An Upsilon-class command shuttle in Brotherhood diplomatic livery touched down at the Almara Corp factory complex. The ship had arrived on-planet two days ago, carrying the negotiators tasked with securing this trade deal. The Emissary had been there for the requisite photo op with Governor Malium and a few days of touring while the professionals worked out the details.
Then the governor got himself kidnapped.
First, there were denials. There was just a traffic delay coming back from the factory, the governor’s aide insisted, and could we reschedule the photo op for the next morning? When next morning arrived and Malium still hadn’t, Erinyes bullied the aide into confessing to what had really happened, and the Brotherhood negotiators contacted Envoy Corps HQ.
With his usual cool efficiency, Marick had dispatched a team of Envoys to retrieve the Governor Malium. Erinyes had volunteered to join them—partly to maintain good relations with her fellow leaders, and partly because it beat sitting around a luxury hotel room. She also informed the chief of staff that she’d be calling in reinforcements. Then, she tapped out a message.
“Hi Foxen, hope you’ve been doing well. I had a thing come up and could use someone with your skills. Hostage rescue, tight timeline. Payment in credits, bonus in ✨produce✨.”
Later, decked out in decidedly un-diplomatic armour and a cat-eared headset, Erinyes stepped off the Upsilon‘s ramp, looking around for familiar faces.
There was at least one entirely unfamiliar face awaiting Erinyes. Renora Viru, having navigated to the destination with her own ship, adjusted the collar of her jacket as her pale jade eyes scanned the hangar.
She had picked up on the call from the Envoy Corps and inserted herself into the situation. Having taken on a more openly active role for the Envoys, Renora had left her armour at home, so to speak. Making her face known would be yet another clue for him to find. Yet one more breadcrumb.
But that was another story. Her story. She was here for the damned governer.
The datapad screen lights, indicating received message from non-priority but allowed contact.
Red eyes drag themselves up from the spot on the floor they have been unfocused on for…
…
…indeterminate time. Without vibration or hee-hoo sound to indicate a wanted message, the transmission cannot possibly be particularly desired, but it is something. He blinked, stickily, and reached out to pick it up.
Erinyes, asking for assistance. She uses sparkles around the word, which while gaudy, convey a tone of reverence he does appreciate for most holy produce. The he makes a note in his notes tab to provide Minnow with the contact information – they will surely like each other – because he it has to. He cannot be certain the mind will retain it otherwise.
Not now.
He assesses.
Between sleep quality/duration for the past weeks, mental and emotional breakdown, and Mission: Gaile, the very obvious answer is to deny. He has no need of funds and can and will source produce from her anytime. However, all crumbling parts of him feel a certain debt to the female. She facilitated their vacation, full of good memories. She therefore made Flyndt smile a great deal. Her actions, good taste, and business savvy provided them both happiness.
He sends confirmation and exchanges details, then pulls up another message, scrolling past Wyvern, A which has been unused for years but remains a memorial to Wyvern, E.
🦈: Mission: hostage recovery, outside system. Backup required. Bring suitable outfit in case of infiltration > smash/grab.
To his malfunctioning surprise, Flyndt declares he is coming as well. This is reassuring, as is asking for and obtaining an order to focus when he cannot do it himself. They pack, say farewell, and are picking up the Wyvern in short order.
By the time Erinyes was prepared and walking from the Upsilion-class shuttle to spot pale jade-eyed woman also in the hangar area, there was a familiar JumpMaster 5000 (stupid) heralded the Hatal Khal there as well. The Foxen stepped down, intricately armed and lightly armored, the self shut into neat boxes. The self had Home and ally present. 48% functionality. Still useable.
<@244244400488710155> <@645466919415054357> <@216702440140046336>
Evelyn heard the beep of her datapad as she exhaled and wiped the sweat from her brow. She was busy scrubbing her already clean floors. She put the scrubbing brush into the bucket as she got up and started to wash her hands. While she dried them, she glanced over to her datapad.
She seriously considered for the first time in a while to not go. Her eyes flickered around her home. She had lost count how many times she had measured her items to make sure they were at exact distance. Maybe getting away from her home would do her some good.
Her lip slightly uplifted in a small smirk when Foxen had mentioned smash/grab. She was never good with those anyways.
–
Evelyn followed behind Foxen and she quickly recognized the Emissary woman, who also has good taste. Maybe she should some wine after the mission from her again. But for now, they had other priorities. Evelyn made her way over with Foxen and Flyndt and remained quiet for Ténama to give them the debriefing or whoever was to be the team leader.
<@244244163002892288> <@244244400488710155> <@185936112441622529> <@645466919415054357>
Cordovan and dark burgundy striped fabric fluttered around black trousers and boots as the Omwati followed beside his taller companions. He scanned the surrounding area as he ignored the way his skin crawled beneath his robes – the earlier offer to buy new armor while his hand brushed the leather patched on his chest had been denied. There was an air of urgency with this mission and he would not delay it. Foxen had promised Erinyes. So the Hyōbao now stood there, hands clasped behind his back where knives tucked away pressed into his knuckles.
Sunset hues flicked from the large factory building to the unfamiliar woman waiting before looking to the Zeltron that called them here. A click of his tongue. “Erinyes,” Flyndt paused, his birthmarked brow furrowing as he caught the clipped note of his voice. He cleared his throat and measured his tone, his accent lilting, “It…good to see you? What is situation?”
Seeing the Omwati in his gorgeous, ghostly armor again, able to spot the thread work of his repairs where blades had pierced and driven and bled him out, not needing carefully and meticulously removed bloodstains to see the soaking red exactly, burned perfect into irrevocable memory…is a risk of dissonance. But with Flyndt’s directive of focus, the body stays steady, and the mind stays in control of its devices and drives. Memory is disallowed from playback. Instead, the self stays in the present.
Unfortunately, the present contains an epic disaster.
Confirm questionable ‘good to see you,’ the Foxen says, looking at Erinyes’ headwear and reevaluating and recalculating all current and future investments in her fashion company. What the hell is that.
<@645466919415054357>
“Good to see you, too– hmm?” It took Erinyes a moment to realise what had drawn Foxen’s disgust. “Oh, it’s an uplink to the Aurora Collegium’s network. It comes in handy when I’m in the middle of a mission and need information on a random obscure topic. Plus, it functions as a normal headset and HUD.” It wasn’t clear whether she was deliberately leaving out any reference to why said “normal” headset was bright pink and included cat ears, or if it had just slipped her mind.
