Conspiracy Thrives in Darkness
14 May 2022Aurora Bael
(Ooc: SO... This is a bit out of sync with gameplay, but given the timing of expeditions and the gameplay of my Collab partners, we fudged the timeline to make the story work. Don't worry too much about it. Say it's an artefact of FLT travel that effects can sometimes precede their causes or whatever. But I'm not about to let a few days of jump-scan-jump stand between me and a good story.This log details events from an RP involving myself, Cmdr Tyy'Sun Eson, and Cmdr Lily Flemmon. Their characters and words are used with permission.)
...I was hoping to avoid talking about this a little longer.
I had a lot of positive stuff to talk about. Linking up with the Philosopher's Respite for the last two legs of its journey. Getting a chance to sit down and talk to Lily in person again. Bcoming more familiar with some of her friends and the other residents of Chilton. I may yet write about those things and shove the pages hastily between my last log and this one so that any future historian can look back and see that my life isn't complete shit all the time. Not that I'm sure I'm important enough to matter to history anyway... But now the news is spreading and I can feel the walls closing in, so if I don't get this off my chest I'm going to go absolutely batty.
It's over. My career as a double agent is over. My career working entirely on anyone's behalf except my own is over. Because whoever was fucking with my head? They tipped their hand. And now it's gone too public to ignore.
...That Saturday was pretty much like any other day, except that it was moving day. I had all my ships and modules moved to storage hangars at Chilton Terminal, picked out a penthouse in the second ring, paid for it straight cash, and started moving in there with Malcom. We each get our own bedroom, with space for a study, space for an upright piano that I'm having imported from maybe the last place in the galaxy that bothers to make them, and a bay window with a good view of space beyond the arch of the ring where I can put a reading nook. I was just unpacking some books into a shelf by the window after successfully de-bugging the rooms and routing the surveillance equipment to a server rack in my own lab when I'm suddenly hit with a blinding headache...
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Aurora Bael has spent the last few hours hauling crates by cart, handtruck, and arm from the docking module to a new penthouse she's just purchased next to wiikiwandiwin garden, and to be honest she's getting tired and bored. It's not exactly too much. She doesn't have much for keepsakes and clothes these days, but the real killer is the balance of the lab equipment from Asmodai, as well as her books and a handful of potted plants. Specimens, mostly. She's been trying to cultivate a few varieties of morphologically similar plantoids found in different galactic regions to compare their development.
And because they're pretty. There's that, too.
This time she runs into Malcom Barrett, her business partner, in the lift from the upper lobby to their penthouse, just as the doors are closing. He's hauling a crate of extra weapons along with some of his own knick-knacks for making his new bedroom feel more like home. "Hey, there she is," he says smiling. "I was hoping I'd run into you. How you feeling?"
"Tired. Nervous. But... mostly pretty damned good," she replies, setting a heavy box on top of the pile on his cart. "It still feels..."
"Surreal?" he offers back.
"Good word, that," Rory says, allowing a small smile to cross her lips.
"How's the head?"
Rory puffs air out flapping lips and folds her arms with high shrugged shoulders. "Still nothing... not since I got side-tracked on the way to Colonia. I'm starting to think it was mostly in my head."
Malcom pulls his mouth to the side and clucks his tongue. "You know, your logbook did get hacked right after that. It's not some shit we can just forget."
She nods as the lift dings and the pair of them push-pull the cart out of the lift. "I know... I just wish I knew where to go from here."
"It'll come," Barrett replies. The pair opens the door and heads together into their new home to unpack. Opening her box, she pulls out a few small books and begins to arrange them on the shelf near a couch by her window looking out into space. "The Martian Chronicles" by Ray Bradbury... She chuckles a bit to herself and pushes it into a spot. What had it been? Three months since The Bradbury wrecked near Witchhead? Felt like a lifetime had happened since then. So much had changed... In some respects it was her whole lifetime, but... Maybe not in a way that mattered.
