So... "I guess we're going low-key for now until the threat's confirmed." One way or another.

Maybe not the way he'd have gone, but then he wasn't Command, was he.

Back to business.


"So how did they do it, Sun-Sun?" RT inquired, curious. "How'd they take over the sub?" he specified with a blink when Sunder just looked at him.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:37, Thu 28 Mar.

Maya didn’t exactly jump at the idea. She gave RT a look of muted surprise – not shock or disappointment but a vague non-verbal huh – and shrugged after a moment. A real whatever. “Could do, I guess. If that’s where you want me.”

That apathy clearly didn’t suit her though, or maybe it was his suggestion that rankled. Either way he could see her ill-concealed restlessness, the way her jaw worked with words she was still chewing. Her thoughts always had been loud, and RT had more experience than most when it came to reading her tells. She wasn't going to be able to just let that rest.

“I’m thinking I should probably go Dustmarket though,” Maya mused. “Not that I don’t trust any of you to look out for yourselves, but topside sounds a proper mess. Much as I’d like to say that makes it my kind of place … eh, I’d miss it if I could. Still doesn’t mean I like the idea of sending someone else to handle that when it might as well be me.” She huffed a stilted laugh. “Hate to hear the old man got jumped because I let him get stuck with the dirty work, you know”
This message was last edited by the player at 02:10, Fri 29 Mar.

"I'd hate to get jumped too, now that I have a bowl of spicy noodles to look forward to."  Werner replied.  "I've done my share of business with Black Market types, and I've realized that my currency is more readily accepted than my questions."  He nodded, "I think Maya the best suited here to fit in and get information."

"That puts Sunder and me on the Printshop."  It wasn't too far away even, according to the holo-map of the port Werner had downloaded, "Of course, chances are that the place is just as dangerous as the Dustmarket if it did have anything to do with the abduction.  Might not have paid guards, but I would be surprised to find there were no automated defenses.  Maybe civilian robots modified for combat.  Giant grabbing and smashing limbs...torches made into flamethrowers, mining drills and digging lasers..."  Werner trailed off for a moment.  "Well, now I'm rearing to go and see this Printshop for myself!"

He caught himself, then turned to Gertrude, "Suppose it's your choice which team you want to join.  Let me sweeten the deal; if you come to the Printshop and I get you involved in a running laser battle with robots, drinks are on me."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:05, Fri 29 Mar.

" Uh..."  Gertrude murmured, doing her best to follow along with the discussion.  "Yeah, I'll admit, definitely at a bit of a loss here.  I can do some basic maintenence stuff and all that, and if you dropped me in the middle of deep space I'd probably make a good show of it until supplies ran dry, but this kind of investigation's a bit ouf of my wheelhouse.  But...  Uh, I guess the robots?  That's at least less out of my experience than anything else here, I guess?"

The possibility of a gunfight didn't seem to occur to her at the time, for better or for worse.

Hm... RT considered that -- squashing down a remark about wanting Maya in... a variety of places...

Then he finally shook his head. No.

"If we're expecting resistance at *either* places, then we shouldn't split up." It was that simple. "Unless we want to risk becoming 'over-extended'?"

A significant look Maya's way on that last part there... What do you think?
This message was last edited by the player at 17:33, Fri 29 Mar.

"I wouldn't say I'm expecting resistance."   Said Werner, "More like wishful thinking.  To be honest, the Printshop does too much business with independent and corporate captains to risk trying anything.  I'm sure IPS-N would love to have a legal excuse to shut it down and install their own printers."  He shrugged, "I don't really expect to find more than an order for a specific subaltern from an anonymous client.  But we'll just have to see."

“Don’t know what you’re looking at me for,” came Maya’s barbed retort. She did of course but that was besides the point. “I’m not chancing it alone, so if you’re having second thoughts then that’s that. Makes no difference how I feel.”

She said it with more bluntness than spite. Simple arithmetic: if they weren’t going to be two then they’d be five.

"What has-" RT's mouth worked on air a bit, jaw tighter than before – what had that got to do with- Of course it-

Breathing in… Breathing out. "Excuse us for a second?"

Sweeping his better half towards the corridor: We - We need to talk, right?

