Arc I: Fragments (Session 2) --------------------------------- GM: Tyrnis Cast of Characters (PC): Amena (Greenpotato): Ex-cop turned PI Clint (Re-Laborat): Uplift gorilla tinkerer Moss (Lordofyesteryear): Mercenary Cast of Characters (NPC): Tarun Singh: Owner and bartender of the Black Water Bar. Michael “Big Mike” Mackenzie: Former hypercorp aerospace and mechanical engineer; currently a mechanic with strong ties to the Moderates. Bear: Uplifted chimpanzee. Big Mike’s assistant; reasonably well known in local freerunning circles. Noctis-Qianjiao, Mars: The Downside The Black Water Bar Named for the faded 'BLACK WATER ONLY' sign bolted outside the front door, what was a sewage treatment and recycling facility in the earliest days of Martian colonization is now the Black Water Bar, one of the Downside's local landmarks. Although the bar has a large, open central area, there are a number of corners, nooks, and crannies that used to be everything from maintenance ducts to closets, making the overall floorplan rather haphazard, though also offering a number of relatively private tables and booths for those who want them. The walls and ceiling are a uniform gunmetal grey, with a crimson carpet breaking the monotony. The tables, chairs, and the bar itself are a synthetic wood good enough to fool a casual glance, but not much more. Each table is equipped with a small holoprojector for the patrons' entertainment, though sound requires accessing the bar's local AR feed. Small serving drones hover about to take orders for those who don't want to just yell to the barkeep, and the entire facility is kept nearly spotless by an unobtrusive cleaner nanoswarm. Moss gets up from the table and adjusts his collar. "So." He begins, "I may have a potential source of transporation available." With Grover and the slitheroid having gone about their business, Clint drains off the last of his beer and shoves the glass aside, lurching out of the booth and to his feet. He scratches his chest a moment through his crash suit, then turns to eye Moss. "G'wan..." Amena smiles "did better than me kid" Moss says, "Yes. One, Big Mike. A mechanic who happens to own a shop not too far out of the way." Amena says, "shall we go pay him a visit?" Moss says, "It seems prudent." Clint tilts his head slightly, beady eyes regarding the man. "Mmmm-hmm. Not far out of the way for bicyclists, or are you two gonna need a lift?" Moss says, "Out of the range of all but the most determined ones anyway. You said you had a van earlier. That should do." Clint gives Singh a nod and heads for the door. "Guess for ol' Vic's sake it had better." Amena rises and follows Clint out of the bar Moss follows suit. Singh raises two fingers to his brow, then tilts the fingers down toward Clint in farewell, along with a "See you next week." Given the predominance of bicycling as a way of getting around, it's a few blocks to the garage where Clint has his van parked. It's fairly obvious, a horrific rust-oxide orange (genuine rust, not paint) with brilliant, luminous green wildstyle scrawl on the sides. "Locksmith/Tinker: things fixed, ways opened." It makes a weak sounding chirp at his approach, and after some conversation with his muse, both the driver and passenger door pop open, as well as the rear hatch...Which reveals a space lined with heavy toolchests welded to the van's walls and a somewhat used looking mattress between them. "Somebody gets the jump seat." The ape announces as he swings up into the driver's side. Moss says, "I prefer the back, if I'm not driving." Amena says "your welcome to it" wrinkling her nose at the apes bed Clint grins fangily. "You're not driving." He chuckles and lets his Muse key up the van and run through the basic checks...Pressure, battery level, tire pressure. "Save it for the race, Protector." He gestures Amena at the passenger seat. "...And keep your boots off my bed." The van takes several extra seconds to start -- and damn if Clint hadn't just replaced the starter on it a few months back -- but start it does, the engine belching a little extra CO2 into the air. Hey, everybody's got to do their part to help thicken the Martian environment, right? The drive itself is fairly routine, though it takes them about fifteen miles outside the dome along a semi-maintained dirt road. Once everyone is settled, Clint gets the buggy-van in gear, keeping things to a cool, easy pace in