Deviation Actions
Literature Text
"I was outnumbered and the outcome was inevitable. Though it wasn't a total loss. I was provided valuable insight into the way Soliveré handles himself," said Ophelia into the console screen's main speaker. Her voice was even and measured. "He's tougher than I recall, but I can use what I learned in staging the follow-up."
Thousands and thousands of miles away, the Satieran Councillor nodded thoughtfully as he sat before his console's blue glow. The meeting was taking place via COMM device - it was much safer than meeting in person.
"I have the utmost faith in you Ms. Varisian," he assured the woman on the other end of the call. "Proceed as you see fit."
"Unfortunately," Ophelia went on. "The three frigates were indeed taken. They've been handed over to Quinida Utada and from what I understand, most of the crews also. Supposedly she offered them amnesty and employment. That's a good number of agents we've lost."
But the Councillor scoffed. "Hardly a loss. Hardly even a dent. The ships were practically worthless and their crews replaceable. Their theft is something I'm not concerned about."
"Well I am," put in another woman's voice, the Ellegian Councillor. "True, we are not hurting for ships or bodies, but if word of this gets out? It will put a crack in the Society's image. That a few traitors and an Archetian gang scum can so easily commandeer our ships? Our agents? It's absurd. And now it's accurate. If people on Ellegy, on Satieri, on Vescent, Ascendia, any of our holdings, if they find out about this-"
"Then they won't," the Satierian interrupted sternly. "We'll make sure the story stays contained. We'll double the Department of Information's efforts in flagging any mention of Soliveré or Utada, Archeti, any of it."
The Vescentian Councillor, an older, grizzly man, spoke up. "But what of the girl? Adler. The woman. One of my own."
"Yes, we've got data tracking set on her too-" the Satieran began, but was cut off.
"No, no," said the older Vescentian man, his voice gruff and flustered. "Tell me, was she on Archeti? What was she doing? Was she with them?"
The line was quiet for a moment until Ophelia responded. "I believe so, but I personally didn't see her. It's safe to say she was part of a separate boarding team."
A sudden thud filled the line, as if the Vescentian man had slammed his fist into a table. "Next time, make her a priority. I need her returned to Vescent as soon as possible. Do you understand?"
The woman from Ellegy made a murmur of disapproval. "If I may ask, Councillor, we all agree that the entire crew of the Dionysian is a risk. Why exactly you are so concerned with Dr. Adler in specific?"
"She knows things!" the Vescentian man growled. "Or she soon will! From her fiance! Her fiance - he was the one writing that report on his - he could have ruined us all!"
"If you are referring to Ren Calimore and his investigation into your pre-Council identity," the Ellegian woman said coldly, "that is entirely your fault. You failed in being thorough in its eradication. You'll notice that none of your fellow Councillors have run across the issue. We will not have Varisian reprioritize in order to solve your personal mistake."
"If we don't get Adler," he grunted, "we'll all suffer. Before she left my city, she was talking. Asking too many questions! She sticks her nose where it does - "
"Frankly, Councillor, your obsession with her is becoming a tired subject."
"Obsession?" he growled. "It's not - don't insult me - "
"No doubt the Dionysian is keeping quiet now," said the Satierian man sharply, interrupting all of them. "They'll want to lay low after this 'victory' of theirs. But we'll continue the pursuit." He drummed his fingers on his desk. "They're getting braver, clearly. Braver and bolder. So time is of the essence. We cannot allow another attack. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir," Ophelia said briskly. "I've already begun the next phase. I hope to have results within the month."
"Excellent work, Ms. Varisian," he replied. "We look forward to your update."
"Are we really getting rid of that ship Callahan gave us?" Addy asked from her seat atop the cabinet, swinging her legs toward the floor. Beside her, Corra pulled her hand along the row of guns hung on the armory wall before her. She was picking out the best weapon for the job - she only hoped she wouldn't have to use it.
