"The sea has never been friendly to man. At most it has been the accomplice of human restlessness." -- Joseph Conrad

Seattle, Friday 14 Feburary 2070, 0800

Seattle is a weird place- a place where worlds collide. On a clear day from the deck of a ship you can see the Cascade Mountains in the East, full of life and natural beauty. They stand like a geological reminder of a way life people actually used to enjoy. They're only about 30 clicks away as the crow flies, but any sprawl dweller knows they might as well be in another world. The reality is it's almost never clear, and the world of the average sprawl dweller is filled with concrete, pollution, poverty, crime and violence, all under the sickly glow of artificial lights. It's a world of long hour drudgery, short life spans, and even shorter expectations. A world where corporate-driven consumerism is the only meaningful religion left.

Today its raining, just like yesterday and the day before. The "Emerald City"? it's called- supposedly because of the way the buildings shine after the acrid rain rinses off the dust and grime kicked up from the city streets below. Inside those towers is another world, equally far away despite the minute spacial separation afforded by a thin pane of mirrored glass. The corporate world is full of luxury, excess, intrigue and sometimes just as much violence as the streets. They just don't tend to call it crime when it draws a profit.

And then there is the world you live in- a world in between, a world in the shadows. The sea affords you a kind of freedom that neither the sprawl-dweller nor the corporate wageslave can claim. Freedom from the oppressive control of the corporate sphere. Freedom to come and go as you please. Freedom to travel the world in search of your own truth. Freedom to think, to feel, to be. Some come to the sea in search of its secrets. Others come to the sea fleeing their own. But everyone who comes to the sea is changed and once you cross into that world there is no going back...

Seattle (30 klicks offshore), Tuesday, 11 Feburary 2070, 0545


"Today lad, you cannae let last night's drinkin keep ye from yer workout. Cap'n ill have coffee ready a'for you're done."

Desmond forced the fog from his consciousness as he stretched his muscles in preparation for his morning run. The deck of a ship wasn't the ideal place for morning PT, but it was better than nothing. Des could feel the wintery, early-morning chill in bones as ran his laps around ship.

After his morning workout, Des made his way to the galley. Sure enough, Captain Carter had already prepped the auto-chef for coffee, and it was just finishing it's brew cycle. Des grabbed a cup and made his way up back to the deck to watch the sun rise up from behind the Cascade Mountains.

Desmond drained his mug and went back to his bunk to shed his sweats, take a shower, and get ready for the day. He had a lot of work to do, starting with running pre-launch checks on all the vehicles below decks.

Bar downtown Seattle, Someetime in Feburary 2070, 2130

As he left the bar alone that night to go back home and study some more pages on some spells he is studying Lidralyn is approached by a newcomer to the corp and asked about his life in the corp.

"My life you say?, all I do is work and go home, my job and my study is my life. Perhaps if you stick around long enough and I find your true to your word you might find what that study is. Don't count on it tho, I have found much corruption in this world as of late. Mayhaps you will be the one who proves to me that there is something more to life than slaving away all day only to die at a young age under someones knife over some fate this cruel life has thrown your way."

"There has to be something more..."

With that Lidralyn leaves and goes home to a long night of studying and work.

300m Below, Puerto Rico Trench, 24 December 2069

Merry Christmas mon ami.

The last of the canisters slid gracefully over the edge of the escarpment and disappeared into the crushing depths below.

Petwo's dinner-plate eyes swiveled on their stalks to follow the path of the mind-rotting poisons the Ghosts had left on the sea-bed for local trawlers to 'find.' Alien lids blinked with satisfaction when the darkness swallowed the shrinking capsule.

Flexing muscles most people would never experience he rode a jet of freezing water along the ocean floor, letting his deadly tentacles trail menacingly behind him.

He did not know who would take the hit here, the Cartels or the local dealers they were courting, it didn't really matter, someone was out millions and nobody really knew what had happened. Ignorance breeds distrust and paranoia, blood would no doubt be spilled on both sides. Petwo did not think any would lose their lives that did not deserve to but when a storm is about to break it is best to be elsewhere.

Yes, a holiday is in order. The Pacific I think, I have always wished to taste it's depths.

The eye-stalks flicked south, towards Panama...

Seattle Wilderness, Cascade Ork Boarder, 10th Feburary 2070, 0630

Guy rolled haggardly off the couch he was sleeping on and landed on the dilapidated, dusty floor of the safehouse. He struggled to his feet after a muffled grunt. This job was taking too long. Big Dog had convinced Guy to operate a radar and perform some electronic warfare along a critical smuggling route. It was getting boring, and Guy was starting to feel his karma back up like water at a dam or feces in an infected colon. He decided that, whatever metaphor was appropriate, this was probably his last day on the job.

Solid ground had too many ghosts living on it anyway.

His vision swam with icons and connections as he brought his commlink online -- 182 new messages from some spam bot in Caracas, he really needed to rewrite some chunks of his spam filter. He started performing some back breaking yoga on the floor of the cramped wooden shack along Cascade Ork's border. The radar assembly outside the window was begging for attention. It's noise floor had been creeping up and he suspected some birds were roosting in the assembly. He stopped after a few positions, his body wasn't the spiritualy aware yoga machine it used to be.

He felt a compulsion to idly flip through his messages again, and was rewarded for following his instincts by finding one, day-old message from Captain Joseph Carter saying that he was in the Sound. The week was brightening right up. He threw on a poncho and headed outside to check the communications gear that was nestled gently in a pristine wilderness while sending a message back.

<<"Carter, I'm in Seattle and looking for a change of pace. If you need another deck hand -- drop me a line.">>

Shithole on the Seattle Waterfront, Wednesday, 12th Feburary 2070, 0930

Having finally come to an agreement, the two men shook hands, laughed and threw back their long neglected drinks, setting the empty glasses near the others - fragile reminders of how long they had been haggling. Both men were feeling the effects of their drinks, and neither one had been especially clever or skilled, but both seemed pleased with the agreement they had come to. On the floor, Carter's heavy boot kicked a small metal crate across the bar floor - leaving a slight scrape that nobody was going to notice, in a place like this. Up top, Pete smiled and tossed a small wad of cash across the table. Both men took a moment to inspect their new gifts - unconcerned with the amount of attention their bartering had garnered. Carter finished first, running a quick thumb over the edges of the currency, before tucking it into his pocket. He trusted Pete as much as anyone can trust a professional pirate, and, today, as usual, he was the one doing the favor. Pete took a bit longer, fumbling with the rusty crate before getting it open, and looking inside. His widening eyes showed more thanks than his payment did.

