He recoiled ever so slightly at the sight of rudimentary restraints being corrupted. A game of hiding one's intentions has begun as the Gardener carried on his twisted monologue. His saving grace was a faceless visor concealing both disgust and intrigue.
"Damn shame I will never be able to 'join the Light' as it were. Practically impossible at this point. You though? You ate the forbidden rock and you can already 'smell colors', 'see sounds' and all that. You have to tell me what it's like. I might want to catch a sniff myself sometime."
The merc kept a stoic posture while his right hand flowed elegantly over his trusted cannon. In a swift move he'd align the weapon's barrel with one of the crystal's chains. Two shots went off - one hit the wall behind, and the other landed on the crystalized portion of the chain, breaking it and letting the other take all the weight. The Gardener was left dangling against the ceiling in a fluid motion before finally coming to a halt.
"Now I wish I could just 'submit and die' to Sh'ozak, but you see. I can't. By the looks of it I will be the last pair of eyes that sees the world as its last star goes out. There's no magic cloning process at hand here. No psychic shenanigans either... maybe, I don't know that one.
So tell me, 'oh lecturer mine'. Since I can't read what you want to give me, will you read it for me?
Caliban's range of emotions shifted to stagnant curiosity limited by his perception of what is and what isn't. The amalgam could subtly detect a sense of pride and amusement in the air. A bitter lemonade laced with progressively more sugar as every word dropped into the glass.
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"Test the sharpness of your sword against another. And when that is not enough, unsheathe your cunning as the hidden dagger that ends the fight."
The Gardener's crystal form hung for a moment, and then an invisible force pulled it back to the position it was before. A crystaline link of the other chain glowed slightly, then popped, leaving the Gardener hovering weightlessly in the air, draped in chains. A triangle shape lit up on the floor and ceiling, with a light flow of white energy bleeding upwards and downwards, respectively. He designated his own container, given the frailty of the previous one.
He paused for a moment, recomposing himself."I'vealreadygivenyouwhatIneededto.Contemplationbreedsimitation,ohGeminatemine.Nowthatyouknowwhattolookfor,you'llseewhatisandwhatisn't.You'llrealize,andthenyou'llrealizesomemore.Andonceyou'reabletodistinguishTruthfromFalsity,you'llslowlybecomesomethinggreater.Anotherplayertositattheboard,insteadofonit.Acompetitor.Ironsharpensiron,yes?You'llhelpperfectOurMaiden."
Layered rings of alien characters burned themselves into the air around the crystal. They smoothly slid over each other, rearranging, swapping characters from one to the other, and rewriting themselves entirely. He reviewed the weft and weave of his own words and the perspectives he projected. The Gardener had no intent to escape.
Caliban's visor lit up with a shade of fiery orange. Behind the faceless exterior, he had begun scanning the crystal and its symbols. Perhaps just as the entity itself intended, or maybe not. Actions like these were almost sewn into his character. To aquire information, material gains, show himself as the benevolent being in a world that cherishes his existence - and a world that loathes every part of him. And then came the hurting, the selective avoidance of truth just so that he can say he isn't lying. Every heinous actions was done 'for a greater purpose', 'to save a world that doesn't know he exists' - a liar who tricked oneself into believing he's fighting the good fight when he's not.
"I stopped thinking about Raven and her goons for some time now. I know she'll die to her psychic storms or whatever. And her people will follow. All of that while I'm still alive and kicking. I'm better than I've ever been, because I threw away almost every piece of meat that I could. All these years spent preserving what was... and I didn't bother to consider what could be.
He turned away dismissively shrugging the Gardener off with a wave of his hand. The few rags covering Caliban's arm loosened against their weight, revealing poorly placed skin grafts over cold metal and tubes violently pumping a powerful liquid in and out of his system. It was filled with puss and bulbous to the touch where sutures joined each piece. This hideous appearance was because he wanted to cling to a human appearance, but rather a failed attempt done months ago under a different mindset.
As he walked away, the lab's speakers had come to life with a familiar voice. Over these few months of absence, Caliban has strengthened his bond with a formerly unwanted tenant plaguing the Valkyrie he so cherished. What was once skepticism that kept the two away has turned into a more permanent relationship. 'Amp' briefly interrupted the conversation between two amalgams with a neutral tone.
"Vincent. Your ship has received its final patch to receive full functionality. All errors have been accounted for. Additionally: while you were absent I have implemented upgrades to the battery's architecture. Expected functionality: 2 days and 15 hours."