Because this job would be easy, or so Corra was sincerely hoping. It was simple on paper, at least: sell one of Callahan's ships to a dealer named Mica. The ship was already sitting in the Beacon's cargo bay, and apparently Addy had grown quite fond of the vessel.
"I've never even seen one of those models before," she gushed. "They're incredibly rare. Cyrus was so jealous when I told him about it. Do you have any idea how advanced it is?"
Corra snorted. Ironically, that was the same question Callahan himself had asked her. Of course, Addy (unlike him) hadn't meant it to insult her intelligence, but nonetheless, she gave the same vacant, "Not really," as she finally settled on a discreet handgun to keep in her inside jacket pocket.
"Are you sure we can't just keep it?" Addy asked with a grin, sliding back onto the ground with a thump as Corra made for the door. "I know we were just supposed to smuggle it here and sell it but, c'mon." She nudged Corra teasingly with her elbow. "It's already in our cargo bay, what's to stop us from, y'know…" She made a flying motion with her hand in the air.
Despite herself, Corra couldn't help but laugh. "That'll be a great thing to add to our track record," she mused. "Failed robberies, worthless bank jobs and stealing our clients' products. We're great at this."
"I told you I'd be a natural at this whole space pirate thing." Addy beamed.
"You're the terror of the skies, surely," Corra agreed, shaking her head. "But tell me. Do you like those new assistant engineers we hired?"
"Oh yeah. They're doing great."
"What about the deckhands? And the chef?" Addy nodded. "If we steal Callahan's ship, then how will we get paid? And if we don't get paid then how will we pay the crew? And if we don't pay the crew-"
"Well if you're gonna be logical about it sure," Addy laughed, rolling her eyes dramatically. "It's still a nice ship."
"That, I won't argue with." Corra sighed as she hopped down the steps towards the cargo bay, Addy on her tail.
Truth be told, she would have much rather just disappeared with Callahan's ship than do this job. Something about it just wasn't sitting right with her and hadn't been ever since they'd agreed to take the assignment. Perhaps it was the notion of smuggling such large, valuable cargo across volatile Ellegian borders. Or perhaps it was the deal location itself, a high profile, high population metropolis that teemed with possibility of disaster. But in all likelihood it was neither of those things that had been keeping her up at night with worry. It was more likely the man who'd given them the job, halfway across the span by now. Callahan himself. The way he'd acted towards her, the manner in which he'd disregarded her. She could still hear his biting tone even now and it made the pit of discomfort in her stomach throb.
Apparently Addy had noticed. "Hey," she said suddenly, putting her hand on Corra's shoulder. "You okay? You went all quiet there."
At once, Corra shook it off. "I'm fine," she assured her. "Just a little worried about this job is all."
"You think it won't go well?"
No, Corra thought instinctively. But she said, "I'm sure it will."
"Of course it will," Addy said. "And it's not like you'll be alone. No matter what happens, if anyone can handle it, it's Finn."
Right, thought Corra, feeling bitter. Finn could handle anything. Everything she couldn't.
Did Addy think her incapable, too?
Corra just forced a chuckle, agreed, "Hope so," and continued through the bay towards where Finn and Daelen were lingering near the Beacon's airlock. Finn was leaning against the doorframe, a plume of smoke rising above his head. A foul smell reached her nose and she pulled a face.
"Are you smoking?" she demanded. "That's disgusting."
"That's why I'm doing it outside," said Finn dramatically, swiping the cigarette out of his mouth and sticking his hand out the door.
She turned on Daelen. "You're a doctor, shouldn't you tell him not to do that?"
"He has," Finn promised, grinning.
Daelen shrugged at her with his arms crossed. "There are only so many times I can argue with people's personal decisions to ignore good advice."
Corra glared at Finn a moment longer. Then she asked, "So how was the inspection?"
Finn sighed out a wisp of smoke. "Well Mica's guys came here, they looked her over," he gestured towards the shining black ship parked inconspicuously in the Beacon's bay, "and they left. So I'm guessin' everything checks out and the deal's still on." He took one last drag, and then tossed his cigarette out the door. "Mica said he'd meet us at his nightclub. You ready to go?"