"E' still works?" Pete asked sceptically.

Certer shrugged. "I said I'd go down'n get it, not repair two months of rot."

Pete nodded. "Aye, thanks mate. You're a life-saver."

Carter smiled, and stood up, wobbling only slightly. "Right, then. You won't mind picking up our tab, eh?" With a nod, he caught the waitress's attention, and gestured to Pete who seemed oblivious. Carter was already halfway across the room, before Pete responded. "Wha? I... sure thing, mate."

Port Orchard, February 2070

With a grin he doffed his Papa Johnny's Pizza cap and haphazardly folded it into his rear jeans pocket. From the top his re integrated tool case he pulled out the white stetson hat, and jauntily perched it atop his cropped afro. Bart smiled, his white teeth contrasting with the his negro skin. A full 3 meters from the bedroom wall he stopped, put down the tool box carefully, and mentally flipped through a series of checks. As the ARO indicators performed their various perambulations he zoomed in on the area of interest.

From the water side deck area and adjacent rooms the muted sounds of genial partying filtered into the room, the lights of Seattle across the sound provided illumination enough to not need any additional lighting. In any case, the things he was worried about weren't in the visual spectrum so it didn't matter. It made a fantastic view though, the lights reaching into the sky and reflecting across the water in an embrace of sea and sky.

What he wanted to look at was what was in the brand new Hoffman safe he'd seen delivered here last week.

The ARO indicators slowly flicked into a green background, except for the stubborn olfactory sensor. He shook his head and smiled, as he looked at it again, expecting it to simply be reporting the pheromones, sex enhancers and de inhibitors he'd laced the stack of pizzas with.

well this is a right little pickle

It took 2.1904 seconds before he even thought about not moving. Then he very carefully continued to stay very still and thought furiously.

It hasn't been blown yet... sooo....

Sometimes you just had to go with it, and since the only way to get the most out of this was to assume the best, Bart was just going to have to go with it. It wasn't like he'd been through this before.

time to buy myself in

"Well, pardners. you've got me dead to rights here, you've staked your claim free and clear. But I'm thinking I can help you out a bit. While doing it your way is certainly going to work, it's going to be kinda loud, and in case you haven't noticed, there's a dozen kids in the place. In ten minutes I can get you what you want, very quiet, and I'll even toss in this last undoped pizza.

Real Pepperoni.

Unless you are actually wanting a Hoffman 3000 that you'll take days opening?"

Bart hoped he hadn't been talking to thin air...

Lidralyn:

Mitsuhama North American HQ, Monday 17 Feburary 2070, 0735

You arrive at Mitsuhama’s North American Head Quarters early as usual. The last shuttle leaving the corporate housing complex is always packed, and a person in your position cannot afford to be late. Passing through the beautifully manicured Japanese garden on your way to Tower 4 you are scanned half a dozen times by sensor arrays discretely worked into the architecture and landscaping. You know better than most that any one of them can trigger lethal countermeasures if your PAN does not return the proper passkeys when queried. You nod to Terick as you enter the building and he gives you a tusk-filled grin and a wave from inside the armored glass security booth. He discretely punches a quick text into his comm.

<<Sorry I couldn’t make it last night. Boss made me work the graveyard again because some breeder called in “sick�. You weren’t drinking alone again I hope? –Terick>> You ignore his jab and get in line for an elevator.

As you ride the mirrored glass cage up to the 32nd floor you gaze out across the courtyard at Tower 6, which houses Mitsuhama’s Thaumaturgical Research Division. It's a building you frequent all too often in the course of your duties, but yet another place in which you feel like an outsider. Other corporate magicians share a kind of camaraderie that doesn’t often extend to members of the Internal Investigations Division, even if they are “gifted�.

After running a gauntlet of coffee-swilling good-morning wishers you arrive at your small cubical. Your comm automatically accesses the office terminal to sync your calender with any new meetings or appointments. The small device chirps to indicate an addition to your schedule, but before you can check it Ted Peterson is leaning over the office divider with a mug in one hand and a head full of useless drivel he likes to think is hot gossip.

“Did you hear about Bob Johnson?� You glance over at the neighboring cubicle, which is uncharacteristically empty. For 4 years you’ve shared a cubical row with Bob Johnson and not once have you managed to beat him to work in the morning. You’re pretty sure he’s a habitual Long Haul user with a productivity complex. “Yeah, apparently some go-gangers ran him off the road. Wife, kid… the whole lot of ‘em went under a Hermes delivery van in the on-coming lane. I heard the kid lived but they don’t expect him to make it. I told Bob not to buy that Dodge Inspira. Those things are a death trap…� His voice trails off as you start to tune him out.

Your commlink chirps again, jolting you back into reality.

<<My office in ten minutes. – K. Tomiki>>. You can tell it’s going to be an interesting day.

Seattle Wilderness, Cascade Ork Boarder, 12th Feburary 2070, 1430

Guy applied the wax to the bottom of his board with loving care. Layers of wax caked the surfboard.

If I keep this up I'll need to sell it as a candle, not a board.

Even though the ritual was redundant, useless and actually harmful to his ability to use the surf board, Guy needed to feel a mental connection with the polyurethane and fiberglass platform that had been the source of so many good times for him. Applying the wax, checking for scratches and dents and ascertaining that the skegs were still in optimal position was a reminder of saltwater, freedom and beach parties at night where his gray hair was an afterthought, not everyone's first thought.

The birds were out of the assembly and it worked fine, but the antenna temperature of one dish was surprisingly high. He'd already tagged it with pertinent information, he didn't have the equipment to run a full diagnosis of the antenna.

