You get Ores, He gets Mine
14 Jan 2018Monolith Preacher
Time can fly in supercruise about as fast as it can slow to a crawl when you're grounded. The Fesh twitches had started to kick in hard, and Dr. Glaboski had insisted that Jaquel take some time away from the cockpit to make up for the state he was in. This gave him time to think, which was rarely a good idea. usually he'd take up any time not used with work by doing prostrations to the Monolith, but one could only perform 811 of them in a row before accruing slight amounts of brain damage due to reasons unknown which generally resulted in some rather nasty lesions down the temporal lobe or an interference with the flow of corticotropin through the pituitary gland. Whilst Dr. Glaboski was certain he could successfully source new pituitary glands for the Preacher and install them with an 85% success rate, it was more the idea of getting used to doing so and overdoing it half way across the galaxy that made him keep his head on straight.He decided to take some time to get more fully acquainted with Deggie's, learning the names of the regulars as well as any new drinks or major music movements he had missed out on in the past couple of years. It turned out that the reason DJ Nanite had gotten so big was not only due to their alleged status as a sentient group of nanomachines in a "skin tight" leather one piece, as much as such an idea could be applied to something whose physical form had about as much substance as a molecule could be said to. Rather, it was due to a new musical movement it spearheaded called "darshan". Similar to the ritualistic form of worship it took its name from, darshan music was unique due to its visual aspect. Music videos had taken many forms throughout the centuries, moving from simple moving pictures on a screen to full immersive virtual reality experiences and eventually beyond this to actual immersive simulations which could sometimes last longer than a person could live without regular maintenance. As this reached its peak towards the end of the 28th century, people began to move away form such excesses and towards ideas of "pure musical experience". varied methods of "jacking in" to music had been the hot topic this millennia, and serious advancements had been made from the days of people rupturing their brachial arteries by injecting vibrations too wubtastic for their physiology to handle. DJ Nanite had moved towards a version of musical experience whereby the use of streams of light allowed a musical expression to be wired directly into one's somatosensory areas, and had been working on a way to temper the amount which was directed through the left planum temporale depending upon how much musical experience the individual had. At great reluctance, Preach even agreed to install an Nvidia Geforce GTX Titan Black into the audiovisual setup.
Whilst the numbers made Jaquel's head whirl, he appreciated the dedication to their craft the new DJ was showing. It inspired him to take a few of his old pursuits more seriously, and within the week he had embarked upon two joint projects within the club. Firstly, he decided to make up his previous maiming of his bartender by showing the kid a few of his own signature cocktails, although he did have to explain when making a Galactic Ale than anyone asking for a "Romulan" rather than "a real galactic ale" would have to be thrown out at the first sign of speaking Klingon to save the club some reputation. It turned out the kid wasn't called Deggie Jr. Jr., which was a surprise given Deggie senior's known megalomania. Apparently the kid was given autonomy when he left his parents to take the job at the club, and decided to call himself "Smeg Ed". When Jaquel couldn't help but ask why he used such an archaic reference for his name, he said it was the only word he could find to circumnavigate the GalNet swearing filters when filling out his passport papers. As purile as it was, the kid was young and Preach couldn't help but admire his ingenuity in this regard. His own ship the Ravager, as much as it could truly be called his ship anymore, was censored due to a few of its letters being construed as lewd by the Pilot's Federation, so he could sympathise. regardless, the kid was already working on making his own waves within mixology, and Preach decided to push the "Android Home Brew" at a theme night, with a warning for the attendees that the drink contained Vimto as well as liquid nitrogen. He did decide to draw the line at the "Urine Recyc", though. As novel as the idea of recycling one's excretions into a drink resembling a margarita was, the fact it tasted more like lager meant that he couldn't work out which kind of glass it truly deserved, and this ended up causing such a long shouting match between the two of them it was probably best to leave the matter alone entirely.