OOC: Follow-up soon-ish :)

The both of them retreated a little ways into the corridor outside the meeting room… Though not quite far enough that some snatches of heated conversation couldn't be overheard:

'Asking because I want'

'Weren't bothered before'

'-king of *them* going'

'*can* do this'

Silence…

Then the pair came back in, Thunder in the lead... "I *may* have been overthinking things." May, with a glance back towards Maya. He shrugged, settling into the idea now that the decision was made: "We'll be going to the Market."

Behind him Sardine looked smug.

She may not have cared overmuch either way – and she really, really didn't. But she'd won, so the day wasn't entirely wasted.

As worked out with Maya :)
This message was last edited by the player at 13:41, Sun 31 Mar.

Before departing, RT turned to captain Stavros: "Can you check with…" He'd forgotten the name in all the excitement, "Your friend at the Garfield while we do that, sir? Report it back to us."

That could save them some time, maybe give them leads they could follow right then and there at the Shop or at the Market?

Seemed like a good idea anyway. Gave the man something to do as well.

OOC: He'll share comm info with the captain so they can have a channel.

---

On their way over to the Market (in some sort of rental/public transport?), through the comms: "Tell us about her." By which he meant Emily, of course… "Anything might help."

OOC: He's looking to see if there's anything special about her a kidnapper might want (data or special capabilities maybe? Connections to Dark Ops or special projects?)
I'm thinking everybody in the squad should be able to hear this if they want to
This message was last edited by the player at 13:24, Mon 01 Apr.

The comms crackle to life as Stavros's voice come through.

"Emily has been with us for a long time now. We're both a bit of an outcast - my sponsors wanted to get rid of her, so she was attached to the Embrace when I got it. Emily has some... quirks. I suspect it's something to do with her subjectivity mask and how she's shackled. But she's part of the crew, and none of us would want her any different. She's old, and needs to by cycled more than should be the norm, but she does her job and is reliable. And now... she's gone."

Stavros's voice breaks at the end of his speech, and he cuts the commlink for a moment before reestablishing it.

"I'll send Juan a message to expect you. I can't promise that I'll be able to put him in touch with you via comms - the different city layers can interfere with them, so your best bet would be to meet him in person."

---

The Dustmarket is Port Conroy’s worst-kept secret, a vast bazaar located in Upper where most of everything is for sale. The various vendors and their stands are protected by environmental tents, as the dust buildup would likely ruin their wares otherwise. It is located centrally in Upper Conroy, which means the group will have to access one of the maintenance elevators that still connect the three layers of the city – Lower, Upper, and Surface. Lyran, who has spent time on Havelburg before, can provide the group with an access code to facilitate their travel.

Those visiting Upper will need to wear hardsuits or sealed breathing masks. The constant dust buildup on this level of the city makes breathing without either hazardous at best, usually resulting in choking then, finally, suffocation.

Dustmarket itself is spread out over several alleyways and plazas. The various stalls that make up the market are covered by enviro-tents, most of them transparent so potential customers can make out the wares on offer, though the dust sometimes obscures the view. Small air filters hum next to each, simultaneously inflating the tents and allowing for a breathable atmosphere within.

RT and Maya are free to roam the Dustmarket, mingling with the hardsuit-clad crowd and perusing the various things on offer. While some goods offered in the stalls are legal, most wares are of questionable legality on Havelburg or even within Union at large. From firearms outlawed on most worlds to stims, the Dustmarket has it all.

OK...

RT remained composed. Composed but inexorable: "Let me be blunt, sir: do you have anything to do right now that would help Emily more than going to visit your friend in person?" If comms were that bad.

Also, and come to think of it, this wasn't good news in case either one of the groups needed backup fast...

---

Maya and RT rode down towards Upper in what looked like an old cargo elevator -- stupidly large for the purpose, rusty, and given to showering dust on them from up high whenever it juddered its complaints. Oh and it was slooow.

"Nothing but the best for my lady," summarized the young pilot.

"So don't keep us in suspense, Vee. What did you think of the whole thing?" he mildly inquired. Which was likely the equivalent kicking a one-way mine in a random direction, but hey - you only lived once.

OOC: Despite the "us" there, I'm imagining this as a private, voice-only conversation?
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 23:32, Mon 01 Apr.

Stavros explains that he is bogged down by having to deal with the PCPA and other authorities in the wake of the abduction. He would be out investigating, but he has to stay behind to deal with this.

OOC: The module doesn't go into detail on what is keeping him from investigating. I'm assuming the angle that he would go himself, but something bureaucratic and suitably restrictive is keeping him in place for the time being, which is part of the reason he is hiring the group.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 13:03, Tue 02 Apr.