city. He's careful. He grumbles at bicyclists, constantly. If they could hear him, there'd be at least one extra riot per intersection. Once they're outside the dome, he has the tires reconfigure themselves for the terrain and puts some actual speed on. Outide of Noctis-Qianjiao, Mars Big Mike’s Garage Located not terribly far outside of Noctis-Qianjiao, Big Mike's Garage is a refurbished shuttle hangar. A dirt track suitable for bikes, buggies, or other wheeled vehicles is located behind it, although the only accommodation for spectators is a single set of unenclosed metal bleachers. The entire complex is surrounded by twelve foot high electrified chain-link fence topped by razor wire, and there are a number of fairly obvious cameras and other sensor mounts. The main gate is the only entrance, marked clearly by the paved drive from the gate to the hangar doors and the comms console where visitors can request to be buzzed in. The hangar itself, at least when the main doors are closed, offers a breathable atmosphere for transhumans not tailored for Mars, with the smaller doors serving as airlocks. Two small offices and meeting room have been partitioned off over in one corner. The rest of the space is dedicated to various maintenance equipment and to parking for a wide assortment of aerospace and ground vehicles in various states of disassembly, most of which, like the walls and ceiling itself, are surrounded by scaffolding. As much dust as the buggy kicks up on the way to the compound, it's a pretty safe bet anyone outside knows you're coming even if they didn't have any sensor systems other than the ones you can see inside and on the perimeter. The perimeter fence is closed, but there's a comms console a few feet from the gate that's at about the right height for a buggy to pull up next to. Amena says, "How friendly is this guy gonn ane Moss?" Moss says, "He'll be friendly to me." Moss says, "Pull up a bit closer to the comm." Clint snorts. "Yeah, awright." He sets the wheels to independent, rolls the van sideways a few ce'meters, then hands Moss a handset, flipping the comm on and setting it to 'external speak/mike'. Moss says, "Mike. It's Moss. I'm here about the buggy." "What the hell are you talking about, Moss?" comes the response from the comms a few moments later. Amena takes out her pistol and checks it over Moss says, "I need a buggy, Mike. I was told you could get me one." Clint stares at Amena. "Aaaaah whaddafuck! Lady. No. You see that windscreen? You see out it? Anybody with decent eyeballs can see in it. Put the gat'way." Clint does wait for Moss to NOT have his thumb on the send button before saying that. <_< "And how the hell am _I_ supposed to know that if you don't tell me? You think I read minds? But I've got buggies, yeah. You wanting to come in and talk, or you planning to have your lady friend there shoot out the window on that one and pay me to fix it up for you?" Amena chuckles "Hey it doesn't hurt to be prepared" holstering the loaded weapon "I don't wanna get caught with my pants down" Amena says, "lonley old guy out in the desert in his own compound. Who knows what someoe like that is gonna do" Moss says, "I'd love to come in, but there's a gate in the way." Clint rubs his eyes. "Prepare that shit, like when we're in the middle of nowhere, on the way to a place, not at the man's front door. Better, check it when you holster it in the mornin' and leave it _alone_ after that." He turns around, bending down to one of the toolboxes tucked beneath the others, opens it up, lifts out the top tray and reveals a heavy slugthrower with a wide cylinder, which he chucks into one of the welded-down toolchests and locks. "Man's gonna be tight enough to negotiate with already." "Babe, if you want to pull your pants down, I'll show you what I'd do. They call me Big Mike for a reason. But we'll save pleasure 'til after business," comes the reply from the comms. "And yeah, you're damn right there's a gate there. Most people drive up, hit the button, and say, 'hey, Mike, can I come in and talk to you about gettin' some work done.' Then I tell 'em to come in or to get the hell out, depending on what I think of 'em." Clint kicks the smaller toolbox back where it was, but he's grinning at the comm. Moss says, "Good to know we're the exception and not the rule. Now about that gate." Clint gives Moss an odd look, then vents the vehicle and