He was getting anxious about Carter. Maybe he could charter some kind of trans-Aleutian work -- though that'd still be way too cold. Nothing like going back to LA and diving for a while. Fitz would be glad for business.

The days dragged by in the depths of the Cascades.

Petwo:

Southern Aztlan Coast, 2 January 2070, 0005

The dreams started somewhere off the West Coast of Aztlan after the New Year. The Pacific had felt different since you crossed into its waters, but the dreams remain particularly troublesome. They are always the same and always on Thursdays, which seems somehow appropriate.

You find yourself standing on a rocky shore gazing out across a turbulent sea. White caps roll and break along the beach and the cold salty air assaults your bare skin. Instinctively you wade into the icy water and submerge.

Despite maintaining your metahuman form you have no difficulty breathing beneath the water and can hear clearly what sounds like the blaring of a horn rising out of the black depths. You continue deeper and deeper walking along the ocean floor as though buoyancy has no hold on you. A surreal light seems to swell up around you, illuminating rocky formations and schools of fish along your path.

You suddenly become aware of four fish circling you. As soon as you notice them they break from their circular course and dart off in the 4 cardinal directions except for one fish that circles again slowly and then swims northward, allowing you to follow.

After some time you come to a great ocean trench that extends off in both directions as far as you can see. Standing at the edge of the great chasm is a powerfully built mulatto youth dressed all in blue. He welcomes you with a nod of recognition as you approach, but his face remains solemn.

You stand side by side in silence staring down into the black void for what seems like an eternity. An ominous feeling of concern grows in your heart. Eventually the man turns to you and speaks:

"The course of your destiny has changed, Pee Pee, and where you must go I can no longer travel with you..."?

Before you can utter a word you are startled awake.

Carter, Desmond and Bart:

Harbor Island Seattle, 12 February 2070, 1248

BANG! BANG! BANG!

From the deck below you can't quite see Doc, but judging by the sound of it you start to worry that he might be doing more harm than good. You spend a few more minutes craning your necks while he clangs around in the sensor array before climbing down.

"Yep. I think you're right. The coupler to that forward array is just about shot."? He wipes his greasy hands on a rag and tosses the wrench back into a nearby toolbox. "?I might be able to find another one, but it could take a week or two to get my hands on it and it won't be cheep."

The prospect of expensive repairs makes everyone cringe. The safe heist was profitable enough to cover everyone's bills for a few weeks, but every day at port meant more bribes to Davis and his lackeys in the Harbor Patrol.

Doc scratches his chin and glances upward again. "Or if you know anybody that knows their way around a sensor main they might be able to reconfigure that port-side emitter to bypass the faulty coupler... Either way I wouldn't put out to sea until its fixed."? His suggestion reminds Carter of a text he'd received a day or two prior.

While Doc packs up the rest of his tools, Desmond is alerted to an incoming text message:

<<Des: An associate of mine in Seattle is looking for a crew familiar with smuggling operations. I'd help him myself, but I'm tied up in San Francisco. This job is small but the J is very well connected and could be a source of future work. If you're interested he'll be at a club called the Strip House Monday night around 8 p.m. Ask for Kurita at the door. -- Yojimbo>>

Harbor Island Seattle, 12 February 2070, 1248

Carter thanked Doc and slid the man some bills for his time - probably less than he was due, but it was all Carter could afford. As they walked towards the exit, Carter spoke up, "Thanks for taking a look at it. We'll give you a call if we decide to order those parts." He was pleasant, but saw the looks on the faces of his crew, and felt his own stomach turn at the news. They weren't going to splurge on brand new parts. What he needed, he realized, was to take Guy up on his offer, and see if bodging together the faulty coupler would be a passable solution until they got their next big break.

It was actually kind of convenient. Even if the ship was in working order, they were shorthanded.

Reentering the room with Des and Bart he sighed. "Alright, guys. We're going nowhere while our sensors are offline - and it is getting too expensive to leave it here. I'm going to call up a buddy of mine, and see if we can get him to take a look at this thing. If he's interested, we might take him on full-time - our electronics and computer systems could all use some work. Meanwhile, you two should stock up on supplies, and keep your ears open for any new 'opportunities'."

"If we haven't found any 'real' work by the time we're sea-worthy, we're going to head out anyway, and do some training exercises. It'll be cheaper to float adrift for a few days, and practice diving techniques than to rot here a day longer."

A few minutes later, he was composing his text message. His commlink took extra-long to start this morning, which worried him, but he decided if he was going to get it looked at, it might as well be by Guy.

<<Good to hear from you, Guy! If you're still interested in a change of scenery, I could always use somebody like you on board. Come on buy. We will be heading out soon.>>

Harbor Island Seattle, 12 February 2070, 1250

As Desmond listened to the bad news, his commlink buzzed with an incoming text message. His fingers subconsciously tapped the display output button on the commlink, beaming the message to the image-link in his cyber eyes. A semi-transparent window opened in the top-left corner of his field of vision, the green text from his commlink slowly scrolling across it.

Desmond grinned...work was on the way...and right at the time they needed it.

"Cap'n...sorry to interrupt, but I think we might have some work coming our way. One of Yojimbo's associates needs some folk to coaxy a bit o'cargo for him, and he fancies us to yokit. Might e'an be more work ta follow. Can ye smell the nuyen, brother?"

Harbor Island Seattle, 12 February 2070, 1255

Carter laughed. "Seriously? That's some fast work there - and some good news, to boot. I knew our luck would turn soon." He thought about the situation for a second. "Okay, lets meet his contact of yours, and see what it is he wants us to do." He looked around the rundown ship a little bit sheepishly. "An' lets try not to let him know that we probably have to take it... no matter what it is...."

Mitsuhama North American HQ, Monday 17 Feburary 2070, 0745

Lidralyn tunes out his office mate and looks through his commlink one more time to review the assignments he is on. Already being swamped with work, he is not looking forward to more work on top of the normal.

He silently walks away from his cubicle back through the winding corridors of Tower 4, finds his boss' office and waits outside to be let in for the morning meeting.