“As for what happened, it seems like a case of men’s egos getting the better of them. No offence.” She angled herself to make sure the unfamiliar woman was included in the briefing. “We were trying to set up a trade agreement with Kyasis. The local government had assured us everything was secure, but we seem to have wildly different understandings of what that word means, because Governor Malium was kidnapped the same night I arrived.”
She shot a withering glare past the group, at the governor’s representative idling at the edge of the landing area. “If the governor’s people had just told my staff there was a security risk, we could’ve arranged extra protection. But no, it’s always ‘ooh, we have to look strong in the negotiations’,” Erinyes groused, waving her hands around for emphasis. “Well, now they’ll have to go into the negotiations knowing that we saved Malium’s entire ass from a kidnapping.”
“Anyway, I asked around while you were all en route. We’ll have access to the kidnapping site—it’s been locked down since the incident—and I think I know someone who could be persuaded to give us the security footage. I’m not really a detective type myself, though, so feel free to pipe in with any suggestions.”
Give me ≤ 1 hour on site + w/ footage and will report back with findings. Also possible: standby for hostage negotiation calls. They didn’t kill on sight, so purpose not assassination but manipulation. What are the details of the trade agreement?
It was hard not to notice the feline ear shaped headset with Foxen’s direct inquiry on it. Flyndt had no real opinion, seemed practical still, other than annoyance that a fair bit of conversation revolved around it. His crimson crest lowered once their attentions turned back to the mission at hand.
Abduction.
His brow furrowed and inked lips pursed at that. The Omwati weighed the shared info, what little so far garnered, and noted the introduction. He nodded once to the Renora, and gestured at himself and the massive Nautolan hybrid. “Flyndt, Foxen.”
He turned back to Erinyes, “This lockdown site? Is there rough time on how long between abduction and discovery? Were anyone with him that witnessed or in earshot?”
“He had personal guards accompanying him, of course,” Erinyes answered the last of the questions first as they walked. “But they were all killed, or so’s the rumor. And yes, they locked the site here down. He was touring this factory.” She paused in her stride to point over at a passing gaggle of individuals in particular livery, heading towards a different shuttle of the several milling around an active crime scene. “Come to think, I saw that one there at one of the photoshoots. They’re at least a clerk or something. We could ask…okay then.”
Foxen was already moving, crossing the space in strides that ate up the pavement with an alacrity unexpected of his size. One dark hand closed around the back of the neck – and nearly whole shoulders – of the individual Erinyes had indicated, and before they’d even finished yelping, the Nautolan hybrid was towing them along like a wayward tooka, their feet barely brushing the ground.
“Hey–! What are you! Hold on!” protested the Duros, promptly deposited fully back on solid ground and upright before the group, most immediately Erinyes. Foxen returned to Flyndt’s side in an eyeblink, signing.
Talk.
“Talk? Talk about what? Who are you people?” The Duros frantically scanned the group, before his eyes settled on Erinyes. “Wait, you’re that Brotherhood ambassador or something, right? Sorry, I didn’t recognise you with the uh, ears.” He rubbed his head sheepishly. “Anyway, you guys are looking for the Governor, right? I uh, don’t know anything about what happened to him.”
“They letting people leave?” Flyndt frowned at the group Foxen just grabbed the man from, a tsk escaping him. “No one should until investigation done, yes?”
Shaking his head, the Omwati regarded the Duros deposited before them, hooking his thumbs on his belt. Crimson feathers ticked up slightly as he reached out to brush against the man’s aura and found – nothing. His grasp on his senses in the Force was still too shut down. He had to gather insight the mundane way.
“When did you last see this Governor? Were you with?”
And if you don’t know anything about it, who does? Identify yourself. Name all your superiors and coworkers, Foxen added, Flyndt translating.
The Duros’ apparent panic over the situation turned to defiance thanks to the ‘tone’ taken by Foxen.
“I-I am the Governor’s d-direct aide!” he exclaimed, preening somewhat as if that fact mattered to those assembled. “I c-can’t tell you anything else. That information is internal!”
Renora observed the aide, cocking her head to the side and bringing a pistol to hand once more. Duros were notoriously difficult to read. Having no nose or lips had that effect. Facial expressions would usually tell such tales, and yet this aide had none. But this wasn’t her first time dealing (read: interrogating) a Duros. There was one thing from that which never quite left her.
It was (regrettably) unforgettable.
“Here’s the thing, Mr. Direct Aide,” Renora interjected, stepping towards the Duros as if to punctuate the statement. “Your race tends to secrete oil when under strain. A particularly irritating kind. Aromatic, even. Something about this situation stinks…and it’s not you.”
The safety audibly clicked off on her pistol.
“You’re not freaking out nearly enough for someone who’s boss just got abducted. Which means, you aren’t surprised about that particular fact.”
The tell was obvious, to any unbroken and even remotely trained eyes: the Duros flinched and paled, the shock of being caught out so quickly perhaps too much for his constitution to overcome. Perhaps it was his first ever attempt at conspiracy. Regardless, red eyes caught it, as did every other pair in the group.
Even less his credit, he attempted to recover: “I– that’s not true! I’m devastated, we all are, but one must be strong for their people…”
A sharp beak clack left Flyndt, and the Omwati, impatient for this Mission, made a gesture towards the sky. “Cease. Can tell you are lying.” His aloof expression creased at the brows with agitation, crest flaring. “Speak plainly now. Or: I do not tell him to stop.”
The Foxen knew a cue when he heard it, even if recognized: mild surprise. Flyndt had reacted to prompts to such intimidation tactics before, but had never initiated one on his own, despite Foxen’s clear and constant permission/informing him that he would, in fact, not only kill for the Omwati but show mercy for him, anything, all of it, at Flyndt’s word.
Regardless, so prompted, Foxen made the knife in his hand visible and stepped forward. Having already towed the Duros over likely made his threat even more credible than Viru’s pistol, if only because she looked some semblance of a reasonable woman (patently questionable, for anyone who’d worked for the Iron Throne at her alleged level.)
“Wh–what! Stop! Get–” A last bastion of hope, his eyes turned to Erinyes, a last show of huffy and important buffoonery, “Madame Emissary if this is how your Brotherhood behaves then we have nothing to speak on! These negotiations will be nothing!”
Poor choice.
The Zeltron cocked a brow as she crossed her arms in a pose of tepid thought, then shrugged.
“Then I suppose I don’t have any investment in advising my companions, now do I, Sir?”
“Gack–”
The rest of his protest was cut off by Foxen’s next step forward and the press of steel threateningly near his inguinal artery, a well-hidden motion more as the other hand fussed with one boot while the massive Nautolan crouched.
“Wait wa– stop, okay!”
Erinyes smiled in a friendly manner.
“Did you remember something? Great then. Foxen, that’s enough.”
