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Ken Pennebaker steps out of the MRO shelter, accompanied by a pair of humans - one male, one female, both in their 20s. The documentarian is in the midst of telling them, "It's totally unacceptable. Tell the haulers that I expect them to eat the costs. They've had more than a week!"
One of his associates, the female, replies: "We might want to meet them in the middle on this, if we can, Ken. They're carrying some original prints and contact files. If we get too aggressive..." Her voice trails off, but the man with her picks up the conclusion: "...Those might get lost."
Micky shows up from, shockingly enough, the tavern. He's got a half empty bottle in one hand and a full bottle tucked under his arm. He kind of wanders across the tradeport until he stops to snoop on the human trio, grinning goofily.
Ken Pennebaker frowns, stopping near a stack of crates outside one of the trade kiosks. "All right. Handle it your way for now. But if my stuff isn't here within 48 hours, we do it my way." His assistants nod agreement, then depart for the levimodule. Pennebaker plucks the PDA off the belt around his waist and notices the goofy-grinning Micky. "A little early for that, isn't it?"
"You tell 'em, chief," encourages Micky as he shakes a fist at the assistants. Then, he sniffs and gives a what can you do sort of shrug. "All a matter of perspective, see. Probably a little late to solve my problems with a bottle but whatever. You never know until you try."
Ken Pennebaker keeps the PDA at his side as he inquires: "What problems would you be trying to solve with a bottle, anyway?"
"Mostly problems of perspective. See, the way I look at it, everything is wibble-wobbly. So, I drink, and it steadies stuff up," says Micky as he sort of twitches and wobbles by way of a demonstration. "Horrible medical condition. Something wrong with the ocular cortex of the hind brain latimus, see? Orders from a doctor. Drink, drink."
Ken Pennebaker tilts his head, eyes narrowing. "Which doctor gave you that diagnosis? Someone here in the Ancient Expanse?"
Waving a hand dismissively, Micky says, "Doctor What'cha'mu'call'its. He's a thing-a-ma-jigger. Got hisself a real fancy practice over there in where ever it was that it was happened to be. He treats all the celebrities."
Ken Pennebaker ahs. "My apologies. I didn't realize you were a celebrity. Should I know your work?"
"That's fine. I'm going incognito here as a space bum. I'm a method actor, see?" says Micky before he takes a long pull from his bottle. Wiping his mouth with a sleeve, he continues, "I do a lot of artsy movies. I played a bereaved B'hiri mother in Spider Sacks from Sacrosisis if you ever saw it. It was quite the thing a couple of years ago."
Ken Pennebaker blinks a few times, mouth curling downward. "I'll have to look it up," he replies dourly. "Where were you before the Expanse?"
"A sloppy wet, green hell," answers Micky with a burp, smacking himself on the chest a couple of times. "Shouldn't have ate all them Pyracani sausage snacks."
Ken Pennebaker ponders. "Has anyone ever figured out how the rifts work? Why they work? Your friend the other night - she was from, what, 18th Century Earth? And you were from a different time. Is there any rhyme or reason to the places and people they appear?"
"Rifters are mostly pathological liars or innocent, little puppies," explains Micky before he shrugs and sloshes the bottle around. "Tend to rip open when there is some kinda big hub bub, dramatic, deus ex machina type of moment. They're natural born screen writers, see? I don't know if them Kamir created the rifts or just harnessed them to their own will. The Kamir got bumped off, though, so now the rifts are all willy nilly. Well, they were until some pencil necked alien created a rift drive. Now, there are ships that can use stationary rifts to go pretty much where they want or something. It's all a bunch of hocus pocus and wishful thinking to me. But, yeah, some of them are pretty consistent, and they can be used to travel like the one you used to get here on. The rest of them are random. Tend to go from similiar environment to similar environment. At least, I haven't heard of nobody that got spit out of a rift and died 'cause they could only breathe xeon gas or something."
Ken Pennebaker considers this for a few moments, then presses on. "So, it's my understanding a lot of rifters end up here on Comorro. A mobile vessel. It strikes me as odd that we also don't see people rifting in where Comorro *used* to be, and dying in the vacuum of space."
"That's kind of the old if a tree falls in a forest scenario, but, yeah, there's a lot more nothing than there is stuff. That's why I said they tend to be recorded as from like to like," says Micky with another shrug of his shoulders. "You'd be better off talkin' to some scientist than you would be talkin' to me. Not that they're likely to agree with each other. As far as I know, the only one that does much research on the rifts is that one who invited you on his research yacht. The rest of them like sticking their heads in the sand when confronted by the complicated."
Ken Pennebaker nods. "I do plan to talk to this Narai fellow, yes." He lifts the PDA and starts tapping in quick notes. "Have you ever considered trying to rift back to where you came from?"
