|Sicily Rising| - Part 2

[Sciamach]

Phase 3.5
Valetta Shipyard, 10:44am

Paulo gazed down through the observation window overlooking the Sicily's refits. In his hand he held Harry's log, still occasionally glancing down at the technical jargon the Bretonian had written- not fully comprehending it but not truly caring. Callahan knew what he was talking about, and despite the elder Varela's outward impressions towards the gentleman - the old man trusted him. Not simply based on his character though - no he had seen enough of Harry's ruthless efficiency and stoic curiosity in effect to know never to trust him at his word- he was too much of a snake for that. What he could trust however, was Harry's sense of self-preservation. Careful planning had spun the narrative to make him believe that his life was on the line should Sicily go wrong or fail to meet expectations- but even through the veil of the deception, there was truth to it. Failure had little place in Maltese society, especially those that failed to live up to their word.

Paulo spun around, facing away from the window and turning to speak to the entourage assembled behind him. A pair of guards escorted a small, hooded figure forward from the door, sitting them down on a chair positioned a few meters from where Paulo stood before walking out of the room and leaving the two of them alone on the observation deck. Varela approached, undoing the knot on the bag that obscured the individual's head, and pulling it off and tossing it aside.

"Forgive the deception at the docks and this uncomfortable little number " He started, gesturing towards the bag on the floor
"I couldn't have you being seen walking around free on the station before we've had a chance to chat."

Silvery-white locks draped around the individual's head down below her shoulders; a pair of piercing emerald eyes bore into Paulo as he stepped back to give her some room. She reached up with cuffed hands to remove the tape that the boarding-team had placed over her lips not 20 minutes prior on the far side of the station before she was rushed here. Once removed, she tossed the tape aside onto the ground, and fidgeted with her hair for a few moments before addressing the man before her.

" Y'know last time I was on this station- I basically ran the place. That wasn't really the kind of welcome I was expecting given that old title."

"Unfortunately it was necessary. You're technically still wanted for murder by a few of Olmos' old associates, miss Espinosa."

She rolled her eyes in response while standing and stepping forward to look out the window as Varela stepped aside. She looked down at the tangled mess of conduit, paneling, and scaffolding that was the Sicily down below. The spherical Singularity Core was attached via crane positioned midship, above its future housing by a few meters. A trio of workers in EVA suits walked along the exterior hull just fore of the core's housing, one of which carrying a control apparatus to operate a second crane that was simultaneously guiding the first of the backup fusion-generators into place.

"I see my contribution to Amalfi goes well.. is Callahan down below with the rest of the grunts getting her ready?"

"He's overseeing the power-plant installations in-person. We're leaving nothing to chance here. This project is his contribution as well, and the entirety of the Union's heads are basing both your and his future within the Union on its success."

Paulo extended a hand out to her shoulder, and slowly tugged her to the side so she faced him directly.

"People had doubts about him. A lot more people have much more than doubts for you, and I couldn't just talk them into letting you back to Malta with just this. I need a more significant demonstration of your loyalties, something more significant than just handing over a flashdrive you had laying around. "

He punctuated the sentence by producing from his pocket a small datapad, and entering a command. Moments later, Espinosa's cuffs unlocked themselves, and she set about fully removing them and handing them back to Paulo.

"The situation wasn't quite so simple as that I'll have you know. But fine, what're you wanting me to do then?"

"There's a small group that's resurfaced in the Taus - someone I want you to work with, closely and act as our eyes and ears for a time. The 'Natio Octavarium' - formerly the Vagrant Raiders. So far they seem eager to stay close to Malta but they now bear some affiliations with Crayter as well. I'm not about to force them to polarize, but when push comes to shove- we don't know which of the two sides they'll fall back on. The Patricians want you to--"

She casually raised a hand, interjecting: "You want me to make sure that under pressure, should it come to it: they'll choose Malta over the colonials. You don't need to spell it out; you seem to forget I did this kind of thing for a few decades longer than you have."

