Prospect System, Prospect

The Providence doesn’t do well in the atmosphere. The ship flies like a block of iron when under the pull of gravity, add wind to the mix and you have a very uncomfortable flight. Dell forces the ship along anyway, closely following the flight path out of the foggy lowlands and into the mountains. At this altitude, much more of the settled part of the planet could be seen. He could catch a glimpse at the hazy skyscrapers that were the unfinished mega city. It was supposed to be where Prospect would flex its muscles as an energy producer, shipping out trillions of tons of charged ammonia batteries to distant systems.

Now it’s an empty husk, and if the rumors are correct, its only residents are curtailed to one block of the city, while the rest of it is still relentlessly patrolled by Horizon Security Drones. That is if what Dell’s heard is true. He had come to learn that out on the Fringe all kinds of tall tales are told. Mostly as a means of making, often, boring expeditions exciting. People don’t like the idea that space is mostly empty, so they make up stories to fill in those vast oceans of void.

And from Dell’s experience, stories don’t come from nothing. There is always a little bit of truth at its center.

The flight plan eventually leads the Providence toward a great cliff face. The grey stone plays host to a mountainside complex. There, a landing pad extends outward from the cliff face, a hanger bay revealing itself, along with anti-ship batteries that track the Providence as it descends onto the platform. Dell can’t shake the vulnerable feeling, but the promise of reward is enough to push it to the back of his mind.

“Well,” Dell begins to power down the Providence’s engines, “We’re here. Ready?”

“Ready,” Domitia says, stepping out from the armory, clad in her power armor.

“That necessary? We probably shouldn’t try and spook him.” Dell points out.

“They know us enough to call us by full names, they know I’m a Bellator. No reason to hide it.” Domitia points out.

Dell can’t help but agree, “Fair enough. Sides, if this is a trap, at least you’re armed and armored.”

“Right.”

Stepping out of the Providence, the pair of bounty hunters are given a taste of the scale of this mountainside ‘home.’ The landing pad begins to retract back into the cliff, it moving so smoothly that Dell can barely feel it. The cliff closes behind them, lights from above illuminating the hanger bay as the landing pad moves right into a nook, alongside other air and spacecraft that dot the hanger bay.

The wall to their left suddenly opens, the door is so seamless it blends into the cold grey of the hangerbay walls. Out strides Frax, along with a handful of ‘Handi’ Drones. Robotic servants that have had their normal metallic plating replaced with polished porcelain, the faces of the bots are stoic and androgynous, giving the impression that they’re living dolls.

Dell lets out a whistle, still looking over the various craft in the hanger bay. “Place is a little too rich for my blood.”

“Mr. Hays was a member of the board,” Frax says as he walks from a doorway, his cybernetic feet clicking against the ground, “He spared no expense on his retirement home.”

“Retired huh?” Dell leaps onto Domitia’s shoulder, allowing him to tower over the butler, “So this isn’t a company job?”

“If I wasn’t clear before, Mr. Hays is a private man. He isn’t beholden to any persons, entities, or governments.”

The urge to ask why ‘entities’ have to be mentioned gnaws at Dell but he pushes it aside, “Right, gotcha. So where is he?”

“He is in the parlor, I was asked to fetch you two. Although I must say your friend is... Overdressed.” Frax comments.

Domitia shrugs Dell keeping his balance on her shoulders, “I dress the part.”

“Quite.” Frax says, he then looks over to one of the Handi’s, cybernetic eyes glowing for a moment before motioning for Dell and Domitia to follow, “Please, right this way.”

The pair of bounty hunters then follow the butler and the host of robotic servants through what Dell could only describe as a mansion. From the hanger bay, they wander through a workshop, with other drones working on assembling, repairing, and doing maintenance on other drones or ship parts. Material Printers whirl to life, turning raw iron into fresh new parts. He recognized the model, Esien Insta-Forge. An older model, but reliable nonetheless.

From there they follow through another seamless door and into the mansion proper. The long hallway, windows offering a breathtaking view of the horizon, hazy skyscrapers in the distance, with only one fully lit up. Along the opposite wall, artwork and displays line it, giving an insight into who Mr. Hays is.

