Noam came back into the bar. Things were looking better already - after a few precise wreck runs he had a new ship with a better kick. For now, it would have to do. He bought himself a drink - he could afford it now.
Looking around, he saw the girl he met before - poor thing, being a slave is probably none too entertaining. Well, her mistress was here now, so steering clear was probably a good idea. He wouldn't want to get her into any bigger of a mess, now would he? She reminded him of himself a lot. "If I can make it, so can she.", he thought. "You're being irrational now.", his thoughts followed.
Slavery. Drugs. Like it or not, if he was going to be a Lane Hacker, he should get used to those. "Still, there's no reason to like them.", he thought, sipping his tea. Indeed, tea was the definition of a drink for him. He just wouldn't try to get addicted - it made sense in his mind. Some girl - quite the attractive girl, he noticed, was busy... ah, yes. Drinking herself silly. What is it with people these days?
He tried to force himself to look around for the cyborg, but decided not to. That deal he made with Boris should take quite some time, there's no reason to hurry. For now, he can rest. He grabbed around for a book in his backpack, and fished one out at random.
He read the cover - "House of Leaves". Now, just to find a place near a wall, with some light...
Rommie turned to the man who looked abit troubled while sipping his drink, everyone's focus always ended up on the slave girl and her master.
"Want some of this cardi with that mate?"
Rommie had a tattoo on her arm that was a custom design of the Hackers emblem, she only shown it when in the company of other "criminals" But, she was a proud hacker nonetheless. Her skills were improving every day and her ruthless efficiency becoming stronger all the time.
She looked around again and seen the young girl giggling....
Being a slave must be better these days if she can laugh, not the life I would want.
Noam heard a giggle and looked up from his book. "Perhaps that girl could make it yet.", he thought. Slowly, his focus shifted to the blue-eyed, black-haired, short drinker of a girl again. Well, she was more drunk now, but she also seemed... happier? Was that how it worked? Something was scratching at the back of his mind, trying to get his attention... the tattoo. She was a Lane Hacker, all right. That, or she wanted to appear as such.
He sipped his tea, thinking. Was she a spy? Then again, if she was faking, she wasn't faking the drinking part. If there's a good time to find out, it's now - slowed reflexes, the whole pack - he could easily run away, if need be. He eyed the girl again, and noticed the uncomfortable looks she gave to the cyborg - so there he was! but not important at the moment - how odd. For someone with such cold eyes - even through the ale haze - she could have very well be a machine herself.
"It's dangerous," he thought, "but well worth it.". Opportunity rarely knocks twice, now does it? He needs to get in touch with the Lane Hackers. If he hesitates now, even if he does move, he won't be able to find the words. Time was running out - he made a decision, packed his book, took the tea in his hand, and approached the girl. One last panicked thought clawed at him - "How does one greet a girl, again?", an engineer's answer flashed - "Keep it simple, stupid!", and there he was.
"Greetings. The name's Noam. That tattoo there - is that what I think it is?"
Joshua drained the last of his drink and re-assessed the population of the bar. That crazy Hacker chick was still drinking herself senseless, some nerdy guy had come in with a book, of all things, not often one cold find one of them in Sirius, but the thing that drew his attention was this Kusari-blooded slaver.
From his travels, Josh had gained a strong dislike of the Kusari people, he felt their insular, xenophobic way of life to be detrimental to one's own freedom of exploration and interaction...and, of course, he had the usual Junker's instinctual dislike of competition.
Motioning Winston over, he said in a low voice "'Ey, see what ya can find on dat Kusari, eh? Looks a right shifty one ta me..." Winston nodded slightly, refilled Joshua's glass, and withdrew to his position at the bar.
"Better keep 'n eye on them two," he said to himself, "Never know wha' they's up ta..."
Kaisha could hear the nearby Junker whispering something about Kusari people, but she tried to pay that conversation as little mind as possible, she was used to the racism by now...seeing as how she didn't fit in with the populations of...most of the house systems..
She sighed softly and then looked back to Misao, silently for a moment, thinking of the words to say.
"Worthless?..you're not Worthless to me, you probably think me a cruel, heartless shell of a human..and that's understandable...but as you've no doubt noticed by now, I'm not like Saito...any human life is worth something to me...so long as you continue to obey...you will be treated, well...as humanly possible, given your position, I mean".
Kaisha looked around the bar some more, turning sideways in her seat as she sipped at her Sidewinder Fang,noticing the pair of Hackers, eying them curiously, cautiously, after her last run in with a Hacker Gunship.
She then turned back to Misao slightly.
"Anyway..try not to get too drunk...we do need you to be able to fly your Sabre straight..."
Rommie looked at at Noam who was obviously very nervous to just be in the bar.