Secondly, he began experimenting with Dr. Glaboski to find the exact measurements of Crom Silver Fesh, Geawen Dance Dust, Onionhead Alpha and Tarach Spice which could be combined to create the right atmosphere for the club. He worked with Stryker to get the air conditioning linked up to Dj Nanite's music controllers in a way that it would reach appropriate peaks with his music sets, but decided to set a hard limit when Glaboski found certain individuals to exhibit effects similar to those found when overdosing on HIP Organophosphates during "clinical trials". Luckily, his subjects had signed release papers upon deciding to become medical subjects which made them the private property of Glaboski's medical concern rather than the property of Black Omega. This got Jaquel to thinking. Ever since he had signed his accord with the Railroad, his slave markets had been taking a nose dive. Sure, Black Omega rarely owned their own slaves, as being an anarchy system people had to be pretty horrendous people in order to be seen as candidates for slavery, but they had always been one of the prime movers in slave logistics. Since he'd published the agreement he'd noticed some of his clients were worried that he was going soft on their merchandise, and had decided that they'd rather not run the risk of their slaves losing valuable amounts of conditioning by being allowed to be treated according to any bill of rights. This had caused a significant change in his clientele at Deggie's, which was suddenly seeing a few people turn up who had no real experience of the seedier side of life apparently feeling like Black Omega space might be seen as...and it hurt the Preacher greatly to think of it.... a "progressive haven within a den of stinking evil" as one GalNet blogger from the alliance had mentioned before disappearing under suspicious circumstances.
The saying goes that no man is an island, and if that was the case Black Omega had shrunk down to a hamlet of late. A few CMDRs had left the fold entirely, and Victor Laius had been too busy with planetside activities to get involved with much of the day-to-day business of late. Auggie had really been pulling his own, and both Stryker and Locke had returned from their hiatus, but even so there was only so much they could do between them. They had made it known to the galaxy at large that they were looking for new recruits, and a new CMDR was finding his feet within the wing, but it was slow going at the momment. Black Omega was downsizing, and this meant that outsourcing was needed. But who would be willing to work with such a sensitive subject as the slave trade within their organisation had suddenly become? Preach decided to give Marra a bell. As much as she had become rather busy as a freelancer since leaving the fold, she harboured no ill will towards her old crew, and it was nice to talk over a few schemes like old times.
As it turned out, during an exploration trip she had recently undertaken, she had found a mining corporation in the Omega Nebula which she had hit on cordial terms with and had expressed an interest in possibly cementing a trade relationship in the future. She said she'd ring them up to let them know about the change in leadership, and Preach found a random VIP who wanted to go on a trip to the Omega Nebula as an excuse to go to the region. To be honest, having finally gotten the black paint job for Belugaosi's Dead, he was desperate to show it off with some vanity pictures.
Jaquel had grown used to the VIP. He was the one who got the role of "Tour Operator" recognised by INARA in the first place, and had been a Saud Kruger patron instrumental in touting the Beluga for the year running up to its release from initial spoilers. As much as he was used to flying marked slaves through treacle in his Cutter, he always had more fun with the glitz and glamour of his personalised cruise ship. He had gotten used to muting his comms when Zero started going off on his cockney rambles, and he was pretty sure that the hauntings which were following him around from ship to ship now weren't being heard outside of his own head. That was an issue to deal with another day. The current issue at hand is that there are two types of VIPs: the nobles and the wastemen. Despite his name, this man was certainly one of the latter. The guy had some money, he probably owned a few interests, and he thought that because he was a big player at a planetary level the galaxy at large owed him one. Jaquel had dealt with his type before, usually by spacing them halfway through the trip, but if he was to make this mission appear above board he had to bite his tongue and act like a good chauffeur. He even had to do something he swore he'd never do, and actually give in to this person's random demands for things en route to keep him happy. Usually Preach could get anywhere fast enough that his customers didn't have time to complain, but this guy wanted everything three weeks ago.
Five thousand light years feels like a long way to most new explorers, but Jaquel had been corewards a couple of times already so it was a light jaunt for him and he was planning to be done within a couple of days for the round trip. This pace made his passenger motion sick, however, and he wanted to see various types of rare stars and planets on the way. As much as Preacher was an ardent fan of Wolf-Rayets, it was more something he preferred to look up at his leisure rather than when he was halfway through testing out the new filters and lengthy plot routing available to him with the GalNet Galaxy Map update, so he found himself having to take frequent breaks to knock back some Lavian brandy and calm his nerves.
At long last, he made it to the Omega Nebula. As he stopped in front of the Black Hole and stared through the gravitational lensing as it span the vision of the nebula beyond, he remembered the last time he was here. That voyage may well have been cursed, but he was getting used to living under extreme circumstances recently, and he had learnt to live in the moment when periods of calm emerged. He drifted off into a nice state of non-thought and just stared for a while, noting the varied Liners boasting that they were in the "top 1% of Liners out there". He could never help but chuckle at that line. Considering systems regularly threw up populations in the billions, the amount of liners which must make up that "top 1%" was astronomical. No, his reputation was gained by his own reputation alone, and that was what this was all about. He decided his VIP was probably too busy inhaling his complementary minifridge of gaseous inebriants to fully comprehend the wonders of the scene outside of his window. In a small moment of mischievousness, he decided to blast the visitor's beacon dross text through the ship's comms via ASTRA's horrendous text-to-speech program.