Paintings and portraits depict mundane, daily life. A crowd waiting at a mag-rail. A starship taking off, a human child watching it fly. Dell thought he had seen these paintings before, perhaps in a history book or over the net. He began to think that these might be the originals or a convincing copy. Periodically, a small display on the wall could be seen. Behind some glass would be a curio of some sort. They ranged from fragments of pottery to primitive weapons made with crude alloys.

One piques his curiosity enough that Dell points it out to Frax, “What is that?”

The curio in question strikes a strange cord with Dell. It’s a mostly complete stone table, bright colors painted across it. It takes him a moment to recognize that the shapes are vaguely humanoid, although the people have four too many legs, in Dell’s opinion. Said eight limb people are busy worshiping a bright icon which can only be partially depicted due to the lack of pieces.

Frax halts and turns, looking over the case, “Ah! One of the artifacts recovered during one of many colonial projects.” Frax explains, “So many cultures and peoples were wiped out due to the Ravenous, as you are aware. We often busy ourselves with the people who make up the Coalition that we forget that others were affected by the Blight. These are curiosities of far more... Primitive cultures.”

Domitia hums.

“You have something to add?” Frax asks the Bellator.

“Seems like they would fit better in a museum, rather than to be hoarded away.” Domitia comments.

“Few are at all interested in such finds, sadly.” Frax says, “Mr. Hays believes that it’s his duty to preserve them.”

“Right,” Domitia answers.

After making another turn the pair of bounty hunters are led through yet another seamless doorway and into a parlor. At its center a fireplace crackles, with seating around it. Along the wall are more of the displays of curios and artifacts, inner mixed with some personal items. A signed contract. UMC Corps medals and commendations. A photograph, detecting a stoic-looking konii with deep black fur which is edged with silver highlights.

Sat in one of the fine leather chairs, a konii can be found, sipping on a glass with a golden liquid swirling in it. He doesn’t look up from his book and carries on sipping his drink. Dell is quite the fan of liquor, but for all he knows the man is literally drinking gold. His purple robe is about the only thing he is wearing, thankfully for Dell he has his legs crossed. His black fur has begun to grey around his lilac eyes and the tips of his ears, which have been pierced to hold several golden rings.

“Mr. Hays,” The butler bows a little, “Allow me to present Domitia Serjanus and Dell Caliger.”

“What iteration?” Mr. Hays asks.

“Beg your pardon?” Frax asks.

“I did not ask you, Frax. I asked the Bellator.” The former exec spares a side glance at Domitia, “What iteration is your Legacy?”

“Third, iteration.” Domitia answers, “Why does that matter?”

“Repeated cloning of Legacy leads to... Defects, or so I am told. The fact that you are of such a high pedigree is good. Means I’m not going to waste my money.” Mr. Hays says as he looks back to his book. “And please, be seated, do be careful not to break anything.”

Dell leaps from Domitia’s shoulder, landing on a nearby loveseat, a Handi appears right next to him with a drink. He sniffs it, detecting a peaty, smoky aroma. A sip confirms his guess, “Scotch. Rare to see.”

“Gallaway. One of the few reputable sources for scotch. So many are so quick to make the peat artificially.” Mr. Hays says as he takes a sip of his own drink.

“Huh, never got to taste the real stuff.” Dell took a longer sip, “Burns a path down your throat.”

“As it should.” Mr. Hays turns a page with his thumb, “May I offer anything to you, Domitia?”

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“I don’t drink.”

“Food, perhaps?”

“Not hungry.”

Mr. Hays closes his book, setting it down on the table next to his chair. He then looks over to Domitia. It's then that Dell shivers. Something about his eyes, how hollow, vacant, he seems. He stares into the scotch instead, finding the amber liquid to be far easier to look at.

“It’s rude to refuse one's hospitality.” Mr. Hays states coldly.

“I mean no disrespect,” Domitia says, taking off her helmet, “We were invited here for work, not play.”

Mr. Hays hums, “To the point. Very well. We shall be brief then.” He stands, glass still in hand. He walks towards the opposite wall, motioning to an empty display, “I have an important piece of my collection missing. A relic of the Bel’fanny People of Mexis Prime. I was having it delivered here, saving it from the clutches of liquidators that came for my former employers after their fall from grace.