Paulo couldn't argue, so just simply nodded in response. He offered her a separate datapad- one armed with all of the information she would need for her assignment already imprinted on it, and gestured for the door. He had just placed his hand on the door's control panel when she grabbed him by the wrist to stop him, and looked him dead in the eyes.

" I need something from you. You know exactly why I did what I did to Olmos; I told you in confidence months before the Cross fractured what exactly Olmos would do if he ever got the unquestioned power of Tarxien's leadership. You supported me then, and I get that Amalfi has changed the circumstances a bit, but I need that same support now: Regardless of outcome for both this job, and the Sicily project: I need to make sure that she is left out of it - that she won't be subjected to the results of my actions. Guarantee me this, and Amalfi has more of my loyalty than the Cross ever did."

There was a sharp calmness to her words. They weren't barked or hissed- they were stoic and quiet, but with a tone of severity he'd only ever heard from her before in that same encounter she'd just mentioned. He knew he didn't have to question her loyalty, but others within Amalfi did, and would continue to so long as they were left in the dark as to what she was referring to.

"Times and our specific political compositions have changed, but the friends you have on Malta are still the same. She'll be fine as long as Desdemona and I continue to draw in the Orange."

She released his hand and took a step back. Her gaze lingered on his for only a moment before she walked out, datapad in hand- the sound of her heavy boots meeting the ground at a pace wrought with purpose being the only response he got as she stormed her way back to her transport's mooring dock.

---

Some time later, the Sicily's Singularity Core had found purchase in its housing, and the massive protective plating surrounding it was being bolted into place. Further fore on the hull, the backup fusion generator was partially installed, and had a handful of engineers and dockworkers walking EVA milled around it; running cables and conduit wires to and from it and multiple ports in the surrounding bulkheads. Callahan stepped into the airlock in Valetta's service housing embedded in the side of the shipyard scaffold, his head held high as the last of the work for the day was being completed behind him as the exterior door sealed and air began to flood the chamber. Not much longer now, the night-shift staff would be arriving to relieve him and the rest of his teams of their posts, and finish the installation of the second backup generator as well as some of the final touches to the exterior pressure hull. Soon enough, he thought, he'd be able to start pressurizing the ship again and begin importing some lighter supplies, so as to furnish the new sections for crew habitation and begin racking the vessel's compliment of support fighters.

Something was off. He was supposed to receive word by now from the engineering chief that the generator's cycling test had completed successfully. Had something gone wrong? Was there not enough reaction-medium in the tokomak's prefire-chamber to complete the required test prior to finishing the installation? He had no idea, the chief was a competent enough man to handle the job, and everything seemed to check out when he started heading back to the station. Why hadn't he received word yet?

As if to provide an answer to his pondering, the station shuddered- the entire compartment Harry was in rocked, sending Harry to the floor-- and then briefly off it again as the station's A-grav systems briefly shorted out. Sharp, loud impact noises - almost like bullet impacts - panged from the exterior-facing bulkhead of the airlock, as well as the exterior door. A few seconds later, the station's klaxon kicked in, interrupted only a few times by flickering power and sparks from damaged components in the room's control panels flickering out in all directions. He'd managed to get the interior-door open, leading into the station's confines itself when he finally got a look at what had happened through a now-scratched window:

Outside, the scorched panels, scattered debris, and cloud of rapidly cooling heated plasma told him everything he needed to know: the fusion-generator test wasn't under-fueled, it had way too much H3 pumped into the chamber. He couldn't be certain, but in the moment, that was the only solution he could conjure. Dromedary shuttles launched from the nearby fighter-bays scrambled into action, seeking out survivors and shooting down or retrieving pieces of debris that had raked the interior of the scaffold mere moments before. Frustrated beyond belief, Harry donned his EVA helmet once more, replacing his oxygen canister and rushing out of the damaged airlock, into the now-crippled vessel.

"Red Alert, Red Alert! Critical malfunction on Sicily in Scaffold D, all hands on-deck for emergency S&R and repairs" Blared over the communicators station-wide.

---

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[ sci·am·ach ]
/sīˈamək/

A simple, angry man casually working his way through life on a personal quest to acquire copious amounts of street cred.