the bank. Our surgeons remove the marrow from one or both of your legs, replacing it with high capacity batteries which are then hooked to your viral micromachine matrix, these marvels can even produce additional microbes directly, helping to regulate levels without pricey clinic fees.

No more will you need to deactivate sensor sweeps, or plug into bulky external power supplies to restore power to internal systems. Bone Amps are a must have for anyone running full sensor diving boards remotely without external hardware, or using the most high tech medical servitor suites on the market, and will help you to continue at the highest levels of physical and electronic activity far beyond your wildest expectations. See our wos in all major cities for more information and for a free consultation.

Bone Amps - Never run out of power again.

<End>

# <24.1>

Lap six goes, like all the laps before it. Cirrhosis hits six targets across, narrowly avoids getting a bolt to the ass twice, and keeps in a steady third. Paris has been holding the top spot in the race, but their guy is a terrible shot and he's pushing his horse too hard. Isis is his real competition, sitting calmly in second, he's taking smooth shots, wasting nothing. Cirrhosis should be doing better, but his eyes keep drifting to the audience. Nothing bad has happened yet, and he knows that it will. Soon. Probably when they gate to Selba Station.

His horse whinnies timidly as he taps her gently with his heel, stiffening up to take a shot. He waits a moment for the rider in twelfth to move, and fires. Bulls.

# <24.2>

Cirrhosis is working hard, Truckee can tell that he is distracted though, he's giving A-game in a A+ sort of competition. He'll get at least second, but that is only because Paris is obviously not taking this seriously.

**"Char, you seeing anything out there?"** Truckee is sitting in a small press box on the podium stuck to the central pillar of the stadium. He can observe through several news feeds streaming from throughout the crowd on Torch via almost countless official and unofficial lines via ansible. At this point nothing appears out of the ordinary, he has his eB scrubbing faces for anyone important. Nothing either.

"No. Nothing near the locks, I have people scanning the crowd for anyone suspicious."

"Who?"

"Six guys from adgasms on 60th."

**"Hell. I'm going to send you a few pictures, see if anyone has seen these people."** Truckee wishes they actually had a hunter on staff, but alas, he has to rely on baby lances and corporate shills. He pulls images for Sunshine, Stardust, Toro, and Vii Ariable. Never count a man out. He also had some pics of Agent Lipservice that Pepper had given him, and both looks for Iced Mocha. Truckee is unsure the last time he spent this long passing around pictures that weren't going to be tabloid fodder in moments. That said, it may turn out that way anyhow depending on how chips fall.

"Why did you send me a picture of Sunshine Apocalypse?"

"She's off-station, so if you see her."

"She's in the press boxes, I let her in myself. She's with some GovNet agent in the President's box."

**"Shit. I'm heading there now, beef security in the boxes. That woman is a robot dupe."** The guy is the real problem though, Pepper is sure he's either the mastermind or someone very close to it. That just leads Code Name to find, as usual.

"Yes, ma'am."

Truckee rushes to the elevator behind his podium, the race still has about sixty minutes left at this point. Plenty of time to get killed before he has to make the final announcements, give out prizes, etc. The elevator is actually a gravlifter with a railing, so Truckee gets a good view of the VIP section while he descends. Built in front of the surrounding buildings, the semi-opaque line of small boxes are aglow with cameras pointing in and out. They form a solid wall on the bankers side of the plaza, only way in is through the Chinqi Building's lobby. There are supposed to be bomb and AI detectors there, but with Sunshine being on the payroll she used Char to skip the line. Helps to have GovNet in tow, as her bounty was only dropped six hours ago.

Truckee gets to the base of the pillar, his platform moves forward over the crowd, getting him a few flashbulbs before placing him gently in the pantry for the VIPs. Cooks are abuzz about who received the most outlandish demands with the least grease money. The winner gets everyone else to spit in their food. Truckee gets a few worried looks as he walks in on story time, but he waves them onward. Iichi from He's Just Not That Into You: Armageddon deserves it honestly. Kid acts like he was stillborn. All flat and jiggly.

The halls are filled with hangers on, busboys, personal assistants and mistresses. A waste of good recycled air mostly, but Truckee attempts to be cordial. Curtly so, but he has excuses today, as he technically should have stayed on stage the whole time anyway.

"Big. It's on. Apocalypse and Agent Lipservice are in VIP. I thought you were watching for this sort of thing?"

"I'm in their suite already!"

"Really?"

"Posing as the baby of the third seat for Cirrhosis' team!"

"I should remember who that is right?" Truckee says mostly to himself, a passing assistant holding no less than ten drinks in this two hands, just sort of nods and blinks his approval. The real question is, should he burst in? They are going to know him, probably be armed, and willing to take him out or at least blast hostages. Truckee is three doors down, standing by a woman screaming at someone aloud, and presumably over ansible. Or she's insane. Either is possible.

"Big, do you need me in there?"

"No. I got eyes! You need to watch the race, these two are a distraction."

"Fuck." Truckee mutters, nodding to the screaming woman and breaking into a run. These two are totally a diversion. There is no logical reason why two people, who are obviously working a cover, would just come out to a place with lots of cameras. They are there to pull Truckee from his post, but why? He needs to get his eyes on the crowd. Code could still be out there, and he's the one with weird powers.

# <24.3>

Cirrhosis holds his breath as a dull humming seems to permeate his chest. Glowing across the track as the jumpgate is opened on the track. One big gray lump of tubes and cylinders on the inside of the track begins spooling up, shooting various exotic energies to a similar object on the other side. The rumbling grows harsher, Cirrhosis manages to get two targets, even with the weird gravimetric wiggling, however he gets overzealous as they near the gate. His third shot misses the mark substantially and nicks the helmet of one of the racers fro S. United, the Sprawl team. Weird thing is, his helmet stays on, and the rider doesn't take it off. Nor does he knock the bolt out of the side of it either.

This is the moment that Cirrhosis realizes that because he wasn't here before the race, he didn't take part in the time trials. Normally this would disqualify him, but as he's the main draw, and ranked first in the division, he got through anyway. He would have done fine, everyone but the most sticklery of sticklers would even argue about it. Which they had, but the voices wanting to see who would win beat out the voices that wanted an easy win for whichever team they supported. Also the fucking race ends on Selba Station, so of course Selba's team has to be there. Regardless, all of this boils down to one thing. Neither he, nor Truckee for that matter, saw the other racers without their helmets on. So they could be literally anyone.

"Hell." Cirrhosis grunts, and whips the reigns slightly, the geneered horses used in these races all have wetwiring and respond to rider emotion. Any flicking of ropes and nudging of sides is more secondary to just telling the horse to hurry it up. This is why the Tigeran league even exists. Extremely limited animal cruelty. Bottom-line is, they need to get closer to that rider.

Cirrhosis triggers a few hack programs as he rounds the turn quickly, passing Isis and closing on Paris. He has to use some subversion programs because hacking other riders will get him disqualified. He does hesitate before dusting Isis's rider, just to be sure. It is definitely, definitely, Rory Mashmouth, their first seat. He'd recognize him anywhere.

Next up is Paris, he gets close easily, as the race is down to about three lengths at this point. Paris' rider should be Hodges Cuntmirth, the worst first seat in the league. His third and fourth got him here, everyone knows it, he'll get fourth if he doesn't stop sprinting the back half and sludging his aim. Cirrhosis has only met this guy twice, both times at shit industry parties. So he only knows him from shaking hands on the carpet. He actually has to dive him really quick and force query his eButler. Positive confirm, moving on.

"Truck, I think I noticed something fucking stupid that we did."

"Add it to my tab."

"We never vetted the fucking riders."

"Shit! I'll check with Char. Anything odd happen?"

"SU's guy got nicked by my shot, and he's keeping his helmet on. With the bolt."

**"Hold it."** Truckee LTs.

"Like we have a choice." Cirrhosis is at the hole. That is the easiest way to describe it. Ahead is a shimmering blue ring of energy, in its center is a platform trillions of miles away. The subtle smell of ozone fills his lungs, but Cirrhosis can already smell the damp air of Selba Station pouring out of the gate. He is second through after Paris, who seems to make it to the other-side intact. Cirrhosis still holds his breath as his horse runs through on to the ramp.