"Blimey, Guv! Couldn't 'ya get one of those other guys to shout it out? That Vasco chap at least has some personality. I hate ASTRA, you hate ASTRA, and I'm pretty sure those other AI hate ASTRA as well"
Jaquel blinked and just stared at Zero for a moment as the gravity of what he was saying sunk in.
"Wait a minute, Zero....you mean to say you can hear Vasco?"
Vasco chirped up at the mention of his name, and a resounding "CLACTON ON SEA!" reverberated through the cockpit.
"Of course I can, guv! He's louder than your engines on a boost cycle!"
"So you can hear the others as well? Even SHODAN and the dog and cat?"
Zero's pumpkin head bobbed thoughtfully for a moment before he replied in a rather measured tone.
"You feelin' alright, guv? You do know that those animals are just set up to parameters and aren't actually roaming the ship, right? You might wanna lay off the brandy, or maybe smoke more...whatever's likely 'ta sort yer 'ed aht faster..."
Preach let the gravity of his recent neurosis about hauntings set in. Maybe it had all been in his head. Well, the AI weren't in his head, but maybe the fact it wasn't in his head proved that it was all in his head. All he knew was his head hurt ad this wasn't the time to be getting all headstrong about working things out as it's just make his headache worse. He decided to jump onward towards the Omega Mining Station. Obviously his VIP started complaining as soon as they left that they hadn't circumnavigated the black hole, so he jumped back quickly to fly straight through it just to shut him up for five minutes.
It was only a short journey to the mining station from the Black Treasure, and so Preach decided to ignore his VIP's requests. Whatever he wanted could be provided once they got there, and it was only another half an hour 'til they docked. Apparently this "fat cat" didn't agree with being left without his creature comforts for that long, and upon approach he made his distaste known.
Preacher decided to leave him locked in his cabin for a while so he could get some business done before this rambunctious personality started slandering him to any Tom, Delilah, and H4-22Y he could find around the docks. Instead, he went straight to the local charity office and donated 30 million credits to the local infrastructure before requesting an audience with the top brass on behalf of Black Omega. Suffice to say it went down a treat. Within the hour he was whisked upstairs away from the salt drifts which were assaulting his senses on the dock and into a rather well furnished waiting room with a maintenance droid dutifully vacuuming the accrued sodium debris from every surface it could and was given some complimentary moisturiser with the phrase "not for consumption or genital use" written on the packaging. He was left there sitting on a brown velour sofa for a while, probably a relic from the 3200s when such things were in style due to an odd crisis involving silk worms dying from a modified nanobot version of the bubonic plague meant to wipe out life on behalf of some ecological nutbag sect who couldn't actually code properly and so ended up only attacking things without legs. It itched him through his clothing, which was quite the feat considering the fact it could withstand bullets, and as time went on Preach realised that the vague smell of salt was also starting to pervade his skin and hair regardless of the moisturiser. He made a mental note to invest in better protection for future diplomatic visits, and wondered idly if the receptionist was bald due to fashion or because she was tired of it becoming more brittle than a permed and post-straightened hairdo would be.
After what felt like an eternity but was in fact only about two hours, he was met by the Vice President of the company. Well, "met" was not quite the right way to describe it. As he was ushered into the meeting room, he found himself standing on a marbled basalt floor staring at a wall-length projector with a rather happy looking gentleman staring back at him with tired eyes and an information feed scrolling underneath him providing information on current metrics in the station as well as subtitles for his speech in a few languages.
Preacher couldn't help but refute his statement.
"It's a good time to be alive out here, for sure, but life in the bubble has been getting a touch too diplomatic for my tastes"
Not the best introduction, but he thought it best to be honest.
"Yeah, that's true " Ervin chuckled "It's the whole reason I moved out here in the first place! You can be your own boss when no-one's looking over your shoulder for anything more than their pinch of the salt."
Preach couldn't help but chuckle at that one, he was a fan of one liners.
