Turn 140

Val and Emmett

    "And a spy... " He turns suddenly, slamming his fist into the wall. "A *spy* does more good for the ship and my crew than *I* did," Val's voice is a harsh whisper. He stands there staring at the wall, a trickle of blood running down his hand from a split knuckle...
    "Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy on the furniture, Val." Emmett stays seated, but looks obviously concerned. "I know you're wound up and you want to do well, but what you're telling me is that you get bushwhacked, escaped and made it back to take command of the ship again. It's not like you did this on purpose, like, oh, say, Hiro who ran off to go do errands for the mystery Gnomes. And I wouldn't say that o'l feckless did more for the ship than you did - you got us in the door back in Myrr, and that paved the way for everything else. Once we got to Narain, hell, we played tourist and then did a commando raid while my 'wife' did all the heavy trade negotiations. All ibn Whatever did was get himself thinkin' he saved my life when he ruined my perfectly good plan to let myself get captured to see what Durrell was doing before we pulled a fast one on them with Pham."
    Emmett leans in. "He talks a good game, and he's not without his uses, but he damn sure ain't you. And you did a real good thing for us. You Came Back. I've been on enough missions with enough guys who didn't that I'm damn happy to take 100% survival as a total ship win."
    Val listens to what Emmett tells him, and lets out a deep sigh.
    "I appreciate what you're saying," he says. "It's just something I'm going to have to get over, I suppose. I hate having to run for my life. I've had to do that too damn many times..."
    Val turns to face Emmett finally. It is plain to see that he is still tired, and the recent events are beginning to take their toll on him.
    "Thank you. I'll be all right. I just need some time..."
    * * *
    The "ibn" Debate, Continued:
    Once ibn Hassan leaves, Val looks at Emmett and Yestin. He does not like how everything has unfolded, nor does he like that it has come to this. "Any ideas about how he was reporting information, or what kind of information he was reporting?" he asks them quietly.
    "From what he said before," Yestin offers, "it could have been anything he thought was interesting or potentially profitable."
    Which isn't very helpful, Val muses. There may not be a Zakharan spy in every sail locker, but there might be others that are. And that incident with the Hammerhead before they slipped out of Bral's sphere might have been more than it appeared.
    Damn. Just when Val was starting to like the half-elf, too...
    Later, reluctantly, Val decides it's time to tackle ibn Whatever again. He can't in good conscience leave Rigol with him on board until he's satisfied himself that it's the right thing to do. The half-elf arrives at the captain's cabin without any visible anxiety - such a contrast to the way he used to be that Valarin wonders, again, who the man really is.
    "The loading's going well, Captain," ibn Hassan says. "I think we'll be able to leave on schedule."
    "Thank you," Val replies woodenly, still very un-Val-like. "A word, ibn Hassan," he says, motioning the half-elf to close the door behind him. "I need to... clear some things up." Val studies the Zakharan a moment, his gaze still not showing what might be on his mind. "Tell me about your reports," he begins abruptly. "Tell me everything..."
    He blinks in surprise. "Everything?" Not possible, but there's a lot he *can* say...
    "It's probably getting toward seven years ago, now, that I was offered the job of trying to make something of our position on Bral. It's such a small and insular place that our formal office could never seem to get any news or business that really justified its being there. So I got a job as untrained crew on a ship that was going to Bral, arrived there almost broke, and settled in there as a friendly, hapless fellow with a gambling problem. After a while I was pretty much invisible. I used to talk to everyone who'd talk to me. Sometimes people even told me things that were supposed to be secrets, because I was a nobody. I got to know just about everything that was going on there, and I reported everything interesting to our office through a letter drop. I did that for five local years.
    "Then I screwed up. I'd gotten attached to the place, and pirates attacking it annoyed me. It was unprofessional. But then, the one thing that I hadn't even gotten a whiff of was the giffs' conspiracy with those pirates. I might've gotten away with that mistake otherwise. But I felt my life was in danger, and that my family's small office on Bral couldn't protect me, under the circumstances, so I hired on to the first ship that was leaving Bral. The _Lazy Cat_. On Janik I reported on all of this to my family, through another Zakharan office that is there. At the time I intended to go back to Bral to settle my debts and then make my way to another place where my own family has a larger office.