cracks his door far enough to poke the button with a glove-booted toe. Clint is going to need to get his eyeballs relubed after extended rolling if somebody here isn't prepped for dust. "Hah! At least one of you can follow directions. C'mon in," comes the voice from the comms. "You should take some lessons from that one, Moss." And a moment later, a loud buzzer goes off followed by the gate starting to shake as it slides out of the way. The hangar bay doors are currently closed, so presumably you're expected to park and use one of the personnel entrances. Amena gets out the van and walks over to the door. Looking back, she waits for the other two Moss heads to the personnel entrance Clint waits for the gate to clear before rolling the van in, smooth and easy. he parks far enough back from the hangar not to be in the way, and enough to the side to keep all the doors clear. When the big ape swings out, he pulls an old ball cap down over his eyes ('Syrtis Minor Malfeasants' logo: a kiddie Marsball league), and zips up his crash suit before reaching in and tugging out the toolbox he 'partially emptied' before. The gorilla's in no hurry...But he moves the toolbox like it's practically empty, despite the load of steel that was visible in it earlier. He ambles after Moss. Amena says, "After you Moss, he's your buddy" Moss says, "Very well." The entrance is an airlock, though all three could fit if they're willing to be a bit cramped. Moss pushes open the door. Clint ambles right in after the other two. Cramped? He's done shift change on a real job and just reflexively snugs right in behind Amena. Cuddle up, people. Clint takes a cigar out of one pocket and tucks it into the corner of his mouth, but doesn't light it. "Picture six gorillas in a lock this size. And one dumb overseer." He grins toothily. "Oops. Those were the days." Moss says, "I can practically smell it." Clint lets Moss see the marvelous work the gorilla's dentist does. Amena says, "this airlocks taking a while to cycle" Clint chuckles. "Not everybody lives in a dome on taxpayer ox, babe. Some folks work for a living. Let the man get his atmosphere stowed." Big Mike -- and the name turns out to be very appropriate, given that he's nearly seven feet tall and built like a tank -- is waiting inside. "Bear! We've got company! And whatever you do, don't throw any shit at this batch!" "Fuck you, Mike," comes the response from well above them. It turns out to be coming from a chimpanzee dangling from scaffolding around a large shuttle. "That was only the once, and they were assholes." Clint chews the end of his cigar, nods to the big man with a kind of professional air of respect, then looks up at the chimp. "Yo." He steps off to the side, sniffs the air. Moss says, "Mike." Amena nods to the odd pair All Clint's sniffing for, really, is that old stale odor of nicotine smoke. He slouches otherwise, adopting that smugly relaxed look any ex-corporate ape knows amounts to 'Damned right I'm being lazy, and you can't do anything about it.' He squints up at the shuttle, calls to the chimp, "Dang, Bear. Who brought that in?" Nicotine isn't one of the stronger smells, albeit only because there are so many other odors from the shop -- fuel not least among them -- that crowd it out. "One of our regulars likes to see how fast he can land this thing. Likes to drive a little wild, too. Clint, right? What brings you out our way?" Bear replies, sliding the multi-tool he's got held in one foot into his belt before swinging over toward the door and making a swift descent. Big Mike says, "C'mon back to the office. You want anything to drink before we get down to business?" Moss says, "No, I'm alright." Moss follows Mike to the office. Amena alos follows Clint grins and swivels his cigar around to the other side of his mouth. "Yeah, that's me. Balls, ape, you didn't need to come down, I was 'bout ready to ask if you needed any help. Don't hardly get to play wtih the fun stuff anymore." He tilts his head at Amena and Moss. "These folks're looking to get into _the Race_ and needed somebody to help'em tune, tweak and maintain a buggy. Someplace along the way I ended up playin' chauffer, too." The way he says 'these people' isn't enough to get too much attention...Unless you're another Uplift. Just that little hint of 'them, not Us.' He doesn't immediately move to follow the humans. "You always were uptight, Moss. Lucky