Cheering greets him as he makes it through. The actual movement between places is only noticeable in the queasy feeling he gets switching so rapidly between gravity-levels. Selba being quite a bit weaker than Torch. His horse doesn't seem to mind, but it takes them both a second to get used to the clear ramp leading them down to the new stadium in Crystal Plaza. Through the flashing of bulbs and bright lights Cirrhosis can see Truckee floating to the central pillar below him on some kind of platform. Floating like a reversed leaf in a forest of screaming people. Cirrhosis slows his horse, partly to catch his baring, partly to not waste energy, mostly because his target is about a turn behind him.

"Truck?"

"Fucking way. It's Jor. The President of Checktiza is riding for SU as a charity stunt."

"Corialis's cousin. Great. Anyone else I should watch for?"

"Apocalypse and Agent Lipservice are in VIP. Code Name is probably around here. I got pictures from Char, everyone else is traditional roster. Jor must be the ace."

"Or a sacrificial lamb for his cousin to use to deny involvement later."

"Or that."

Cirrhosis debates his plan, what to do with Jor. Knock him off his horse, spoiling his run? Kill him with a well placed bolt? What is the real plan, what could he possibly do to foil it from here? Cirrhosis calms his horse and take a couple of easy targets floating high as he makes his way down the last few descending laps, hoping inspiration will hit him before something else does.

# <24.4>

"Was this all your grand fucking plan was? Stick the three of us with some bullshit rap for throwing a suddenly existent space station into a crowd of people?"

"No. It was to end an era and start a new one. This would force GovNet and the Feds to listen to me, to stop allowing organized crime to just exist on its payroll with no repercussions for their actions whatsoever."

"That is bullshit and you know it. Lances clean the streets, Federalis watch the LaGrange, but it's up to the hunters to guard the space between that. There is no manageable way you could train and coordinate an official police force over that much terrain. The fear of the hunt is what makes the hunt so powerful. It would require twice, fuck, five times as many people to do what one hunter could do. You'd need free-" Epic looks at Corialis seriously all of the sudden. Corialis has a smile on his face, like the kind you get when your son learns to add fractions.

"Keep going." Relish for your hot dog?

"This is about fucking business? You dumb fuck, you are risking a station full of civvies for fucking rolling out a police force of robots?" Epic is livid, he takes it out on Corialis' severed hand, kicking it across the room. It is truly time to go, the station is about ten from the LaGrange. Pepper has been in the ship attempting to figure a way out of Last's wish.

"I have finally broken the wall down, a police force of Frees could truly make a sovereign space a reality. No more lawlessness between LaGranges, the Federalis could hold up to the stations, and GovNet could manage the rest. It is perfect, but to do it I need something to force people's hands. The romance of the hunt, the allure of vigilante justice, the sheer cost of throwing the first collection of Frees out into the unknown."

"Not to mention that using true AI is a crime against humanity in the Federation."

"That was something born of fear."

"It was something born of the fucking Z'arkadar told us they would kill our star if we abused slave AI labor." Older races had banded together to alert the humans, probably about an hundred years ago at this point, that fully AI constructs must be treated as citizens. Hence why most robots are illegal now, and why androids like Big have jobs. It isn't some sort of tree-hugging initiative, it was a commandment punishable by death.

"Frees aren't against the Coda if we pay them."

"Yeah, but making a police force that can only be staffed by Frees makes them indentured servants. That is only one stage different, and the Z'arkadar aren't known for their nuanced views on slavery."

"I need not explain myself to you, I only need you to understand that you die for a purpose." Cirrhosis says from the ground watching out the front window, so close now.

"Fucking die by yourself for whatever you want. I'm dust, this party has been played out for years." Epic grumbles, walking away from Corialis. His job of distracting him officially over. Pepper figured out how to detach the station from the room. He says that the room has it's own propulsion, so most likely it will still make the jump unless they figure out a quick fix to that too. Either way, it is time to go. Leave the crazy guy to his dreams of splendor.

# <24.5>

"So you asked it then?" Pepper asks Sunshine, after the dusts herself off. Her wish wasn't a very big one, but it did cause her chair to randomly collapse on her.

"The wish before Last's, before last... What the hell kind of name is that anyway?"

"Swallow a load." Last grumbles from her seat in the back.

"Whatever. The last wish was to see the Selba Tiger win the Race of the Ancients." Sunshine says moving back to her conversation with Pepper, who is smirking. Jerk.

"So we have two wishes pulling the station through the jumpgate in the Crystal Plaza specifically."

"Even if we do get the station broken apart it will probably just jump the room Corialis is in. He'll be able to play it off as the result of a grudge held by the three of us since his father's death on the same station." Stardust says as she ducks into the room, Last grits her teeth. Positive that Stardust got what she wanted from her. Stardust isn't taking their ship for some reason Last is unaware of, probably to torture her further.

"Hemming and hawing about it won't get this done. Was Epic behind you?"

"He still had something he wanted to talk to Corialis about. Did you figure out how to stop the station?"

"The plans for the station put its jump mechanism in the engineering section, which i had sabotaged with some radio explosives on my way into the station. Mostly because i thought Corialis might do the pendant thing again." Pepper says, holding his arm. Stardust looks out the window at the engineering section of the station, which is still visible from the docking spindle they are sharing, until it explodes.

"Isn't Epic still in there?" Last says hurridly.

"The room he was in has it's own propulsion, and the station itself is highly segmented, the nature of being built in parts as the original version was paid by multiple investors over the course of several decades."

"Before it became a hang out for gangs."

"Before that."

"You still could have given me a minute to walk up here, the fucking station rocked like an amusement park ride when you blew that shit." Epic grunts when he climbs in. He nods at Last, and makes a strange face at Stardust.

"You want to know why I am here?" Stardust giggles. Pepper and Epic share a look, Epic nods.

"This is at least mostly your fault you know." Epic starts.

"I kept Toro busy while you got the Jewel."

"You ensured that Corialis' plan would actually happen by being fucking reckless."

"I didn't even DO anything."

"You gave the rock to that fucking flatliner-no offense-knowing what she would do with it. Same as making the wish yourself." Last blushes and looks at her feet.

"I am under no responsibility to plan, coordinate, or otherwise dictate the actions of my employer. No matter how predictably fucktarded-full offense-they might be."

"You are a child."

"I am selfish and a bitch, but I am far from childish."

"Enough. Watching you two have a spat is enough to turn me off my lunch. We need to get that fucking room disabled before it makes the jump." Pepper interjects.

"What's that?" Last asks someone, everyone looks at her, and then where she is looking. Outside the window, several hundred small lights are blinking around the remains of the station. The room itself detaches from the station, pulling ahead as it sloughs off its heavy pupa. The lights appear to be spreading into a wide network. Stardust dives the station, and Pepper runs scans through the long-ranges as he detaches their ship from the docking spindle. Epic remains standing, Sunshine takes a new seat and straps in. Fully aware of how these things tend to go.

"Station deployed some sort of drone network. They don't appear to be connected to the station in any way."

"They are hot. I can't put a bead on their encryption. Top notch stuff."

"So it is safe to say that they aren't a part of the original design then?" Stardust adds, Epic gets into the pilots seat, considering what to say to Stardust. He considers flushing her out the airlock, but is stuck on how much everything is exactly like what she would do. He can't really fault her for being the woman he fell for, even if that woman has always been reprehensible.

"No. This could be his doing, even though it doesn't really mesh with the rest of his plan so far."

"You are overlooking someone." Stardust laughs at the men, narrow-sighted as always. Another ship undocks from the derelict station. A longer teardrop shaped vessel, something made for speed. And violence.

"Toro."

"Yes. They could easily have come from his ship."

"Yeah, but why? Does he really need to stop this from happening?"

"He stands to lose a good deal on the end of the hunt."

"It's revenge and you know it. Toro doesn't take being threatened well."

"I always admired his attitude."

"Well, admire his attitude when those things aren't surrounding us too." Pepper says through a grimace, short-ranges are picking several of the small round balls following behind them as well. He can't quite get a good visual on them though, the heat signatures are a dead giveaway. Gravlifters.

"He's going to either crush us or scramble the LaGrange." Epic shouts as the alarms start blaring. Epic gets a bit more forceful in strapping himself in, Stardust does the same. Sunshine closes her eyes as tightly as possible, sure that this is going to be the big one.

"So which side is he on?" Last adds from the back, being unusually astute.

"Fuck!" Pepper shouts, the ship starts losing speed. He's triggered the lifters, pushing their engine to fight against a heavy gravity field. He wants Corialis to himself, Toro's ship zips past them to intercept the flying room.