The knife kept going.
“…er, Foxen? Stop.”
Cloth pierced. The Duros made a strangled noise, trembling not to run or faint or move lest precious bits be caught.
“We need him,” Viru reminded, and, “I can stun you, too, if you want?”
“Foxen.” Erinyes again.
“Fox,” and that was Flyndt, cold.
Foxen was 0.5 m away in an instant. The knife was stowed. The director’s aide sagged. The Omwati stepped up.
“Hrm,” he said, sunset eyes cold and narrowed. Another clack. “Talk then.”
His gloved hand waved with further impatience between Erinyes and the aide.
The Duros, who now exuded a stench cloud approximately 632 m wide, blanched and sweating through his robes, just choked out, “It– it wasn’t supposed to go like this.”
-
The Grand Master Plan was apparently something like this:
The problems were thus:
Great plan, flawless execution.
So now they were searching the crime scene, only under slightly different circumstances.
The abduction scene at the Almara Corp factory was… well, a factory floor. There were assembly lines full of machinery, loader droids stacking finished product on to pallets, a control room where operators oversaw the plant’s activities. The sentients mostly stayed in the latter, unless there was a problem with the machinery that needed direct intervention to fix.
One machine in particular was an advanced industrial multifunction something-or-other, so new it still had bits of shipping plastic stuck to it, and only important because Governor Malium had been inspecting it when he was kidnapped. As such, it became the starting point of the team’s search.
The five Envoys operated with the unspoken coordination that comes when a group of competent people with no clear leader are collectively given a task. Evelyn and Renora searched the area for any physical evidence the altercation might’ve left behind. Flyndt and Foxen offered to “interview” the plant manager who had given Malium the tour that day, as well as the facility’s security chief.
That plan was rejected after a brief disagreement, in which Erinyes reminded them that the goal was to sign a trade deal and that threatening witnesses wouldn’t make that any easier. Foxen retorted that it was her goal to sign a trade deal while theirs was to solve the governor’s kidnapping, and that threatening local officials was no more of a diplomatic faux pas than allowing an ambassador to wear a cat-eared headset. They compromised on Flyndt and Foxen reviewing the security footage while Erinyes tracked down the facility staff.
Once the team had full access to the security logs, it quickly became clear that Governor Malium’s bodyguards were either breathtakingly incompetent, in league with the kidnappers, or both. The kidnappers first appeared on the cameras covering the factory rooftop, Flyndt explained. They went directly to the governor’s location, bypassing most of the factory’s security in the process. When the kidnappers reached Malium, he seemed remarkably cool-headed, especially compared to the visibly panicking factory manager.
Partway through Flyndt’s analysis, Foxen directed the team to search a particular area of the rooftop for pieces of bronze tubing, 14.9mm in diameter and 69.20mm in length, enclosed at one end. He also instructed them to inspect any windows overlooking the factory floor from that section of rooftop for signs that they had been opened, and to scan patches of floor near where Malium’s bodyguards had been standing for duranium-cored lead cylinders 8.61mm in diameter, 19.8cm to 52.7cm below the floor’s surface and 8.6cm to 26.8cm magnetic west of recent repairs.
As Renora, Evelyn, and now Erinyes set off to investigate the spots Foxen had pointed out, Flyndt continued. The bodyguards didn’t put up much of a fight, with two being felled by stun bolts before they had a chance to react, and the rest only squeezing off one or two shots each before meeting the same fate. Once the governor, factory manager, and bodyguards were unconscious, the kidnappers dragged Malium back to the factory’s rooftop and out of sight of the security cameras. Moments later, the silhouette of a shuttle crossed the screen before vanishing out of frame. The entire operation had only taken a few minutes.
A short time after Flyndt finished his story, Renora, Evelyn, and Erinyes confirmed that Foxen’s oddly specific evidence was present. One of the brass tubes he’d described had fallen behind an environmental duct. A window with a direct view from the tube’s resting place to the factory floor had indeed been tampered with. Four pieces of metal, one for each of the fallen bodyguards, were burrowed into the duracrete factory floor exactly where the Chagrian-Nautolan said they would be.
With those pieces of evidence confirmed, Flyndt asked the three searchers to join him and Foxen in the control room. When they arrived, he launched into another narration with an excited chirp. “Know what happened. Governor wanted to stage his own capture, but kidnappers changed plans.”
At the same time, Foxen waved for Evelyn’s attention. Need your help calculating likely flight paths for kidnappers’ shuttle to find where they’re holding the governor.
Erinyes stopped short. Her mouth moved for several seconds before any sound came out. “How the kriff do you know that?”
“Hoo.” The Omwati beckoned Renora and Erinyes over to the terminal where he’d been reviewing the security data. “Someone killed the bodyguards after the kidnappers took the governor. Lumps of metal in the floor were bullets. Tubes on roof were… shells?” Flyndt paused briefly, debating whether to ask Foxen for the right term, then decided against it.
“Opening a window on the rooftop would prevent the shooter from leaving any broken panes,” Renora said, her mind rapidly filling in the gaps.
Flyndt nodded. “If wanting to kill someone, why hide it? Hoo. Kidnappers don’t hesitate to kill bystanders.” His expression darkened noticeably. “Stun the guards so the governor sees what he expects to see and doesn’t panic. Kill them after so they can’t ID kidnappers.”
“The lack of visible blaster fire would hide the shots on the security feed, too,” Renora mused. “How did you determine the guards had been killed?”
Foxen chose that moment to wander over and stand beside Flyndt, who translated for him. Saw the bullet impacts on the security feed. Synthetic fibres don’t sag that suddenly or at that angle under gravity alone, he said. 95.7% probability the shooter was S-Y-L-U-R-E J-A-K-E-N. 87.1% probability J-A-K-E-N is working for someone else and was hired to kill the governor.
Erinyes raised a hand. “Care to explain that for those of us following along at home?”
The killer needed a way to dispose of the guards that could effectively deal with multiple targets in a short period of time, required no physical contact, and wouldn’t be discovered until after the governor had been extracted, Foxen explained. The most viable method to fill those requirements is a slugthrower rifle equipped with a sound suppressor and subsonic ammunition. Ensuring the bullets can’t be found is the most effective way to prevent forensic identification. In this environment, the simplest way to do that is to bury the bullet deep enough in the floor that nobody will see it.
Judging by the bullet impact sites and the lack of blood on the floor below, the most likely cause of death was H-E-M-O-P-E-R-I-T-O-N-E-U-M. The term was met with a round of blank looks. Internal bleeding into abdominal cavity. Exsanguination in no more than five minutes. The shots entered the guards’ torsos between seventh and ninth ribs and severed the C-E-L-I-A-C A-R-T-E-R-Y and I-N-F-E-R-I-O-R V-E-N-A C-A-V-A, but the small entrance and exit wounds kept the blood contained inside the body.