"Its my own design of a Hacker tattoo, I got it done after me and a few friends left Ageria Tech, ugh that company makes my blood boil"
"How rude of me, I go by the name of Rommie" She smiled at Noam.
She reached into her pocket for a datapad, it shown her gunship and its maintance status, afterall its taken a few hits off over zealous traders thinking they stand a chance in combat.
Wish they would hurry up, I need to get back into space Rommie mumbled to herself.
She overheard a conversation about some Kusari woman... Hmmm, the young girl looks kusari.... But the older one she must be some mongrel... She thought to herself.
With a slightly uneven gait, as though he trusted one leg with his balance more than the other, Bishop re-entered the bar. Ever-present were the two flanking armed guards, and with him was the technician from earlier. Bishop's arm had been reattached; he was casually examining its movement and flexing every joint as a means of a diagnostic. The technician spoke to him as he did so.
"I picked up the LF7 stab from that wandering Hacker over there. He had to offload it, it was readily available and it's easier to work with than what we could pick up undetected."
The cyborg gave no reply or response as he sat at the bar. The tender poured him another tall glass of water. Bishop, lifting his eyes momentarily in a brief thank-you to the bartender, reached for the glass with his repaired arm. Time seemed to stop for the tech, eyes locked on the event.
He gripped the glass ever carefully, before picking it up and downing the contents in two gulps. The tech let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. The tender dug out one of Bishop's supply of prepared daily nutrient mixtures and prepared another glass of water, as the Chief Arbiter turned in his seat, ushering the two guards to take a load off themselves. They did so, placing their sidearms on the table and removing their powered tactical helmets to order a drink.
He gripped the tech's shoulder again, this time squeezing appreciatively. There was a hint of a smile on Bishop's face -- a rare expression when someone wasn't being interrogated, or he hadn't expanded his political power. "Better than before. Didn't take a lot of modification to get it right?"
"No sir. But we're going to need a Bramsen-Schmitt five-axis particle cutter, and a lot of superconductor filament to crank out the components you need in your legs. I could also build you that new body with that and a few other specialized tools, given the materials and the time to refine the plans." He ran a hand through his hair, bracing himself for the worst. Bishop was an intimidating sort to give bad news to. "That's going to run up in the millions, let alone getting it here without the authorities knowing, or other parties getting to it in transit."
Bishop sighed. "It's never easy, is it." He appeared to think a moment, his neural processor seeking out available units and possible transit points. He took another sip while doing so. "We can set up a better shop out in Arecibo; that place is a floating armory, and has the space and defenses in place to keep a lid on what we're doing here. The issue would be getting the tools across the border."
"You heard about the Alster Union?"
Bishop looked at him. The tech nodded; Bishop knew everything. Bishop's head was remotely plugged into the vast spiderweb of communications networks at all times. "We'll have to arrange armed guards and a shipment. Possibly a dummy shipment or two; the Xenos would love to see the Congress decapitated, and the Union is just desperate enough to try and ransom the equipment if they catch it."
The tech nodded, then motioned toward the Hacker talking to the other, female Hacker a few tables away. "That's him."
Bishop glanced over. "He looks busy for the moment. I'll have to arrange for some form of gratitude later on."
Noam sipped at his drink somewhat nervously, but managed to crack a smile nonetheless. "Pure madness", he thought, and then again "this is just retarded enough to work". Well, there was no backing out now.
"Pleasure to make the acquaintance. That... was exactly what I was hoping to hear. You see, I do need to get in touch with those folks rather urgently."
Misao nodded gently her head, and pushed away the sake for the moment.
"I guess I have a rather low tolerance toward alcohol..." she said, blushing.
There was a certain embarrassment in her voice. She didn't wanted to be treated better than the other slaves because of her skills. It wasn't fair. But she didn't wanted to be treated like them either. Why Kaisha was so selective, she couldn't understand... why Kaisha treated her, sometime beyond the mere level of a slave-master relationship, sometime even affectionately, troubled her even more.
She looked around the bar, and whispered to her mistress,
"Are all these people on the... b.. bad side of the law?"
Rommie laughed at Noam and his eagerness. She bought him a whiskey, much better than tea she thought.
"Ere get this down ya neck and tell me what you need with us Hacker's" She said with a smile.
Rommie's attention shifted towards the slave girl again and noticed she was being watched, she gave the youngster a glare to "encourage" her to mind her own business.
There was a beep on her comm.....
"Ma'am the engines keep misfiring and the shield generator is totally fried" The voice said nervously over the comm.
"Grrrrrrr, have you broken my ship again? It better be fixed by the time I get back or I will fix you, ya hear me boy? Rommie out"
Rommie's mood changed to one of despair for her incompetent maintenance crew she hired on Rochester, was always one problem after another. It was a rather old gunship that was a bit worse for wear, she was hoping to get hold of a new one... It is a rather formidable craft after all...........