JB CLXVII: Turning the Tables
Serafina might be alive. That thought makes Donald almost irrationally happy. His incredibly aggravating, workaholic, slave-driving boss thinks Serafina might be alive. She hasn't been in the habit of regularly getting things wrong, either. And he's worked under her long enough as her henchman that he knows that if Jamelia Belltower is willing to risk people on this, she's honestly and legitimately believing what's going on. Which on one hand, means that he might be able to meet a respected co-worker, and yes, friend-definitely a friend at this point-again months after he left her for dead. And Rose can have a family member back-a gift that very few people can provide.
It's
irrational happiness because Jamelia and her old smug psychic asshole assassin friend have pointed out that they can't go find Serafina, they have more important things to do with the Void Engineers breathing down their necks and a billion other problems they have to solve-and only they can solve. And besides, you're the California native, Donald, why don't you go back and check on your contacts? Who are probably all dead or turned or both now because that son of a bitch (literally, in Donald's reckoning, given that Reina Lior was a big huge bitch) killer robot god machine thing can't be reasoned with, can't be bargained with, and definitely will not stop, ever, until he's dead-and it's a lot less fun when it's not a movie where the killer robot is preordained to lose. Which means that again, he's going to have to go into the field and Jamelia will dismiss his complaints as baseless whining, she's gone through worse.
Which is true. That killer robot god machine is targeting him to get to her, which means that he's just suffering collateral damage from it. It's probably the only reason he's alive. It didn't want to risk its own damage or destruction merely targeting him. Not when it has a more important objective.
"Fine." Donald says. "I'm going to go check on them. Enjoy talking to the Void Engineers."
"We won't." Harlan responds. "Speaking of. You mind borrowing one of them? The Chinese guy. Drag him away from us and to LA, so we can deal with the Void Engineers without him snooping around. He's been trying to eavesdrop on us every chance he gets."
The way he says it makes it clear that it's not a question he can say no to. "Fine. Fine. Just give me more shit to do." Donald grouses. "It's not as if I already have enough on my plate."
"Excellent." Harlan beams. "I knew I could trust your dependability."
"Asshole." Donald coughs.
***
When asked about equipment for operations, Jamelia forwards Donald to the same Iterators who gave him his mechanical arm. She tells him to just bring Rose and Henriette-neither of the Void Engineers are allowed to know where her sources are.
Donald suspects that they're the same people who have been contributing to the high-tech equipment around the abandoned Russian base. Jamelia's psychic asshole friend doesn't seem like the kind of person who'd tinker for the sake of tinkering, while Jamelia herself isn't much of a tech head and Henriette would have done something more... stylish. There's something very cold and clinical about the smooth black quantum-computing obelisks or the holoprojectors that Henriette wouldn't do. She'd probably have tried to make them look good. The Molotek building looks like an office building from the outside. On the inside, everything is different. Donald's been wealthy for quite a while. He knows what has true value and what doesn't. And everything in the Molotek building screams "priceless."
The Technocracy Donald's known has always been one where everything, everything, was carefully rationed. It could be the slow trickle of rewards to agents in the NWO, the "mission-necessary equipment" of Iteration X and the Void Engineers, the cutthroat politicking and favor-trading of the Progenitors, or the market economy of the Syndicate. There is none of this apparent lack here. They have HITMarks-clearly high-end HITMarks, which Iteration X would reserve for high-risk special ops missions, working as receptionists and parking guards. Everything looks custom-built, high-end, and there's probably enough deathtraps in the facility to murder an entire hemophage assault like the one which overran his construct without breaking a sweat.
Rose looks around warily. "Is this the right place?" She asks. One of her hands shifts absently to rest on her hip, ready to draw weapons in case something goes wrong. Of course, against what she's looking at, that might be a futile gesture. "I don't think this is a Union facility." Donald isn't quite sure. Rose has displayed some very interesting insights before, but he thinks this is a Technocracy facility. Just not like any he's seen before.
"Of course it is." Henriette says. She seems relaxed, at least. Which means that it's probably right. Donald doesn't think she's been hacked or anything. "Look, we've already called ahead. Armory is underground."
How the hell did Jamelia find these people, in Russia, of all places? Donald thinks. He warily enters the elevators and takes them down, and when the doors open, it's like an entirely different place. The office camouflage is gone, and what's left is a base Donald thinks Ragnarok Command or the Shock Corps would literally kill to have. A lot of the technology here is rare and highly valued outside of this building, this one oasis of plenty in a desert of lack. Racks and racks of high-tech ordinance line shelves, while an entire wall of folded combat robots speaks to the plethora of autonomous weapons in the facility. Donald puts on his Union-issue smart sunglasses, and looks at the AR tags for the weapons.