for me I don't mind drinking in front of you." He pulls a bottle of whiskey out of his desk before dropping into the oversized chair behind it. "Have a seat." There's enough seats for all of them, should Clint follow. Moss takes a seat, lacing his fingers in front of him. "So, I'm sure you over heard, Clint mention the race." Moss says, "I intend to win." "Hell, c'mon up. I could use an extra hand or three up there -- Mike's damn good, but the bastard broke our last winch when he used it to haul his fat ass up there, so I do all the climbing." Bear whistles when Clint mentions the race, though. "Those people are either really damn good, or suicidal. Hope for your sake it's the former. It's a bitch having to wait until they're resleeved to get paid for a job." "So you plan to enter _the_ race, and you don't have a buggy? And you're showing up on my doorstep a _week_ prior? You got balls, I'll give you that," Mike replies to Moss. Moss says, "That's why I came to you. You were highly recomended." Clint grins and picks up his toolbox again, then reaches into one of the pockets of his crashgear, tugging out another cigar and offering it to the chimp. "Been looking to get my hands dirty. Only fun part of a job like this is getting to do some interestin' wrenching, you know?" He shrugs. "I'm hopin' they're as good as they talk, but if they blow it it ain't gonna be cuz their lugnuts weren't tight." "Oh, I can do it," Big Mike answers. "I came highly recommended 'cause Bear an' I are the _best_. But something like that doesn't come cheap."" Moss says, "I did not expect it to be. That's why I'm here to work out a deal." "Work out a deal?" Big Mike asks. "That doesn't sound like the plan of a man with credits he's ready to beam." Moss says, "I stand to make you an offer that will get you money well beyond the price of a single vehicle. Give me your best transport, something fast with a big drivers seat and bet on me to win the race." "That shit'll kill you," Bear notes as he's reaching to take the cigar. "Which makes it a damn good thing that being dead won't stick." He pauses beside a small welder to light up, offering the flame to Clint as well. He takes his first puff of the cigar, letting out a contented sigh along with a ring of smoke as he exhales. "You crewing with them for the Run, too?" Clint accepts the light. "Yeah, yeah I am." He stares up at the shuttle, frowns, then seems to come to a decision. "You ever hear of a guy named Victor Soto?" The ape starts climbing up to where Bear had been working, occasionally shifting his toolbox to a foot as necessary to get an easier grip on the way up. Gorillas aren't the best climbers, but Clint's not bad...He just relies on strength a lot more than finesse. Then again, with his bulk that's probably necessary. Big Mike asks, "So what races you won, Moss? 'Cause most of the drivers who do the Run have tried it several times, and the first few they didn't come back." He takes a swig from his bottle. "You gotta convince me you've got a prayer, or I'd have to be crazy to take a deal like that. Or you saying you'll cover the buggy _and_ my bet -- plus extra for my time and services -- if you don't win? If you're saying that, you've gotta show me the money." Moss says, "I've made it out of plenty of chases. Think of it as an investment. The odds will be long, but only because the people setting them don't know any better. I will win this, no matter what I have to do." Bear shakes his head. "Hope the pay is really damn good." He gestures to the various vehicles in the hanger. "This and the rooftops are plenty of excitement for me. I stay the hell out of the Zone. But yeah, how could I not know Victor? Haven't met him myself, but half of us here on Mars owe him one." Much like Clint earlier, that 'us' is just stressed enough to indicate he's not including humans. Clint nods slowly. "Yeah. Well. Something bad's up with Victor. I got a message from an emergency fork of his that lost him, and the last thing it knows is, he was going into the Zone about something urgent and bad. And that means, I figure, he was trying to help somebody else out, so it ain't just him, probably. That was a couple weeks ago. I can't _not_ go look, yanno? Even if the pay is shit and the kid down there can't parallel park." He finds a place to set his toolbox, buts it up against the shuttle and thumbs the nanites on to make them cling