"I guess when you work the mines you get used to people being a bit salty around you"
Conner gave a singular "heh" as he smirked
"I see you are a man of culture as well, so let's get down to the nitty gritty"
Preach realised this was a man who was able to give out banter as well as take it, which reminded him of why he liked people who obviously worked their way up from the bottom. They were realistic and amiable, a far cry from the man who had been put on ship arrest for the past few hours.
"Marra told me you were coming here to cement relationships between us, and whilst your donation was greatly appreciated, we both know it was a token gesture to spill a drop out of your bucket."
Preach couldn't deny that considering his recent expenditure on Deggie's, so he merely nodded and sniffled as a stray bit of grit flew up his nose from a random draft.
"Suffice to say we might be a bit out of the loop, but you've been big enough news i might have a fair inkling as to why you're here. I'm glad you've decided to come to us with your concern, but it might cause our admin a bit of a headache to separate their Omegas."
Jaquel decided to interject here
"I was hoping that you might see an opportunity emerge in a venture which we..."
"Cut the bubblese, m8. We both know you're a fuken slaver lookin' to offload your merch here at a cut rate to make life easier for you. Heck, wouldn't surprise me if you're plannin' to tell the poor bastards that they're going to have a job and take some clothing or some other humanitarian aid to our station before we stun them on the way outta their ships to save you hiring people to shuttle their fellow slaves here in the first place."
Preach hadn't considered using slaves to haul slaves, but he had to admit the idea was rather brilliant in a Machiavellian way. He decided not to stop Conner mid-rant, but thought that this venture may have been somewhat under-researched, as the Vice President seemed to be getting rather hot under the collar about the whole affair.
"Then we'll have to fill in the paperwork ourselves to make sure that we take responsibility for the slaves and any liability is our own, you'll construe it as you finding employment for an otherwise impoverished underclass and pretend that Daman gave you the impetus to do so which, whilst half true, is still another layer of spin to try and turn your shitty situation into a way to make yourself seem better and your revolutionary friend seem almost complicit in the act whilst he goes off to fry bigger fish than your ragtag bunch of scoundrels. Then it gives you a reason to downsize form the paramilitary unit you were when people gave a flying fuck about you to the two-bit shady nightclub owners you've become since you got your stripes burnt off by some random insurgents from nowhere."
This guy was in full swing, and Preach began to think he should start making inroads with some textile factories in the buble instead to at least be allowed some time on a divan next time he got chewed out.
"And to top it all off, you're probably gonna try to lowball us on the price because you're offering us untraceable labour when in reality we're gonna be the ones who have to take them from basically malnourished cyanide breathers to actual workable pieces of flesh because no-one comes out here to trade in slaves since people have been getting scared of having the Railroad stomp through their back gardens. Did I leave anything out there, or was that your basic battle plan, Preacher man?"
Jaquel had maintained his eye contact with the man on the screen for the entirety of his rant, but he was glad for his mirror shades as his composure was starting to cause some involuntary eye twitches due to stress. He decided to bite the bullet and hope that honesty would be the best policy. At least if he admitted to everything he might be able to ask Ervin to keep it under his hat for the sake of another donation.
"Actually, Ervin, I was planning to offer you 1mil per tonne of slaves you would train to go down the mines for us, but apart from that I'll admit you've got me bang to rights. Sorry to have offended your sensibilities, I guess I was being stereotypical in my appraisal of mine operations."
Jaquel saluted rather tersely and left the chamber with his tail between his legs.
As he walked down to the passenger lounge, he bumped into the relocation officer who appeared to be jacked up on at least four different substances from the looks of his hypoglycemic eyeballs and skin tone. Maybe there was another way around this. Jaquel asked him to meet him at the docks after his shift had finished. The man, one Corey Scott, sent him a private message on his holo-feed in response.
He realised that there was no-one else in the passenger lounge at all, so he assumed they were free to talk at length. His bug-eyed new friend was a lot more accommodating than the vice=President had been, and assured him there were no devices within earshot which would be transferring their conversation. The environs were also a lot comfier than even the Vice President's room, and apparently this was because most diplomats rarely got further than the Passenger's Lounge and thus it was important they had leather and air fresheners rather than the utilitarian scene give to Preach upon arrival. All in all, it took nothing more than the same offer he had proposed to Conner and the small matter of promising to supply a Dolphin pro grata for Scott's personal use and the deal was sealed. As a bonus he promised to make sure the first benefactor of their new business arrangement would be the troublesome person who had been on ship arrest for the past seven hours. A quick spit handshake, which admittedly took Preach a while to muster due to having a mightily dry throat by now, and the deal was sealed.