He glances at a shelf, mouths "Charge, Multipurpose, Adhesive, Low Yield (.001kt)" while looking at the rack full of tiny, palm-sized bombs-each of which would be enough to level a reinforced building, looks at another shelf full of rifle-sized Multirole Munitions Launchers and the variety of 27.5mm munitions ("High-Explosive, Concussive, Incendiary, Plasmaburst, Submunition, Razorwire, Anti-Biological Nanotech, Electrostatic Discharge"), and it just reinforces the odd sense of displacement he feels. This is the kind of gun heaven that Iterators salivated about, not a typical facility.
There's a few workers here-mostly synthetics, human-seeming machines which nevertheless are a little too perfectly doll-like to be real people. They don't seem like proper military models-but Donald suspects that they could still break a man in half or survive gunfire with ease. The fluidity with which they move demonstrates immense strength and agility. The actual cyborgs are more interesting. It looks more like a Shock Corps convention than the Iterators he's more familiar with. All of them are heavily upgraded, with clear inhuman traits like multiple arms or external carapace or simply having an apparent acuity of movement and mind far beyond human.
Donald focuses on the most leader-like looking one rather than the workers or guards-he wonders why they have cyborgs doing manual labor, but if his watch is right on their connections, their minds are probably considering some complex science problem or something while their bodies run on autopilot. The leader-like one looks relatively normal. Relatively. If it wasn't for the fact that his arms and fingers are made of black nanomaterial and have seam lines and joins that imply that they can split-whether for fine manipulation or to deploy implant weaponry isn't clear. If it wasn't for the fact that he's at least a head taller than Donald, and his body is bulked up by cybernetics to the point where Donald can't easily tell where the high-tech body armor he's wearing ends and the cybernetics begin. But he has only four limbs, and a human face, and his proportions are human, if giant, and that makes him quite a paragon of familiarity in a sea of aliens. Donald looks at Rose, who backs away slightly warily. He doesn't know who'd win if they both threw down. Which means that whoever he's dealing with is probably not someone he'd want to antagonize. He wonders how to introduce himself, but Henriette preempts that.
"Hey Mr. Quinn. We're here for equipment." Henriette says to the big cyborg. "Director Belltower sent us, and Comptroller Pajari okayed it."
Quinn nods. "This isn't super-black, right? I don't need to clear the facility for you? We're busy moving some weapons around, resupplying some Constructs." He gestures at the synths carrying heavy armored crates of-something. "It'd be easier if we didn't have to delay."
"No." Henriette says. "That'll be fine. We're just here for protective equipment and there's nothing covert about it."
Rose nods politely. "Thank you Mr. Quinn for your help. If there's anything you can do to help us with security we'd love to have it."
"Anytime." He waves it off. "So. You said you were primarily concerned about security? Want armaments or autonomous systems?"
"Yes." Rose says. "We have espionage equipment. Ms. Langley can build almost anything we need on the fly with the right tools, and I think we can be persuasive in the right situation. What we don't have is firepower-and we're going to need it in case we have to engage anything... hostile. Concealable weapons, preferably."
Quinn grins in a friendly manner. It doesn't reassure Donald. "Sounds exciting. I wouldn't mind coming with, but I've got responsibilities here. So let's see what we can load you up with, shall we?" He doesn't even pause or lose his step before continuing. "So. We'll have you registered for some SGS-2015s, a couple of knife missiles, maybe a multirole launcher on a carbine platform in case. Defensively-we can lend you some softsuits, maybe a few field generators-we'll fab up some casings for those, and maybe an autogun or two. We'll round it out with a suitcase Creation Engine so you can build the bugs and spy gear you need. I see a couple of you have low-grade augmentations," he looks at Rose and then Henriette, "and we've got potential upgrades for those. And of course, if any of you want more permanent modifications than a simple prosthetic, that's also valid."
"I'll pass." Donald says quickly.
"Thank you for the offer." Henriette says politely. "Maybe later."
"Not right now, thank you." Rose chimes in.
"Well," Quinn looks unconvinced. "Fine then. Your funeral."
***
Rose is packing her bags for returning to Los Angeles. Or that's what she's told everyone. In practice, she's spent more time staring, dead-eyed, into a bathroom mirror. All the important stuff has been packed-her knives, the millimeter-thick, near-transparent softsuit which the Iterators said will stop a heavy rifle round dead on or allow a baseline to survive being at ground zero of a grenade burst, and their weapons-high tech "small arms" which even Damage Control assault teams would consider overkill for most purposes, blades with their own micro-AI guidance and antigravity motors. She's wearing some of the equipment already-discreet shield generators disguised as jewelry. Everything else is not strictly necessary. She can replace clothes and other things in the shops, and it'd be trivial for her to get access to money. She's a high-end combat construct with infiltration skills hardwired in and looks sufficient to land her in anyone's good books.
