Subjugation

[Halcyon]

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CHAPTER V - Wild Card Roundup

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-- October 25th, 15:12 HR [Coronado]

The inside of the Coyote II was only dimly lit in the red flight lights that Bessie had grown accustomed to. Though even now, the pale blue light of the station’s docking bays filtered in from the canopy just out of arm’s reach. She sat there, in that big, well worn chair in the cockpit, quietly tapping her cheek as she rested her head upon her hand. The information broker, Matilda Antioch, had gotten back to her. And as she slowly poured over the message she’d sent, Bessie let out a bit of a sigh. The names Lucas and Drake had come up. Drake, she didn’t know, but… the mention of the Rogues and Lucas. It couldn’t be Lucas Ogden, could it? What would the odds of that have been, she wondered? She hadn’t seen that little shit since she got busted with Andre all those years back. Stupid bastard left her and Andre for the LPI along with Ryan and Sam during that failed raid. That was the end of her old gang that day. The idea of getting her hands around that short bastard’s throat lingered in the back of her mind as she stewed over the message.

With a quiet creaking sound, she turned in her chair to a terminal on the other side of the cockpit. With a few clacks of the keyboard there, she brought up her astrogation data. The flickering screen let out quiet little noises as the computer behind it chugged along, zooming out from the star charts for Coronado, way out to show all of the Sirius sector, before jumping and zooming in on the veritable desert that lay between Liberty and Kusari. Just a few weeks ago she’d passed through the area on the way to Deshima Station for repairs, and she figured she’d be doubling back before long. There was a system, Copernicus, that Miss Antioch had pegged for the location of the INS-Subjugator. Her computer clacked and whirred, and she slowly turned one of the dials to zero in and adjust her screens.

Copernicus, eh? She’d been through the system half a dozen times in the past. It was a shortcut many smugglers used to get through the Sigmas and into Liberty space. No one had bothered to build any stations in the area to her knowledge. The remote location, hazardous radiation belts, and dozens of spatial anomalies made it a dangerous place for anyone to stay for long. Probably a good place to hide. But not for long.

The INS-Subjugator was an old warship, but with the Insurgency in shambles or simply destroyed, the vessel unlikely had no home port to return to. If it had gone to a freeport, word of it being active would have gotten out sooner. So if it was in hiding for all this time, the ship couldn’t be in amazing shape. Bessie didn’t know how long a cruiser could go without a visit to drydock. She figured a few months under ideal conditions, but such big ships were hardly her area of expertise.

Still. Even if Adams was on that ship, it’d be suicide to just walk up and say hello by herself. She turned back to her communications terminal and began flicking through her list of contacts. With any luck her old sponsor, Roger Dalton, was awake. Old bastard had retired to some beach on Curacao or something. Flicking through screens, she brought up his name and pinged the Barrier Gate comms grid to boost her signal and get a video feed out. A few moments later her screens flashed back that she’d gotten to the OS&C comms on the nearby planet. Now she just had to wait to see if he’d pick up.
A few minutes went by of her lazily leaning back in her seat before a repeating tone signaled that someone had gotten her signal.
“Finally.” She sat up and brought up the video link.

An older man with a gaunt face and an impressively large mustache flickered into view, the basic background behind him suggesting he was in one of the public comms booths on the world. Roger Dalton was her original sponsor back in the day, the guy who pulled her out of LPI Sugarland and trained her for guild work. Hell, he was the guy who gave her Coyote II.

“You know, when they said that it was Elizabeth who’d called me up I thought they were pulling my leg.” A cocky smile shone through the occasional line of static on the screen.
“I thought I told you not to call me that, old man.”
“I thought I told you to let me enjoy my retirement.” He chuckled, knowing his own statement was bullshit.
“You run out of women to harass, yet?”
“No way, hell, some gals just came down from Gallia two days ago, I’m lookin to apply some of the ol’ Liberty charm on them.”
“Whatever, you fucking old weirdo. Listen, I need a hand.”
“I ain’t flying anymore, Bison. You know that, besides, you have my old Thunderbolt. Though you’ve renamed her, it's bad luck to change a ship’s name, you know.”
“You renamed the ship when you got it.”
“Yeah now look where it’s got me, got some fat bitch interrupting margarita night.”
“Oh shut up, you old bastard.”
“Fine, fine. What do you need, girl?”
“I’m out on Barrier Gate, I got a target lined up but I don’t think this is something I can hit alone here. You know anyone in the area?”