Foxen paused and flexed his fingers for a moment before continuing. There are a limited number of subsonic cartridges capable of passing completely through a Human body without deflecting off any bones while retaining enough force to penetrate duracrete. The most common is the 8.6x70mm duranium-cored armour-penetrating round. There are also a limited number of slugthrowers chambered in that calibre with the mechanical accuracy required. The KiSteer 2386 is one, and is J-A-K-E-N’s preferred weapon. J-A-K-E-N works alone, but frequently acts as a cleaner for less discreet agents.
“So, the kind of person you’d hire to make a kidnap-for-ransom plot into a kidnap-for-murder plot,” Erinyes said.
Foxen grunted his agreement. Wyvern IDed kidnappers’ escape craft as a Xi-class shuttle and is plotting its most likely course. Should give us the location where the governor is being held.
“Any idea who the kidnappers are?” Renora asked.
Foxen shrugged. Irrelevant. No pirate groups who could resist us effectively operate in this system. Finding the governor before J-A-K-E-N kills him is more important.
Renora sighed heavily, letting her lips trill for a moment as she pondered all the information. Sure, find the governor before he’s killed. So she can punch him square in the jaw.
The momentary flash of frustration pulsed across her face before the former Legionnaire contained herself once more. “Then let’s get moving. Fast. Going to need one hell of a pilot.”
Foxen gestured at Wyvern. Confirm, one hell of a pilot.
“I mean, I’ve been told I’m pretty good at the scissors maneuver.”
This was all bad news. Her jaw tightened. Stars. What was wrong with that Governor? It was tempting to throw a punch or two but it’s not her morale to do so. She turned to look at Renora and was going to bring up that she’s a pilot until she heard Flyndt translating for Foxen.
She went red from head to toe. Evelyn wasn’t hard to blush. All it took was a bit of attention. With a subtle clear of her throat, “Yes, I can-” Then Erinyes chimed in.
Evelyn stared at her while she was still rather red.
While Flyndt just looked confused by that statement, Foxen’s deadpan look was worth it.
Your entire everything is invalid, cat cosplay. Wyvern, confirm.
“Do not understand. What is scissor maneuver? Can be useful here, no deny it.” The Omwati looked to Foxen for clarification.
Biological female-on-female sex practice, not piloting related.
“Oh.” His feathers ticked, and sunset eyes narrowed at Erinyes. “Is no time for such things, hrm. Have mission.”
Confirm, confirm.
“But…also a BFM,” Renora added with a shrug, unhelpfully. She may not be a pilot, but the scissor maneuver was one of the defensive methods outlined in basic fighter maneuvers.
Evelyn closed her eyelids for a moment. She used this brief respite to gather her thoughts. What had she gotten herself into? She reopened her eyes and looked up to Foxen with her luminous green hues for eye contact.
“While I would never wear it, it does compliment her very well. Just because I do not agree with the style, does not mean it can fit good with others. I am certain there are many things that Flyndt and yourself would look exquisite in that would not portray very well in others.”
Evelyn focused on her breathing while she can feel the colors started to fade as Renora explained it was also a maneuver that pilots used to get out of situations. Evelyn gave Erinyes a singular nod to answer if she had flown Upsilon-class shuttle. Good. The topic was moving on from that.
“Yes. I worked with someone who owned one. We should go.”
“If you don’t already have a shuttle big enough to hold all of us, we can take the one from the Aidana.”
The look Foxen gave her was informing her she had been disowned for her defense of the headset.
I can make anything look good. It is a skill. He looked then to Erinyes. Not a universal one.
Evelyn remembered the… ‘damage’ of the steering control in the cockpit of Foxen’s ship.
“Aidana would be lovely, please.”
“Challenge accepted.” With a wave of her hand and a touch of the Force, the cat-eared headset sailed off of her head and hovered within Foxen’s reach. Her free hand went to her datapad and composed a message to the Emissarymobile shuttle’s crew, telling them to warm up the engines.
Red eyes slitted at the floating headset, both Foxen and Flyndt having tensed to beskar in 0.0002 and 0.1 seconds respectively, a knife suddenly in both of their hands. However, when the hot pink feline-inspired nightmare just hovered there, and Erinnyes’ words of challenge processed, the Nautolan-Changrian gave a firm, “Hrm.”
The knife went back away. He snagged it out of the air in one perfunctory motion, rolled massive granite shoulders and lifted an arm to toss/lift back his thick headtails, and then – after extending the band as far as it could go to accomodate sizing – placed it on his head, in front of his horns.
To say the effect was…comically incongrous was not wrong. But Foxen held himself with such absolute and unblinking – literally – confidence that, well.
It did work.
Did you want me to strut, or are you satisfied?
“I would love to see you strut.” It wasn’t like they had anything better to do while they waited for their shuttle.
Flyndt slid the dagger between his belt and the small of his back again. His tattooed lips pursed and crimson feathers ticked in annoyance as the conversation shifted from mission to exploits, to fashion and this feline-eared comm headset –
Wait…
Foxen put…them on?
After a moment of processing and staring, attempting to contemplate how Foxen went from crocs-burning-worthy to donning them, the short Omwati shook his head and cleared his throat. His gaze flicked to Erinyes when the Zeltron suggested the Nautolan-Chagrian ‘strutted’ for them.
‘Brrt!’
The possessive or jealous trill worked good enough an attention grabber. He crossed his arms, “Should we not go to ship? Time waiting for no…” Flyndt paused, again his eyes wavering over Foxen with those…ears, “‘strut’.”
The Nautolan hadn’t entirely expected an answer – great malfunctioning on his part – and was mostly distracted by the annoyance his Home gave off in waves if one was fluent in him. Flyndt was staring quite a bit. The thing probably looked ridiculous on him in particular to the Omwati.
But then Erinyes did answer and, well.
The bad echoes of the pit cannot touch him here, not with Flyndt’s order of focus and Mission keeping him safe even from himself. So it is only a challenge–
Brrt!
Foxen’s head snapped back around, ready to dismember and set fire to whatever thing or person-thing had caused that noise from his Omwati. But there was just Flyndt, and he watched in close assessment as his bird cross his arms and protested the whole thing, looking him over again.
Hrm.
And that wasn’t one of the *brrt*s exactly recorded in memory. A new tenor was there.
Curious.
Logged for later.
With a last concerned look, the hybrid nodded to Flyndt, signalling O.K., and turned back to the Zeltron.