to its hull, then simply sets to work on whatever damage he recognizes and knows he can help fix. "So I gotta get into the Zone, see if I can find him. And the Race is one way in. I don't rightly care if we win or lose, but we gotta get in, and we maybe gotta get out again real fast, with folks gunning for us." He scratches behind his ear with a socket wrench. "Ain't exactly what's on my resume, but sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do." "Thing is," Big Mike replies, "Every driver in the race can say the same thing. Don't get me wrong, everything I've heard about you says you're a stand up guy, Moss. And your friend whose pants are still up, too. But you're askin' for one hell of a leap of faith here." Moss says, "Risk and reward." Moss says, "But you should know something. It's what you probably haven't heard about that makes the difference here." "Damn." Bear considers that for a time, then repeats, more vigorously, "_Damn._ We gotta go talk to Mike, you and me." Big Mike leans back in his chair, taking another swallow from his bottle. If anything, he looks amused, but he's still listening, at least. "Oh? This I gotta hear." Clint finishes tightening down another bolt, checking 'til his wrench beeps to let him know the torsion's correct according to the bolt's RFID. "You figure we oughta wait for those two to dig'emselves a hole with Mike, or should we go interrupt? I only know his rep as a mechanic, yanno, and our 'driver', well..." He grins in wry humor. "Ain't never been to the zone, but he's _sure_ he can protect us. Man, I wish I'd been that cocky when I was a tot. Working hundred-twenties under threat of pain or cut rations takes it outta ya, though." Amena says, "maybe theres something we can do for you in leu of payment. A favour or job you need done?" Moss leans in, staring at Mike dead in the eyes. His mouth twists slightly, something like a smile but it's mangled by the scar on his mouth. "I've been in the Zone before. When I'm out there, and it's just me and them, I will drive them into the deepest, darkest parts because the dangers in there will only be a fraction of the risk of staying on the track with me. "Huh," comes Big Mike's reply. "Well, I'll give you stones, at least. Don't mean you can drive, but it helps." The amusement is gone, back to pure business. He eyes Amena. "Now you're starting to talk my language." It's at this point when Bear and Clint enter the room. "You should lend 'em the racer, Mike," Bear states. Big Mike's brows raise. "Think so?" He looks between Amena and Moss. "Screw the betting, though. Gambling's not my thing. You get the racer back to me without a scratch, you only owe me big. You don't get the racer back to me without a scratch, you owe me _really_ big." Moss says, "If you insist. If that's what it takes I will make sure it is preserved." Clint glances over at Moss. "Be nice to the man, hey? He's loaning you a damn fine machine." Moss smiles again, not showing any teeth. "Of course. Amena says, "So now we have a buggy. Clint, is there anything you can do it to improve our chances?" Moss says, "So, Mike. What exactly would suit our needs?" "Damn fine machine?" Big Mike asks Clint. "No. A Starware Mark VII Cruiser is a damn fine machine. The racer...that's a work of art." Clint purses his lips slightly at Amena. "These folks're better mechs than me when it comes to things on wheels. I'm mostly an orbital/industrial tinker...But I can help'em do anything they think it needs for the job." He glances at Bear, since Bear knows exactly what the job is and how it's not exactly a race... Bear beckons them out toward the main bay, and leads them over to a corner, where he pulls the cover off the kind of racing buggy that you normally only see in the vids, though the back is a bit oddly shaped. When he opens the door, the instrument panels look like they'd be more at home in a jet than a Mars buggy. Moss nods approvingly. Clint just grins big. "Oh _very_ sweet." The gorilla licks his lips. "You gentlemen do know where to find the best toys." Amena says, "If I may question a craftsman about his work, how does this compare to the other buggies in the race?" "Now, question for you. The racer's damn good as-is. But it's also got something...extra, if you can handle it. Might help you, might just get you killed, so think on it. Back in the day, they used to use nitrous oxide to get extra