|
While Mika Tachyon does not frequent Materi Syna, it is only appropriate that when she does, she visits the bar that is named in her honor. The deadhanded captain of the Outcast is an unladylike slouch in a booth near the exit, and has already gotten to work on a pitcher of beer and a basket of chips.
Griss Sorii walks into the tavern, with his hands in his pockets and his shades covering most of his face.He heads for a booth near Mika, and smoothly sits down, flicking his tail up onto the chair.
Spying the Grimlahdi, Mika shuffles to a mostly-upright position and cranes her neck after him. It takes a long hard moment before she decides this is the droid she’s looking for, but once she does, she levers herself to her feet and strolls right on over, hands in the pockets of her coat. “Lady smile, mate,” comes the too-chipper greeting and the sketched salute. “I’m Cap’n Tachyon. Let’s get ta work, savvy?” That must be the clumsiest come-on ever, because she is apparently intent on leading him straight back to a private room. A very dark private room. She has to work the lightswitch a bit before the fixtures flicker to life.
Griss Sorii hisses, flicks out his tongue and tastes the air, then stands up and follows the woman without a word.
Mika thinks she is the most discreet creature on the planet the way she’s all drawing shades and such, but mostly it just comes off as staging a bad porno. When she’s done, she just stands there uselessly – and all too aware of her lack of utility at this stage of the game. Her arms hang lankly at her sides, her face clueless and bovine, until awkward fidgeting takes over. The mighty pirate.
Griss Sorii follows Mika into the room, and assists her by making sure the door is closed and locked. Then he moves over and sits down on the cheap hotel bed. The Grimlahdi spends a few moments adjusting his glasses, then presses a button on his arm causing a holographic interface to emit from the glove. Making gestures with both hands, he hisses. “The Naliese communication protocolss are not sso hard to break, if you’ve had experiensse with them,.”
“Tcha,” Mika scoffs as haughtily as any strutting Ungstiri, all swagger and no sense. She deposits a wrapped bundle on the far end of the table before yanking a chair out to dump herself in. “Only experience I ‘ave with Nall is feedin’ ‘em th’ bus’ness end o’ me blinkin’ pulsespitter.”
Once the system is breached, Griss finds that he has access to a number of signal routes – Eye of the Goddess, which is the flagship of Vox Hurk of Hatch Vril, or the Zarist headquarters on Vor, or a ship identified as the Vestibule – a Vox Nalia church ship that travels with the fleet.
Griss Sorii hisses in amusement, but otherwise keeps a rather professional manner. “What are you sseeeking?” He asks, once he’s into the system.
Mika laces her fingers behind her head. “Well, me scaly ‘ssociate, I’m figurin’ I’ll talk shop with one o’ the fine lasses inna priest’ood. S’there an Antaz?” She can’t help but wonder, eyes round and owlish when the name crosses her mind. “If there isn’t, then uh, then jus’– biggest, baddess church-folk wot ye can get yer claws inta.”
“I have access to Vesstibule.” Griss states in a businesslike manner. “I sshall attempt to locate thisss priesstess you ssseeek.” He continues, attempting to bring up the crew registry without giving away his unauthorized access of the system.
As Griss gains access to the registry aboard the Vestibule, he sees a list of onboard personnel that does, in fact, include Priestess Antaz of Hatch Vril, hatchmate of the Vox himself. However, the inquiry doesn’t go unnoticed. On the ship’s bridge, an alert comm officer detects the intrusion and begins the process of backtracking the signal. It will take him about three minutes to follow the bread crumbs back to this location. Whatever happens next needs to happen fast.
“Well?” Mika prompts, when she feels the silence has stretched too long.
“I am being traced.” Griss makes a sharp gesture with his hand, causing the hologram to display a clock counting down until they are traced. “I must dissconnect before it completes. You have two minutes and forty-five ssseconds. I am connecting you to Antaz of Hatch Vril… now.” A sweeping gesture with both arms, creating a small holographic screen in front of Mika.
The holographic image resolves into the pebble-fleshed snout and beady black eyes of the Nall priestess, Antaz of Hatch Vril. “What isss thisss?” she inquires. “I gave ordersss not to be disssturbed.”
That screen appears so suddenly that Mika has to scramble to cobble together some sort of dignified presence – far from her body of expertise. She straightens her collar and rakes fingers through hair and dons the sort of ear-to-ear smile that begs to be slapped off. “Uh, hon’rable Antaz!” she greets, and true to form, betrays that she has done exactly zero research into her objective and is flying by the seat of her pants: “D’ye know me? I’m Mika– Cap’n Mika Tachyon. I don’t know ‘ow time works in this dimension but once ‘pon a time where I’m from, ye asked me ta find th’ r’mains o’ yer goddess. Y’know. Nalia.” In case she forgot. Well, at least she’s trying. “I ‘eard she died ‘ere. I was really sad. I wanted ta– I wanted ta ‘elp, erm, honor ‘er, as is… as is ‘ppropriate fer a warrior o’ ‘er stature, see…”
A flick of eye membranes and a clack of fangs. “You have violated Clawed Fissst Fleet ssssecurity protocolsss to reach me,” the priestess observes. “You may be killed for thisss, if you do not ssspeak quickly and if you fail to gain my interessst. The Vox lacksss toleransssse for sssuch intrusssionsss.”
Griss Sorii remains silent, staying out of this conversation and letting Mika do the talking. He keeps his attention focused on the counting-down trace clock, tensely waiting to disconnect when it starts to approach zero.
“I found ‘er,” the Dead Hand pleads with almost palpable desperation, heart worn prominently on her sleeve. That bundle of hers is unwrapped and thrust toward the camera – a short, squat urn covered in distinctly Naliese carvings. “We found ‘er! Me, an’ Kittianna Trevelyan, an’ Katya Innokentevna. She was cloned on Tomin Sirocco an’ she led th’ entire Clawed Fist Fleet ta war ‘gainst th’ Orion Arm! I swear I’m not lyin’, ye can look it up in any o’ our records,” Mika continues, brow furrowed urgently. “I know yer Vox wants ta do th’ same thing. ‘e can’t! If Nalia couldn’t, then ‘e can’t. But we can give ‘er a second chance. We can clone ‘er ‘gain! I can give ‘er back, an ye can show ‘is ilk where ye lop th’ jolly ol’ tail off at–!
“We’ll ‘elp ye take down th’ Vox.” She sucks in a breath, lets it out, and echoes words spoken six years ago. “Ye can give Nalia ‘er birthright.”
The Nall priestess stares silently into the holocam for a few moments, considering what Mika has said. In the end, she angles her snout sideways just a little and says, “Three dayssss. That awful commersssse asssteroid. Be there. My liaissson will dissscusss thisss with you further.” She switches off the holocam, cutting off the signal well in advance of the comm officer’s backtrace. When the transmission breaks, the comm officer draws back a little, miffed by the disturbance of the hunt.