With a perfectly timed leave and nothing left to say, he'd glance one last time at The Gardener. There wasn't much left to say, yet he didn't want to 'ghost' the freak either. He commented one last time with a snarky remark while expecting no real answer.
"I'll uh...reflect on what you've told me." he said with a slight bow as a show of respect - fake or otherwise. "Now if you wish to stay here I'll want you to pay rent, yes? I expect that next time we'll have something different to talk about."
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"Test the sharpness of your sword against another. And when that is not enough, unsheathe your cunning as the hidden dagger that ends the fight."
The Gardener's thoughtful hums followed Caliban on his way out. Caliban had reminded him of the last thought Nikolaus had before casting himself into the abyss, to be claimed by the Light. "Why count the years in your life when you can make the life in your years count?" But he didn't voice it. Instead, he simply responded:
It's almost done - I can feel it. 'Amp' has worked day and night on the first version of a much sought after 'battery' than can reliably output enough power to supply all of 'Item No.52'. Its total lifespan has been registered to a solid three days and 17 hours. It's the best we're going to get out of a portable device that can be coupled to a given ship's powercore with slight modifications. Well...what I mean by portable is "you can lift it with a crane" kind of portable.
I'm still left with a few downsides, like having to let it recharge for about ten hours between flights from a rather scary source. And of course I can only do that on the Wayfarer - for as long as its going to last, anyway. General revisions should happen every once a week as 'Amp' requested. He says that the cables used for coupling with a powercore are still not safe by a long shot. They'll burn out over time if forced. Reminds me of Hemlocke's ship in a way. That Wolfhound was nothing short of a chaotic miracle in itself and I love it. I miss that guy, though. I'll raise a glass to you, wherever you may be.
Anyway...'Item No.52' also received a few changes so that they actually work the way I want them to. Uh, mostly. This is all uncharted territory to me so I'll probably see side effects in the field. What I did was cannibalize the Order's version of Adapted Blasters for parts - thanks Hawkins. There were some things this aged hybrid technology did well, but what the Order made was even better and more up to date. I did the best of both worlds with the desired side effect of slightly inconsistent power output and by default projectiles with varying potency. I made sure they wouldn't fall below like...90% efficiency. Every now and then they'd hit 105% and even 110% to really rattle a Nomad's veil. This indirectly damages the battery though. You win some you lose some, right? I uh...wanted to show Viper these first. Show her I'm still just as smart as I was before the whole assassination-ing? - a mess. Maybe I could've gotten some pointers. That's no longer an option I suppose.
Arsenal
Good news seem to be pouring in today. So let's keep going, yeah? The Rebel is basically ready for flight. While 'Amp' blew a fuse or something on creating the 'battery', I spent the past few days finishing up repairs on this Xeno Fighter. Short sessions between meetings with clients and free flights to cool my head after something went wrong. And honestly? A lot went wrong with that thing. Either the engine stalls, power drops or the archaic console in the cockpit shuts down unexpectedly. I should've asked for a manual on DIY repairs from the Xenos, but clearly I wasn't smart enough to do that in time. So...I DIY'd everything based off a hunch and tutorials over the Net on how to fix an 'Eagle'. Yeah, the 'CTE' one. There weren't many similarities there, but it was better to follow some vague direction than none at all. Helped a whole lot more after I hit the grey market for civilian grade spare parts I had to use for the 'Rebel'. Life support is online, cockpit is sealed, console works somehow, and the rest is history. Functional history I guess?
I kind of liked the whole puzzle to be honest. Takes me back to when I had that scrawny 'Falcon'. I spent so many days with it parked in junkyards for spare parts everytime something went bust. No money, no name and certainly not enough knowledge to search the real market for a fair price. I always felt like people were taking me for a fool - really couldn't afford to go wrong had I overpaid for a coolant tube or something. It could've meant no fuel for a few days. Or food.
Fancy memories aside. One more thing is left on the to-do list. Repair the 'Agressor' - which honestly makes me tremble whenever I look under the 'hood'. I had to contact Bristol about this since there's no way I have enough parts to fix all that. It's like...staring in the eyes of a 100 year-old-something-lady and all you see is dementia. This bomber twitches every now and then, but there's so much wear and tear that the hull plates are shaking. There's rust UNDER the rust. It's even worse on the belly - like, this thing didn't park slowly or with the use of automated docking protocols. No, it downright plunged into every hangar bay it could. I guess the Quartermaster on Fort Ramsey had enough of the pilot and decked this ship for good. Pilot's probably cleaning latrines for a living now.
I suppose that's all for now.