Walking back to his ship, he wondered about the way this would affect things moving forwards. On the one hand, he had secured a rather decent deal and a useful bit of spin on the whole situation he had been left in. On the other hand, he had gone behind the back of the Vice President of the station, and that could come back to bite him in the future if such an obvious operation was caught wind of. Maybe Corey would be able to make it look legitimate enough that Ervin would merely think that business had taken a turn for the better, but Jaquel knew better than to trust the winds of fate in that regard. As the entrance ramp to his Beluga descended, he realised that at the end of the day this was how commerce worked. It was always cloak and dagger, and that was as true for a grape trader as a slave trader. It was all about cutting deals to grease wheels whilst someone got away with a steal. He decided to saunter around his ship before entering for once, taking in the shiny new neon decals he had put on her since she'd been repainted, and getting lost in the nostalgia of how far he had truly come since he was a whelp in a Cobra flying to Lave on a self-imposed diplomatic mission from Gcirthi to find no-one cared about such a Harmless whelp of a backwater system. Maybe Ervin didn't think that downgrading from a paramilitary to a nightclub was anything but an admission of defeat, but it was Preacher's call to make and he thought it was best to take Black Omega back to it's roots. Victor had agreed, and neither of them seemed to care to much to ask Deggie his opinion. the old codger was getting more cryptic as time went on, and it was possible he'd been losing his grip recently.
Jaquel almost slipped on the grit littering the landing pad when he saw the Vice President in person waiting for him next to his ship.
"May I come in for a quick farewell?"
Rife with apprehension at possibly being double-crossed, and seeing no trace of emotion in Conner's eyes, he decided it best to allow him to walk through the door. Hopefully the MPEF brainwashing unit might give him a change of heart.
As they sauntered through the "safe" zones of the Belugaosi's Dead, Preach used all his wits to keep Conner from seeing the more exotic services he allowed his customers use of, and instead of walking towards the small cargo bay which was still filled with things he hadn't taken stock of for the past few months, decided to take him to the food prep area in order to flaunt his health and safety routines. As a man who was serious about his knife work, the kitchens were the most sanitary in the whole of Pegassi, rivalling the exacting standards of the Master Chefs themselves, albeit not employing their services. As he stumbled through his list of HACCP protocols, he noticed Ervin's demeanour shift towards subtle mirth, and his face betrwayed that he was wiating to make a joke of some kind, probably at the expense of Preacher's animated nature.
"Look mate, you can drop the stammering apologetics, I'm here to level with you. The old man in charge of this place is gonna be found face up in his own preservatives this time next week, and I can't afford to be implicated in that or your new business venture."
Jaquel started running liss of textile factories through his mind
"However, your perseverance to make this work has given me an out. Scott has decided to oversee the operation, which gives me plausible deniability when I take over next month. We need the manpower, and you need a way to guarantee your old clientele that you're not going soft. So how's about we make an example of that cretin you've got holed up and use it as...shall we say a business pitch to your naysayers back home?"
Preach couldn't help but smile. It was obvious now. Protocol had to be seen to be followed, and his chewing out on the holofeed was all for the sake of going through the motions so this guy's own machinations would stay safe. Sometimes Jaquel forgot he wasn't the only person who was used to wide smiles at midday and long daggers at midnight. He wrapped an arm around his new business partner's shoulders and poured a ladle's worht of wahtever soup was simmering down his throat.
"Well, Ervin, it sounds like this could be the start of a wonderful friendship!"
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As he planned his route back to Clair Dock, he decided he'd take some time out in the Omega Nebula to have a little scout around for some sights. Things were ticking by alright enough that having a two day trip instead of a twelve hour journey wasn't going to rock the boat too much. He thought he'd familiarise himself with the functions of these AI companions of his now he knew they weren't figments of his drug withdrawals, and have some rambling conversations with Zero as he flew around so they could really get to know each other better. Who knows? Maybe after learning to socailise with plants he could learn to actually start talking to his wingmates about more than mission parameters and influence levels? As he took off and gave a fond look to the mining colony he was now in partnership with, he couldn't help but bring up that last communique from Barry.
"You sure won't Mr. Rich" he chuckled
"Ya' ain't gonna tell no-one nuffink, bruhv!" Zero added
Preach thought about correcting his pumpkin friend's double negative, but decided not to cramp his style.