"Aye Cap'n, na need ta pelter though. We're to meet the high heid yin at the Strip House pub, Monday night, twenty-hundred lima. Gives us 5 days and then some. Penty o time ta get that coupling lous'd."

Reading the agreement etched on Carter's face, Desmond taps out a reply to Yojimbo on his commlink.

Aye Greg, got myself a crew and a ship. Tell Kurita we will meet him at the Strip House at 8pm

Des sends the message, then realizes there's one more person he needs to contact.

@ Tabitha: Ma dearest bonnie quine, your darling Desmond will be shore-side on Monday and would like to share some of Seattle's best karry oot with ya. Let me know ye will grace this poor lad with yer presence. Until then...<bows>

Seattle Wilderness, Cascade Ork Border, 12th Feburary 2070, 1830

The goddamn birds had come back and Guy was up to his elbows in mud, muck and bird shit. He had a sneaking suspicious that this was a set of thunder-bird hatchlings and it made him very, very worried. Not good for his chakra at all (or any of his assorted electronics.

He supposed that it was good that Carter was calling.

<<Give me two days to get myself free and then I'll groove on out to the Odyssey.>>

Harbor Island Seattle, 14th February 2070 1830

[b]Big Dog had been rather unhappy about losing his radar op. He said that it would take weeks to get someone trained enough to replace him. Guy figured that explaining that the hardest part of his job was dealing with wildlife wouldn't help the situation. He recommended a range of suitable drone replacements and left.

After spending a day packing and a day battening down the array and camoflauging it from any prying authorities, he set out for Seattle and arrived at Harbor Island.

"Captain Carter -- I understand that you have some sensor problems," Guy shouted from the dock.

Harbor Island Seattle, 12 February 2070, 1255

"Okay, can one of you track down Petwo, and let him know the score?" Carter headed towards the exit, leading to his own chambers. "I've got some things to take care of if we're going to take on a job."

Harbor Island Seattle, 14th February 2070 1830

"Not so loud!" shouted Carter in reply, smiling at Guy. He met him halfway onto the ship, and shook his hand and patted him on the shoulder. "Sorry I didn't mention the sensor issue before, Guy." Carter grinned, "It's just a little thing. Forward array coupler is acting up again. I should replace it, but that's not really an option right now - and I don't really have the tools necessary to fix it. I was hoping you could take a look at it."

By now, they were up onto the boat, properly. Carter stopped and looked at Guy seriously. "...but, that's not the only reason I got back to you. You're a good man to have on board, and we've got a job coming this Monday. If you're available, and up for it, there's a place for you among the crew - and a cut of the take, of course."

Harbor Island Seattle, 14th February 2070 1900

"Coming aboard!" With that cheery shout, Bart waved the pallet drones up the loading ramp and preceded a set of weatherproofed boxes onto the deck. With a pause on the deck to reference the ARO deck guide, he turned left and headed to Carter.

"Darned if I can't get the hang of this port and starboard business, what happened to left and right? Anyway, got my gear out of hock, and I need to store... wait stow! it somewhere. Do I have to tie everything down? I knew a gal like that once, well, never mind that. We'll save that for when we lost at sea or something. But what you'll be wanting to hear about is that I did manage to get a hold of a fine little goodie of mine that'll help. Besides my tools, I have a Black and Decker Bench Top Manufactory, which might be able to help out with that sensor coupler issue you've been moaning about. I checked my set of build plans, and I don;t think I have the complete device, but if we need some small parts, it can probably crank some out."

"Say, who's the new guy?"

A moment's pause followed the Black man's outburst.

Guy Freebird, I was planning to patch the signal through the port side array ... I figure it doesn't get real high signal traffic anyway. Oh yeah, I hope you live in peace and karma ... er.

He trailed off as he realized that he remembered precious little of the spiritual introduction he was always supposed to make. He didn't put too much stock in it anyway. It hadn't worked. He turned to Carter.

"You know damn well that I'm in, gotta get off this rock and I think you're the least likely to get me killed.

Turning back the the newcomer he said:

"So, who're you and where'd you get the forge"

Harbor Island Seattle, 14th February 2070 ~1900

"Most folks can call me Bart"

He tipped his stetson back and smiled broadly, "Picked that little beauty up straight from the warehouse. Not available retail yet."

"I'm the new medic, might as well be, as much of that dramamine I need to feed myself every time a wave comes through. With all that practice handing out pills from the autodoc, I should be good for anything you folks can throw at it. As long as all we need are pills."

Harbor Island Seattle, 14th February 2070 ~1900

Carter winked, "Another rag-tag team. I'll introduce you to everyone below deck." He eyed the new equipment as it boarded the ship. "What a beaute. This thing'll see a lot of use, here." He followed both men on board, making idle technical talk regarding both the faulty electronics and Bart's new toy.

Lidralyn:

Mitsuhama North American HQ, Monday 17 Feburary 2070, 0745

Almost as soon as you arrive at Mr. Tomiki's office he calls you in. He doesn't bother to look up as you enter, but continues to peruse a data pad intently.

"Lidralyn. I'm just going over your report on that profit skimming investigation. Hmmm..." he pauses and grimices a little. "It looks... adequate." You're fairly certain thats the closest he's ever come to giving you a complement. After another moment or two he finally looks up, and acts as if he is surprised to see you still standing. "Please, come in! Have a seat!"

An older gentleman of Japanese decent, Kenji Tomiki has worked for Mitsuhama for decades. Prior to taking over as an IID section head he had gained a sparkling reputation in the Thermaturgical Research Division where he developed a variety of novel techniques for magical forensics. He's known to be a by-the-book kind of guy, a demanding boss and a loyal corporate employee. He may not be the nicest supervisor, but you always know where you stand with him. That is usually...

"Did you hear about Bob Johnson? What a tragedy that is. His wife worked in Accounting you know." Mr. Tomiki's forced attempt at small talk takes you by surprise. In fact his whole demeanor seems a little "off" and you get a distinct feeling that there is something troubling him.