He paused, scratching the gray stubble on his chin.
“You know, there was a gal I sometimes get drugs from.”
“I ain’t looking for a drug dealer, Dalton!” She said with a huff.
“Heh, no no, she’s in the guild. Gal named Elspeth MacIntyre. Sometimes goes by ‘Bella Donna’.”
“What is that like, a stage name?”
“No, you idiot, it’s the name of a deadly plant. Because she likes working with drugs and poisons. Figures you’d be so dense for someone who wanted to go by ‘Bison’.” He ran a hand down his face in frustration. “Look, she’s probably on Barrier Gate. That’s your best bet. I will send you her contact information and her ship ID codes.”
“Thanks old man.”
“Now if that’s all, I got a margarita, a Gallic woman, and a quesadilla I need to deal with.”
“Yeah, yeah, thanks Dalton.”
“Anytime, Bison.”

Click.

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-- October 25th, 15:52 HR [Coronado]

For those with the eyes to see it, anything could be found on Barrier Gate. Its bazaars often held items from across the sector and services that defied anything bought in more “civilized” space. There also existed corners one could disappear into for those with the right coin and know-how, though bounty hunters were often denied this privilege. It was this that frustrated one such huntress though she had her own way of escaping the prying eyes of paranoid criminals and lawful authorities.

Click. A burner, covered in ornate silver designs that evoked art nouveau, flickered to life. The huntress held an equally-gaudy pipe over the heat source, scanning her surroundings lazily. It was a den for drug users like any other aboard the station, covered in plush bedding, colorful carpets and paintings, and hazy with the mist of use. Her half-lidded eyes gazed upon the “companion” assigned to her by the station, passed out alongside her. These boys were far easier to trick than Tinsley suspected, though the huntress knew better than to abuse the lapse in security. The huntress ran a purple-clawed, half-gloved hand over his cheek, sinking the sharp nails into the skin just enough to make the flesh bulge. It would be so easy…

She lifted her hand, sighing softly to herself. Better to give someone more easily forgotten such a pleasure. For now, the bliss of the pipe would have to do. The huntress lifted the now-hot pipe to her lips, taking in a deep, loving inhale of the vapors now circulating through her system. Smoke passed into her lungs, filling them and suffusing with every capillary and blood vessel they caressed. A creeping warmth and euphoria slid up and down her body like silken fire, inducing an involuntary, cheshire cat grin. This was a good place to be.

The fluid miasma of time seemed to creep along, starting and stopping, ebbing and flowing. Until something broke the tranquility she drifted in. A sound, a muttering of voices from somewhere nearby. Not the usual chatter, nowhere near as melty sounding as the usual patrons. Plodding, steady footsteps. Not a user. No, it was that distinct sound of someone sober. Lazily, she opened her eyes, sluggishly drawing them across the flamboyant decorations until she hit a decidedly drab looking spot in her field of view. A figure, a woman. A big woman.

The tawny clad figure loomed nearby, looking around at the other patrons before locking eyes with the huntress. The flicker of red in her auburn hair was practically the only smattering of color on her otherwise drab wardrobe with that tan coat and tan khakis she had on. She took up too much of the pleasant scenery, the huntress figured. Her thick body and broad shoulders did betray a very muscular physique underneath, well, what was undoubtedly a lifetime of bad dietary decisions.

She opened her mouth to speak, the words arriving unclear for the huntress at first. Only her moniker registered.
“... Bella Donna?...”

As she blinked herself to a more alert state, her eyes drifted down, and inevitably landed upon the tattoo upon the girl’s forearm. The unmistakable emblem of the Liberty Rogues peeked out from beyond her rolled up sleeve. “My. Quite a specimen. Your subspecies typically… lacks such decorum,” Bella replied, licking and lapping at every word as though the tongue’s contortions were a titillating experience unto themselves. She straightened herself up in the reclined position, resting her forearm atop the passed out guard’s head.

“Who is asking? And… why?”

“I… what..?” The woman cocked her head to the side.
Her jaw hung slack for a moment before a resolve seemed to flow into her features. With a mighty huff she folded her arms across her chest.
“Bishop. Bessie Bishop. I’m with the guild. Dalton pointed me towards you.”
She opened her mouth to speak again, but instead she merely paused and let out a sigh. She almost seemed beside herself. Obviously, she wasn’t here for the drugs, the huntress guessed that. To almost drive home the point, Bishop pulled a half crumpled cigarette out of her pocket. She let it hang in her mouth from her lip, leaving it to bob there, unlit.

“When he said you knew about drugs I kinda figured you weren’t… doing this. I can’t say I am surprised, knowing him.”
She brought a lighter out, clicked it five times, and with a groan, stuffed it back into her pocket after it failed to produce any flame.
“You looking for work, or are you on vacation here?” She smugly raised an eyebrow as she pointed down at her with her cigarette.