"I have eyes on him, we have some missles if-" Epic mutters, running through trajectories, attempting to judge for the fluctuating gravity well. He has about one solid shot, in probably ten seconds, should he decide to take it.

"Fire if you can. I doubt you could hit him if you wanted to."

"Why aren't you using some of your illegal tech?" Cannata says from a medical bench in the back, Last turns around to see her. She had forgot the injured woman was aboard.

"You showed her the good stuff, darling? Shouldn't you be saving yourself for your new girlfriend?" Stardust lays on with a heavy serving of sarcasm. Pepper looks at her with venom, mostly because he is embarrassed that he relied on parlor tricks and tipped his hand. He's never felt so old and useless, and he can tell Stardust senses it too.

"Weld it you fucking sociopath. Cannata, we are not going to use illegal technology to save anyone." He's not sure why she remembers that all of the sudden. He had wiped her after she agreed to join him, taken the gun back to his apartment too. Stardust seems a little too happy about this though. And how did she know that he had shown that to Cannata. Unless she hacked the woman at some point after coming on the ship. Bitch.

"Why?" Sunshine asks honestly, Pepper avoids eye contact with her. Stardust is eating it up.

"We get caught doing that, there could be serious repercussions."

"Oh and you thought that whipping it out at a random woman was less risky?"

"What is your deal?" Pepper shouts at her.

"You risk my life when you take ridiculous risks like that too, you know."

"Calculated risk. Also, since when did you actually care about your own safety?"

"Since never. I only care about having an interesting life while it happens, and dying in a fucking alien raid doesn't sound like a lot of fun. I don't want to wake up dead, Pepper. I want to die in a blaze of terror and laugh during every moment of it."

"Well sorry. But I didn't see any other way."

"For a strategist you sure have a lot to learn about thinking things through."

"She wouldn't have remembered if you hadn't hacked her."

"If you didn't want her to find out, then why didn't you permanently delete the information from her memory core?"

"I-fuck!" Pepper jerks the steering handle as he notices that they are being closed in on by Federalis. The fucking hornets nest that Stardust churned up when she arrived has finally pulled their heads out of their asses enough to notice that their is a very serious power play happening at the LaGrange. He gets four hails from various ships.

"I should-"

"Epic, take the fucking shot." If Toro and/or Epic doesn't crush that room before the Federalis decide to emp the gravlifter field, that room will make the jump.

Epic grits his teeth, running numbers quickly using his bone amps to maximize his processing power. The ship is in sights, he fires. The gravimetric fields are swaying on the heavy side, his shot has to travel in a decaying arch along the horizontal axis. Toro is firing small arms at the room, but it appears to have some sort of defensive barrier. Probably something the station needed for asteroids. Upon closer inspection, it appears to have a least some small arms of its own, but their shooting isn't really going to accomplish much. This is a time game, Toro trying to get his lifters in place to scrub the LaGrange before Corialis can get himself through it, or another zero net location.

Six missiles shot rapidly arch just as Epic intended them, catching closer and closer to the two fighters. The Feds are pinching in both directions, it is a moment game. Any time and-

"Iced. We're fucked." Pepper slams his hands on the console. The Federalis triggered an emp, frying long-range sensors. Stardust grimaces slightly, apparently she wanted him to make the jump, but she wanted also to follow him.

"What'll happen now?" Sunshine says with sadness in her voice. Pepper is trying to get the sensors back online, at least to see if Toro managed to get Corialis before the Federalis muck this further.

"Sucks to say, but that isn't up to us." Epic mutters.

# <25.0>

Hunter News Network

**Alert** \- Babydoll Judah Stardust

**Wanted** \- Dead or Alive

**Rank** \- S (Updated)

**Bounty** \- 500,000,000r

**Caller** \- Peoples Republic of Hess

**Call** \- Babydoll Judah Stardust is wanted for questioning involving the appearance of an unidentified satellite station appearing near Hess moments ago, just to pull away from the controlled space-network. Stardust also is wanted in the theft of a mining colony ship, as well as numerous previous incidents. She is to be considered highly dangerous and should not be approached by any hunter below A-Grade.

**Update** \- She is likely in the employ of one, Last Chance, a supermodel/actress from Selba Prime. Additional persons are unknown, but likely. Take extreme caution.

**Last Seen** \- Hess Station. 10 minutes ago

**Deliver to** \- Closest Federali Installation

# <25.1>

Truckee steps back on to his viewing platform, scanning the crowd, looking for something that he would have been 'pulled away' to be kept from seeing. Not that that makes any sense.

"Anything down there?"

" **No. Jor pulled his helmet off just a minute ago. He is either not afraid that I'll find him, or he thinks I already have. I've been running through the other racers, but they all seem clean."**

Truckee eyes the match, perhaps his feeds have something that Cirrhosis isn't seeing from his angle. In his left eye he has the list of racers, in his right he pulls windows for each rider from various sources in the crowd, telling his eB to switch viewers if the rider moves out of range. Suddenly.

"There are only fifteen people on the track!"

**"Fuck! Why didn't I notice that?"** Hacking a few racers, making targets, and tailing Jor must be more than he can handle at once while doped up on painkillers. Not surprising, but this isn't the time to not be hard on one's self.

"Code can hack people's eyes in real time. Whoever is missing- Bychos. The Bychosi rider isn't on the track. Code is down there with you!"

"Hell." Cirrhosis eyes the track in front of him, switching his visual input across spectrums in an attempt to find Code. Then realizing his true retardation, he promptly cuts all enhancements and connections. Which makes his side hurt like a bitch, but he can see Code ahead of him about eight lengths or so, but across in the far lane. He concentrates as he turns his enhancements on, feeling the drugs flowing heavily into his veins, he marks the area Code was in and uses multispectrum analysis to attempt to find some sort of tracking mechanism. Nothing registered, he instead focuses on the disturbances to the track's surface. The vibration caused by his horse's movement is plenty, and not easily reduced. It isn't a great marker, but it allows Cirrhosis to take a few shots while his eB sets up a subroutine to follow them.

"He's shadowing behind Jor. Whatever they have planned, they have to do it together."

"What could two people with crossbows do in front of this many people that would be worth all of this trouble?"

"Got me." Cirrhosis mutters, shooting four targets as he clears the corner. In his vision is the central pillar, which he has to aim around to make points. Something is off in its pattern, it's speeding up. Cirrhosis looks up to the top, barely visible with the lights in the plaza, the spiraling ramp they came down a few minutes ago, but-

**"Shit! The gate! Something is coming through the motherfucking jumpgate!"** Cirrhosis says, Truckee drops his drink and looks up. The smell of ions is there, the glow of the pillar is growing steadily higher. This isn't good. If anything large comes through the dispersion of exotics could kill anyone without proper shielding, which is really only the beginning. If this is the plan, whatever comes through might fucking explode. Truckee has to think fast, the time a gate like this takes to charge and spit out its contents is less than a minute. The gate is still alive from the racers going through it, so something could appear as soon as the connection with the opposite gate catches. No time for a emergency evacuation. No time for much of anything.

"Big, who do you have in the stadium right now?"

"Sixteen lances, four in each section."

"I need them to put up some kind of barrier or something. The central pillar is going to spit something dangerous out and it might kill everyone."

"They can cover about forty people with personal shields. Forty a piece."

**"That isn't enough. Just do it, I need them in the stands immediately!"** Truckee screams as he takes his floating platform off the pillar. He isn't sure why, but whoever is doing this didn't actually want him dead. He was supposed to get stuck with Apocalypse in some argument in the President's suite...

"Cirrhosis. I can't get enough people to safety, is there anything you can think of?"

Cirrhosis thinks of how someone would foil a giant explosion. Massive shields? Those aren't really available, personal shielding, but anything that major would have to micro-tech far beyond what humans are capable of. Cirrhosis has an idea, but he has to peel his eyes on the crowd. Looking for aliens.

"I have an idea. Do you have anyone on staff with any weapons?"

"I have a full kitchen?"

"No good. Okay. I'll handle this, just promise you'll exonerate me after it's all over."

"What?"