She doesn't worry about that. It's not the mission itself that concerns her-in fact, it gives her something to focus on. It's the thought of going back which threatens to overwhelm her. Going home again. To a place which is familiar to her, somewhere unlike Russia which is an alien culture full of... weird things, like Iterators with far more equipment than they should have had. A month ago, she'd have brought up her concerns with Director Belltower, because hoarding like that would be against the best interest of the Union. Now? Now she doesn't know. She only has her own thoughts as to what might be best for the Technocracy. The rules and regulations that so guided her are broken and shattered. She's a free agent. She has no remaining loyalty to the Union. She can synthesize the drugs she needs to stay alive, she knows the diet necessary to fuel her augmentations. They can't track her by the nanotech in her blood anymore. She could run away at any time, leave all of this. She doesn't, because all she has left is the few friends and acquaintances she has, and the slim hope that her surrogate mother might be alive. Because all she has are the broken tatters of the ideals the Union bound her with.
It would almost be better to have Thorn there, mocking her, hurting her. But that's not happening as much. Thorn's become much less of a pain. Much more supportive, understanding, sometimes almost friendly-challenging her, but in a different way than the hateful, spiteful thing that had been with her for years. And now Thorn respects her enough to leave her alone now, with her doubts and her half-memories. It'd be almost better to have Reina demand that she-but Reina's an old woman, and even though her memories and feelings come easier now, she deserves to rest, rather than micromanage every detail of Rose's life. And what if Reina gives her another hurtful answer? Rose still remembers the cold slow psychological torture Reina put her through over those days in the Spy's Demise.
The young combat construct knows that it was necessary, and for her own good. She wasn't functional at that point, and had to be rebuilt. Yet Rose can't help but resent Reina's intervention, and she can't help but try to hide that resentment, because it's not proper to dislike someone for saving your life. So no more trying to talk to the tired old woman. Is this what being human means? Being adrift, being lost and alone and not having certainty about what you're doing and whether it's the right thing or not? Is this how all the freeborn in the Technocracy feel, doubting step by step everything they've done and everything that's been done to them? If this is humanity, it gives new meaning to the idea of transcending it that Iteration X and the Progenitors espouse.
A knock on her door interrupts her. She dresses herself and answers it. "Come in." She says. Donald walks into the small bedroom which she's been using, takes a glance at the half-empty suitcase. He's looking better than in the Spy's Demise-his hairstyle and suit less unkempt, his eyes more determined than resigned. He's angry. He wants to set things right. And he's scared. But of course he would be. Rose smiles at him. "Thanks for coming to see me."
"Are you all right?" Donald asks. He looks haunted as well, but he's always been since that night. And it's gotten worse with the synthetic arm-a constant reminder of just how close he came to death, something that connects him, however indirectly, with the god-machine he fought. "It's only a week since... the unpleasantness and you've been very quiet about it. If there's anything you don't feel comfortable saying to anyone else..."
"I'm fine." Rose says cheerily. She doesn't feel it, but she can't let him know. Can't let Director Belltower know. If they knew how much Reina had to cut out of her to remove the vulnerability to that machine-god, they would be afraid. "Thank you for the offer, Donald." She moves closer to him, hugs him. She knows that he has conflicting emotions about intimacy. She knows that the old Rose would be more than willing to get physical with him. She still is, after all. It'd at least be something of her own. Something other than a synthetic personality in a synthetic body. But simply because it's true doesn't mean it's not manipulative. "But really, I'm okay. The Spy's Demise was a bit stressful, but I've been built to handle it. Nothing's wrong with me. Look at me." Rose says quietly. He does so. "Look in my eyes. Look at what I'm saying. Do you trust me?"
"Yes." Donald nods.
"Then trust me when I say I'm okay. I am not going to endanger the mission. I'm not going to endanger Serafina. Don't worry about that. She's alive," Rose says, with a determination she hopes is real, "and we're going to get her back. Do you hear me?" Rose half-whispers, half-cries, just as much for her own reassurance as for Donald's. "We're going to save her."