Bella regarded Bessie with the slothful gaze of a reclining lioness. Whether or not the newcomer’s words had found purchase in her mind was not immediately clear from her relaxed expression. The lounging huntress gestured from underneath silken black robes with one of her clawed hands, as if inviting her guest to join her.
“That entirely depends, darling. What kind of work did you have in mind?”

Bessie stuck the unlit cigarette back in her mouth as she cautiously took a step over. She seemed to briefly partake in the decor before turning her entire focus onto the huntress. Bella Donna had seen that kind of gaze before. It was when you were sizing someone up for a fight, trying to figure out what their game was, what they could do, what they could reach, what damage they could cause. She took a seat on one of the bean bag chairs, just out of arm's reach of her companion. She promptly began to sink into it rather awkwardly, leaving her knees at nearly chest height before she begrudgingly tried to adjust herself.

“I, ah, fuck it whatever.” With a huff she let herself sink, severely impacting the serious tone she was trying to conjure. But still, that gruff and syrupy voice continued with its drawl.

“I got what could be a big hit lined up. Buncha Rogues holed up in a cruiser. I need someone who can handle themselves on the ground and in the black, cause I sure as hell can’t manage this all by my lonesome. I’d be busier than a one armed whore on handjob night if I tried.”

The huntress chuckled to herself as she tried to take Bessie seriously, only to get a slight narrowing of her eyes as she seemed to be weighing her options. With a huff she turned to the nearly conscious guard and back to the woman in black.

“Do you really wanna talk shop here?”

She was right. As cozy as the den was, the company and atmosphere did make discussing this matter difficult. After a little giggle at Bessie’s expense was had, Bella took another long draw from the pipe, blowing a thick fog into the air above them, and started to rise. She placed a foot atop the passed out guard’s chest, looking down at him with a playful and contemptuous smirk.
“Poor thing. Looks like he’ll be getting in trouble with his bosses. Oh well,” she joked, looking over to Bessie. “Lead the way. I am quite keen on your offer, dear.”

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, the larger woman navigated cautiously out of the den, stepping over the guard and intoxicated patrons while Bella followed deftly behind, her movements syrupy and floaty. The promenade itself was much colder than the inside of the smoky den, though nowhere near as calm and relaxing. The artificial lights weren’t the best on the eyes coming from that warm comfy drug den. While the fog of her high bleed away, Bessie and her eventually did agree on a better place to talk.

Even though Bessie had just eaten, she agreed on getting them a private booth at Barrier Gate Ramen would be the best bet on short notice, provided she could get a beer. It certainly beats hiding in a dark corner or going all the way down to the flight deck to talk in the ships. The restaurant hadn’t changed much since Bessie had been there earlier in the night. The same warm lights shined down gently upon the establishment, tables, and patrons within. The quiet murmur of the crowd and clack of dishes and glasses washed over the two as they made their way to the bar. Behind the dark wood countertop was a lanky woman and an old robot who moved between customers getting drinks as the distant kitchen behind them filtered back with its own clamor of white noise.

Bessie leaned in on the bar, rasping her knuckles against the dark countertop and drawing the attention of the robot. She gestured to the tap, asking for some of the Kusari rice beer.

Apart from the two bounty hunters, and away from their attention, another newcomer had just sat down at the ramen table. Suicide Burn was a meek sort, the kind of woman that blended in with a crowd with her mop of dirty blonde hair, and she exploited it for its full worth. Right now, that looked like avoiding attention, and avoiding what few people might recognize her. Not that she expected the Rogues to be looking for her, but...well, just in case Lex had more cards on the table than he seemed, she would play it safe.

There was no reason for her to recognize the pair of bounty hunters, and no reason to suspect that her reason for running was about to come knocking.

With a huff Bessie pushed off from the bar to follow Bella. She led the two of them through the restaurant, a bottle of sake in one hand and a huge bowl of noodles in the other. The much thinner and somewhat lethargic hunter sauntered her way past the tables and patrons towards the private booths along the back wall somewhat happily. Bessie grumbled as she walked and took a swig of her beer, the other hunter seemingly half in her own world as she waltzed along lazily. Ironically, the much larger hunter managed to deftly step between them, largely because she was sober. Bessie looked on and found herself starting to wonder if this was a good idea. Her reputation definitely preceded her, so she had hoped that this was simply a bad first impression.

“So… tell me.” She slid into the booth slowly, her high still lingering in her slowed, spacey movements. She pulled the drawstring, and closed the curtains to isolate them. “Tell me about this jooob.”