Cirrhosis shoots Jor Asukta in the shoulder, throwing his balance, he falls off the horse and hits the outer wall. Cirrhosis makes a show of it, aiming and firing. The crowd erupts. He takes aim again, he sees three Z'arkadar about six rows back. His aim will have to be an arch, over the clear guardian wall. He shoots, and luckily misses. The point being, the Z'arkadar are telekinetic and have access to technology illegal in human hands. He hopes that by drawing their attention upward-

# <25.2>

The jumpgate opens, ions shooting out in a strong jet. The Z'arkadar throw up shields, as do several other higher races, and the androids in the audience. A strong wind blows, and the more perceptive in the crowd begin to scream and run, not that they will have enough time to handle that.

Truckee about loses balance on his board as he dives it down. He hacked the servitor running its limited functionality, swooping towards the track as hard and fast as it will go. The electromagnetic disturbance throws off connectivity, but short range is fine.

"President! Get down!" Apocalypse yells, diving for the President of Selba. Agent Lipservice throws up a barrier around the front of the booth. Big is completely confused, but takes the time to run encrypted instructions to his comrades all around the stadium. Everything is happening, quickly.

The ship, as it is, arrives in several chunks with fire blasting in a plume from the jumpgate. Exotic particles light banners on fire, and the shockwave detonates the windows in the buildings surrounding the stadium. Glass showers the spectators as they attempt to flee down the stairs, and across the bleachers. Escape routes are clogged with people and reporters covering the carnage.

Truckee pushes his platform to maximum output, but risks losing his footing in the process. Just a little more.

Cirrhosis expected to be killed instantly for firing on the aliens, but instead gets knocked from his horse by Code Name. The man bowls him to the ground, which knocks the wind out of Cirrhosis and re-cracks some of his ribs.

"Fucking shit. What the hell did you do that for?"

"Payback."

"For what?"

"Some people very high up the food chain owe you a lot for what you've done. You are to be the key to his future."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Just stay down." Code yells, the second stage of the entry occurring overhead. Metal pillars shoot through, wedging themselves in buildings, and bouncing off shields. The stadium to the right of Cirrhosis is being covered in shrapnel, but the fire and radiation are buffeting both sides equally. The sound of people screaming is irrationally loud, and the shit falling all over the track isn't helping. The speed that the ship was going, far too fast for a rational jump, is giving unreasonable kinetic energy to the bits and bobs that are raining out of the portal. About three feet to Cirrhosis' right a desk chair wedges itself six inches into the crystalline floor.

Truckee makes it to the ground, landing a few yards from Cirrhosis and Code. Truckee wishes that he had some kind of weapon on him, he looks in both directions, seeing a bit of railing wedged in the ground he pulls it free, stumbling backward when it gives. He knows that he will have exactly one shot, so he takes it running.

"Cirrhosis!"

"Truckee?"

"What?"

Clang!

Big pulls a gun on Agent Lipservice, unsure as to what other action would be logical in this situation. Signs point to this being the Agent's fault, and don't even corroborate that he is even a real agent.

"Sir, you are under arrest for suspected terrorism!"

"Oh, really? I think that I am doing the opposite of that right now, child."

"What?"

"Play your cards right and you can be part of the new world order too." He says, as a large chunk of a crystal television scrapes across his barrier.

"Oh, oh hell. Did I kill him?" Truckee says mostly to himself. It is rather loud.

"I don't think so. I think he was trying to protect me though." Cirrhosis says, dusting himself off.

"Oh, sorry."

"No big deal, that guy deserved it after all this shit." Cirrhosis yells, and then shoves Truckee to the ground. A group of overhead panels wedges itself like throwing stars into the ground near their previous location. Cirrhosis laughs as he helps Truckee up.

"We need to run away."

"Definitely."

The boys make a break for the stairs below the jumpgate, which lead to the waterways underneath the stadium. While running towards the danger is generally ill-advised, the plaza seems to be holding it's own against the onslaught. Meaning, that hiding underneath it is probably the best choice they have. This means running away from debris, but towards fire. Truckee keeps his eyes forward, while Cirrhosis is looking up. The fire isn't stopping, as spaceships have lots of flammable goods, but the junk seems to have stopped. World access is still largely scrambled, but Cirrhosis can still run vector analysis on the meteorites and keeps correcting Truckee's sprinting.

"Left!"

"Shut up!"

"More left!"

"Still shut up!" Truckee yells back, following directions and avoiding a couch cushion that bounces off the ground and back into the air about sixty feet before coming down a second time.

It would be beautiful, if in a violent way, if there wasn't so much screaming in the background. Elaborate flame patterns curl over the buildings, fire erupts from windows and carries itself along vines and trees running through nearby streets. Using his advanced spectrums, even more elaborate carnage patterns itself from the geyser in the center of the plaza and strobes outward coating everything in particles from another galaxy.

The stairs are ahead, but it has a rather large chunk of wall blocking it for the most part, which also tends to keep people in. Cirrhosis reaches the thing first, running around the stairwell quickly once to check it out. Only one way.

"The airvent system of this chunk appears intact, if we climb down that we should hit the stairs below."

"What if they are collapsed or something?"

"There's water down there." And a restaurant. But who's counting?

"Alright. Whatever, let's just do it already." Truckee yells, getting tired of complaining every time something is life threatening. He scrambles up the piece of wall, looks inside, seeing nothing but smoke, and jumps in. Cirrhosis grits his teeth. Not hearing any screams, or really anything other than explosions, he follows after.

Cirrhosis lands on Truckee about four feet from the bottom of the debris. He is pretty sure that he broke Truckee's left arm. He gets up as gingerly as possible and sits on the stair above.

"Fuck. You alright?" Cirrhosis manages to cough out, his personal health meters are all blinking various things in his vision. He turns off the alerts, and checks on Truckee. Truckee is moaning, which means he's alive.

"This party sucks." Truckee yelps between coughing fits.

"Tell me about it." Cirrhosis tries to right himself, the junk above them makes an awkward metal grinding sound, and he takes that as a queue to get moving again. Cirrhosis gingerly lifts Truckee to his feet, and they take to the stairs as quickly as their bodies allow.

The overheads finally start throwing down flame retardant foam, water being a commodity on an inclosed station. The foam is good for the fires, but it builds up over the shields people are hidng under, obscuring their view of potential threats from above. It is also piling on the overhead crystal, making eyeing any potential issues difficult as well.

"This was it?" Truckee says through grunts and moans. Four more stairs. Then they just need to tread water or something. All the boats are long gone, people have evacuated the area for the surrounding tunnels. Nobody needs to rubberneck that badly.

"I guess." Cirrhosis says as they reach the landing, he looks in all directions, only good place to hide is the restaurant, which is on sort of an artificial isthmus under the pillar. He gets Truckee to wade over there with him, and he eases the injured man over the counter.

"My race devolved down to this." Truckee says, falling in a heap to the floor, more or less sitting. Cirrhosis grabs a bottle of whiskey from the bar, takes a hearty swig and passes it to Truckee. Truckee is almost moved to tears by the kindness, or the pain, Cirrhosis isn't quite sure.

"You asked the Jewel to be famous right?"

"You honestly are trying to blame me for this shit?"

"No. I just think it is funny that even when someone else uses it, it can't counter itself. It is an odd rule, don't you think?"

They pass the bottle a couple times. Thinking.

"Fuck." Truckee says with his arms crossed over his knees, his head down.

"You're going to have to do so many interviews after this."

"That was what I was just thinking. The idea makes me sick."

"I think that's the smell of that foam." Cirrhosis points to the ceiling. There are leaks, some of the foam, and bits and pieces of wreckage, are falling through to hail onto the lake below. It is unnerving to watch people fleeing, fires burning, from this vantage. He uses his enhancements to check for structural issues. Just in case.

"Or that. Any news?" Truckee mumbles, either drunk or drugged or in shock or something. Cirrhosis is sure they need to move, but Truckee is inoperable. He checks his surroundings. A restaurant isn't known for having most things. He settles for items that float.

"Truckee, put on this lifevest."

"Orange clashes with my hair."

"Shut up." Cirrhosis grunts and snaps the vest against his will. With that on, he grabs the folding table they used for cutting and breaks off the legs. All the while watching the cracks in the ceiling get more and more pronounced.

"Oh shit. You see that?" Truckee bumbles.