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"Test the sharpness of your sword against another. And when that is not enough, unsheathe your cunning as the hidden dagger that ends the fight."
Final tests are going smoothly. Output is stable and the improvised conversion units work well with the battery. 'Item No.52' wasn't originally designed with this kind of combination in mind. And why would it? Ships flown by the Wild might be modified specifically to run without the need to 'convert' energy. They just take it. For that reason I needed to create a power source so they have something to siphon. Said conversion units are there for mostly aesthetic purposes right now, but they don't bother the ship's subsystems. 'Amp' can also use them to make sure neither weapon, battery or powercore explodes on me. Something about emergency power discharge to remove as much load as possible in a short amount of time. Fragile solution, he says. Just great...really.
'Item No.8'
With '52' finally reaching a much wanted closure I can set my sights on something else - myself. I ran so many scenarios in my head about how I'd return to a normal, functioning body. People look at me and either see a psychopath, stinking vagrant. Both are right I guess. Now I obviously can't just 'return' or 'regress' to an organic body. That's science fiction that rivals technocrat delusions. The next best thing is a second body. Lifelike imitation to how I looked like before the Hudson incident. To be controlled by a cortex chip. In layman's terms I'd be in two bodies at the same time.
The concept is pretty solid for the level of technology we have today. A modern droid concealed in a synthetic meatsuit that I can puppeteer with my brain - uh, enhancements? Not unlike a remote. Maximum distance, latency and other small quirks make me have second thoughts about this. I know how to make a junk ship fly, maintain basic droids and so on. Tech like this though? Hard to come by and even harder to fully grasp. I once heard of a company that makes pretty convincing androids. I wonder if they can make a custom one for my likes. Or if they're still in business.
There's hoping.
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"Test the sharpness of your sword against another. And when that is not enough, unsheathe your cunning as the hidden dagger that ends the fight."
Within his self-made container, the Gardener began cycling pure energy through his core, mimicking the startup of a nuclear device. His plan was to simply trip any monitoring alarms. It was time to get the ball rolling.
The ship's alarms triggered once more. As opposed to last time's commotion, there were no frantic footsteps on the other side of the door. Only silence joined by a constant feeling that The Gardener's underappreciated jest was ignored. Seconds turned to minutes, then to hours until the lab's doors slid open with a rusted creak.
"What do you have to say now, 'oh visionary mine'?" - Vincent walked into the room. Rags worn haphazardly as always over his frame. His voice box sounded as clear as day, freshly repaired by the looks of it.
He seemed to be neither amused or annoyed by the Gardener. He felt nothing other than slight curiosity which was already fleeting.
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"Test the sharpness of your sword against another. And when that is not enough, unsheathe your cunning as the hidden dagger that ends the fight."
With a cascade of clicking sounds, the floor sprouted crystal in the shape of a Lotus bud. He continued: "ThesecondbitisthatI'msendingthreeclearexplanationsofwhatI'mdoingandhowI'mdoingitintotheSiriusSector.ThefirstoneI'llgivetoyou,asit'sfairlyimportanttoyou.Andthereincomestheoffer:IneedourlittleViper'sDenworkinginOntario,movingsomeassetsoutoftheway.I'mcertainyouhavenolovefortheTechnocracy,anditseemedliketheydidn'teither.IfyoucanturntheMarinenachrichtendiensttowardsPlanetSudbury,I'llleavethepiecetoyouinaformthatdoesn'trequireaCryptologistoraXenoarcheologist."
"Wow. You're already short on the first payment? I thought higher of you." - he replied with sarcasm. What he liked less than a lying Nomad was one that had illusions of grandeur. "But sure... that can be done." - he added, with a fake, joyous tone riddling his voice box.
Vincent was already trying to secure Sudbury with The Buro. The Gardener's terms cemented his suspicions of the Nomads' involvement or potential plans to attack the Planet at some point. 'A quick raid. to collect what's inside while everyone else fought over scraps' were the merc's initial thoughts. That would be too simple however - whatever angle the Nomads had planned could be elegantly sewn in a narrative they think they control. Maybe they do, maybe they don't. In the end it was too early to assume anything.
"The notion of meeting Sh'ozak 'in the flesh'. I don't know if I should feel honored or disgusted. Question is: do you want to pit me against her, or have this be an introduction to the so called 'impossible odds' I'm fighting?"
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"Test the sharpness of your sword against another. And when that is not enough, unsheathe your cunning as the hidden dagger that ends the fight."
![[Image: 89jph2z.png]](https://i.imgur.com/89jph2z.png)