    "Then this . . . opportunity came up. It seemed like a way to make up for my mistake on Bral, and, I have to admit, a way to avoid having to explain myself in person for a bit longer. And maybe you'd turn up something worth knowing. I didn't really expect you to," he says, without apology. "Most of these exploration efforts don't, you know. The Rigol system has potential, for example, but at this point I wouldn't call it a spectacular find, especially since Victor & Sons might decide to fight for its claim here. Or maybe not," he adds judiciously. "The information about the dwarven clans - well, never mind." Valarin probably isn't interested in his thoughts on how that information could be used. "At the moment, I don't know whether or not my family knows I have traveled with you to Rigol. Our destination did not seem especially important before the fact - and in any case our factor on Bral took a dislike to me the one time we met, and I didn't feel inspired to give her any particulars. But if I don't turn up again in the next year or so, I expect they'll start looking for me." This doesn't seem like the best time to explain the possible consequences of that.
    "As to why I'm telling you any of this. I think the fact that I *am* demonstrates the depth of my concern about what looks to me like a major, sphere-spanning Hextorian conspiracy. It's my opinion that even the possibility of such a thing needs to be looked into, because of the damage it could do almost anywhere. I won't say that Olnfar would balk at profiting from a war or other disorders, but I believe that peace is better for any number of reasons. And I personally wouldn't want to live in a universe in which Hextorians had free rein to do whatever they liked. So, I needed to be able to act openly in the matter of investigating their activities here on Rigol, which I couldn't do while still pretending to be ibn Fadil." He hesitates, studying Val's stony face. "If you wish, I'll tell you exactly why I'm so concerned, though I don't know that you'll agree with my assessment."
    "Please continue," the captain replies quietly. Whatever assessments ibn Hassan has may be more important than any of them realize just yet. Best to hear it all out...
    "Back on Bral," the Zakharan begins, "just before things blew up, I had realized that something was going on in one of the oligarchs' companies. Work schedules being rearranged, shipments that people hadn't been told about. Hints that someone in the company was doing things and hiding them. I only noticed, you understand, because I knew what the normal activity for that company was. I'd been trying to figure out how to find out more, though it was going to be difficult. Then I had to leave.
    "When we returned to Bral it was obvious that something bad was going on. Some children had disappeared, people were afraid, and the underside had a new boss. I was pretty well acquainted with that level of Bralian society, you see, through gambling and borrowing money and such. I was much impressed to learn that one of the old boss's enforcers was actively afraid of this new boss. He wouldn't even tell me his name, and actually warned me against asking any questions. Pham's news about there being ghouls there added a whole new dimension to things, but one that didn't make any sense. What would be the point? It was alarming. But I told myself it wasn't my problem, and in any case, I didn't dare investigate -" for the first time, he looks uncomfortable "- because of Nyala. So I left again."
    The discomfort passes as he hurries on to the next topic. "And what happened? We were attacked by the _Magnus_. I'd been stupid enough to forget about Captain Gustan. What was he doing still in Bralspace? That was the first thing I'd seen or heard that suggested that one of the oligarchs was directly involved in at least some of what was going on. I wish I'd said something then. Except what did I have, what do I have, to back up this conclusion, except that I know the place and the people? I don't believe that anything but an oligarch's backing would convince Gustan to do what he did. But, it still didn't explain the ghouls. That was either related or not related - there was no way to find out short of staying there and looking into it all. The gods alone know what's being on there since." He looks truly unhappy about whatever he fears about that.