"We gotta go now, buddy. Come on." Cirrhosis grunts as he throws the table over the side of the bar. His ribs are in serious pain. He half lifts Truckee and Truckee sort of rolls and drops over into the water. Which is luckily only about six inches deep near the bar. Cirrhosis manages to finagle Truckee onto the table, and pushes the raft deeper into the water, Truckee yelps when Cirrhosis jumps in after him, at act as propulsion. They have maybe two minutes to get to a side road before all of this shit starts falling on them. Cirrhosis turns to see Code Name behind them.

"Oh shit."

"I get that a lot." Code says with a weird look on his face.

"Who is that?" Truckee gurgles, half awake.

"The guy who stole your thing, hold on." Cirrhosis says, pushing Truckee once with everything he has. Truckee gets to drifting a little in the general direction of a tunnel. It will take him hours to get there if Cirrhosis doesn't do something about it. About a couple of its.

"What do you want?"

"I want to get the fuck out of here. I don't get to do what I want very frequently anymore."

"Who are you?" Cirrhosis says squinting at Code, unable to turn his functions off as he would literally pass-out almost instantly from various injuries. That said, he can't trust his eyes, but he knows that Code isn't like this. Code is a junkie. He walks back towards the bar, not sitting, but making sideways glances to various glasses and knives.

"An interested party."

"Interested in me specifically." Cirrhosis says through gritted teeth.

"I have been told to care for you like you were my new boss."

"I don't recall being in charge of you, even back then."

"Not who I seem, remember?"

"I was talking about a long time ago."

"Oh, you are smarter than I thought." Smirk appearing on his face, which subtly changes. They really do look rather similar, Code is just a bit younger.

"Stephen Corialis." Cirrhosis says, letting the words settle in the air as his eyes dart about the bar area, looking for something blunt. The ceiling is making more unfortunate noises.

"I am saddened to be here and not there." Corialis says, looking and pointing up at the mess he made. Wait..

"There are more than one of you?"

"Yes."

"Androids... or..." Jewel, mixed with a general disregard for laws. Clones?

"A person of a certain stature can have things others are not allowed."

"Non-destructive cloning is against both GovNet and Coda." Another edict from the Federation. That said, religious leaders had already beat the Federation to that particular punch. It had been illegal on Earth before Jupiter had its first station colonized. Said, Cirrhosis remembers Code from years ago. Was he always a clone, or switched out, or...

"You didn't even age this body normally did you?"

"Of course not. I needed this to be perfect. I planted a faux personality into him, let him go about his business with a bit of... pruning... to his decisions. Then on his last rejuvenation, he got my case instead of his own."

"That must have taken years." Cirrhosis mutters under his breath. This guy is in-fucking-sane.

"A means to an end. Consider it a momentary lapse, a use of executive privilege during a time of martial law." Corialis says, waiving his hand in circles, imagining taking this conversation for hours, in circles.

"What do you want with me?" Cirrhosis decides that understanding this is just making it take longer. Truckee has drifted quite a bit out now.

"A new world order. I need someone to lead it."

"You come to me talking about order, but you are just stomping around killing everyone."

"A startling event is the only way to make quick and decisive change. I needed to disprove the Hunt using the Hunt itself to show its dangers."

"What does that have to do with me? With Truckee? With all the rest?"

"There are certain prices that needed to be paid as well."

"So you just decide what justice is? Who gets it?"

"When it comes to that day. Yes. If you could remember you would understand."

"I really don't think so."

"It is not so different from what happened to you back then. To your lover." Corialis' voice hangs on the last word, but he seems sad somehow. Cirrhosis' eyes fill with rage.

"Where the fuck do you get off?!" Cirrhosis says, grabbing a nearby chair to hit Corialis across the face. Corialis ducks, hooking his foot into Cirrhosis, who falls forward, but catches his balance before tumbling.

"I do not want to fight you. I want to propose something to you."

"Generally you do that on one knee." Cirrhosis says taking a second slash at Corialis quickly, the chair coming from below, legs first in an arch. Corialis blocks right but stumbles into the water, Cirrhosis takes this moment to twist the chair on Corialis' wrist, kicking the man in the chest and pushing the chair up swiftly at the same time. Crack.

Cirrhosis stumbles to a stop, throwing the chair away, mostly because he was afraid he would be unable to block it if it were used against him. Corialis falls backward, clenching his wrist and landing on his ass in shin-deep water.

"More like it. Now, what the fuck do you want with me?"

"You saved me back then. You must know that." Corialis says through a hiss.

"That was a long time ago. I was a different person, most likely."

"No, you were exactly like this."

Cirrhosis laughs at that. A hearty chuckle as the plaza burns. His eyes are watering. It is getting pretty smokey down here.

"I want you to lead the new branch of the Federalis." Corialis finally blurts out, his eyes glazing with downer programs as various subservitors go to fixing his wrist. Cirrhosis laughs harder at that, hands on thighs level.

"You want me to what?"

"This whole thing. To end the Hunt, but something has to take over in its place. You cannot leave the emptiness of space to itself. Someone must patrol the abyss. The old races don't care about human affairs, GovNet and the Federalis have given up ages ago. The people need something else."

"And that is what exactly?"

"An army of Frees controlled by a human. A human with a strong sense of loyalty and a firm eye for justice."

"What am I a fucking movie poster?" Cirrhosis squints hard. Is this guy fucking serious? Yet, everything to this point, even his being in the race, firing upon the Z'arkadar to get them to save everyone. He wouldn't have thought to do that if Corialis hadn't infiltrated the race. He wouldn't have been ready to fire in time.

"You are getting it now. All of this, sure there were asides for my own petty needs, but this was to put you in a particular place at a particular time. Then when we come out of here together.."

"I am your general. The smiling hero of the people, at cee at cee." Cirrhosis mulls through it.

"We can do it together. The people will never trust me, but you, they love you."

"And you get all the profit."

"If this is about your debt." Corialis says, putting his good hand on Cirrhosis' shoulder.

"I appreciate your concern, but I really must be going."

"I want this to be consensual, but it doesn't have to be." Corialis says clenching the shoulder. Cirrhosis grins, grabbing Corialis' wrist and pushing back with both legs as hard as he can. Assisted by slightly lower gravity, he lands them both into the water, as he rapidly turns to land on top of Corialis. Fighting dirty isn't glamorous, but it does get things done. They land with Cirrhosis' knee in Corialis' chest. Holding the other man underwater.

"I was waiting for you to grab me. I couldn't guarantee where you were until i could feel your slimy hands on me." Cirrhosis says, mostly to himself. Corialis is attempting to develop gills currently, thrashing a bit, but unable to move out. Cirrhosis is a professional athlete, which is a bit more of a cardio routine than being a business man. That said, Cirrhosis is living on borrowed time, his stitches are open and he is losing blood. His eyes are filled with tears from smoke, from pain, and red icons threatening to suffocate what little visual real estate left over.

He grabs Corialis by both shoulders, straddling him, then slams him into the tiles below. Once. Then twice, just for good measure. The struggling stops. Cirrhosis lugs the fucker up to the bar and throws him over the side with the last of his will. He doesn't come up.

"If you survive, remember to forget about me. We will just have to both wait and see what happens with all this. Maybe you are right, maybe not. Either way, this party is played out." Cirrhosis says to himself, to Corialis, waiving a hand around, to whatever.

That handled, Cirrhosis sets his eyes on the raft. Maybe fifty feet away. He dives into the water, maybe earning a four from the judges. A slow crawl stroke gets him to the raft as the ceiling starts making much more discouraging groaning and creaking noises. The screaming from above is getting worse, which is probably not great either. Bits of fire are falling on the water more often. Any time now.

"You okay back there? Cold?" Truckee says as he hears Cirrhosis splash up and grab the table, shoving as best he can.

"Shut up. Just look above us. Can you tell me if anything is falling down yet?"

"Yet? We expecting something?"

"Yeah. Giant piece of ten foot thick crystal."

"Oh." Truckee gurgles. Cirrhosis kicks as hard as he can, but his legs are on fire, and his sides feel like they are rupturing blood, as they probably are. The water is frigid, and their is no real tidal force to help him along. The opening to the nearest section is maybe twenty yards away, but it feels like miles.

"It's falling." Truckee grunts. Cirrhosis can only barely hear him over his own splashing, but he manages to get an eye above, and he sees chunks falling. Not big ones yet, but a four foot chunk of solid crystal falling two stories onto your head is plenty to kill a man.