***
Unlike previous trips to and from Los Angeles, this one is different. Most of it was spent on masses-owned and operated first class air travel, with weapons and equipment carefully stowed in heavily shielded cases. There's no hypersonic military flight, no private Syndicate jet, no Mat-Trans. Nothing which might show up on the Technocracy's radar. The advantage of being a Technocrat, Henriette thinks wryly, is that you know exactly how the Technocracy would be looking for you, and can therefore do things which they won't pay attention to. Knowing exactly what you're going to face is the best kind of cheat code. They buy their tickets so that random-walk scans won't notice them, timing their boarding to take alongside some big Union op in Russia which will drain surveillance and oversight resources. They know exactly how the AI evaluates potential hazards, and act in a way which minimizes their threat rating. It helps them get back to America without incident.
Donald's burned most of his assets, Henriette recalls hearing. But he still has caches and emergency supplies, which is apparently how they've managed to rent a hotel room for their operations. A nice, private hotel room, which gives them the perfect time to unpack their equipment. They're all wearing softsuits now, obviously-there's no reason not to wear them, given their recycling capabilities, biochemical protection, and concealability-"invisible no matter how little you're wearing," Quinn had said. Better safe than sorry. They've also deployed the autogun facing the door, a spidery, scuttling thing with its own active camouflage and an arsenal of guided micromunitions it can spit out at subsonic speeds for whisper-quiet death or at ten kilometers a second to tear through cyborg and vehicle armor.
It's the same reason why one of the IBM-fabricated sidearms is resting next to Henriette's hip. Better safe than sorry. The SGS-2015 is a similar weapon to the one the autogun uses, firing 2-millimeter micromissiles with the explosive punch of masses-built antimateriel rounds that are smart enough to seek user-designated targets, even while blindfired around corners. It's the kind of weapon the Shock Corps would have killed to possess. And IBM has given them a few as 'self defense weapons.' Wufan, at least, hasn't been told that they're 'self defense weapons,' rather that Director Belltower and Lieutenant Langley have burned a lot of favors gaining access, and would you please take care to not lose anything? The Void Engineers can't know that they have access to such assets-that would reveal their ace in the hole too soon.
Henriette is glad that IBM's here and on her side, and not only because they brought her her sister back. Someone's out for a surprise if they think they can jump them with a couple of HITMarks or something-they'll have to take these four people seriously. Speaking of her sister-Mari's called. Perfect timing. She takes the call via her ADEI, noting with approval that it's done via quantum-encrypted piggybacking over various other error-prone connections, so whatever information she gets can be dismissed as mere noise. She sprawls herself into one of the comfortable leather recliners in the suite, and takes the call.
Everyone else is out. Donald's been trying to meet with contacts on the ground, people who might be able to work with them quietly. Wufan's got his own Void Engineer contacts that he's feeling out-no doubt he's also informing them to keep everyone else in touch, and Rose is doing reconnaissance work on facilities which might have been owned by the hemophages and their own construct.
She's been told to stay inside and stay put unless the building ends up under attack, because they're not going to risk her until her internal injuries can be fully fixed. Which should take an evening or two.
"How was the flight, sis?" Mari asks. "I heard you got to go on a masses-built airplane. What was that like?"
"Slow." Henriette replies. "And boring. Boring's good though. Boring means nobody was shooting at me." She hopes that she won't have to change that statement.
"I wonder," Mari muses, "how people deal with everything taking so much time here. Having to take hours to get around the world and everything sounds super-inconvenient."
"You just get used to it, I suppose." Henriette says. "Just like the Amish folks in the Americas."
"But that's... so primitive! And awful! And wrong! It's inefficient." Mari reminds her of her younger self. Well-meaning, but more than a little patronizing about people who weren't willing to do what it took to perform at the highest levels. But there's not as much malice in it, Henriette thinks. So maybe a better person than she was, still. The heavy burden of self-awareness. But then, if she never realized what she was doing was wrong, wouldn't that make her the same as-that
perfect doll? An innocent monster, killing and destroying without any understanding. If pain is necessary to be a better person, Henriette thinks, she'll accept that pain. "There's plenty of people who might be able to help mankind better themselves, wasting their talents like that." Her sister's probably a better Iterator than she ever was. And that's all she has.
So she'll just have to find her own way. "Sure, but we're so good we don't need all those people, right?"
"I guess." Mari says. "I guess we are."
"And we're protecting them so that they don't have to put in as much work as we do in being the best, right?"
"Yep!" Mari agrees.
"So we let people do things like reject modern society as long as they aren't trying to sabotage it and keep to themselves, because that's what we're fighting for, isn't it?"