Sharp pain hit behind her eyes. Like the gain on her optics was too high again. Damn, she swore she had adjusted it just a few days ago. Calibration shouldn't have slipped. But maybe she was just tired... Yeah. Yeah, that's gotta be it. She lays down on the couch, one forearm over her head, watching the stars spin past the window.
"You alright?" Mal asks, hefting a crate of booze on one shoulder and carrying it toward the pantry. "I could get you something."
"Nah, I'm... I'm okay. Just a headache. Hand me that data pad, will you? I just wanna fart around a few minutes. Oh, and if you could, head down the shipyard and check what's come in? I'm thinking I might go for a quick fly later..."
"Ha! I'll check but if this headache don't clear, I don't think is such a good idea for you to go fly someplace. Want some food while I'm out?"
"Yeah... Yeah, pizza beans or nachos or something." Rory says, smiling pleasantly through the ache. "Thanks..."
Mal clucks his tongue and makes finger guns with a wink. "You got it. Partner." He chuckles and slips past the doorframe out of sight.
A glass rod behind her eyes snaps and suddenly she's awake. Invigorated. She picks up the data pad next to her on the coffee table and navigates to shipping manifests, arrivals, and departures. Her thumb glides effortlessly over the pad as her eyes scan the names. And there he is. Not yet twenty minutes on the station.
"Directory."
The screen changes fast as you goddamn please and sudenly she's looking at a scale map of the station. Aurora is about to place a query but suddenly thinks better of it, setting the data pad down and walking over the a console on the wall. Effortlessly, she pulls off a panel by the screen and reaches inside, fumbling around for a particular port. Finding it, she smirks and pulls a wire, then reaches to her left deltoid and opens the access panel. A wire comes out on a spring-loaded spool and she pulls it into the wall, plugging it in to the place she just unplugged.
> //ANONYMOUS ACCESS - LIMITED FUNCTIONALITY
Rory's eyes flicker a moment as the red text on the screen turns to green and access is restored.
"Query: Locate guest, ident: Tyy'Sun Eson"
> // Searching
> ...
> ...
> CMDR TYY'SUN ESON IS CURRENTLY IN TRAM STATION 03: ADMINISTRATIVE. RING 1
She pulls the wire from the wall and lets it wind up before closing the hatch on her arm. The panel is back in place within a moment. Wordlessly, she moves to the closet and pulls out a dirty grey maintenance jumpsuit, tucking her hair up under a plain cap. She picks up her data pad and slips a knife into her right boot, pulling the leg of the jumpsuit over it. She is out the door in less than a minute.
In the hallway, her eyes bring up a standard Ag Orbis blueprint and compensate for known discrepancies in garden layout. It's not complete, but it will have to do. Scanning the corridor for cameras is hard while keeping your eyes below a cap, but not impossible. Years of practice make the checks quick. Residential. FOV should be somewhat limited. She slips past the lift over to the stairwell. "Emergencies Only. Alarm Will Sound." Down on one knee she retrieves a multitool from a pocket on the jumpsuit and bypasses the alarm sensor with a thin wire on string. Through the door, she pulls just as it latches back closed and the wire comes away with her as she makes her way down toward the rim. At a maintenance console she looks for an access panel nearby and does not find one, and so simply continues downward until she hits the sub basement, and slips into the maintenance tunnels beneath.
"Logout," she says quietly to the datapad in her hand.
> //ANONYMOUS ACCESS - LIMITED FUNCTIONALITY
Reaching into her jumpsuit she re-opens the pannel on her deltoid and grabs the wire again. Turning the pad over in her hand she can't find a good place to plug it in.
"Shit."
Now in the tunnels, she relaxes and takes in the surroundings. Pipes and wires are running across the ceilings and along the walls in a non-standard but intuitive way. Following one fiber cable, she finds her way to another maintenance console, also without a panel. Rory cocks her head to the side and scoffs at her previous foolishness, grabbing the sides of the monitor and pulling the spring clips loose to give her access to the rear. There's the LP wire, right where it should be. She pulls it again and plugs herself in, repeating her query.
> //SEARCHING
> ...
> ...
> ...