"Family is so important you know." He swivels in his chair and draws your attention to a digital picture frame hanging on the wall behind his desk. You watch for a moment while the small display cycles through various pictures of Tomiki's wife and kids. Tomiki reaches up and presses a button on the frame, stopping on a particular image. Its an photo of three cheerful middle-aged Japanese men on a fishing trip. Tomiki is in the middle and the three are posing with a large fish. He points out the man on the left. "Thats Hiroshi Tada- a brilliant scientist and magician. We worked together in MTR and were best friends. I married his sister." He trails off as if lost in thought.

He seems startled by a sudden knock at the door. "Just a minute!" he shouts, rushing to advance the digital pictures as if he were hiding evidence of a crime. His secretary enters with a form and is gone almost as quick as she came with the signatures she required. He waits silently for her to leave before turning back to you. His demeanor is now somber and his stern personality seems to be restored.

"I need your help on a new assignment. I want it to take top priority. The thing is..." he pauses for a moment as if choosing his words carefully, "...this will need to be an "informal investigation" if you understand what I'm saying. You're the only one I can I trust..."

Harbor Island Seattle, 14th February 2070 1900

The little homunculus clung to Petwo's shoulder and peered intently at the Sea-shells he was refining with dozens of unblinking red eyes. It looked like H.R. Giger had designed it as concept art for Batteries Not Included and Spielberg had wisely gone in another direction. It had a body about the size of a toilet roll tube with a dozen long shiny tentacles streaming behind it. With a couple of these it clung to the Houngan's jumpsuit as it hovered by his ear. Occasionally it would chirp at him as if to say 'you missed a spot' and it held a number of arcane devices, that the dwarf gave to it as he finished with them, in it's free 'hands.'

Thank you, little one, we are done here I think. Shall we go on deck and see what the fuss is all about?

He packed away his enchanting gear and wove between the few crates remaining in the vessels cargo hold. Before leaving he turned and bowed humbly towards the metallic centre post he had raised in the centre of the room. He whispered something in Creole before pulling the heavy metal door closed behind him.

Grunting he pulled himself up the out-sized metal steps onto the deck. The ebony skinned dwarf in the bright orange jumpsuit had a definite air of danger and mystery as he caught his breath and took in the scene on deck. The tiny flying squid insect thing that darted away from his shoulder, like some sort of Lovecraftian Parrot, to investigate the new boxes and crates, made him seem almost alien.

Nice forge, brother.

His deep voice rolled across the deck like molasses.

How much feedstock did you bring for it?

At this he cracks a huge enamel filled grin and rapidly crosses the deck to shake hands with the newcomers.

Petwo, Petit Petwo. I'm new to Capitan Carter's crew. I'm kind of a Jacko alltrades, I'll fill in wherever I'm needed. Just happy to be on the sea. Just you let me know if dere's anything you need? I could give you a hand getting dat forge situated in the workshop...

Harbor Island Seattle, 14th February 2070 ~1900

"Feedstock?", Bart winced.

" Jus' the sample stock, but I have a supplier, takes a bit of time to get in quantities. How much maintenance parts does this tub need? Maybe we can go over the maintenance log and project what kind of supplies we should order."

"And what is that? A flying jackalope?"

Harbor Island Seattle, 14th February 2070 1905

At the mention of the ship, Carter laughed and patted a nearby hunk of whirling electronics. "Been meaning to replace just about every piece of this ship, at some point. Most of it'll hold for a while, though."

"If we're using sample stock, it'll be tagged and traceable, right?" He nodded his head in the direction of the sensor-array. "We'll want to be careful about where we use it, then. I, ah, don't exactly have all my licenses in order, if'n you guys know what I mean." Carter smiled, "No need to advertise the fact that we've got ultrawideband radar, for example." He then lowered his voice, "... or that we can defend ourselves."

Mitsuhama North American HQ, Monday 17 Feburary 2070, 0745

Lidralyn smiles at his superior and gently banters "When have I ever let you down Kenji? This will be my top most priority and no one will be the wiser that I am working on it"

Lidralyn also effortlessly through his skinlink and eyes creates a copy of the picture that way scrolling by on the frame on the wall and makes a note to further inspect it later.

Harbor Island Seattle, 14th February 2070 2000

Carter spent the next hour giving Guy a tour of the ship, and introducing him to the crew, and answering any questions about operations or duties. He took care to point out anything electronic that had been acting up, but stressed that the sensor issue was priority - as the ship would need to be ready to go in a day or two.

Harbor Island Seattle, 16th February 2070 1100

Desmond maneuvers his way across the deck with his olive drab, 5-foot duffel strapped across his back. On his way off of the ship, he flashes his smile at the rest of the crew.

"I'm off then. Got some things to do before tha meet. You buggers can com me if ya need. See ya at the Strip House."


Northern Tacoma, a few miles from SeaTac, Sunday, February 18th 2070, 2015 hours

Tabitha scrapes the left over Thai take-out into the trash in the kitchen of her 1-bedroom condo. She and Des had just had dinner from her favorite Asian restaurant and were settling down on the futon to watch the trid.

She snuggled up close to Des and gently turned his chin towards her. Her hopeful gaze held his for just a moment before she spoke.

"So Des...I was thinking...my bird is in a maintenance cycle this week, so I'll be free after 1600 for the next several days. And tomorrow night, there is a new gallery opening downtown that I've been waiting for...I was expecting to have to go alone...but now that you're back..."


Desmond bit his bottom lip and broke his gaze away from Tabitha.

"Can't luv. I've got some work tomor..."

Before he could finish his sentence, Tabitha pulled away from him, folding her arms across her chest...her face contorting into that scowl that Des was all too familiar with.

Tabitha turned to face the Trid. "I should have known. No word for 3 weeks from you, then you drop right in out of the blue. Stupid me. I thought you were coming in to SEE ME. But that's not the deal, is it? That's never the deal, Desmond. Only work brings you land-side, never me. I'm just part of the 'supply-run' you make when you are here. You know...come into port, load up on diving gear, booze, bullets, and don't forget to stop and pick up a piece of ass while you are out..."