The water is getting choppy, Cirrhosis feels like he is going to black out. Truckee is sliding around on the table, he isn't holding on anymore. Cirrhosis tries to grab his foot with his left, while pushing the raft more with his right. Everything is water, and grunting, and then Cirrhosis swears he sees that submarine from before. The one made of glass, but he just assumes that it is his death coming for him. Finally. And he accepts it willingly.

# <26.0>

Hunter News Network

**Alert** \- Toro Abobo

**Wanted** \- Alive

**Rank** \- S

**Bounty** \- 410,000,000r

**Caller** \- Unassigned

**Call** \- Toro Abobo is wanted for unauthorized use of gravlifter technology in an assault on a LaGrange Station. He is also wanted for questioning on several mysterious disappearances, and in conjunction with an ongoing investigation into the workings of his company's holdings on several planets. His involvement in the attack on Selba Station is unknown, but he is to be considered highly dangerous and should not be approached by hunters below A-Grade.

**Last Seen** \- Hess LaGrange Station. 10 hours ago

**Deliver to** \- Closest Federali Installation

# <26.1>

"I don't get it."

"What's not to 'get'? You were used in an elaborate scheme to impose android police over the entirety of the known universe as part of a more pointed plan to get back at hunters in particular, but us three in general." Pepper laughs, Truckee doesn't think it's funny. Neither does the Board. They want explanations on why he seemed to know what was going to happen, on where he was while the yellow tag was on his head, and then there's the Cirrhosis shooting Jor quite publicly during the race. Luckily Jor survived, but he isn't talking about any involvement he might have had.

"But why me?"

"Corialis knew about your last wish, and also about the fickle nature of the process. He knew that if he wished for something to end the Hunt, that it would do something rash and unproductive in relation to his true goal. He figured a way to piggyback his wish onto yours, thereby making a playable solution."

"What?"

"You were his patsy because he knew the result would also make you more famous, thereby keeping in line with the current narrative."

"Yeah, well I'm not into this whole thing. I have to give this press conference AND I am expected to meet with the head of security for the Federalis stationed on Selba Station. He expects answers from me, but we have zero proof of any of this."

"Well, that sucks for you man." Epic chimes in.

"Your bedside manner fucking blows flatulent ass."

"Dock my pay." Epic shrugs.

"I just thought I'd be a hero after all of this." Truckee grumbles.

"Didn't we all. After everything, I just don't expect anything, but to get drilled in each hole, but rhythmically." Pepper mutters despondently.

"Don't knock it til you try it." Stardust giggles from the doorway. Pepper looks up at her with disgust, he is just so very tired of that woman.

"Either way. We have to come up with something to say to those people. I have fifteen minutes until my sensivise interview."

"Simple. You blame Vii Ariable. He's dead, so there is nothing to worry about. He shot a train with a rocket. A train that you four were on. There's evidence of that, evidence of the fight on Checktiza. The satellite was completely hacked out of visual, no way for anyone to know who might be involved." Stardust says, making a circle with her finger. Obviously bored. Pepper grits his teeth, occasionally her recklessness is completely correct.

"I hate when you are right."

"That sentence is three words too long, but I'll take it anyway. Say hi to your girlfriend for me." Stardust laughs, leaving the room. Epic looks at Pepper for a moment, claps Truckee on the shoulder, and goes after Stardust.

"That woman is an amazing bitch."

"Tell me about it."

"We owe her now don't we."

"Yeah, that isn't going to end well, let me tell you."

# <26.2>

Arturis Central Kigh Nightly News

**Reporter:** Vi Brooks

<Start>

V: Truckee! Truckee! Vi Brooks here, I have a question.

T: Hopefully I have an answer. What can I do for you?

V: The race. What was that?

T: What a vague question.. Care to be specific about a particular piece of that nightmare?

V: I can't wrap my head around what occurred there, Truckee. It seems like you had something to do with what happened there.

T: I was running the race, of course I was involved.

V: That is obviously not what I was referring to.

T: I as the leader of T-Net's media empire, I have fingers in all portions of these types of things. I had security in all areas of both stadiums, so of course I was made aware of certain... situations, perhaps before the public.

V: Before the lances?

T: Actually I had heard a few nasty plans, which I took semi-seriously. I contacted some local lances and got them into communication with me, with my security, and we took precautions.

V: Luckily.

T: Very much so.

V: One more thing.

T: Sure.

V: Cirrhosis Induction. He fired on the crowd, before the attack, before anyone with the appropriate w-blockers set would ever know of an issue. I have sources that place you on a flight with Cirrhosis back from Checktiza, where several sources relate that he was involved in a mob-war that resulted in the destruction of several city-blocks.

T: Those events were in two different cities, Ms. Brooks.

V: They were nearly simultaneous.

T: Are you accusing me of being multiple now?

V: Don't confuse my question with an attack. What Cirrhosis did saved lives. He is hero, and not a single person would argue with that. What I would like to know, is what connection is there between you two? Was he cheating in the race?

T: As I told you, I was alerted of the possibility of an attack. I made decisions, while not in line with the laws and traditions of the Tusk League, were made in an attempt to protect my racers and the thousands of spectators. I will never apologize for anything I ever did, and this is no exception.

V: So he was cheating?

T: He was connected to me for the purposes of relaying emergency information only. Trust, I am no help in a foot race.

V: But that isn't the whole story is it?

T: Almost. Almost it is.

<End>

# <26.3>

"Cirrhosis!"

"Last." Cirrhosis says through a fit of coughs. He took a bit too much radiation, a heavy beating, and some shards of space station to the leg. The hospitals on Selba Station are full to the brim, so Truckee and Cirrhosis ended up in a impromptu triage unit in the sports training facility built for the race. Even so Cirrhosis is sharing the room with six others, the racers from the other systems.

Last arrived with Epic and Pepper about six hours after the explosions. Unlike Truckee, he regained consciousness shortly after their arrival. Not that he has any idea how they got here, last he remembers they were either drowning or getting killed by falling plaza, maybe shot by Corialis, regardless, he has already done four interviews for the major networks. Luckily, his involvement is only speculatory, he only acted after the gate opened. Nobody knows what happened under the Plaza. Truckee coming to his aid is the only real question, but that was explained because Truckee was protecting the main concern of his biggest advertiser. Cirrhosis noted in his LJ that he has to pay a special visit to the Captain for providing that talking point.

"I got here as soon as I could." Last mutters, looking at the ground. Put off by seeing all the tubes and fluids going in and out of Cirrhosis. He orders the bed to incline for him, and winces as it rises. He tries to put on a normal face for Last, who is obviously not a hospital person.

"Yeah? So did I." Cirrhosis laughs, sending a shooting pain up his left side.

"The guys are saying this is all some weird plan to kill all the hunters." Last says, sitting on Cirrhosis' bed.

"I doubt that was it." Cirrhosis is sure that Last is right, but he doesn't want her talking conspiracy around all of these people. This is a later conversation. With many beers.

"Your old girlfriend. She got hurt pretty badly."

"Cannata? Oh, that girl will bounce back soon enough." Cirrhosis says with a smile. Cannata is probably already back on Torch, cleaning up the mess there. Destiny's involvement with the imposter in the race is well known, and most people on the net think that Code was attempting to kill Cirrhosis for his warning the crowd about the gate opening. She is going to have to play this all very carefully if she doesn't want everything she's been building to go up in smoke.

"Jor is doing well. He should be out of surgery within the hour."

"That's good." Cirrhosis mutters. Now there is a real mystery. What the hell was Jor, Stephen Corialis' cousin, doing there? If everything had gone flawlessly, he would have been killed. As it is, he ended up hiding near the north side barrier under his horse, expecting further attacks from Cirrhosis. A broken ankle and a shallow crossbow wound are all he walked away with. This is going to be the big thing Cirrhosis will have to explain to the police. Why did he shoot the President of Checktiza? He can't really tell them he was chasing a phantom eye-hacker who was really a clone of Stephen Corialis in disguise as a hacker in disguise as the racer from Bychos.

"You awake?"

"Cannata- I"

"Just shut up and let me talk."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I wanted to thank you for getting me involved."

"What?"

"This cluster fuck has shown me a lot of things about myself and my organization, which need to be taken account for. I can't just allow some simpleton to run the gang and expect that I can adequately manipulate it from the sidelines."

"Right. So what now?"

"As a favor, I hacked into T-Net's memory core for you. I also planted evidence that Code was the expected buyer of the Jewel in the Checktiza auction, had to hack a few eyes of the staff there. The buyers all seemed to evaporate after the auction."