    "Anyway, we got to Rigol, and what do we find? Hextorians, meddling in local politics. Who could have brought them here, except Victor & Sons? What I wanted to know was whether they'd brought them on purpose or by accident, and I still don't know. What we've learned could fit either case, or so I think. And frankly, I've never heard of anything like what they've been getting up to here. Mechanical birds and spiders and wolves? Elaborate torture mechanisms? I don't like it at all. And I don't forget that madman you encountered on Janik. What if Bral is being taken over by a secret Hextorian? Not that I have any proof of that at all, but to my mind, it could explain everything. The oligarch I have in mind for that role would have learned of the existence of Rigol from Samuel Victor and his wife. I think it would be easy for a peer to manipulate the Victor into continuing to supply the Hextorians, possibly without even knowing what he's doing. Especially since he's at least as good a liar as I am, if I'm right. But I don't think anyone on Bral would believe it. Farley McFadden, the oligarch for Seven Suns, is a pleasant and hardworking sort of fellow, according to those who think they know him. It could be that it's just him, and not Seven Suns or Victor & Sons as a whole, that are involved. But if he's got a secure base on Bral he can send people to anywhere in the Flow, not just to Rigol."
    Ibn Hassan has waxed enthusiastic as he talks, punctuating his rhetorical questions with gestures, but now he brings himself up short. "It holds together," he finishes rather lamely. "I just don't know yet whether it's true."
    Throughout all of this, Val has been paying rapt attention. He had learned long ago that details are important. And he now has a greater respect and appreciation for the man before him. Feckless indeed...
    But how much of this can he believe? How much is true? There are too many things he's observed on Rigol that just didn't make sense at first. But the half-elf's information fits into place. Not too neatly as to be contrived, but it is enough to make the captain concede the observations make sense.
    "Thank you," is all he says for the moment, still studying ibn Hassan intently. It is difficult to remain angry over this spying business. After all, Valarin himself made his way as a smuggler and courier, seemingly a lifetime ago. Many times, information was the package to be delivered. Gleaning market information from conversations was a normal part of his job. Using that information for gain was second nature. It's just that ibn Hassan worked for many, whereas Val worked for just one man. But that is not the point at hand...
    "We all make mistakes, ibn Hassan," Val begins after a long pause. "I may have been hasty to be angry with you. Your information can be useful to us. Our very survival may depend upon knowing what is going on around us. I just wish you had shared this with me sooner.
    "As for what is to be done about your deception... I shall think on how to handle this situation with Three Trees. I do not necessarily wish you to be... silenced by the company. You are too valuable for that to happen." He pauses to let that sink in for a moment before continuing, "But I cannot in good conscience leave you here, either. And not just because of Nyala."
    Another pause and he adds, "And Emmett seems to have meted out some punishment already." Val doesn't even want to imagine how that must have felt to be hit by the half man.
    "So, what do you think we should do about your situation?" Valarin asks straightfaced. "What would you do if our roles were reversed?" He asks not for lack of direction, but out of curiosity. He wants to see what kind of man ibn Hassan is.
    He smiles. "I'd ask what my plans are. To which I'd answer, if I was entirely on my own, I would return to Bral and attempt to infiltrate one of the organizations involved, so I could perhaps prove what I suspect. I've thought of several ways to try that. But - I'm *not* entirely on my own. My plans depend partly on what *you* intend to do, Captain. Are you even half as interested in this Hextorian problem as I am? If you are, I think I can arrange for us to work together on it. If not," he shrugs, "I'll have to come up with some other way to tackle it."
    [GM: I do hope you'll be able to continue this very interesting conversation!]
    * * *
    Wildspace: Griffin
    "Gear?" Inez looks faintly dubious, cocking her head. "I think he has more personality than that."
    The next day Lynden attempts to converse with the griffin, but disappointingly the griffin is only interested in nibbling the young priest's fingers. "I'm sorry Emmett, but it seems I was wrong. He's not responding to me. Either he's just not interested or he's just not affected." Shrugging Lynden continues, " Do you want to continue with the ceremony now?"