Mari takes a while to respond. She opens her mouth to protest, and finally nods slightly. She clearly doesn't like the idea of letting people with primitivist sympathies do their own thing. And it makes sense, given how many Reality Terrorists come from those backgrounds. But that's just too... much like the cold unsympathetic certainty of the machines she's fought in the void. Maybe to be human is to compromise, to sometimes let bad things happen because you're unwilling to take the steps to stop them. Maybe that's human weakness-but maybe that's also necessary to be a good person.
"Thanks for checking in." Henriette says. "Bye."
"Bye, sis." Mari sends. "Good luck."
She wants to say that she's good enough that she doesn't need it, but that's not true. Henriette wants every scrap of good luck she can get.
Equipment Results
So. IBM has granted you some custom-built small arms, or "what happens when you let a bunch of Iterators with Matter 5 and Correspondence 5 run amok with the CAD/CAM rote and a knowledge that action movies are full of super bullshit gun physics." The SGS-2015 and the multirole launcher are basically the same thing-what happens when you get an Iterator to take a M5/C5 CAD-CAM superweapon and then turn it into a proper Device. Both are ridiculous infinite ammunition guns which fire ammunition with far more punch than they have any right to (for the SGS-2015, it's basically a .50 caliber heavy machine gun in a concealable handgun form, the multirole launcher spits out 6mm micromissiles with the firepower of 40mm grenades), but Forces 2/Correspondence 3/Mind 1 gives them guided capabilities to shoot around corners and other fun stuff and they have much larger magazines than any weapon that size should be capable of holding. The MRL is about the size of a SMG and can fit under a loose coat or jacket, while the SGS-2015s are handgun size. Because they're actual proper Devices, they're not produced in huge lots, but IBM has quite a few of them because they're relatively cheap for actual proper Devices.
And then you have, of course, the knife missiles, which are actual guided throwing knives. In an emergency, someone with a DNI like Rose or Henriette can detonate their capacitors to turn them into improvised explosives, but since they're really good at cutting due to their vibroblade features, primium edges, and incredible sharpness, IBM would prefer you not do that-they're really expensive to replace.
The softsuits are basically super-thin transparent high-tech environmental suits which will protect against sleeper-built guns just fine, or maybe one or two love taps from a werewolf. Past that, they're not very effective, but you're doing an investigation, and power armor tends to be noticeable. IBM has thrown in some fairly useful disguised shield generators, as well as an upgrade to Donald's watch which lets it act as one. These provide limited coincidental protection but are also better than nothing.
You have an autogun, which should probably not matter unless you screw up or take too many risks and bring enemies down on your head back home. And of course, there's a suitcase size Creation Engine. It lacks the complex software which lets anyone use it-it's just a very multipurpose focus for a variety of effects.
Rose Ashford, MD:
Please roll Rose's 10d10e7 to heal Henriette. 10d10x7 if she does it via vampire-blood related shenanigans. Since this is vulgar Life 3 to heal agg damage, difficulty is +3 and she takes 3 paradox unless she does it via Vampire blatancy. Which means that this also requires a vote for:
[ ] Sexy Vampires.
[ ] No Sexy Vampires.
Donald, PI:
So, now you're going to try to get access to Serafina's fake clone because you want to use her access codes to get a fix on where she might be. This is probably going to involve an assassination because you need the clone out of the picture-and the last one was a high-spec combat homonculus. To do so, you're going to have to lay the ground work. So to start off, you're going to:
[ ] Find deniable pawns who can help set up the assassination and make it harder to track you. It'll cost a lot in favors and maybe dignity, but...
[ ] Let's pretend you're a wizard. Or a vampire. And you're really angry about this. It wouldn't be so hard to go into a forest and talk to some werewolves and turn them into a distraction. The only problem here is having Serafina "miraculously survive." (Write-in: How are you approaching the wolves?)
[ ] If you could somehow get in contact with the vampires, you could probably play on their natural desire for revenge. Somehow. (Write-in: How are you approaching the vampires?)
[ ] (0.5x) Oh fuck it, Donald's going to try to call in every marker he has in the Traditions and see who he can get as a hit-squad.
[ ] Write-In (+?) If you could somehow, somehow convince Wufan that he should join in on this plan he might know a few people. NSC, right? He might have had to clean up some Traditionalist messes.
[ ] Just do it quick and quiet. Ambush her in the shower with a Rose. This requires, obviously, knowledge of where she is.
[ ] There have to be some people who can find her. Let's go talking to Technocrats (Write-in: Who are you talking to?)
[ ] You know the best part of this whole surveillance thing? You don't have to talk to people. Let's just find her via electronic means.
[ ] You don't actually have to kill her, you know. You could just try to break into a place where Serafina was and steal enough genetic material to fool scanners. Write-In: (Where are you breaking in?)
[ ] Write-In