> CMDR TYY'SUN ESON IS ON TRAM 016, EN ROUTE TO RING ONE, STATION 009: CTAC SHOW GARDEN, SPOKE 3
"SHIT I am in exactly the wrong place. Console: Transfer Tracking too... too..."
Rory balls and unballs her fist rapidly as her face contorts in pain, then staps back into stone.
"Transfer tracking functionality to hard-wire LP, enable air-gap update."
> MAC ADDRESS ASSIGNED.
"Encrypt, 128bit, key: 78669A012F. Terminate at t=1200."
> SECURE UPLINK ESTABLISHED
"Expunge log, starting t=-240, no reply."
She pulls the wire as soon as it's sent and reinstalls the native LP port, pressing the monitor back into place. Her HUD overlays Director Eson's position. Still a bit over a kilometer away. With the flashlight on her multi tool, she picks a fiber cable and follows it, walking along the corridor to a door reading "LIFT MAINTENANCE".
The lock worked on a simple RFID magnetic lock. Easy enough for her wrist to spoof a working profile and walk inside. The maglev trans, however, made it a bit more difficult. Luckily, after a lot of fiddling, the Agent manages to get the data pad into recovery mode. It's a bit clunky and the UI is garbage, but it remains anonymous while retaining full functionality.
"Tram: call cartest"
> NOT FOUND
"Call car01test?"
> NOT FOUND
"Search car directory"
> NOT FOUND
"Fuck." The agent looks around the maintenance area and sees a car set off to the side, designated TRAM AD01. "Trams... Of course. Maintenance query: pull record of Tram in Berth 023." The report flashes up on her screen, scrolling past preternaturally fast. It's a prototype. An emergency escape tram rated to carry up to 50 passengers. In perfect working order, except that the engineer working on it has messed up the tram system's day once too often, even though the system works flawlessly. "Lift: Load tram, berth 023."
The Agent steps onto the tram car and scans the cabin for any console still open for diagnostic testing. Finding one panel still open she sits cross legged in front of it and starts looking into where all of the cables connect.
"Okay... I can re-wire space ships and fly them for a living. I can do this."
Pulling the wire out of her arm again, she fumbles around on the wire harness to see where the security systems are and how best to bypass them. The splicer on the multitool is in one hand and a spool of extra wire in another, her own jack held between her teeth while she investigates her options...
On her hand console she's able to pull up a map of the tram system with markers on it for car locations and stations. Of course the delegation has already landed. The target is currently in a show garden she specifically remembers contains some kind of hidden security. Striking there might not be quite right, but failing other options, she decided it best to try and get there first. The Eureka moment comes when "Anonymous access" flashes for just an instant before turning over to a Yellow "TEST MODE" screen, and she finally jacks in. This time, her first task is looking up menu items.
Lo and behold, there is no lockout. There is no need to dive behind a panel or spoof access. There isn't even a passcode or pin number. Just a simple welcome screen.
> //ENTER TEST DESTINATION
"Wow, all automated huh? Okay..."
Checking the map, she finds a station close by, but not right on top of the Show Garden. 200-300m away would give her time to ditch the outfit and blend with foot traffic, provided she could clean up the mess in transit.
"Test Destination = 'Ring One, Station 010'. Set Auto Return?"
> //AUTO RETURN DISABLED. SNAPSTART? (Y/N)
She hesitates. It's risky. Super risky. Walking out of an experimental tram in street clothes won't do. Hanging on to the roof of an emergency speeder tram also won't do... Unless... yeah... yeah that act might work. Better idea than trying to call a normal one. Disappearing into the crowd should be a lot easier than trying to huff it on foot or call another tram to the berth. There wasn't any better choice.
"Yes," she said, and held on to a nearby pole for dear life. The tram dings twice as the door closes. A man's voice screams "HELL YEAH" over the speakers, and the car rockets along the tunnel.
She is not expecting 4.75g out the fucking gate.
The Agent loses her grip instantly, and her head and body slam into the seats at the rear of the car. It hurts. A lot. For a moment she even sees stars. At over 500m/s she owns rocket ships that are slower than this.