“Alright, so, listen,” Bessie plopped down into the booth. “There’s a busted up cruiser somewhere between here and Kusari. An old Insurgent ship, ID’d as the Subjugator. Now from what I understand, it’s not exactly in good fighting condition. Navy boys got a fair few contracts out on that crew. Especially the boss, Lex Adams. Could be some really easy money.”

“If it is so utterly easy, why go to another for help?”

Bishop narrowed her eyes as Bella scoffed at her. “You think you could handle it alone?”

Bessie clumsily pulled out her datapad. As she took another swig of her rice beer she flipped through a few screens before placing it upon the table and pushed it towards Bella. The screen had several fuzzy guncam shots of the cruiser. Visible damage could be seen along her bow and ventral structures, evidence of burnt and melted armor that had been patched over. A couple of her gun mounts were notably blasted apart. The ship had been through hell already. Potentially an easy target to grab live captures off.

“Coyote II can only do so much against this. We’d need two or even three ships to crack those shields. Then we just… grab some guys from inside. Then blow it up when we’ve had enough of the place and cash in at Deshima or Denver.”

“Rather fortunate, then… that you came to me, darling,” Bella cooed, reaching into a pocket to pull out her own datapad, adorned with a dark wooden and mother-of-pearl inlaid case featuring a pattern of vines and birds. She swiped through a few apps, eventually opening up a systems layout of her vessel, one Claymore-class fighter, complete with a cannon that seemed powerful enough to leave a dent in even the behemoth hulls of House battleships.

“With a few modifications, I can likely take the Narcissus’s main gun and… bolster it to the point that it could shoot out what little is left of the poor beast’s reactor,” she explained, her other hands caressing the surface of the table as if it were a fluffy pet. A vacant smile came over her. “And with my… tools, I can ensure anyone left breathing will be of little consequence.”

Bishop smirked a bit at Bella’s sudden confidence.
“Big gun on that there thing."

She snatched the pad from Bella’s hands, looking over the schematic briefly before sliding it back towards her.
“Coyote II ain’t nearly as well armed as that thing, but I ain’t gonna complain.” She leaned back in her seat, taking a chug from her rice beer before sighing out: “Just let’s try not to blow it all up at once. Lotta them folks are worth something alive. But-”
She pointed the top of her beer bottle at Bella.

“If that thing does explode, LN is willing to pay out on proof of that too. I dunno if I even wanna ask what your ‘tools’ are, as long as no one melts, sure, whatever.”

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-- October 25th, 16:55 HR [Coronado, across the room...]

Moments ago, Suicide Burn heard something that practically made her ears bleed. “Subjugator.” It was a word that cut through the quiet noise of the patrons like a knife, slicing its way right to her. She froze, for just a moment. Was someone talking about the ship? It couldn’t be… could it? She quickly recomposed herself, her ears still burning as she found herself listening to every sound suddenly, scrutinizing the place for more words she’d recognize.
“...the boss, Lex Adams. Could be some really easy money.”
There!

The voice was coming from a private booth at the other wall. She vaguely recalled two woman had made their way over not long ago. Talking about money too…
Bounty hunters? The idea of throwing Lex under the bus suddenly bubbled to the surface of her mind. She wasn’t in much of a position to screw over that bastard by herself, but if the bounty hunters were about to run face first into him with the intent of wiping him out… She found the courage to move over to the booth. This could be a terrible, awful idea.

The two hunters continued to talk as the disheveled Rogue approached, finally getting right on up to the curtain of the booth. And as the women chatted inside, she knocked on the side of the booth to announce her presence. Immediately their conversation stopped.

A pause.

Then the bigger of the two women reached out, holding the curtain aside, revealing them both staring right at her.
“Yeah?” The larger of the two looked her up and down as she spoke.
“I know exactly where Lex Adams and his ship are.”

“And how’d you know such a thing, hon?” The lankier of the two leaned in, her grin curling up into a smarmy smile.

“I just left the Subjugator.”

The two hunters exchanged glances. An awkward silence filled the air as the ideas rushed to their heads. How fortunate they are.
“Well then. Ain’t that something, Bella?” She grinned one hell of a cocky grin before taking a swig of beer. “Well, why not come on in then, darlin?”

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-- October 25th, 18:33 HR [Coronado]

It took a bit of work to make sure this former Rogue was telling the truth. At the very least, some intimidation. The hunters were convinced by her story, though mostly by how she managed to keep it straight with a barrel of a gun shoved in her gut. Bessie and Bella weren’t exactly fans of trusting her though. But, it was a lead. One they didn’t have time to ignore.