"That was, like, six hundred and ninety years ago give or take. I ain't seen any mad scientist that I'd trust enough to pluck me down in the right place, time period, and time line. There are alternate universes. I met me a German that seems to think they won the World War I," says Micky before he takes a drink. "It's like a big, twisted, tangle of rope. The strands divide and reconnect and divide again. I'm where I'm supposed to be. Trying to send me back to where I think I should be is just playing with the forces of nature, will of God, or whatever you want to call it. Some things are just better of being left well enough alone."
Pennebaker says, "I see. That's an interesting way to look at it. Well, tell your friend I may have a job for the Red Eclipse Mercenaries. This Orion-side hauling firm should've gotten my equipment, files and...well, pretty much everything I care about, here days ago. If they don't step up the pace, I might have to take matters into my own hands."
With a short lived heh and some head shaking, Micky says, "Ok. Might as well. Take her mind out of crazy land to have something to do. Women. Crazy." He shakes his head some more. "I don't know what kind of work we do on the far side of the rift, so it'll be costly to set up what we need. What's on the boat you're trying to get?"
Ken Pennebaker shrugs. "Among other things, original holoprints of my existing documentaries. But I've also got raw footage for several other projects I've been working on."
Micky is shooting the bull with Pennebaker. Micky's got a mostly empty bottle in hand and a full bottle tucked up under one arm. He scratches at the back of his head with his wrist. This involves hitting himself with the bottle in the ear. He copes, "Those seem kinda small. What's the bulk items that brought in the cargo firm?"
James Sterling steps out of the levimodule and walks through the bazaar, glancing to various things in shop windows. He spies the familiar form of Micky and approaches. "G'day," he drawls. He looks to Pennebaker to include him in the greeting. "What's news?"
Ken Pennebaker clips the PDA to his belt, then says, "The prints aren't big. In retrospect, I should've strapped them on the backs of my assistants when we hopped the flight over from the Orion Arm. The bulk items for the courier ship are furniture, footage processing equipment, clothes, a goat, three ceiling-height plasma lamp columns and a library's worth of actual hardcopy books." He nods toward Sterling. "Hello."
"May have a job on our side of the rift," Micky notes side long to Sterling while his blood shot eyes remain on Pennebaker. "A goat, huh? Fan of the chevre? Boss'll love you." He pauses to sniff and finish off the bottle which he tosses into a waste/recycling bin. "Got some literary folks, too, that'd hate to see no books gone to the rubbish bin of history. I'll see if the boss is down to leave her comfort zone if you don't bump into her first."
"A job, eh?" Sterling looks at Pennebaker. "You a filmmaker?" he asks.
Ken Pennebaker chuckles. "Well, the goat's male. I wouldn't want to eat that cheese, no matter how good the wine was that went with it. His name's Otis. He talks. After a fashion. Gift from an eccentric old Sivadian I made a doc about a few years back." He looks at Sterling and says, "Documentaries. Nothing most people ever see."
"A talkin' goat named Otis?" Micky asks before he pops the screw on top of his second cheap bottle. "Man, first person that calls me Otis is going to get stabbed. Just throwin' that out there now."
Sterling grunts in acknowledgement to Pennebaker. "History, then? Or just the 'Weekly Weirdies' kinda thing? I mean, with a talkin' goat... that just /sounds/ like somethin' those shows get all excited about filmin'."
Ken Pennebaker smirks. "Mostly history, political issues, interesting people. The talking goat was a product of Gaffigan's lab. Rudimentary speech capability, really. The conversations can get rather interesting, if simplistic." "Stabbed," mumbles Micky before he takes a long drink from what was before that a full bottle. The three male humans are talking outside the MRO shelter somewhere. Well, mostly it is those with two names doing the talking just now.
"Well, I've talked to a purple blob, a giant made of stone, a big freezing jellyfish, and a little ol' fox man." Sterling ticks the items off on his fingers. "S'pose a talkin' goat'd be a bit borin' in comparison." He chuckles, then sticks out his hand toward Pennebaker. "James Sterling," he says. "You ever do any history of Earth?"
Ken Pennebaker shakes the offered hand. "Ken Pennebaker. And, yes, some Earth history. But, if your friend here is correct, whether my documentaries are accurate or not really must depend on the version of Earth that you once called home."
There is a brief burst of slightly muffled music as the door leading to the Red Eclipse HQ cycles open. Captain Jocaira comes a-sauntering out, belts and bangles jingling in rhythm with her steps. She is presently has her hand tucked into the elbow of a Timonae, and looking right pleased about it. When she catches sight of the group outside of the MRO shelter, she perks up, and starts fussing with her hair with her free hand. "Cherie!" she perks to Tirax. "Sat is 'im, sat is se man who wants to make a study of rifters. Eeee!"