"ADRIEN PETRO LEWIS, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" a voice screams over the intercom. She screams back.
"IT'S NOT ADRIEN! I WAS RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS WHEN THE DAMN THING WENT OFF ON ME! FUCK THAT SHIT HURTS! WHERE AM I GOING?"
"What the hell? You mean you're on the tram tech team and you don't know about Adrienaline? Bullshit. Don't tell me there are two of you now."
"I literally just started! How the fuck was i supposed to know this thing would pull over 4g?! It's not exactly in the training material!" She groans, mostly genuinely as she balls her right (organic) fist and reaches back to feel the bump forming on her head where it hit the not-cushioned-enough seat on the back wall. "Goddammit who the fuck runs an auto-start on a diagnostic?!"
“Adrien, that’s who. Sucks how our best engineer is an adrenaline junkie. We haven’t had any new team members, and there’s a whole lesson Adrien wrote for the training material about his work on emergency speed functions. I don’t know who you are, but you’re not on my team. That being said, I can’t slow the tram down, but will you need medical assistance at your destination?”
"Are you fucking shitting me right now?" Goddammit, this was about to get super complicated. Suddenly lightning strikes her brain. "Wait... I hit my head pretty hard just now. What's today's date?"BFast as she can she uses her anonymized access to start pulling up duty rosters for tram techs cross-referenced with start dates and current locations. just keep him talking, won't be but another minute.
"May 7th 3308, why? Do you need medical attention?"
"Oh no... no no no no." She starts stripping her jumsuit and looking up at the ceiling of the cabin. There's got to be a hatch up there somewhere, and if she's going to make it out, this might be her last chance. "That can't be right. it's supposed to be 3307! Fuck me!" she says, starting to pump the water-works and get a good cry going.
"Well, if there's a best place to have your life flipped upside down, it's Chilton Terminal. Hang on tight, you'll be okay. I'm sending medical and FFAM- uh, Friend For A Moment. Counseling kinda, if you didn't know. You're in good hands, okay?"
"Okay... Okay just... I'm sorry, i don't even know how I got here anymore... I-I remember a diagnostic on the car and then it's just...Blank. Oh fuck," She says, still crying softly. Her right eye twitches hard, but she shakes it off, prying open a maintenance hatch on the ceiling while standing up straight on the forward wall of the rapidly decelerating train. It's heavy. She has to keep her gut tight. But over all it's pretty okay. Thank goodness for all those flight hours. As the car rolls into the station, Rory keeps one hand pressed against the airlock field with light pressure so she can feel the exact moment when it disengages. Her jumpsuit has folded into a neat little backpack now holding her data pad, multitool, and spare wire.
How are you doing, Aurora?
The voice comes from every place and no place, echoing across the hallways of her mind as the field falls and she climbs into the crawl space on the top of the tram car.
"Station is on yellow alert. I think I might get made."
You're a very dangerous woman.
"Yes."
You can do this.
"I..." She glances around for a maintenance door past the leading edge of the seal. "I'm not sure." She finds it and jumps down, plastering herself to the shadows and pulls out her jack and multitool.
It's very scary.
"I'm not afraid."
You're very brave. The voice is calm, silky, smooth and reassuring. Like a warm blanket. No one else has to die today. Just Eson. You can do that for me can't, you?
"Y-yes, sir." She popps the emergency release button off of the wall and tests the wires. Without setting off the alarm she taps a hot wire and the door motor shorts, springing open. She rolls through fast before it slams closed again.
There's a good girl.
Pulling out her data pad again she looks at the security feed to where this maintenance door opens at the far end of the tram station. Waiting a moment for everyone to be looking away, she slips through just as the medical team is rushing to the main doors of the tram car. Pulling the hat lower on her face to avoid facial recognition systems, the Agent blends in with the agitated and confused crowd, and moves swiftly toward the garden.
100 meters is not far. A speck in an ocean. A grain of sand in a vast planetary desert. A microbe in the gut biome of an eldritch god. But in 100 meters everything can change. The Agent stoops to fasten her boot, quietly palming the knife as she does. Standing, hands in pockets. Eyes cast down. Just three of them by the show garden. No evident defenses, but the two of them are wearing guns. Her breath catches for just a second before her resolve solidifies. 50 meters is not far...
