First Baffin Zoner Zummit at The Zenarch, Malaclypse Freeport

[Enkidu]

Achille was at the far side of the bar; carefully liberating the Nori; physically inert among the seething crowd. Yet just because he wasn’t interacting with anyone didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t occupied. In his inner ear, a bug-like two-way transponder was relaying every iota of Autoine’s dialogue with James to his central nervous system. Taking my job as usual Achille smiled, eyes looking up to the podium as some incredibly disinteresting types took the stage in quick succession of miscellaneous pleasantries which meant little to him.
Then suddenly the wall of speech lulled.

Autoine’s voice shot around the inside of his head, nearly causing him to leap clean of his seat; "Achille, you awake or just hiding... I had to deal with that SRD fellow myself”.

Achille’s mouth curved slightly; “You appeared to have handled him quite immaculately”.

“True, but what do I employ you for?”

Achille’s grin widened: “It is true I must admit, I often ask myself the same question. Still rather you than me though, This James fellow seemed as slippery as a Junyo Tuna”. Achille smiled, chewing devotedly on a liberal chunk of the aforementioned substance. “Mind you...” Achille continued, sipping on that delightful Burgundy Autoine had so helpfully plied James with; “...When he shook hands with you he looked so eager he might have ripped your limbs off, you watch out with that one”.

The repartee was immediate; “Not funny. Besides, he’s research. Your the one whose going to deal with him in the end”.

“Yes, preferably by dropping his bullet-ridden corpse into a sewer... No, joking, he appears to be a reasonable type. Maybe a bit to eager for the SRD to do well but that just gives us a common ground. It’ll be... enlightening to work with him on some of our pet projects”. Gestured Achille with his fork. “Come to think of it, where actually is he now?”

“In the audience, with everyone else you incorrigible barstard. Have you even notified those applicants that the Commonwealth accepts them for the research department yet?”

“I will. Just not right now. Now, I’m going to drink myself into the courage to stagger onto that podium and give an astoundingly erudite performance worthy of the most talented of thespians”.

This time Autoine grinned; “Really? About what?”

“Oh something incredibly disinteresting and work-related. Probably something which goes against all the Gallic war-talk which is flooding around this room... Oh and about establishing who we are so that everyone in this room, including that odd looking man with the facial ridges and that rather awesome looking type in the wolf suit doesn’t shoot us for a GRN”.

“Apologies friend, but this is my scene. It’s also my speech. So you just continue emptying the snack bar uselessly”.

Achille stared around wildly until he was fully satisfied that Autoine wasn’t glowering at him before replying;

“Well not if I get up to the podium first you won’t”.

“I have a sidearm”.

“You make an excellent point but security would have you pinned to the floor before you could draw”.

“Look if you’re really hankering to make yourself useful strike up a dialogue with the OSI leader. Don’t you find it curious how a Gaul becomes the head of the Omicron system’s only reliable supply firm?”

“If I must”... Achille deactivated his communicator, and, forever the martyr, dragged himself towards the seats.

---

THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's outlawed trade unions, determined to take the underworld for themselves.)

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