Maya didn’t turn to meet the question. To an unfamiliar eye she might have looked closed off, resting back on her heels with her helmet tight under her arm, but RT would know better. She’d been scanning the walls from the moment they stepped in the elevator, taking in the years of crude words and cruder images carved into the rusting metal. If her fleeting expressions were anything to go by she’d been having a good time of it.

Naturally then RT’s intrusion wasn’t entirely welcome. It earned him one of her favourite obscene gestures, but there wasn’t any heat behind it: a playful sort of fuck off.

“Yeah, I’m not going to answer that.” Wry, like she at least got the joke. “Not worth the breath.”

Her hand slipped down by her side, and that could well have been that … except it wasn’t. He’d got her thinking. It was there in the tight line of her lips, the way her focus had drifted down to where the elevator wall met the floor. She’d chanced upon an idea, and given just how plainly she was wearing it there was a fair chance it wasn’t a good one.

Maya looked back, cutting him off with an open palm before he had so much of a chance to speak. Her face said you’re not going to like this but you're going to hear it anyway.

“So I know I said I wasn’t looking for trouble..." the way she drew it out said volumes "...but I’m thinking maybe that might be our best bet. If there’s any kind of trade in NHPs it’s going to be off the street, so only way we find it might be making sure people know we’re looking. Pair of Lancers asking questions is bound to draw some eyes.”

She gave a theatrical shrug. No big deal. “Don’t need to find the seller if they find us first...”

"Same,” he answered, addressing the gesture with a playful jerk of the chin – his mood matching hers for once… Then shrugged at the words themselves: “Would still have liked to hear it anyway?” Teasing her: “Never too late to learn new and colorful words, you know.”

Her lack of enthusiasm for this, her impatience with it, *had* been pretty clear from the get go, hadn't it? Like heat rolling off a nearby generator.

---

A shudder; a shower of dust. The ride went on.

“So your cunning plan is to ask for exactly what we want to know, but as loudly as we possibly can?”

That said, he didn’t sound entirely against the idea either...

Back to Sunder, Werner, and Gertrude...

After a short, dust-covered journey from the Dynast's Embrace, Sunder, Werner and Gertrude arrive at Creighton's Printshop, a sprawling complex connected to the huge central spire that overlooks the Port Conroy spaceport.

Upon your arrival the trio are greeted by various subalterns, with no human workers in sight anywhere. One of the subalterns strolls over to the group, a screen installed on its faceplate displaying the face of the owner, Horton Creighton. This construct is a homunculus - a digital facsimile of the real Horton Creighton, who, as evident by the memorial plaque on a nearby wall, died some time ago. While homunculi aren't real people and have no legal standing on Havelburg, this version of Horton is the legal owner of the printshop due to clever lawyering and gratuitous abuse of legal loopholes. Plus, the digital Creighton is doing a good job running the place and keeping the authorities from seizing the business (which, if the shop’s standards were to ever slacken, they would do in a heartbeat).

Creighton walks up to the group and greets them with an over the top smile and friendly attitude that wouldn't look out of place on a used car salesman.

"Hello travelers! Judging by those hardsuits, you all must be pilots, yes? If you're ever searching for a new frame to work with, IPS-N's state-of-the-art, top-quality units would be perfect for all your needs!"
This message was last updated by the GM at 16:47, Fri 05 Apr.

"You must be Creighton," Werner extended a hand to shake, "And you are right about our status as pilots.  I heard this was THE printshop for Port Conroy, so far I think I heard right."  It was easy enough to fall into the persona of the interested buyer.  Something that wouldn't ring any alarms.

"Glad to hear you're able to support frames, IPS-N designs some solid machines.  I'm curious though whether your shop is capable of printing licensed frames and equipment, or even handling custom orders."  He tapped some commands on his suit's wrist interface and a holoprojection of his custom designed Novel Theory appeared.

"This is a Harrison Arms Sherman, custom designed by me, the license holder."  Points of interest on the display highlighted in red as Werner talked, "It's equipped with a licensed Andromeda Laser and GMS brand RPG.  Now, I know that the vast majority of your business here is with IPS-N, but if I were to need spare parts after an operation for a nonstandard frame such as this; could I get what I need here?  Or can these printers not receive special orders?".