Deny. He’s right, not priority. Perhaps another time, fashion showcase collaboration. I will handle all clothes and modeling. You can only be trusted with catering and organization, clearly.
Even when alerted by Flyndt’s reaction and wearing bright pink cat ears, Foxen cut a dramatic figure. Giving in to the sheer silliness of the moment, Erinyes snapped a picture of the Nautolan-Chagrian with her datapad. Then, she accepted the headset back from Foxen. “I can strut and model just fine.”
As they chatted, she started leading the way to the Upsilon-class shuttle parked on the landing pad. They did have a job to do, after all.
Confirm: ‘just fine.’ That abomination of headwear does not work for you.
“Don’t design them into what I model, then.”
The Upsilon-class shuttle was, as one would expect from a diplomatic ship, the pinnacle of luxury. Plush seats. Hors d'oeuvres fridge. A substantial bar for a ship its size. In the cockpit, the Iron Flotilla pilot and co-pilot had put themselves in the co-pilot and technician’s seats, apparently used to someone else taking command when shuttling Erinyes around. “Ready to depart, ma'am.”
Erinyes looked at Evelyn and gestured to the empty pilot’s seat. “Enjoy. Warn me if you do anything that might spill a drink.”
<@216702440140046336>
“Hopefully, it will not come to that.” This ship just reminds her of all those places her parents had stayed at and dragged Evelyn along. Prim and proper. She subconsciously made sure her posture was good which it already was. But she could hear her mother’s voice in the back of her head-
‘No one likes a slouching woman.’
Unbothered, Evelyn sat down at the pilot seat and with that, they were off!
“We have arrived.” Evelyn announced to the group.
Seated elsewhere in plush seats – the luxurious settings seemed to only serve to further fray Flyndt’s agitated nerve – the Omwati and Nautolan hybrid systematically went about weapons checks for the nth time across from Viru (related to the former Arconan Consul’s wife? Perhaps. Irrelevant at present though, unless indicating Force abilities not conveyed, given the offspring’s proclivity). Knives, many, many, many knives, were checked and restowed, guns readied, a hesitant gloved hand bypassing the lightsaber. Foxen observed, then reached over and set his hand on his partner’s thigh in the shaped of three straight fingers and two curls.
O.K.?
Flyndt grunted back, signing too, O.K. and reminding for him, focus, with me.
Confirm.
Confirm.
They rose in unison upon uneventful landing. Foxen signed to Renora while Wyvern and Erinyes came down from the cockpit.
Storm in, smash and grab? Or stealth approach?
“I’m happy with smash and grab. We need to get there before the assassin does.”
Renora, still quietly observing as she had from the beginning, eyed Foxen while doing her own weapon checks. With a pistol fully charged at each hip, the woman slung her blaster rifle over a shoulder. The weapon clicked on and thrummed to life as she gripped it in a low ready stance.
The former Legionnaire nodded towards Erinyes’ suggestion while signing another agreement to Foxen, already in ‘mission silence’ mode.
“Once we have a scan of the hideout, I’ll go in and create a distraction to draw them away from the governor. That should give you all a clear path.” She paused. “Come to think of it, I should go change my armour. Be right back.”
Flyndt, F-L-Y-N-D-T, Flyndt, Foxen began, repeating the name sign and sighing internally as Erinyes’ need to change when they’d already landed effectively meant he couldn’t be understood. Or it would have, had his partner not picked right on up voicing for him, can create illusions, invisible infiltration, ghost. Signal is: spectre on field. Excellent for scouting. Also, less risky distraction.
Flyndt added at the end his own words, a click of beak, “Can do this, yes. Confirm?”
Fortunately, Erinyes spotted the sign and waited for Foxen to finish. “Confirm. Should we all stick together, then?”
Suggested action: Flyndt ghosts forward. Three minutes to surveil and report back, then, adjust tactical plan if needed. If clear, Flyndt proceeds first, flank governor’s location, two minutes, we follow. Quiet entrance. Eliminate enemies. Leave some alive for possible questioning if necessary. Priority: secure hostage, secure selves.
“That sounds fine to me. We can also have you go with Flyndt to start thinning the herd that much faster, while Renora and I take the front door.” It was a convenient excuse to keep the lovebird-and-shark together. Just as importantly, it avoided any integration issues that might pop up at critical moments. Erinyes might understand sign, but she wasn’t accustomed to actively looking at hand signals or text feeds in the middle of a battle. That kind of communication lapse could be dangerous even against pirate scum.
It was visibly evident to those present that Foxen unclenched at a molecular level by about 0.002 N, which was saying something, given how hard he normally was to read. He nodded in confirmation to his staying with Flyndt, red eyes fixed on the Omwati for a crucial few seconds, only the current Mission status: “Focus, with me” keeping him from reliving their last mission and breaking down then and there.
If rafters available, will go there, he indicated his sniper rifle and the Omwati Hyōbao. If not, ground level. Warning: if Flyndt not visible and harmed by friendly fire, I will kill you.
At least, unless the Omwati specifically protested…
“Do not shoot them,” Flyndt affirmed, giving Foxen a sideways glance after translating. He gestured to the datapad strapped to the Nautolan-Chagrian’s belt while he fished a device off of his own. “Give them shepherd code, gives coordinates if needed. Erinyes can sense where am too, and I will update on comms. Fight starts I will not ghost the entire time.”
Crimson eyes shifted to the avian humanoid as if checking to be sure. Given their efforts to keep Flyndt’s info off dossiers, there was a little surprise but Flyndt had suggested it and it was his to give.When this is over, those coordinates and access *** will be terminated.*** Understood?
With a nod, Flyndt left no time for any voiced agreements. He held up his scanner, an old inquisitorous model. “I will scout, get us some scans of the place. Then we move in, position and assault. Foxen? Let’s go.”
Moments later, the two slipped from the Upsilon-class shuttle and stealthily moved through the dingy run down backwater space port. It was not long until they spotted a Xi-class shuttle tucked behind a decrepit warehouse. ‘I take warehouse, you ship?’
‘Hrmm…’ .
Crimson feathers ticked and sunset eyes flicked over to the hybrid, the sound betraying his disapproval. Foxen quickly corrected the error, explained and propose compromise. ‘Prefer didn’t leave your side. Three minutes. Then I follow.’
Seconds passed before Flyndt nodded. There was an air of relief if briefly of knowing the man would be there if trouble arose. Wordlessly, they set to work. The Hyōbao disappearing from sight save for the faint glimmer the mandalorian had trained himself to spot, while Foxen’s bulk melted into the shadows with surprising ease.