    * * *
    Wildspace: Emmett and Lynden
    "I can't say the chattel slavery thing set too well with me either." Emmet takes a drink, then continues "There are women that works for, but then there are men that works for to - people who just take orders, stay in line, do what they're told, get married off for property. I can't say as I care for it, but there are some who choose it. The key thing is that they Choose it. Not having a choice, well, in Gond's terms, throwing away half of your metal before you test it's temper is a waste of good material, especially when the half you keep is probably going to have it's share of waste too."
    "The system there isn't too different from the hegemony back home, except they kept almost everyone in slavery, and after a generation or two they'd forgotten there was any other way." The half man re-fills both of their mugs. "So who'd you meet you convinced you it was wrong. C'mon, what's her name? You can tell me - I'm discreet!"
    Flushing Lynden turns his head away slightly. "I can't say. Its complicated. More complicated than you could imagine..."
    * * * Abbarille: The Happy Argos
    Once Emmett sees that Lynden is safely in Val's company, he again joins Inez on one of her favorite sports - picking up new stuff with the cash from the last run.
    "I am sorry that Rigol didn't work for you, but as crew on the route voyage, we get some nice royalties for the next few runs on that world. Worth a little discomfort, don'tchathink?"
    "I suppose it could have been worse. And we did find some pretty good stuff... the company should be happy. I'm glad to be back to civilization, though!"
    "And you know the best thing about civilization? New and interesting bars! C'mon, this heat's already killing me, and I want to get a feel for the place from inside a bar rather than roasting out good prices on our feet."
    Barrend, dwarf of the distant clan Rumnaheim, is enjoying a quiet drink in the Happy Argos when the newcomers walk in. Barrend has been crewing the _Blackbird_ for the past couple of years, a decent enough tradesman with a comfortable crew, but something of a milk-run between Tagret sphere and the nearest neighbor; hardly a stretch for his navigational skills or a meal on which his native curiosity can feed.
    The door to the Happy Argos swings open as a curiously formed individual opens the door for a lovely young woman before joining her inside. The small human's one eye scans the crowd, spotting an open table near enough to a patron for some company and far enough away for some privacy. "The Dwarf seems like a good bet, and probably been off ship for long enough to know the lay of the land," he thinks
    "Oh, Inez, please tell me you have some trade coin left on you from the previous run. I blew most of mine on the turrent, and the rest on horse meat for the voyage." He seats himself nearer the Dwarf than not before continuing, "If you're flat too, I'll have to sing for any drinks past the first at post prices, and beleive me, no one wants that..."
    "What do we have here?", Barrend asks himself, looking at the obviously odd newcomer. "Looks like the lad's got into some nasty scraps. And by the look of his gait, one of his legs must be a replacement too. Hope it's not gnome crafted, never know what to expect from them."
    "Hmm, he's sitting close to me. Odd, there are better tables around. What's that he's saying, something about singing for drinks?" He continues his train of thought. "Better watch out for this one, if he starts singing, he'll be quite a diversion for any sneaky allies. Did anyone else besides the woman come in with him? I didn't notice any."
    "By the eight mountains, that's all I need! Not only can't I find any new documents to trade this time around, nor get a decent drink that hasn't been forgotten in the bottom of the barrel, I won't even be able to relax quietly if he starts making a ruckus."
    "I have to face facts, this hasn't been the best of days. Maybe I should just finish my drink and go somewhere else."
    He closes his eyes, in deep thought. "No... I shall remain and do as the river would. I will descend and flow towards what I encounter. I will drift around it if it's of no import or crash into it if it resists. I must wait and see what will be." He opens his eyes and awaits to see, or hear, what will happen.
    * * * Abbarille: 3 Trees
    After asking directions, Val and Lynden make their way from the ship toward the company offices. If feels distinctly odd, after so many months in space and the Rigolian monoculture, to be back in the busy normality of a spaceport, surrounded by dozens of life forms, accents, and modes of dress.
    The office is in a house on a wide, dusty avenue shaded by palm trees. Near the gate in the outer wall is a colorful mosaic, a stylized version of the company symbol. Val tugs on a bellpull, and a moment later a halfling in servants' dress appears.
    "Can I help you, gentlemen?"
    
    

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