"There was something weird about them."

"They were likely all paid actors, or low-level gang members working under order."

"So you made the fake sale look ligit?"

"As much as that can be done. It'll work if they don't press it too hard."

"If they do?"

"His noted presence in the original attack on T-Net Tower should close that loop."

"How did he get out of there?"

"Eye hack as usual. You look ridiculous in the video, peering out the window when he is standing right in front of you."

"Great."

"Consider it payment for my services."

"What?"

"And Cirrhosis?"

"Yeah?"

"Your girlfriend is basically brain-dead."

"I know." Cirrhosis says, grabbing Last's hand. She must be checking her messages, she is looking off into space. Far away from here. Good thought for sure.

"What?" And she's back. She blinks at him like she just woke up.

"Nothing." Cirrhosis smiles.

# <26.4>

LiveText To: Epic Death

LiveText From: Unknown

I'm frigid right now. You need to listen clearly. The bull is going home, I am running a second barn right now, but it is unusually calm in the farm right now. Bees aren't buzzing anything of interest.

I know you are in the neighborhood. The bull isn't paying attention to the barn, as he's pretty focused on me right now. Spooking people away from his harem of cows. I know you are trying to stay full-blown, but there are preferences and there are responsibilities.

Meet me where he is, and we can get this farm out of our system.

~S

# <26.5>

"So what is the point of all this really?" Epic Death says to Pepper. They are sitting at a bar on Selba, waiting for Sunshine to get out of her premiere. She has only been dating Pepper for about a month now, so she isn't sure he should be seen with her at these sorts of things. Not that he is complaining. Wearing a suit and watching his girlfriend make out with some actor isn't really something he'd like to sign up for. The bar is small and dark, the kind that only has one row of booths and the stools along the length of a faux wood mesa.

"Honestly. It sounds ridiculous the more I spin it in my head. Corialis wanted us dead, that part was easy."

"Of course." Epic gestures with his whiskey.

"Nature. However, he also wanted us blamed for the attack on the Race. Specifically the three of us. To ensure that he staged an elaborate hoax theft of the Jewel, in an attempt to get us all on the same trail which would eventually lead us, with a paper trail to follow, to that fucking space station."

"Okay. But why involve Cirrhosis?"

"That's probably something we're not going to figure out. He wanted Cirrhosis to lead his little army of robots."

"For why?"

"Money I guess for Corialis, and then he felt he'd made a hero."

"That worked at least." Epic laughs, Cirrhosis has never been more popular. His check-ups and physical training sessions are getting better ratings than preseason games.

"Heh, right." Pepper chuckles.

"Cirrhosis did meet that weird agent guy..."

"Exactly. Hell, from what I remember Last Chance was hired by Corialis himself to record a reality sensivise from Torch, they even put her on Cirrhosis' plane."

"That guy has a serious fanclub."

"It is because of Cirrhosis that Corialis is alive to enact his revenge. I bet he would have stopped at nothing to protect him."

"Wow." Epic thinks back at all those pillars in Corialisana. Smirks to himself and orders another round. Everyone has their crushes.

"So when Cirrhosis wouldn't get deterred, he just set Code up to protect him during the race. Running back through Cirrhosis' memory core, you can see that Code was shadowing him the whole time. It just appeared to Cirrhosis that he was behind Jor."

"Speaking of that. What the hell was that guy's deal?"

"Big guess, but I would assume he found out how much money Stephen was pulling from the family estate to fund all of this revenge stuff. Also, he served to properly exonerate the Corialis family should any portion of his participation be exposed."

"Now, to the real meat. He used Apocalypse-"

"Don't forget Big. He was probably part of it too."

"He forced me into meeting Big, knowing that I would need his services were I to be attacked. He also set-up Apocalypse to protect the President of Selba. All of this was to force the end of the Hunt, and to replace us with robots."

"Robots of his design."

"Yeah. So he did win, kinda, didn't he?"

"The debate is open for sure. Hell, even Cirrhosis involving the Z'arkadar in the protection of the people made them second guess some things."

"But we can't really be thinking that rolling out an army of Frees will really solve everything."

"Fuck if I know." Pepper shrugs.

"I'll drink to that." Epic laughs, and the boys toast. Sunshine enters the bar, they can both tell because all eyes in the room suddenly shift to their right. Epic stands up. He grabs his jacket and hugs Sunshine with one arm.

"Are you going? I didn't even get to see you." Sunshine pouts.

"If you're lucky you'll never be forced to see this mug again. Pepper, you take care of yourself."

"Same to you."

Sunshine takes Epic's seat, watching the man leave. Unsure how to feel about it, because she knows that their very existence is in question right now. He'll probably end up a merc on Dub-X or something. She laughs at that, knowing that he would be in charge of the place within a month.

"How was the thing?"

"Good. You know you can come to these events right?"

"Oh? Sorry, I don't own any suits."

"That is a bold faced lie."

"Uh... dry cleaners?" Pepper shrugs and winces at the same time. Totally caught.

"Whatever." She says with finality. She orders a martini, and sips it for a moment. They both look at themselves in the mirror.

"Is it over?" Sunshine says, turning to Pepper.

"No. Not yet. There is still one thing that someone has to handle."

"Are you?"

"No. Retired." Pepper says in ernest. Sunshine looks in his eyes, worried. He smiles and puts his hand over hers.

"I-"

"Look. How about tomorrow I go get my stuff from the dry cleaner. Meet you on Isis in a couple of days for that festival thing you're showing at."

"Really?"

"Sure." Pepper says, but he isn't going to leave Selba until someone takes care of the loose end. Judging from World traffic, that little squabble is happening now. Appears that bitch does have her uses, not that he'd ever admit it to her. Guy has to keep at least some of his pride, even a guy who watches his girlfriend dry hump some douche bag for money. Even him.

# <26.6>

Rules of the Hunt

1) Always kill the target if the Call doesn't say otherwise

2) Always survive to Hunt another day

3) A hunter can never set the Call on a bounty

4) No home-court advantage shouldn't be exploited

5) Unless relinquished by the Caller, a bounty can only be delivered to the Caller themselves

6) Hunters cannot injure anyone outside the Call, unless they intentionally involve themselves or refuse to flee if warned

7) You can not be a hunter and a mercenary both

8) Hunters are responsible for all property destruction, and injury to, any party other than the bounty

9) Theft is acceptable in pursuit of the bounty, as long as stolen goods are paid for at the end of the Call

10) Police forces are not to involve themselves in the Hunt unless a Rule is broken or to prevent the eminent breakage thereof

11) Callers cannot be a member of any government if the bounty is also a member thereof

12) Callers must provide all available information on the bounty, or the hunter may refuse to complete the Call

13) The Call is abolished in any area during a declared war

14) The Call is considered complete if the bounty is delivered to the police, even if they did not make the call

# <26.7>

"Hey, sir? You forget something?" Stardust says to the back of someone's head. They are both in a rather lavish office complex in the Hinter. She had been following this certain lead for about the whole time she had been back. Mostly because she doesn't really enjoy leaving fights half way through. Blue balls and all.

"What are you doing here, woman?"

"I am here to finish what we started, darling." Stardust says, pulling her sword from its sheath at her waist. She had been following him this whole time, looking to see what she could learn about him, use against him should she need to. Mostly, she was waiting until she got him alone so she could truly relish in his death. Other people only get in the way.

"The time for that is over. Our time is almost over." He says.

"Please, nobody is getting outlawed. Besides, I'd gladly go to jail for a million years if I can spend that entire time reliving your bloodly end."

"Childish." Toro says, pulling a sword from the desk he is in front of. Apparently this place is an official hideout. Stardust finds it intensely humorous that someone as lavish and image conscious as Toro Abobo would be willing to hole up in a stripmall in the Hinter.

"I am anything if not predictable." Stardust says, charging on Toro. In true gravity, he is much less of a concern, which is sad. Stardust would have liked to have killed him in his home turf. But bloody blotters and brain splattered copiers are his destiny now. No glamor in that.

"What do you have to gain in this?"

"You have a sizable bounty."

"Which you don't need."

"That is just icing. I am here for a challenge. This is what I wished for, what you took from me with your little stunt."

"You're getting revenge for me killing Corialis before you could?"