A couple minutes later, the three waiting in the Upsilon were alerted to the chime of a datapad. Erinyes thumbed hers open to find a stream of data coming in. Lifeforms detected, oh good it wasn’t empty, thermal scans and communications. A baker’s dozens of bodies moving around the place and it seemed an active conversation was afoot. The thermal scan painted a rough picture of a fairly open warehouse, a stairway leading up to a boardwalk and an upper office where three of the bodies resided. Another beep accompanied a short message, ‘Malium, Upstair Office. We’re in position.’
Once the plan had been decided, Erinyes used the time Flyndt and Foxen spent scouting to change into more appropriate armour. She didn’t want to rely solely on Flyndt’s illusions to distract the guards—not to mention that waving a weaponised glowstick around tended to draw a lot of attention anyway—so she swapped out her mostly-armourweave robes for something with sturdier plating.
The cat-ear headset was staying, though. Foxen’s reactions were too funny to give that up.
With everything squared away, the three women began the trek from where Evelyn had hidden the shuttle to the entrance of the pirate outpost, studying the maps and updates Flyndt and Foxen had provided en route. Calling the compound a “starport” would’ve been too generous. It was more like a warehouse with an oversized speeder yard, surrounded by a chainlink fence.
Evelyn and Renora broke off en route, opting for the most direct path into the warehouse. That left Erinyes responsible for being “the distraction”, which was fine by her. At least it’d keep things interesting.
Knowing she had to be on the security scanners by now, and completely unfazed by the prospect, Erinyes sauntered up to the speeder yard’s front entrance. A Rodian pirate was napping in the guard shack, and practically fell out of his chair when the Emissary knocked on the frame of the open door. “Gah! Wha– who the frack are you?!” At least he had the sense to pull his blaster on her.
“Hi. I’m the distraction,” the Emissary explained. “Could you sound the alarm and get your buddies over here? I’m kind of in a rush.”
A solid three seconds of silence passed as the Rodian processed the absurdity of the situation. Finally, his brain registered “distraction” as “threat”, and he yanked the blaster’s trigger—to no avail, as Erinyes slipped the shot and thrust her hand out. The unfortunate pirate tumbled out of his chair and slammed into the wall behind with a whuff and the crunch of broken bones, then crumpled to the floor.
“Fine, I’ll do it myself.” Erinyes stepped over the unconscious Rodian and searched for the biggest red button on the instrument panel—the galactic standard symbol for an alarm. When she pushed it, klaxons began to sound throughout the pirate base. The Force revealed a smattering of unfamiliar lifeforms heading her way.
Good.
Erinyes stepped out of the security shack and flourished her lightsaber, strolling deeper into the pirate outpost. A flash of movement from the direction of the warehouse drew her eye, and she turned to greet the Weequay pirates charging towards her with blaster rifles and electrohammers. Three, four, five, six–
–then five, as a blaster bolt lanced out from the warehouse and caught one pirate between the shoulder blades. Back up to six, now. Then it was four, as Evelyn charged around the corner with… a sword? Huh. The Wyvern had style, it seemed, not to mention guts to face two taller enemies with longer weapons.
Another blaster bolt came from the warehouse and dropped another Weequay. Three. One of them finally had the good sense to take cover behind a permacrete barrier and return fire. That left two for Erinyes to deal with.
This was a familiar dance for Renora. A comfortable one. So much of her life had spun out of control. Nothing went how she had planned and certainly not how she had hoped. But this? This she could be certain of.
Renora was raised to be a military asset. In that way, she didn’t have to think or try. Just do.
The woman had assumed a comfortable position propped up against several crates, creating a rest for her F-11D blaster. Its omniscope flit between various viewing spectrums even as it settled on each target. Already, she had subtracted several threats from the situation as Erinyes played the part of distraction. Each was a life snuffed out short, but one that had known the risks.
The weapon remained as an extension of Renora. The cold, blackened material was familiar in every way. A heavy comfort. A long exhale. The world gave way to silence…
Her finger squeezed.
Reality screeched back into her awareness with the racing bolt of charged plasma. It shot through the warehouse, adding a warm glow as it carved a path, and quickly turned an exposed Weequay face into a blackened mess.
Four down.
At this point, it was time to relocate. You could only stay stationary for so long before you gave others a chance to zero in on you, or even counter your angle of attack. It made you predictable. Renora hated being predictable.
Her pale jade eyes traced Wyvern’s steps as the woman carved her way between enemies in a graceful dance of skill and experience. This time, Renora took less care to aim as she provided supressing fire for the other woman’s advance. Several more screeches ignited from the end of her rifle, only for the world to spin as Renora dove into a roll. Coming up into a low crouch, she sprinted as best she could towards the next point of cover, keeping her angles open as needed. She spotted cat ears out of the corner of her eye and knew she was in the right place, ready to provide additional support for the other ladies.
Careful, controlled, one regimented swipe after another– that was how Evelyn flowed with her blade, not a dueling rapier on the fencing field, but a poisoned [sword type] of Sith alchemy. She kept her profile turned and her footwork light, always moving, not to keep her guard up but to be able to check in on her team, her priority. The cat ears, though silly for their distraction, really did stand out. She saw Renora run by after covering fire protected her own disengagement behind a pillar, and exhaled when she observed the Legionnaire get into a safer position.
That still left two unaccounted for though, and they mattered to her even beyond the scope of her dragon’s clutch of teammates.
Emerald eyes flicked around, worried to go back to her blaster when Flyndt could possibly be caught if he was cloaked, despite their precautions. Finding nothing, her eyes went up, searching.
It was not easy. In fact, she knew she only spotted him because she knew him and because Foxen let her see him, signing to her from where he crouched with pistol in hand in the rafters with the catwalks.
A raised fist, then three fingers up, turned right, one finger up, pulled to the chest, and a flat hand gesture towards the upper level balcony and office. Not sign language, specifically, but Arconan Armed Forces military hand signals, something they both knew.
Four inside. Three hostile. One friendly.
She didn’t need to see the name sign that followed to know Flyndt was inside that office.
She flashed a simple yes back to him, and in the same breath, watched him lift the pistol, aim-kick-fire.
Right behind the pillar she crouched at, a silenced bullet pulverized the facemask of a Kel Dor pirate. It made a sucking noise as it collapsed, blood burbling through the antiox filters.
Her thanks was silent, and she took stock of the enemies left, saw the glow of Erinyes’ lightsaber twirl out in a showy, come-and-get-me dance.
- She left her cover at a run when two pirates closeby engaged the Emissary, flanking them. Renora’s fire covered her crossing, and the heads that did duck down before were swiftly bored into by bullets from high angles, bouncing off of pillars with death knell PINGS to crunch into their sought targets.