Corra took a deep breath. "Ready as I'll ever be," she grumbled.
The club was called Heat, at the furthest end of the strip under a glowing white neon sign. A hanging velvet rope circled around the entrance, a detail Corra found cute as she stepped over it and walked straight past the bouncer.
Inside, electric red light doused the dance floor. Booths lined the walls, and in the heart of the room was an elevated stage, filled with dancing women and men. Corra honestly wasn't sure, judging both by their state of dress, if they were patrons or strippers. It was hard to tell in this town.
"Classy joint," said Corra, over the noise.
Finn smirked. "C'mon, that's him in the corner there."
The furthest booth was dark, quiet and and rimmed with thick red curtains, no doubt for under-the-table business meetings just like this one. Men and women in various states of dress sat around the table. In the middle of them was Mica himself, in a cheap-looking suit, lounging back with one arm hanging casually over a woman at his side.
He looked to be in his late-thirties, with a sunken gaunt face and short trimmed beard, which he grinned through as they approached the table. "About time you two showed up," he said smoothly. He nodded toward the crowded stage. "Thought perhaps you were just enjoying the dancing."
In a neutral voice, Finn said, "Not when business calls, unfortunately," and sat down. Humming with anticipation, Corra reeled in her nerves and calmly lowered to the seat beside him.
"So you know why we're here then?" she asked in an even tone.
"Naturally," Mica agreed, flicking a dull glance in her direction. "Callahan told me you're his newest hires."
"S'right," said Finn, his voice impossibly relaxed, like they were meeting new friends for brunch. "Finnegan Riley, and this is Corra, captains of the Beacon."
"Captains?" Mica repeated in disbelief. "That so?"
Corra could not help but notice that Mica shot her a particularly amused look. One of her fists balled under the table. "That's right," she said, keeping her voice calm. "Captains. Captains with a rather busy schedule, so maybe let's get started?"
Mica's lips curled. He did not bother to introduce anyone else at the table. "Yes. I suppose you're right. Let's cut through it, shall we?" He looked at Finn. "It's my understanding you have quite the deal for me. Tell me about Callahan's ship."
"Sure. Although you know a lot about it already," said Finn at once, one eyebrow shooting higher on his forehead. "Your people came poking around to check it an hour ago."
Mica's smirk broadened. "Well, you don't expect me to go into this deal blindly, do you? Now - tell me what I don't already know. Why, exactly, is it worth my money?"
"It has a ten-gauge engine," Corra piped up at once. Mica's eyes shot to her, clearly surprised to see her speaking. This time, she had made sure to memorize plenty of facts about the ship, and she went on with confidence, "She's small - not a lot of room for product - but if you're serious about smuggling off ports, this is the ship for it. There's none faster."
The corner of Mica's mouth twitched as he regarded Corra, somewhere between amusement and irritation. "Know a lot about ships, do you?"
"Been traveling on one for close to four years now." Corra shrugged her shoulders. "I know enough."
Mica lifted his martini glass to his lips and peered curiously at Finn. "I thought you were the pilot."
"I am," he said, dropping his elbow on the back of his seat. "And she's right. Ship's small enough to bypass most port-inspections. In other words, you move that ship wherever you want across the span, and no one's gonna ask any questions."
"That would be quite the luxury, wouldn't it," Mica mused, sipping his drink and then lowering it to the table. "Fine then. How much do I owe you for the deed?"
"150K," said Finn briskly. Mica let out a bark of a laugh.
"It's hardly worth that!"
"It is when you consider that this ship has never once been searched," countered Finn.
"150K is also what you and Callahan agreed on," Corra pointed out. Worry twisted her stomach.
"That," Mica scoffed, "was mere initial speculation."
Finn grinned. "Nah. It was a final offer."