Des put his hands on Tabitha's shoulders, turning her to face him. "My dearest Tabitha...you know that's not true. And I'll prove it to you. I do have a job...but after it's over, we are taking a vacation together. Some time off from both of our responsibilities. Just you and me...and no interruptions...I promise...you have my word.

With that, he leaned in to kiss her as passionately as he ever had.

Lets just hope I'm still in one piece when this is over...

Lidralyn:

Mitsuhama North American HQ, Monday 17 Feburary 2070, 0748

Tomiki squints his eyes a little and peers at you as if he's trying to gauge whether your reaction is genuine or not. After a moment of awkward silence he speaks in a hushed tone.

"Look, its probably not safe to talk here. It would be best to meet somewhere else. A friend of mine runs a club called The Strip House in the International District. Meet me there tonight at 8 and I'll tell you everything I can."

With that he dismisses you by way of a abrupt gesture toward the door.

Harbor Island Seattle, 16th February 2070 1500

Guy blew some dust out of the freshly machined coupler and stared at the small burrs of metal left in the device by the milling process. It really wasn't going to affect the long term behavior of the device, but it would be good to know exactly how much metal would be belched out of the device the first time they started using it at high field. Based on the job in front of him, not much.

Bart had built an impressive coupler. The man was going to be worth his weight in gold if he kept up this kind of work in the shop. It was also nice to have someone to talk shop with, Guy even felt outclassed chatting about certain hardware aspects. He was impressed. And the man was easy to talk to, even if Guy got the impression that he was trying too hard sometimes. He couldn't complain about having a talkative mechanic on board no matter that it felt a little like he was being swindled.

He slid the coupler gently into place between the pre-field coupler and the main array. It fit perfectly.

The cajun man and the Scot were new too. Though Carter seemed a little more familar with them. Petwo was a little bit of a legend, and reportedly a miracle worker. Nothing stayed broken while he was around. Guy hadn't heard of Des before and hadn't had a chance to meet the man before he headed shoreside. Guy wasn't sure what exactly what Des did. Carter wasn't dumb though, Guy had no doubt the man was useful.

He stretched as he stood up, letting a few charms and assorted holy symbols that he wore clank together. He wore them all to symbolize the togetherness of the spirit. He doubted he'd get to talk much about that. As much as Carter had done for him, the man still had no patience for the higher spiritual things in life and Guy was far from evangelical -- better just to let the spirit flow.

He headed to the bridge to overhaul the ship's network iinfrastructure. There were holes you could drive a truck through in the firewall. Could be a long afternoon. But he had water under his feet and that was a relief.

Crew:

Harbor Island, Monday 17 February 2070, 0800

Having completed the introductions the crew gets to work. The weekend is spent tidying up the Odyssey and settling in to new quarters and new duties. Despite the dreary weather some maneuvers on the Sound serve the dual purpose of breaking in the new crew members and alleviating the costs of anchoring at port. Everything seems to go smoothly, but some are eager to disembark when the ship makes port again late Sunday afternoon.

---------------------------

All:

International District, Monday 17 February 2070, 1900

The Strip House is one of the newer clubs in Seattle catering to the after-business crowd and other well-to-do urban party-goers. Themed after a 1900's burlesque den, the club features a menu chocked full of real Kobe beef and a nightly show, making for a wonderful double entendre. The dimly lit interior of the club is decorated in opulent hard wood, ruby red carpet and polished brass fixtures. But the most striking feature (besides the scantly clad waitresses) are the hundreds upon hundreds of framed photographs- famous beauties of by-gone eras ranging all the way back to the days when movies were two dimensional and didn't even have sound.

As you approach the front entrance you are met a stunning blond bombshell in a skin-fit red dress. If she's had cosmetic surgery its too good to tell. She is flanked by two very large, very unfriendly looking orks dressed in dark pinstriped slacks, white button-up shirts, suspenders and newsies hats. They eye you suspiciously as enter, and one of them holds a sensor paddle of some kind.

Bombshell flashes you a flawless smile. "Welcome to the Strip House, boys. What is the name of your party?"

International District, Monday 17 February 2070, 1900

Lidralyn doesn't make a gesture at all but using his skinlink transfers 100 credits to the ork asking him the question. Once he realises the ork knows he recieved them Lidralyn exclaims "I am not here for a party, I am here to see the owner, I have an appointment."

Lidralyn:

Bombshell averts her eyes a little and appears to be staring off into space. She runs her long slender finger through the air in front of her and appears to tap on something that isn't there.

"It says here that we're holding a special table for Mr. Tomiki, a good friend of ours. He hasn't arrived yet, but I'll show you to it."

She leads you into the club through a large open area and into a more intimate side room with fewer tables and less noise. She indicates a private booth along the back wall and hands you a hard copy menu, which is also available in AR.

"Can I get you anything to drink while you wait?"

---------------

After about 20 minutes Tomiki finally arrives. He enters the same way you did but stops along the way to say hello to someone you hadn't noticed before. The other man is also Japanese and appears to be in his mid-forties. He wears an older business suit without a tie and dark glasses that just barely fail to conceal a scar across his right eye. You have a distinct feeling that you've seen the man somewhere before, and while you watch them converse you try to imagine him a little younger without the sunglasses and scar. Pulling up the image you snapped earlier that day you immediately recognize him as the third man in Tomiki's fishing picture.

The two old friends talk for a few minutes and the stranger introduces Tomiki to a few other Japanese business men he's sitting with. Finally Tomiki shakes his hand and thanks him profusely before coming over to sit down at your booth.

International District, Monday 17 February 2070, ~ 1900

"Kurita."

Slowly he brought his hand up and tilted his white stetson back over his dark kinky hair as he smiled broadly and scanned the woman admiringly.

Suddenly he pointed to one of the wall images, "Well, if it isn't the Cattle Queen of Montana herself."

"oooh, and that's Lili Von Schtupp from Blazing Saddles!", as he looked at another one.

"Nice Digs," Guy muttered half to the dwarf next to him and half to the air. He surveyed the pictures as Bart worked his charm on Bombshell. He idly fingered the Star of David hanging between his crucifix and peace symbol. It was a nervous tic -- he was growing concerned that his nicest jeans (no holes he knew of) and an organic, fair trade, cruelty free hemp shirt would leave him underdressed.

