Rochester Inn

[Rudo]

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."

---