It was a good thing, too, that Evelyn chose to assist, despite the Zeltron very much not actually needing it, because just as she batted away one pirate’s strike like shooing a fly from her food cart, the woman suddenly stiffened. Thankfully, Wyvern was able to slice into a hamstring to slow the other pirate shooting, forcing the female Duros to her knees with a cry and delivering a swift kick to her head to disable her. Erinyes seemed to recover quickly from whatever it was, but also had a new urgency to her lackadaisical demeanor. She tabbed her headset, then swore colorfully enough to both peel the paint and have Evelyn’s interest.
“They’re jamming our comms– frak this.” Shamelessly, she waved her arms over her head wide, jumping up and down, even, calling out, “FOXEN!”
Of course– she needed his attention, but didn’t know where he was exactly. She made large signs in some attempt at discretion then.
DANGER FLYNDT DANGER.
And that was it, all that was needed. Evelyn’s eyes darted back to the last place she’d seen the hybrid, but he was already gone, surely moving like a shark in bloodied water towards the office.
Plasma shots burned by them, reminding of the fight at hand. There were still a grand trio of pirates to deal with they hadn’t killed or incapacitated yet.
Erinyes offered a quip, “One for each of us, ladies?”
Before she could get confirmation or disappeoval from Evelyn, Renora just shot all three.
“Well then,” remarked the Emissary. “Let’s get the boys a calvary and start tying this lot up.”
-
“Motherfrakin’ shit!” the yellow skinned Mirialan swore, slamming his hand against the wall beside the door. He peeled himself away from the window, the sounds of blaster fire and shouts, to scowl at the human in the room. Stalking over, the pirate captain kicked up a boot on the chair the man was sitting in and spat. “What the frack Malium? This part of your plan, eh? Who the kark is tearing up my men?”
Governor Malium was visibly sweating, his legs uncrossed from their eased position minutes ago or as eased he could be around scum of the galaxy. His grip tightened around the chair’s armrest with the Captain’s close proximity and his two lieutenants positioning behind him, “Kendr, I-I assure you everything’s g-going to plan–”
“–Going to plan? Ya damn schutta! Then let’s go say hi!”
Pulling his blaster, Kendr motioned with it for his lieutenants to move on ahead out of the room. He shifted his attention back to Malium and moved to yank the man up onto his feet– .
A flutter of fabric followed by a thud of boots and creaking of the chair as some unseen force knocked it over – throwing Malium forward to a faceplant and pinning him beneath it and the weight upon it. Dark reds and browns materialized, flashes of crimson and silver feathers as the Omwati lunged. His Kal Dagger knocked aside the pistol while he sliced with his petar, cutting an ‘X’ into the Mirialan’s clothes and drawing blood.
Just as quickly did Flyndt appear, did he vanish once more. The surprised cry and grunt of pain had attracted the other two pirates back and a three vs one was not odds in his favor. He moved like liquid, hopping off the chair, eliciting a whimper from the Governor as his face squished more, and dropped lower to circle around.
“What the–”
Glass shattered and sprayed onto the office floor as a slug streaked through the room and buried itself in one of the pirates’ shoulders. The Gamorrean grunted and raised her baton to charge at the new figure vaulting through the now open window. Three quick shots felled the woman, nearly on top of the still prone Governor whom Flyndt has just yanked out of way barely. His disembodied voice barely heard under the blaster fire, “Shh, we saving you from…well, you.”
The Noghri hitman reptilian eyes narrowed as he wasted no time pressing upon the others in the room. His wrist snapping as he disarmed the second lieutenant and dodged the Captain’s aim. His gaze kept darting to the Governor cowering now beside the desk, but every attempt to put Malium in his cross hair was thwarted by the damn pirates. The barabel hissed and managed to ram him, tackling the gunman into a bunch of cabinets. He managed to free his hand enough to pop two shots into that thick arse cranium only to find another blaster pointed at him when the large body slumped.
Kendr sneered, “Now I don’t know who the feck you are, but I’m damn tired of these motherfraking interruptions keepin’ me from a hefty credit payout–”
Ka-pow .
Kendr stumbled forward and clutched at his chest, ochre hand coming away bloodied. He collapsed to reveal a dark towering form of a Nautolan-esque man filling the doorway, pistol in hand. His free one raised in a series of swift gestures that only Flyndt could make out.
‘J-A-K-E-N, I presume?’
The raised middle finger was universally understood.
Jaken whipped his pistol up with quickshot speed, finger starting to squeeze when a piercing pain split up from abdomen and lodged beneath his ribcage. Hard sunset eyes locked on the orange gaze above with a raised chin as Flyndt pressed harder, leveraging with.Force-infused muscles. Twisting the Kyuza Petar, he withdrew the hooked blade with a sweep and stepped back, hand catching the Naghri’s pistol as stumbled back and fell.
Clapping sounded slowly when Foxen joined the Omwati, interrupting their silent check-in. Governor Malium had stood up and hesitantly approached, peering once outside the door to the dying sounds of combat waning. His face seemed to have recovered from its date with the floor, a grin dancing on his face as he opened his arms to them.
“Ah! My rescuers! You have my deepest gratitude for your saving me, you…are here to save me, yes? Not one of the Pirates rivals?” Malium’s pompous tone took a hint of trepidation to it as he asked, yet shifted immediately back to his airs. “No matter, a generous sum is owed for your efforts. Come, take me back home and I will make good on such claim!”
Flyndt and Foxen just turned and looked at each other before the later grabbed the human by the collar of his shirt and hoisted him to carry downstairs.
Malium gasped and eeped as his shout was cut off by his diaphragm being compressed from being dropped onto a boulder of a shoulder. He immediately began complaining as he regained a breath.
“Wha– what is the meaning of this? I am the Governor and you will treat me with respect at once–”
Foxen pinched his knee. With maximum force. Right in the soft spots under the patella. Malium squealed like a swine and promptly went silent.
“Hoo, he had plan,” Flyndt commented as the Nautolan hybrid turned with his squirmy passenger in tow and quickly rifled over Jakem’s rapidly cooling corpse. He unhooked the rifle from his back, checked the safety was on, then slung that over his opposite shoulder too. Based on the cry of pain, the metal sufficiently smacked the governor in the face in the same spot Flyndt had squished it to the duracrete protecting him from a bullet. Then came the other assassin’s datapad, and a considering pause.
Hold this, please, he said to Flyndt, then drew his beskar kal.