A circumspect approach to the investigation.  Werner decided it would be best to see what can be learned before showing their hand.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:58, Sat 06 Apr.

Creighton's smile remains plastered and unmoving on his face as you talk, and he responds with continued enthusiasm, gesturing emphatically.

"I am Creighton, and this is indeed the best and only printshop in Port Conroy - it won't be beat! And we can absolutely host custom prints. While we mainly focus on IPS-N's quality merchandise, we are fully equipped to support any custom printing needs, whether it be non-IPS-N technology or unique designs including a fascinating mech such as this! We're happy to take on any print jobs you wish of us!"

"That sounds great to me."  Werner nodded and looked past Creigthon to observe what he could see of the printshop.  "What about your security here?  Sometimes my employer wants me to deploy special tech on the field; tech that they wouldn't want to get spread around.  Port Conroy can be a rough place, I'm sure you know."  He looked back to the Creighton homonculus, "Do you ever have trouble with hackers trying to mess with your printers?  Printing something unauthorized or stealing unique designs?"

Werner glanced around the facility at the lesser subalterns present within the vicinity then leaned in conspiratorially, "I heard a rumor passing around the dockside bars that someone managed to use one of the maintenance subalterns to rob a ship while the crew was on shore leave.  I'm sure it's just a tale they spook eachother with; you know how ships' crews are."  He leaned back again and shrugged helplessly, "Of course my boss wants me to check everything out before we start any operations."

Creighton Continues in his unrelenting enthusiasm.

"Our IPS-N security is top notch! While they may not be known for their electronics, I can assure you that no cyber attack could ever get through to our printers."



Creighton clasps his hands together and leans back slightly when he hears the story.

"Ah, that was Captain Stavros! He contacted me about that before. And I assured him that our team of subalterns is of the highest IPS-N quality and would never maliciously remove an NHP casket from a ship. It is simply impossible.”

It takes Sunder a few passes back and forth to pick up on the style of conversation in use, but once she does she asks the next logical question as if she was a perspective buyer.

”You said this is the only Printshop, but are there other printers in private hands capable of making subalterns of a similar enough model to pass for the ones you make?”

Creighton's upper body swivels to face you as you speak. He shakes his head in the negative as he replies, artificial smile not fading.

"Nope! While I'm sure that there are smaller printers in circulation here in Port Conroy, we're the only large scale operation here and hold an exclusive contract with the spaceport to produce, repair and supply it's subalterns! No amateur operation could beat our IPS-N quality!"

"It was an NHP casket they say was stolen?"  Werner feigned surprise, "That sounds like a serious robbery.  I'd think it more than unlikely one of the maintenance subalterns would just go and do a thing like that."  A hand went to the chin of his helmet, "Can you track the movements of the subalterns you produce here?  Or recall them for maintenance and repairs?"

"Now that I think about it, it's probably this robbery story that has my employer spooked."  He nodded, "What if we were to pick up one of your top-of-the-line IPS-N maintenance subalterns?  Once we take it back to the ship and show the boss how secure and safe they are, I'm sure they'll be fine with letting us do more business with your shop."

Creighton's face turns blank and impassive, and he speaks in a monotone, robotic voice.

++{Unable to find response}++



Creighton's face lights up, and he gestures for the group to follow him.

“Interested in our maintenance subalterns? All our models are top shelf IPS-N quality and available for purchase, let me show them to you!”

Creighton leads the group to a large storage warehouse deeper inside the facility, where many maintenance subalterns are stored. He leads you to a section with 20 charging booths for the subalterns.

"This is Maintenance Crew 56A. These are 20 of the top-of-the-line, latest-model IPS-N subalterns. What's even better, these are the ones that worked on the Dynast's Embrace, so you can see for yourself how amazing of a job they did!"

There are a few things that become immediately apparent. Firstly, each subaltern matches the design of the ones on the Dynast's Embrace, as Creighton said. Second, Crew 56A is one unit short. The charging station that should hold subaltern number 19 is empty. Third, Horton Creighton seems to be completely unaware of that fact. Something is clearly interfering with his systems to cause this.

Rather than follow along to the charging booths Sunder hangs back to loiter near an interface terminal or if possible a printer directly.  While leaning up against the best device she can find a thin cord of the sort one expects to see from a subjectivity-enhancement suite snakes out to cover the few inches of distance between her and the nearest hard line port.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:05, Wed 10 Apr.