Almost out of habit he probed for wireless traffic, scanning for and triangulating hidden nodes -- they were usually the ones to pay attention to -- and getting a feel for what the local matrix had to offer.

International District, Monday 17 February 2070, ~ 1900

Petwo glanced up at Guy 'Sorry, say what? Distracted by the blond....' and winked.

He smoothed the lapels of the charcoal pin-stripe suit he was wearing and adjusted the strange concoction of feathers and chicken bones in his buttonhole.

Harbor Island Seattle, Monday 17 February 2070, ~ 1800

He peered down at the dirty dayglo orange jumpsuit he was wearing. Not too professional. Perhaps something more Cosa Nostra, hmmm.

His brow wrinkled and furrowed and his eyes glazed over a milky white. The tough ballistic fibres of his jumpsuit started to morph and flow, changing colour as they moved, within moments he looked like he'd just walked out of Vashion Island having blown a bomb on the latest 'Gangsta' line of suits.

The furrows faded and a disconcerting toothy grin took their place. He pulled what looked a black cloth coif from an inside pocket and cracked it like a whip. It solidified into a solid black disc which Petwo span jauntily between his palms before snapping it out into a top hat.

His grin broke into a deep, throaty, Eddie-Murphyesque laugh for a second before he once again folded it flat and tucked it under his arm. Quickly, he hurried off the deck and down the steps after the others on the dock.

International District, Monday 17 February 2070, ~ 1900

Peering around the Bombshell he took in they're meeting place.

Yes, Guy, very retro. I think I will blend in nicely here.

That laugh again.



Harbor Island Seattle, Monday 17 February 2070, ~ 0800

He counted through the shells he had enchanted the past few days. Satisfied he tucked them into a small leather pouch of somewhat suspicious looking origin.

Not a bad few days work, but today something different. I will not go to a meet on dry land without backup.

He bowed to the centre post and slowly began an ancient chant beseeching the Loa to send him a spirit to aid him in this enterprise. This would be the easy bit, the long ceremony bargaining for more substantial aid would take all day and would be thoroughly exhausting. Still better safe than sorry and there was plenty time before the meet.


International District, Monday 17 February 2070, ~ 1900

Petwo smiled at the vision in blond and red. Mmm fraises et creme. Bonsouir, enchante Mademoiselle.

International District, 17th February 2070 1900

Carter spent a while digging up the nicest outfit he could find on the ship - which seemed to be an arbitrary choice. When he returned to the rest of the crew, it wasn't readily apparent that he had done anything to change his appearance at all. He headed ashore, with the rest of the group, letting those more familiar with the International District lead the way. He also didn't jump up to do any talking at the door. It wasn't his contact they were going to meet - or the contact of one of his contacts - so, he preferred to keep a low profile. Since he was unarmed, he didn't get a lot of hassle, but, like the others, he became sure that he would stick out like a sore thumb here.

Team:

Bombshell surveys your party with a look of uncertainty, but quickly regains her perfect composure. She seems genuinely charmed by Bart's childlike appreciation for classic western icons.

"If you like those we have a great portrait of Betty Hutton over by the stage, although she isn't in her classic Annie Oakley costume..." She pauses to access her AR guest list. "Mr. Kurita has been looking forward to your visit. But it looks like one member of your party is running late?"

International District, Monday 17 February 2070, ~ 1900

"I can just picture her in a nice set of buckskins."

"Oh, I'm sure he'll be along soon."

International District, Monday 17 February 2070, ~ 1900

The Robo-Cab™ trundled to a stop at The Strip House, breaking briskly right outside the front door. A harried looking Desmond virtually leaped out of the back, easily catching his balance on the slick plasphalt in front of the club. When he peered up at the front door, he spotted the disapproving looks from his friends, who had already made it through the line of patrons waiting to gain entrance to the exclusive restaurant.

Des flashed the same winning smile he used every time he was late, which inevitably elicited a chorus of eye-rolls from his teammates. 'Not like me being late is something new. Bahh, they'll forget all about it as soon as the first round of drinks makes it to our table,' he thought to himself.

Good evening gentlemen! Looks like I'm right on time!

Guy:

With a thought you activate the array of microprocessors built into your head and the room lights up with virtual ebb and flow of data traffic. You start to glance around with enough feigned curiosity to convince any casual observer that you are enjoying the framed photos as much as the black cowboy.

The public node is pretty typical for a club- AR menus, adverts for drink specials, a library of virtual background music, etc. There is an ARRO tagged to each photo that pulls up a bio on the starlet and a few media clips of her movies. A waitress agent informs you that it can take the form of any of them, in case you'd like to order a drink from Louise Brooks, Jane Fonda or Angelina Jolie. Sifting through a sea of interpersonal networking traffic and other spam you scan the local wireless environment for anything unusual, but nothing really jumps out at you. Satisfied that nothing seems amiss, you wait patiently with the group.

The heavy encryption on the burst transmission from Guy's commlink, relying on a few deeply entangled photons and prime numbers so mind-bogglingly large that they rendered generations of number theorists nearly autistic, was probably unnecessary. A little caution went a long way in his business. His brain relayed the message:

<<There's not much sec we don't see guys. Looks legit.>>

He turned to the hostess. "That's the last of us, our party's groovy."

Team:

"Alright boys, follow me." Bombshell sashays out ahead of the group and leads you through the busy club and into a more intimate side room with fewer tables and less noise. Stopping at a secluded booth under a unusual portrait of Theda Bara, she bows a little and announces your arrival. �Kurita-san, these are the men you’ve been waiting for.� Her Japanese like everything else is flawless.

Kurita glances up and scans the group from behind his dark sunglasses and a haze of cigarette smoke. With a motion of his hand he waves away the two Japanese businessmen sitting with him, and they scurry out of the booth to make room for the team.