The group had dragged her down to the hangar bays. Though Suicide Burn seemed more than willing to comply with the hunters. Maybe revenge did mean that much to her. Bessie and Bella were willing to take the risk, lest the Subjugator would slip away into the dark for who knows how long.

Thankfully, through some amusing coincidence, all three of them had parked their ships in the same hangar. It saved a lot of back and forth and headache, ultimately. Bessie had stopped before boarding her ship, taking a moment to talk to some of the techs who’d brought down the gun and equipment she ordered earlier. As the large woman spoke with the man about loading the crates up, someone approached. She quietly began taking in the scene, turning her eye to the bounty hunter ship where she seemed to silently scrutinize it.

The new figure had appeared while the group was busy, and based on all appearances, the newcomer was ready for action. Standing at 5,11, this figure had a weapon slung and hanging from their waist and wore an armour rig fitted with pouches that could easily hold all types of munitions and supplies.

While the gear quickly suggests that this newcomer was a soldier or operative of some kind, the lack of any flags or unit patches on their equipment made it hard to judge whether the individual was a friend or foe.

A weapons aficionado might find it intriguing that the figure's primary weapon was a Gallic model. A built-to-purpose plasma carbine typically issued to Gallic Special Forces and Royal Intelligence operatives during the war with Gallia. Reliable and straightforward, this model made minor sacrifices in effective range. The focus on modularity for a compact frame suggests this was the tool typically issued to breacher teams. Seeing one in good condition, much less being actively used this many years after the war, was a rarity since the company that produced them collapsed in the aftermath of the war's end.

There would be significantly less to work with on the sidearm that sat snugly in a holster clipped onto the tactical belt that carried yet more pouches worn around the figure's waist. The sidearm was worn high enough to be easily reached, and the grip was stippled to make for an easier draw. However, more details about the sidearm would be hard to ascertain while it remained in the holster.

However, the armour rig had none of the signs of age that the carbine did; instead, it was relatively fresh, save for a few scrapes that mainly came from brushing off walls. It also resembles a model with more Bretonian or Libertonian heritage than Gallic. Without knowing the person in question, the more the gear was studied, the more questions that might arise. The only identifying mark present was on the helmet, an iconography of a bird of some kind emblazoned on the helmet with grey paint.

Perhaps the most perplexing question for the group to answer would be the blade that sat in a black polymer stiletto sheath, clearly designed for a blade thinner than a typical survival or combat knife, on the left shoulder strap of the rig. The blade, a masterpiece of craftsmanship in its own right, starkly contrasts with the operator's functional appearance. The fine ivory grip, custom carved to provide ergonomic support paired with the finely done gold detailing along the thin guard and the skinny pyramid-shaped stiletto pommel, seems more like a treasured display piece than a weapon carried into combat. This intriguing contrast between the blade and the rest of the individual's equipment raised more questions than answers.

The mystery individual seemed to be inspecting the Coyote II as they waited, analyzing it even, yet taking care not to entirely turn their back from the hangar's entry and exit point. Whoever they were seemed to be cautious enough, if not trained, to remain alert.

The figure had not gone unnoticed by Bessie and Bella. A well armed individual loitering so close to the pad could easily mean trouble after all. Though, Bessie and Bella were at a disadvantage of not being in their armor, and they both realized it. The larger of the two gals undid the snap on her holster and stepped on up, putting on a smug smile.

“Well, ain’t you just lookin like you’re ready for a dance, ma’am. Something we can help you with?”

“Bishop. Bella Donna.”

“Hmmmmmmmmmm….” the smaller of the two women cooed. “Our reputation precedes us?”

“Rebecca Harper.” The well armed woman bluntly stated. “No, don’t care about the bounty, but I do need aboard the Subjugator.”


“And why’s that?”

“Rescue mission.” She crossed her arms. “Kris managed to get himself stupid arse captured by the very lot you'se are after.”

“Oh, oh you’re shitting me. Kris, as in, as in Laz? That scrawny kid who somehow ends up pissing off everyone he meets?”

The slightest of sighs escaped from the armoured merc before she gave confirmation. “That'd be the one.”

“Last I saw he was with Tracy Rivers, doing work for Doc Rhea Novack. He upped and vanished though.”

“Mhm, your timelines right, and it's not the first time it's happened. Probably won't be the last time I go and pull him back up either.”

Bessie looked over her shoulder at Bella as she lazily shrugged, and Burn just shrank further like some nervous dog.

“I mean, if you’re not taking a cut of the pay… whatever, sure.”

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