“Unfortunately, the craft that was meant to carry it to Prospect has met a terrible fate. Crashing in the abandoned city.” Mr. Hays explains, “As such, I require individuals who could brave the dangers and recover the artifact. It’s secured in a lockbox which is bio-locked, only I can open it. Although time is of the essence, the longer it remains in that city, the greater the chance of some petty thieves stealing it is.”

“So... That’s it?” Dell asks.

“Indeed.” Mr. Hays says plainly. “Were you expecting further complications?”

“Honestly. Yes.” Dell answers truthfully, “Jobs like these typically involve a catch or two.”

“No, Mr. Caliger. This one does not. At least, not from my perspective. The package must be recovered. That is all. Deliver it to me and I shall reward you.”

“What kind of payment are we looking at?” Dell asks.

The konii looks into the fire, sipping his glass, “Five hundred is a far payout. As well as something else.”

With a snap of his fingers, another Handi enters into the parlor, straining to hold something that catches both Dell and Domitia’s eye. An Ion Lance. More specifically a Mrk III Fusilier - a wrist-mounted weapon that would allow the Bellator to retain the use of that hand. By now its black casing shines in the firelight, Dell knew it had to be brand new or just never used.

“Where did you get that?” Domitia asks.

“Another rescue,” Mr. Hays explains, “Liquidators didn’t even know what it was. Presumed it was mech weaponry. As I understand, you require a new lance,” He motions to it, “Bring me my package, and the lance shall be yours.”

Domitia and Dell exchange a look, confirming a silent agreement between them both. Obviously whatever this thing Mr. Hays wants is important enough to warrant serious cash being thrown around. The grumlian finishes his scotch and sets the glass down on the side table.

“Well, guess will take the job,” Dell confirms this with a glance to Domitia who gives an approving nod, “Just need some details, that sort of thing.”

“Frax shall handle that.” Mr. Hays then checks his pocket, pulling out a pocket watch of all things. Something Dell has only seen in reels, “Sadly, I have another appointment I’m afraid. Frax, please do see our guests to the hanger, their chariot awaits them.”

“Of course sir.” Frax this motions for the pair of bounty hunters to follow, “Right this way.”

Dell hops back onto Domitia’s back, finding purchase on the power pack of the armor. The walk back to the hanger goes in a whole other direction, winding deeper and back around toward the hanger. Along the way, Dell got more of a look at Mr. Hays’ ‘retirement’ home.

Bots quietly go about their daily duties, although Dell can’t imagine what they could possibly be doing. The mansion seems to only have Frax and his corpo boss living in it, and yet the Handis are hard at work vacuuming, dusting, and mopping rooms that look like they’ve never been used. A strange sense of isolation and foreboding comes over Dell before another door opens from the side, and new faces enter the mansion.

Leading them is a woman similarly dressed and augged like Frax, her purple cyber eyes flashing as she makes eye contact with the majordomo. Dell figures they’re probably communicating via neural implants, something not too out of the ordinary for corpos to do. Behind her three more corpo-looking humanoids enter.

Two of them are jack-booted thugs, augged to the teeth. Their flesh has been mostly, if not entirely replaced with cybernetics. Artificial muscles shine underneath the sterile light of the mansion. Lenses were there ought to be eyes scan the room as they marched in, footfalls clanking nearly as hard as Domitias. Dell already knew what they were - Werewolves. Mercs you hire when you need a Bellator but can’t get Coalition approval. The grumlian heard stories about them, how their appearance in a system meant that a war was about to kick off, and how they would just wait in orbit for the highest bidder to contact them.

Behind them stood a tall woman with black hair and red eyes. Clearly, a corpo if Dell ever saw one. She’s too tall in Dell’s mind, and it gives him the creeps with how smooth and graceful her motions are. Clearly, an aug, but the lack of visible cybernetics makes her creepier than the augged Werewolves. The woman looks over to Domitia, and she smiles for a moment before they simply walk past Domitia, Dell, and Frax.

“Thought Hays was retired,” Dell comments, “Who’re they?”