Malcom does not have an exosuit backpack or a Human-Machine-Interface HUD. Malcom has a laser pistol with its yield set perfectly to put a cigarette burn in a 2x4 at 100 paces. Or at least get the attention of a mad cyborg killer. Really, it's a multipurpose device. He draws it and holds it in front of him, low ready, spotless trigger discipline as he sprints down the walkway toward the place where he hopes he'll beat the confrontation. Spying Warren high on the curve of the station in front of him, he raises an empty hand and starts waving it wildly, hoping to get his attention.
"He knows, Mal!" Lily snaps, "He's the Director, and security got a full briefing. I hope you caught some of it too as I transmitted sitting right next to you?!"
"SNARK LATER, MOVE NOW!" Malcom screams.
The Agent hears the rush of footsteps approaching behind. Her window is rapidly closing. Whatever defenses the director alluded to are nearby. Act or be acted upon. Her eyes glow dim crimson and her nose scrunches up higher on her face as she throws herself forward, out of the crowd and into the last seconds she has to her name.
Her shoulder bounces off of Director Warren, hoping to send him off his balance and maybe his feet.
Her knife in her left hand slams neatly into Tyy'sun Eson's knee and twists, hopefully ruining the tendons that allow it to work. In the same motion she turns, lays her right hand on Eson's pistol and pulls it free.
Two shots ring out, aiming to hit the fellow with the wide brimmed hat in the thigh and make him think twice about pulling steel. A second thought is all she'll need.
Finally, the spin completes with an arm around Eson's neck and his own pistol pressed to his temple as she turns to face whatever feet were following her.
"ONE MORE STEP AND I'M PAINTING THE DINER WITH HIS FUCKING BRAIN. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?" She's already backing away, trying to find a wall. Trying to keep her hostage between herself and anyone who would stop her. Eyes still glowing. Heart pounding. The sound of gunfire still ringing in her ears. He had to die, yes. But she had to live. And maybe - just maybe - both of those things were still possible.
Her two shots were blocked by roots that shot out of the ground. Both Garden Guardian trees leaped into action, the one in Rory's view disarming Daryn, and the one behind Rory reaching out and, with a swift swing of a branch, knocking the pistol out of her hand and pulling her wrists together behind her back. While the GGT operators may not have reacted fast enough to stop Rory completely, they had her under control... for now.
"Mal, hop on my back and hang on tight!" Lily screams. Malcom curses under his breath and lunges onto her back. The coils around her wrists spring outwards and additional vines shoot down her legs, securing themselves to her boots. Lily is running, and she keeps accelerating, her strides getting longer and longer, until she's practically flying along with rapid steps, covering ten, then twenty, then thirty meters each.
What happened? the Agent asks no one. She no longer has a gun. She no longer has a hold on him. She no longer has control of the situation. She no longer has a prayer of fulfilling her purpose. No. It can't be true. She won't allow it. Like a caught animal, she thrashes. Pulling so hard to get the roots off her wrist that they start to bleed. Her feet scramble for purchase beneath her, and they falter. Her eyes flare and her face contorts as spittle and obscenities pour out of her mouth like water. Her left pinky dislocates and she throws her arm and body forward, grabbing at the butt of the knife just inches away from her grasp.
"RORY!" Lily's voice sounds too far away. But the voice plucks a string in her head and the desperation slows. Her eyes stop glowing. Fuck. FUCK her head HURTS. For that matter, her wrists hurt. One of them is getting gripped so tight it's gone all pins and needles. The cloud descends again and with it, the single-minded determination to get hold of her weapon. Her eyes shine brightly now as she scrambles foreward, pulling against every tendon and muscle in her arm.
"LET ME GO GODDAMMIT! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! I HAVE TO!"