�Please, have a seat.� he says in a gruff voice, extinguishing a spent cigarette and taking out another. �Can my hostess bring you gentlemen anything to drink? Its on the house.�

Kurita is a middle aged Japanese man of average height and build. He looks like the kind of guy that always wears a suit but never a tie and he has an air of stoicism about him. His dark sunglasses barely fail to conceal a scar that runs across his right eye. He lights his new cigarette and takes in the motley crew sitting before him.

"My associate Mr. Kawamori tells me that you gentlemen have certain marketable skills that might be of use to an individual in my line of work. He gave you a very good referral, Mr. Connelly and said he's heard good things about the company you keep." He takes a long drag of his cigarette and produces a holopic from his lapel pocket. "I'm sure your time is as valuable as mine, so I'll get right to the point."

He slides a holopic across the table. The image is of a young looking Asian elf in a bad oversized suit and shades. He stands in front of a run down strip mall and appears to be posing for the picture and doing his best to look cool. "That young man is Billy Chan. He's a small-time street hustler who would like very badly to find an "in" with the local Triads. It seems Mr. Chan has seized upon an opportunity to impress them by arraigning an illegal shipment into Seattle within the week." He pauses and takes another drag. "I'd like to teach young Mr. Chan a lesson about ambition..."

-------------------

Lidralyn:

Tomiki is nervous. He downs his first drink before the scantly clad waitress can even step away from the table and orders another. In the rigid hierarchical etiquette of Japanese culture anything you say while drunk is (mostly) forgiven. You get the distinct impression he's about to say some things that he shouldn't.

"Thanks for coming, Lidralyn. I know this is a little unorthodox, but I can't be too careful... there is my family to think about." You can see the obvious concern in his eyes. "There's something big going on inside the company. There are rumors that an important investigation is going to be assigned to our section, and they're even talking about bringing in outside personnel from Los Angeles." He glances around the club nervously for a moment and then continues his flight of ideas. "I have reason to believe that there may be a cover up going on- something happened at a secret research facility and the company is trying to sweep it under the rug. I'm even starting to think that Bob Johnson's death might not have been an accident..."

Desmond lounges back in the plush seating of the booth, making himself comfortable. Never one to turn down an offer of hospitality, Des turns to the hostess and flashes his wry grin. "Aye love, I'll have a Rob Roy with a twist o'lemon, if ye'd be so kind."

After placing his drink order, Des graciously accepts the compliment thrown his way by Mr. Kurita. 'Greg rarely hands out praise like that...the Redding job must have really paid off. Mental note...push for a discount on guns and ammo next time we talk.'


Des casually glances at the holopic while Kurita explains the job.
"So...exactly what kind of 'lesson' did ya have in mind, Mr. Kurita?"

Lidralyn orders a drink and sits back casually, "Well this is what we do my friend, If Mitsuhama never needed to have anything fixed for them then we wouldn't have a job...please, continue"

As the waitress passed by, Carter put his own order down. "Yeah, go on." His face was all smiles, but his tone was informal, and just a little bit sharp - it wasn't difficult to see he wasn't as happy as he would like Mr. Kurita to think. The expression didn't sit well with some of the crew. Carter was a pretty laid back guy, and there wasn't much he wouldn't consider for the right price. Seeing him squirm was a sure sign that the Capitan was getting a real bad feeling about this. "I had the impression that you wanted us to bring something into Seattle, discretely. If you're looking to stop somebody else from doing the same, I know some guys in Harbor Patrol that I could put you in touch with." He phrased the sentence as a reasonable suggestion, but Carter was really just probing for more information. Specifically, although he could think of a number of reasons why Mr. Kurita might not want to get the cops involved, Carter wanted to hear one of them, and maybe use it as leverage.

Kurita responds to Des' question with a wry smile. "'Be careful what you wish for', 'There is always a bigger fish', 'Don't brag about moving illegal swag into my city without cutting me in'. You know, life lessons for an up-and-coming amateur..."

Sensing Carter's uncertainty he explains a bit more. "I think that due to the nature of this shipment it would be wise not to involve any authorities. Besides, if you 'know' some guys on the Harbor Patrol, chances are other people 'know' them as well. I'd prefer to handle this more discretely, which is why I was hoping to hire some non-local talent. At this point the Triads aren't aware of Mr. Chan's plan. I think we would all prefer to keep it that way." He leans back from the table a little and takes another drag from his dwindling cigarette. "Mr. Kawamori assured me that your crew was versatile enough to handle this kind of thing. Perhaps he was mistaking?"

Carter seemed put at ease with Mr. Kurita's examples, and his assurance that the triads weren't already aware of Mr. Chan's plan. "No, no. You want to show somebody the ropes, we're your men."

Lidralyn:

Tomiki seems somewhat more at ease listening to your reassurance. He takes a big breath and continues. "Well I guess you're right about that. That is why we took this job, right? To root out the truth in all its ugliness?". The waitress arrives with your drinks and he takes another healthy swig. "Alright then... A few days ago I received a disturbing message from a friend of mine, Hiroshi Tada who you saw in that picture today. I haven't seen him in a year or two, not since he took over a new position within MTR and was moved to a secure location to do research. Anyway, in this message he seemed distraught... delirious or something and he was rambling on about seeing his little girl and needing my help. The thing is his little girl, my niece, died years ago." He pauses for a moment and seems far away. "I know Hiroshi isn't crazy so there must be something more going on..." he says, almost to himself.

"Well I haven't been able to reach him since, and needless to say this raised my suspicion. During his message he used an acronym- 'MDMH'. I did some digging and it appears that the company spent an incredible amount of money between 2061 and 2062 developing something called the Mitushama Deep-sea Mining Habitat. The thing is, as far as I can tell the company shut down all operations there in '62. And whats even more odd- starting in '63 all data relating to the MDMH was classified by the corporation. I'm convinced that is where my friend is, but I don't know why.

"The upper management have called a meeting this Thursday to discuss a special investigation. Like I said there's talk that they are bringing in some expert or specialist or something from Los Angeles. Chances look pretty good that our section will get the assignment, and should that happen you will by lead man." He tips his glass in your direction and throws it back. "In the meantime, I need you to find out everything you can about the MDMH. Do you think you can help me?"