"Space time continium," supplies Micky before he takes another drink. "Alternate realities, time lines, and event scenarios leading to muddled what'cha'mu'call'ems and contradictory thing-a-mu-jiggers." He then looks towards the jingle-jangle, "Might got a job for us. Rescue of a goat named Otis and some other stuff. Orion Arm. Depending on how some talks go. No Micky goat jokes."
The somewhat taller Tirax seems rather happy to stroll along with Joca, glancing at the people pointed out to him. Micky's comment gets a blink. "What's a goat?" he asks cluelessly. "Are they funny?"
"Yeah, that's what I heard," Sterling says, disappointment evident in his voice. He looks over as Jocaira and a tall fellow come out of REM headquarters. He gives them a casual wave before returning his attention to Pennebaker. "Like lookin' fer a needle in a haystack, I reckon. I'd love t'know what happened t'me lads," he says. "Whether they beat th'bad guys we were fightin', y'know.'
Ken Pennebaker ponders, but nods to Sterling. "Well, I could do some research, I suppose. If there are comparative markers between your reality and mine...needle and haystack it might be, but it would be a start if, at the very least, we can rule *one* Earth out."
Jocaira makes a little face at Micky. "Please," she says, "I wouldn't insult se goat." After a burst of unfettered syllables of mirth, she gives a jangly wave of greeting to everyone else. "Allo, Monsieur Sterling, Monsieur Pennebakair. I see you are meeting some of my boys, ehn? Many rifters, as promise." Tirax's question elicits another burst of giggles. "It is -farm- animal, Monsieur Tirax, like... leetle 'orse, or leetle cow, or sheep. 'ooves, 'orns. Kind of 'airy. Gives very good milk."
"Tol'ja," Micky side notes to Pennebaker.
Tirax nods solemnly, giving James a rather overtly appraising glance before his attention moves back to Micky and Pennebaker. "So, why would we be rescuing a farm animal?" he asks carefully.
Sterling flicks a mischievous grin at Jocaira. "What would you need?" he asks Pennebaker. "I ain't th'greatest student o'history, but I could tell ya some basic stuff, like the USSR fell apart, or there's not been a Worl' War Three yet."
Ken Pennebaker considers. "Send me a list of things you remember from your period of history. I have people who can delve into the research back home." He then looks toward Tirax and says, "The goat - he's male, by the way, so think twice before milking him - is among quite a few other belongings in the temporary possession of a hauling company in the Orion Arm. They were supposed to deliver last week. If they don't deliver within two days, I am considering hiring the Red Eclipse group to recover my property."
Jocaira waggles her fingers at Sterling and gives him a little "Hey~yy" before perking up even further. "Ooh? I like se Orion Arm. 'ave you evair been to Tomin Kora? Is so -interesting- sere... ahn, but of course, should you wish, we can make a business discussion. Se retrieval of propertie is most -certainly- within our expertise, non?" She moves to bump slightly against Tirax's side and gives a little brow-waggle of approval, complete with a grin that crinkles the bridge of her nose with the force of her happiness. "Monsieur Sterling," she elaborates to the Timonae, "Is applicant to join us, cherie."
"Otis talks," supplies Micky. "A treasured friend of Sivadian vintage."
Sterling looks up at the tall Timonae, one eyebrow quirking up at the man's study of him. "G'day," he offers. Pennebaker's reply draws his attention back immediately to the filmmaker. "Fantastic," he enthuses. "I'll do that." He grins. "Wouldn't me teachers be surprised t'know I'm finally makin' use o'me schoolin'. I heard o' Tomin Kora," he adds to Jocaira, "an' it does sound interestin'. I'd like t'check it out sometime."
Tirax offers Stirling a sloppy salute. "Good day to you too," he says before nodding down to Joca. "I seeee.." he muses. "Well, yes, that's certainly within our range. Bringing things back completely undamaged," he adds carefully. "Completely, yes."
Ken Pennebaker smiles. "Good, then. Thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to compile some notes of my own and find out what progress my assistants have made with the hauling company."
"We won't let you down if they do," encourages Micky before he takes another swig of bad liquor.
Jocaira perks up -again-. "Sivad? I -love- se Sivad sciences! Sey are -wanderful-... I 'ad... awww..." She trails off, and then purses her lips into a little moue of disappointment. "Ahn, but you are leaving -already-? I was so looking forward to speaking wis you about your research and presentation."
"See ya," Sterling offers to Pennebaker. He takes his PDA from his jacket. "I c'n find ya on this thing when I got somethin' t'send ya 'bout Earth, right?"
Ken Pennebaker laughs, grinning at Jocaira. "Well, it's just that I feel way too overdressed for it." With that, he nods to Sterling and then unclips the PDA and wanders back toward the MRO.