Someone is yelling "Your leg! His leg!" And a soft voice from a gardener is cooing that it's going to be fine, cutting a length of vine. The gardener with the vine ties off the tourniquet and looks at the Agent, seeing the bleeding where she’s being restrained. Then she looks at the tree holding her. “Holy shit, that’s way too tight! What do you think you’re doing? Never restrain someone with a grasp set to mechanical! Always leave slack! Did you sleep through your training?”
"Daryn my pis— Director Warren, my pistol there. If you could have someone retrieve and secure it for me." The target is talking. Why is he talking. He should be dead. He needs to be dead!
Malcom's jaw falls slack as he sees Rory thrashing and screaming and still grabbing for the knife. It's... Surreal. She is so obviously not home. This is not the woman he just flew half the galaxy with. This is something else entirely. "Ai, dios ... What's happening to her?"
Lily gets withing a few meters of Rory and tries to speak, but she can't form any words in her head. She returns the coils to their resting positions around her forearms and begins to walk slowly toward her, tears starting to fall from her face. Daryn, the one in the wide hat, nods and retrieves his weapon while securing Tyy'sun's own. He sets about aiding Sean Warren in any way the man requests, including transferring Eson to a stretcher and helping to carry it to the tram station. Between the involuntary yalps of pain and the slight bit of bickering that occurs, Eson can be heard saying "Daiana, come in.." repeatedly into a comms unit until finally all three are off scene and to safety.
M: Malcom catches sight of Lily getting misty eyed and losing her cool , and takes in a deep breath, daring to step a little bit closer to the thrashing madwoman on the floor.
"Hey Rory... I um... I wanted to apologize. I wasn't sure before if this was... If this was some kind of act. Pretty clear it isn't now. I'm sure you're in there and... Even if you don't remember in a few seconds. I'm sorry." He turns back over his shoulder and looks at Lily. "Lily...talk to her."
Lily notices Rory's eyes and crouches down just out of her reach. "Rory... I don't know what you're seeing right now, but... Close your eyes. I know you're in there. That's all you have to do, close your eyes and don't open them. She sniffles, and wipes the tears from her own eyes. "I'm right here. You're gonna be okay."
She suddenly stops thrashing and looks at Lily with murder in her glare. She's is ready, right now, to end anything that comes too close... But... The voices... Both of them. They're... They tug something. Fuck! Her eyes hurt! Her head is throbbing. Her eyelids slam shut as her free hand stops reaching and comes up to cover her face. On her knees now. Panting. Gasping even. Shuddering as some vicegrip inside her brain is loosening. "Hnnnnn! Fuck! Fucking shit god damn mother-fucking OW!"
Lily lights up with hope, and leans forward onto her knees. "Come on Rory, you've got this, keep your eyes closed, talk to me! Come onnnn..."
Theres a lot less thrashing now... Slim to none. The heels of her palms are digging into her eyes as she finds herself suddenly with more slack to move. The pain in her shoulder and wrists are starting to speak and without opening her eyes, her right hand moves to snap the cybernetics in her left hand back into place. "Nnnngaaaah... Lily? What...? Oh fuck. Where am I?"
"You're in the CTAC showcase garden. Mal is here with me. You didn't kill anyone, the defenses here made sure of that, although you did stab someone in the knee. Well, whatever that glow in your eyes was, it used you to stab somebody in the knee. Other than that, no major casualties."
"Shit... Ugh!" Rory lays back on the cold station "ground" and lets all the air out of her lungs. "Who was it? They gonna make it? I can't even... Fuck me, I'm sorry"
"Some visiting dignitary. A director Eson with the Azura...something. That ring any bells?"
"Ha! No." She sits up, eyes cracking open but still squinting at the headache. Her eyes and thoughts are clearing up now and she looks around. There's her fighting knife in a pool of blood. She's wearing one of her infil jumpsuit backpacks. A tree root is wrapped around her wrist which is... Funny. She scoffs at it. "Buuhhh..." The reality sinks in. She's guilty of attempted murder. In broad starlight. And whether or not she remembers it, she knows exactly what comes next. Two ways out of this situation. More violence, and jail...
"Alright. Let's go to jail. I'm ready."
(To Be continued.)