“Clients,” Frax replies, “Mr. Hays is always happy to give consultations.”

“Right...” Dell feels as if he asks any more questions he’ll end up in a ditch, he turns his attention to the task at hand, “So where's the ship? Probably something we need to know if we’re going to get the package.”

“It’s in the city, coordinates have already been uploaded to your vessel,” Frax motions to a black starship, clearly a cargo hauler.

“Uh, think you got us mixed up, that ain’t my Providence,” Dell says

“Oh, I should’ve mentioned,” Frax begins, “The city's security network is still online. Any unmarked vessel entering into the airspace will trigger its defenses.”

“The Providence ain’t a pushover,” Dell says, “We could handle some drones.”

“I’m aware,” Frax says, “The reports I read of your exploits have been enlightening, although Mr. Hays is more concerned with opportunists tracking your vessel. This vessel is cloaked from sensors and the city's security systems. Meaning you’ll land uncontested.”

“Guessing you’ll also appreciate tracking us with this ‘company’ ship,” Domitia adds.

Frax smiles, “Monitoring you isn’t the issue. We have ways to do so. While Horizon is gone, Mr. Hays’ resources remain.”

Domitia hums, “Fine.”

Dell raises a finger, before saying, “Mind if I poke around it?”

“Do you not trust our mechanics?” Frax asks.

“Just a safety check is all,” Dell explains.

Frax narrows his eyes, “Fine. Be quick about it. The weather might turn soon, wouldn’t imagine you’d like to wander through the city while it’s pouring rain.”

“Oh, you’re right. Maybe I’ll be able to leave the umbrella for once.” Dell says with a chuckle.

Frax then tosses the keys, Dell misses them but Domitia can catch them.

“Not one scratch, Mr. Caliger,” Frax says as he departs.

Domitia and Dell then board the cargo ship. Much like everything else in the mansion, it looks like it’s never seen use. Dell even had to peel the plastic liner off the cargo door before closing it. Dell then holds a finger up to Domitia, hushing the Bellator. He pulls a flashlight from his overalls and begins to check the ship, which is still dark, the only light coming from the cockpit windows.

“‘Kay... Think we can begin.” Dell says whispering.

“Begin what?” Domitia asks, not even trying to whisper, which earns her another hush from Dell.

“Think they’re just going to give us a ship for free?” Dell asks. “No. Gotta be a controller or something on here.”

Domitia thinks for a moment, before conceding, “Hmm, you’re right. Does seem suspicious.”

Dell shrugs, “Sometimes paranoia pays off.”

Dell then pulls off a crew panel and dives into the ship's internals. His small frame allowed him to navigate the guts of the ship with ease. He presses deeper in, a flashlight held by his teeth as he gets to the ship's transmission. He crawls up to it, wrangling his cell from his pocket pulling a cable from its base, and inserting it into the transmission. In theory, he could’ve done this from the cockpit, but if he were going to fuck someone over, he would’ve put a hacker unit or drone in the transmission.

He inserts the cell and begins his sweep of the transmission and the other auxiliary systems that surround it. His scan completes almost instantly, which causes Dell a bit of confusion. He checks again, trying to find anything or lack of something. Again the system scan completes almost instantly. He plugs his cell into a new port, tries again, and finds the same results. The grumlian realizes that the ship has never been used, so the system has virtually no flight data or input data to speak of. Dell does a visual inspection, checking the transmission one last time before crawling back up to the surface.

“Anything?” Domitia asks.

“No... Weird.” Dell says with a sigh, “Seems actually legit.”

“Hmm, I’ll grab our gear and some provisions. Might be a long haul.”

“One thing before you go,” Dell says, looking at Domitia seriously. “That red-eyed corpo, you know her?”

“Can’t say I do.” Domitia says, crossing her arms, “Come to think of it, we have crossed paths. Recently.”

“Mayden?” Dell asks.

Domitia nods, “Saw her passing by while Murcia was getting into Os’s tower.”

Dell sighs, “Shit. Still on our asses. Whoever they are.”

“Haven’t killed us yet,” Domitia says, “Still. It’s something to keep note of.”

“Let’s get this show on the road then. Don’t wanna stay here. The place gives me the creeps!”