But Mica just shook his head, chuckling. "You're new to this business aren't you? Tell you what, I'll give you 120K and you can be damn thankful I'm even giving you that." His amused smile faded into a threatening stare. "It's no skin off my nose if you return to your boss empty handed."
Corra's mouth fell open, but no words arrived on her lips. They certainly couldn't face Callahan again without the cash they'd promised to retrieve. But they couldn't face him with less than they'd promised either. They needed that 150K, every credit of it, for this to be anything more than another failure to add to the roster. But as Mica watched her expectantly for her next move, Corra was at a loss.
Fortunately, Finn was not.
"How about you give us the 150K you promised," he mused, reaching for one of the drinks on the table and bringing it to his lips, "and you can be thankful that we won't tell Callahan about this." A cheerful grin filled his face, though his tone was biting. "No skin off our nose if he decides you're untrustworthy. Or that you like to waste his time. You've met Callahan haven't you? He doesn't like his time wasted."
Corra held her breath as she awaited the response. At last, Mica muttered, "120K is a decent amount of - fine. Fine. 150K. Since you insist." He gestured to a one of his men hovering outside the booth. "Lars, give them the credits."
Corra exhaled a deep breath, relief flooding through her veins as she gratefully accepted a hefty briefcase from the man. Perhaps this had gone right after all.
Standing to his feet, Finn reached over and shook Mica's hand. "Good man. We'll leave the ship on the docks with your people. Great doing business with you."
He stood to his feet to leave and Corra followed suit. She went to shake Mica's hand too but he dropped his palm abruptly, as if he'd touched something foul. He suddenly smirked rather darkly.
"'Captain,' was it?" he said to her, his tone almost teasing. "'Captain.' What a span we live in these days." His tone was loud and carrying as he addressed the table, as if readying them all for a tremendous joke. "A kroppie," he sang. "An actual kroppie captaining a vessel."
Scolding laughter exploded around the table. Finn had been halfway out the booth; he turned around in surprise. Corra went very still, unable to believe her what she'd just heard.
Kroppie.
Without thinking, Corra's hand jumped to cover her ear, shielding it from view: in the tip of her ear was the slightest cut, the symbol of her past enslavement. When she was a young girl at Goddora's compound, 'Kroppie' had practically been her name. She had heard it snapped at her over and over whenever someone needed to put her in her place or demanded her obedience. It was, in most places around the span, the worst, dirtiest, most dehumanizing word to call a person.
In spite of the outbreak of laughter that made her want to sink into the floor, Corra stood tall. She breathed out, "I'm sorry. I don't think I heard you correctly." Her glare was as sharp as daggers, a fire raging in her eyes. "What the fuck did you just call me?"
"Oh, calm down," Mica was saying, leaning back in his seat with his hands behind his neck. "Don't get all worked up - "
Finn was at her side, quiet and stunned. Their laughter filled her ears. I'll kill you, her brain said, over and over and over again. I'll kill you I'll kill you I'll kill you. She could feel the weight of the gun in her pocket and her hand was so very ready to reach for it.
But no. She couldn't. Killing Mica wouldn't solve the Beacon's cash flow. Nor would it win them any points with Callahan.
He wasn't even paying her any attention now. Drink in hand, he grinned at the person to his right and said laughingly, "I mean, have you ever heard of such a thing, Ranso? These days they'll let anyone man a boat - "
"Let's go," said Finn lowly in her ear, holding her arm to steer her away. "Fuck this guy, let's get the hell out of here."
Feeling hot and dizzy with anger, Corra allowed him to lead her away from the table. The room was crowded, but Corra was too dazed to notice as she bumped into shoulders.
They were five feet away when Mica's table exploded into laughter, and then he called, "Go on then, slave girl," in a merry, laughing voice. "Don't need your type dirtying my club-"
It was then that Finn halted at her side. His expression was blank, unreadable, when his hand fell off her arm and he turned on his heel. He crossed back to the table and in one motion, seized Mica's collar with one hand and with the other, cracked his fist across the man's once-grinning face.