Downstairs, the ladies had several bodies neatly arranged into a line that doubtless was more Evelyn’s need to have things in order than any respect for the dead on their collective part. Four pirates were still alive, boasting slashes or minor head wounds, having already been administered an antitoxin; again, doubtless Wyvern’s doing, preserving their lives. In this instance: a smart calculus. Witnesses could provide evidence via their communication records that even their faulty memories wouldn’t refute.
“Is that a hand?” was the first thing Erinyes asked, not surprised to see the duo having success obtained their target or treating him like luggage, but somewhat curious as to why Foxen was also carrying a severed limb. At least Malium had all of his.
And plenty to say.
“You! Emissary! Get these ruffians off of me at once–”
“Technically, you’re on him,” Erinyes pointed out, still more attentive to the hand question.
- Foxen answered, Likely biometric encryption on his J-A-K-E-M his datapad. Common tactic in our line of work: built in explosives. We can obtain evidence of his contract with whoever hired him, most likely the Lieutenant and aide. Also. Flyndt says M-A-L-I-U-M is confirmed having orchestrated his own ‘kidnapping.’
Rosy brows rose. She turned to the Omwati. Renora and Evelyn also looked over, having been paying more mind respectively to their sixes and the captives. “Oh? So your aide wasn’t lying. You did have this whole thing organized?”
“Put me down!” trumpeted Malium, whose face was very red at this point.
“Puhta,” Flyndt muttered shortly, his small brrts, shifting steps, and impassive face all shouting to Foxen that he wanted them all to be gone already. He snapped a summary, “He know pirates. He said.”
“That’s outrageous! You would trust the word of some bird–”
The next knee pinch was hard enough to pry kneecap from tendons with just a little pulling. Malium choked on a scream.
Flyndt pointedly did not tell him to stop.
“–alright al-right,” the Human’s voice cracked, snot and tears rolling down his scarlet cheeks and forehead into sweaty hair. “St-stop pl-please.”
Foxen made a disgusted noise and dropped the man. Torture was ineffective for confessions.
“I’m interested in your answer.” Renora stood poised. Her gaze bored into Malium as he recovered on the floor, wheezing harshly. “Did you or did you not have your men killed?”
“No! That wasn’t the plan!”
“But you put them in that position.” Wyvern’s voice was icy, her anger at such awful command of those under his care and power a glacial thing. “You are responsible, Malium.”
- Renora didn’t make any further statements or questions. She just assisted the man back to his feet, then pulled back an arm and punched him squarely in the jaw. The governor fell back, and would have hit the floor again–
had Foxen not backhanded him hard enough to spin him back around, twice. His unconscious body ragdolled and flopped back to the floor at Erinyes’ feet, and she stepped away in the same manner as someone avoiding a spilled chamber pot splashing her sleek boots.
The Zeltron scoffed, one hand going to her hip as she looked down at the mess.
“Really? Both of you? Now I’m just going to feel like it’s overkill if I even kick him for that dreg. Foxen, you better not have killed him.”
I modulated the blow. Jaw breakage, not fatal.
“He won’t be able to talk!”
*Shouldn’t have wasted Flyndt’s time then.“
Erinyes sighed, but nobody seemed particularly fussed, except perhaps to have the chance to get their own strikes in. It was neither the time nor the place though, and they did have to return him–
Erinyes’ senses shrieked at her, forewarning of danger many heartbeats before it could come. She didn’t even get to igniting her lightsaber though before a CRACK sounded, Foxen’s pistol loud this close. Shattering plastic followed, an impact on her head, showering her face in exploded pieces and frizzing her hair as wires squinched. She cringed just slightly at the smell of cooked electronics sparking and dying, pulling off the remains of her headset as she looked over her shoulder.
One of the surviving pirates, who had been a new contender for her label’s line of one-armed fashions thanks to her, dropped back with a bullet in their head, the blaster in their remaining hand clattering down. Erinyes blinked as she took it all in, Evelyn and Renora both having reached for their weapons instinctively, then turned back to Foxen and an alert-crested Flyndt.
For someone who’d just had a bullet fly within millimetres of her head, Erinyes was remarkably calm, if a little deafened by the echo of a gunshot in close quarters. Exasperated, she flailed a hand towards the one-armed corpse. “I told him to stay down. That was the whole point of only cutting his arm off. Kriff, these pirates are idiots.” She turned to Foxen. “I don’t know whether to thank you for saving me or think you put him up to it.”
The latter. You are competent. Didn’t need saving. I wasn’t aiming for him. That headset had to go. Excellent opportunity.
Erinyes stopped, not used to other people being just as absurdly blunt as she was, then nodded. “I should probably be mad, but I respect your honesty.”
The smug silence was deafening.
The Emissary turned to Governor Malium, still moaning in agony. “I might not be an economist, Governor, but I spent enough time with them on the ride over to learn that free trade deals tend to benefit the smaller party more than the larger one. The career diplomats also insisted on telling me that trust is the foundation of any long-term agreement. Maybe you should use your time in the bacta tank to reflect on how those lessons—and what we’ve discovered here today—will influence our negotiations.”
Malium, of course, only made fading pain noises as he failed to cling to consciousness like a squishy civilian civil servant. Renora, being efficient, just went to stuncuff the governor and roll him over so he did not suffocate in the blood or mucus draining back into his mouth or any such thing. Evelyn announced she was going to bring their ship closer for prisoner loading.
With things relatively handled, Erinyes looked at the headset in her hands, looked back at Foxen, and said, “Just so you know, I’ll be billing your card for a new one.” Her shrug was supple. “Maybe start a line of them with some new patterns. Feathers? Maybe in red and silver?”
Red eyes narrowed at her.
Flyndt frowned. “Cats do not have feathers.”
“Yes, but who does, Flyndt?”
“…” The Omwati turned and looked at Foxen. Foxen shrugged.
Anything with you in it is beautiful. Even a fraking cat-ear headset.
Erinyes was smiling like a cat that had caught its canary. “So I can make that two purchases, then?”
The Nautolan’s finger came up in definitive answer.
Loading the pirates-turned-prisoners up along with Malium and the bits of grisly evidence was a quick and efficient affair barely worth a paragraph of noting. The team boarded and strapped in again, Flyndt and Foxen in each other’s shadows, Renora the picture of military decorum. Evelyn looked like she might say something on her way to the cockpit, a fond look barely there as she regarded the men, before it shuttered and she strode on.
But not without tossing over her shoulder, “Someone should make sure Malium’s harness is securely buckled.”
And, well, if Erinyes requested they do a barrel roll on their way to city hall where the negotiations had been being hosted, then surely it was just procedure for the pilot to comply, given Erinyes was the most senior-ranked Brotherhood official present, and it was her loaned Upsilion.
All in all, it was a mission accomplished.