speed out of cars. This thing can use...something else. But it wouldn't be so good to take it anywhere close to a dome." Moss says, "Illegal? Perfect." Clint grins. "You're kidding. Did you MAM it or what?" He inclines his head, eyes shining. "And if you can think of anything else that'd make it more survivable..." The ape slouches against a support post. "Silly me, yanno, I like my body the way it is." And replacing it'd put him back in hock to the Big Bad Red Corps... Bear can't help but return the grin. "Told you Mike was damn good. Handling goes to hell when you kick it in, but you'll get a burst of speed that'll make you wonder if you'd hit orbit if you crested a hill. Don't have anything you care about behind you, either." Moss says, "I won't." Moss says, "Well, I think this about settles things. Thank you for your time, Mike, Bear. We'll be back to pick it up when it's time for the race." Clint frowns slightly, but shrugs. "I'll be around, next few days. Help out. Whether it's modding that beauty or just helping straighten out that shuttle's hull." He grins, then glances over at Moss and Amena. "Not sure either of you folks're mechanically inclined?" Amena shakes her head "not me" Moss says, "No." Clint shrugs and gives Bear a 'what did I expect?' look. "I'll help out, though." "Only modding I can think of for the Run would be a turret up top," Bear answers. "May be a race, but that doesn't mean it won't get ugly. Especially in the TQZ. You at least got enough cash to cover parts for that?" He's specifically looking at Amena and Moss, here, since Clint's providing labor." Amena says, "Im flat broke at the moment" Moss says, "I have about a 1000 credits on me." Clint shakes his head. "I got about 7K saved up. Just bought out a few months ago." Amena says, "I might be able to borrow some cash though" Amena says, "how much cash would you need?" Bear looks to Clint. "You really don't have anyone else you can work with for this? Don't get me wrong, I know they're good in a fight, but I really don't think these guys have thought things through. 1,000 will cover your turret, but you do know there's an entry fee for the race, right? And it's not cheap." Clint spreads his hands. "You know how it is, you work with what you got." He sighs. "I can shake the vines a bit, see if anybody else wants in. But these are all friends of our friend." Moss says, "There are others in our group. I'm sure they can assist us as well." Amena says, "were just trying to help out Vic" Bear shakes his head and shrugs. "Guess we'll see what happens." To Clint, he says, "Ping us when you're ready to head back this way. I figure you'll need to give them a ride back." Clint hmms. "Loopholes'd be good, but we don't maybe want to go in looking like our plan is 'kill all other contenders'." He nods to Bear. "Yeah, I don't figure they wanna walk. But I'll stick around. Sweat equity, I can do that." Amena says "I would stick around to help but I don't know anything about machines. If all you want is another pair of hands though I could stay and be a labourer. Amena says, "who knows, maybe I could even pick up a few basic skills" Moss says, "I think I'd be spending my time better by looking into the competition." Clint chews on his cigar a bit. "Your call. I can drive you folks back into N-Q either way." He looks over at Bear and Mike. "You fellas need me to pick up anything while I'm there?' Amena says, "Its up to you Clint, do you need my help or do you think I would get in the way?" Big Mike laughs at Amena's comment. "Damn, you just make it too easy. I'm not even gonna say it." He shakes his head, then, to Clint. "Just did a supply run a few days ago, so we're good." Clint shrugs and grins at Amena. Fortunately Mike played the straight line out so he doesn't have to. "I dunno if we'd want you workin' on that shuttle...it's Mike and Bear's place. Couldn't hurt for you to know a bit more about the way the car works." He grins at Mike. "Hell, pizza, beer? I'm makin' the trip there and back anyhow." It's Bear that answers this time. "Shit, Mike, if you let him go back without hitting up Singh for at least a few cases, I'm gonna have to quit." Amena says, "I may as well go back to town then" Big Mike looks to Clint. "You see what I've got to live with? S'my name on the door, but this guy's holdin' me hostage. For beer." Clint chuckles at Big Mike. "At least it's good beer." *FIN*