"Don't split hairs. I am here for so many delicious reasons." Stardust says with a lunge, taking a chunk out of Toro's side. He steps back quickly, but stumbles over a thick circular rug for comfortable chair functionality. He looks backward long enough to jump and use the desk as a pivot point and goes after Stardust with a horizontal slash. She easily parries.

"Here comes two. Be careful, I don't want you dying too quickly now." Stardust mocks huskily. She hooks her foot on a chair and pulls it towards Toro, tripping him forward. His game is completely off.

"You really suck today. You forget to take your morning golden shower?" She giggles, spinning her sword in her hand, smacking his ass with the back of her blade mocking him.

"Fuck you, you bitch!" He spits at her as he rights himself.

"Who are you?"

"What?"

"I am better than Toro, but not this much." She says slashing through 'Toro's' shoulder. She looks around the office, running full spectrum on the office. Nothing hot here except for this ass-clown.

"He-he promised me that my family-" Toro's duplicate grunts, slumped over the tipped over chair, bleeding profusely. Stardust jabs his spine to end it. His family will be killed by Toro if Toro so desires, this wouldn't have gotten him a stay of execution. Not his style.

Stardust walks over to the nearest terminal not covered in bodily fluid and dives in, looking for a heavily encrypted access point somewhere on the system. She finds that easily amongst the fake financial data and forged interoffice emails. Freshman maneuvers for sure, but nothing as bad as the fake guy. This was to make her seem like an idiot while pulling her off the trail. Pathetic.

Stardust opens her eyes in Toro's office, sitting in front of his giant gold desk. The room reaks of arsenic and opulence. It's offensive on every level, most of all because Toro is sitting there with his stupid smug smile on his face.

"I see you found my office."

"I am going to fuckstart your face when I find you."

"Is that so?"

"Play house while you can dumbass. Know that I am coming to finish this."

"Finish what exactly? Since when did you want my head on the pike? You've never been like this, it is unseemly."

"I was robbed of my challenge. My wish. Fuck money. Fuck power. I want to live a life worth living, and I choose to do that by killing. I will find you, sweetheart, and I will cut small pieces from you until you beg for death. Then I'll bring you to a fucking rejuvenation center, let you get loose, and find you, all to do it again."

"You are insane." Toro says with a raised eyebrow. She got to him.

"Not as bad as some, but worst than most. Speaking of which, you should really look behind you. I hate your filthy face, but I hate losing a bet even more. You can kill him now."

"What?" Toro says fevered, cutting out of the room suddenly. Stardust will have to ask for a copy of his memories when they meet up again. His last few moments are something she would savor like a fine wine. She takes a moment to poke around his office, looking at various objects that he has on his shelves. Weird things mostly, car keys, tavis jerseys, an autographed crossbow, and what looks like a severed monkey head. She picks the head up and spins it around in her hands.

"Find anything you like?"

"Not really. We done here?"

"Seems that way."

"Meet at the usual spot?"

"You being tailed?"

"Of course not."

"Then the usual place it is."

END

# Brief History

2093AD - Mars is terraformed, three colonies centered around advancing science, sponsored by coalition of the UN and several private firms

2105AD - Jupiter activates several colonies on satellites orbiting Io, and five orbiting Jupiter itself

2107AD - Mars files for autonomy from Earth, citing differing goals

2110AD - Jovian colonies move for autonomy from Earth governments

2150AD - Europa Station is activated as a new mining based colony, using new technology for fuels based on Jovian atmosphere

2155AD - First Arc Ship leaves for Bellatrix using advance engines

2215AD - Earth meets first alien race, Tellurians meet a UN Space Force outside of Bellatrix System. UN Space Force takes 60 years to reach Bellatrix, and is back in two days.

2216AD - Earth incorporates jump gate technology into current fleet, begins testing of long range LTR flight

2218AD - Orion is colonized

2219AD - Europa files for autonomy from Jovian government

2221AD - Earth unifies its governments into one, joining the rest of Sol System into the GovPlex pact. GovPlex takes over governing of all planets in Sol, as well as Orion in the Bellatrix System.

2230AD - Andromeda is colonized, but does not join GovPlex pact

2232AD - Isis is colonized

2234AD - Paris is colonized

2235AD - Arturis and Gliese are colonized

2240AD - Hess, Noro, and Abringe are colonized, Begin period of mass expansion

2245AD - Isis and Paris join GovPlex pact

2250AD - Frees are invented, a new form of self replicating AI. Federation agrees to avoid action until AIs are capable of holding own colony. Crimes against AI are monitored.

2292AD - Rejuvenation technology is perfected, allowing for near infinite lifespan

2299AD - Selba is colonized

2319AD - Cloning is forbidden accept in rejuvenation procedures, Clones of existing humans are given official status in GovPlex systems.

2320AD - Peppermint White Ninja is born on Orion

2322AD - Clone violence takes major tolls in Sprawl systems. Sol and Orion send troops to squash an uprising.

2399AD - The first Haze generator is invented by low-tech zealots on Isis as a reaction to the clone violence and Free labor driving down wages for the poor. Leads to LTZ cities and some whole countries throughout the Colonies

2433AD - Epic Death is born on Isis

2492AD - Terrorist act committed in Hess, demands for free access to jump gates lead to a stand-off with Andromeda and the Sprawl systems. The non-conformist systems are sequestered from the remainder of the human colonies

2493AD - Arturis and Gliese join GovPlex pact

2498AD - Baby Doll Judah Stardust is born on Arturis Central Kigh

2500AD - Another terrorist act in the mining colony of Abinge IV, GovPlex declares war on the non-conformist systems. The Colonial Revolution begins.

2503AD - Coral-Cor is founded around ansible technology, formally creating the current World technology, allowing near instant contact with every colony connected to the World

2510AD - GovPlex troops accidentally attack a Tellurian settlement on Andromeda IV. Federation forces approach GovPlex about their use of Frees as front line troops with no compensation.

2512AD - Geneva Peace Treaty is signed. GovPlex is broken into GovPlex, GovNet and the Federal Police (or Federalis). GovPlex holds planetary level government, GovNet holds country level, and Federali patrol space and hold non-planetary colonies.

2513AD - The Central7 form a coalition inside GovPlex, making a High Council to avoid further conflicts in the future amongst the central human colonies. The Sprawl is given one vote on the High Council, but holds more individual votes in the GovPlex Congress (based on number of planets colonised), thereby creating a balance.

2514AD - Fulfilling the requirements of the Federation, the Colonial Government joins the Federation as a full member. Creation of Frees are banned in the Colonies, any existing Frees are given full citizenship of the planet they were created on.

2515AD - Free refugees form the colony of Tetra Phi in the deep Sprawl system of Turing.

2520AD - Coral-Cor discovers modern LaGrange jump technology using Gravlifter technology. Jump gate use falls in wake of new design, which allows for far faster travel over longer distances.

2521AD - Following years of protests from anti-centralization activists, GovNet dissolves most of it's police force, privatizing most cities to independent contracting firms chosen by elected city councilmen.

2524AD - Checktiza is founded on low-tech principles

2532AD - Toro Abobo is born on Orii IV

2541AD - H.O. Abobo and five other gang leaders buy Orii System from its shareholders, re-christening Orii Station as Orii Chi Chi

2590AD - GovPlex cuts off most contact with Dub-X, stationing more troops on Torch

2591AD - Sunshine Apocalypse and Last Chance are born on Selba Prime

2605AD - Stephen Corialis is born on Isis

2617AD - Vincent Corialis quits Coral-Cor, leaving the business to a conservatorship for his son Stephen. Victor promptly quits public life.

2618AD - Truckee Dumpstar is born on Selba Prime

2619AD - Under the conservatorship, Stephen Corialis invents the Gravsling, making pushing items off planet much quicker and cheaper.

2622AD - Incident on Tenda Station Occurs

2623AD - Cirrhosis Induction is born on Selba

2623AD - Corialis takes control of Coral-Cor, moving forward on various improved designs to previous projects

2649AD - Corialis sponsors the Crystal Plaza on Selba Station in exchange for getting the rights to build Corialisana

2678AD - Truckee Dumpstar gains the Jewel of the Ancients, wishes to be an intergalactic creature of interest

2682AD - Current Day
Thanks for reading my novel to the very end. Please give me some hot reviews or comments where ever you picked this up.

Also check me on the Facebooks at www.facebook.com/mikedoombooks or my Smashbooks page at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/mikedoom

XOXO BBQ,

~Doom
