Chapter 4: Shut Down

Obligation: 18 - T1_NY (Antagonist)

Destiny Pool: (dice are weird sometimes…)

Planet: Waloviska Superior

City: Aeza

District: Warehouse

After leaving New Dagobah, the Cheery Butler stops at Garoute to refuel yet again, and await their next package. After only 2 days, it arrives, courtesy of a Y3K protocol droid; this time addressed to a Tremma Willow on Waloviska Superior.

After a lengthy journey, the Cheery Butler begins to make atmo and the crew are able to access the local holonets to gather some more information about their destination.

The capitol city of Aeza itself is in political turmoil. H'asan Yu'ru'ek, the area's governor and general has begun to fall into disfavor with the people, and they are turning to protest. H'asan has begun to rely on his military might to maintain control, which has had a polarizing effect on the people.

His greatest opponent, a Duro named Xyla, has been calling people to her banner of increased accountability for publicly appointed leaders. Tremma Willow is Xyla's righthand advisor.

You are provided with an address. It's one of Xyla's political centres from which she sometimes launches her scathing attacks of H'asan's heavy handed regime. Tremma is almost always found at this particular location. You're to use the back entrance and provide the password “Elderberry”.

As Barrett and T1-NY make their way down the street from the landing zone, hints of unrest can be seen everywhere. Corners of torn-down posters dot the landscape. Was that just spray painted graffiti on the side of a building or was it a political message? Were those bits of protest signs in the alley. Is that smoke damage around the window of that government office? What caused that faded red stain in the middle of the street? It's mid-afternoon, but a nearby bar is jammed packed with blue-collar workers, all eyes glued to a local newsfeed.

Jumping-off points:

* How do you approach this situation?

* How does this job feel different than past ones?

* Anything distracting your attention from the job?

* Anything about this cause that is encouraging or discouraging?

* Does your experience in Gold Creek impact how you feel now?

T1-NY is almost uncharacteristically silent as he takes in his surroundings and processes them against what he & Barrett learned of the situation on the planet. He finds his (admittedly underworked) EmpathCore split… on one grasper, he understands the allure of being powerful enough to force those who'd oppose him into silence. In fact, he can almost feel Intruder whispering in his databanks to obey… On the other grasper, he certainly knows what it feels like to be the oppressed, and last mission's events cemented that feeling even further.

As they arrive at the building he refocuses his lenses towards the immediate task at hand. « How do you want to play this? » he asks Barrett. « Get in, deliver, and get out? » he posits as his paint scheme ripples slightly, disguising him as a slightly dingier and duller grey & tan.

Barrett taps his chin thoughtfully. The dice have been rattling around in his head ever since they hit atmo and read the local reports. “Y'know, buddy, I have this crazy feeling that we could take advantage of this situation. Remember Gold Creek? Those miners ready to rise up? I've been working on my delivery… We just need a target that could net us some serious credits. Maybe I should try to imitate Kel'Seer again…“

“Oh wait, you meant deliver the package. Well, we can do that as quickly as possible (can't miss easy money), but maybe we should stick around a bit after.” He looks down at T1, pausing as a new thought strikes him. “T1, have you ever wondered what we're actually delivering? These boxes don't really seem all that special. What do you think they are?”

T1-NY draws on his past experience of poking his flanges where they don't belong to his advantage, and the box easily () unfolds before him (). «Gosh, that was easier than expected» he thinks to himself. ( ) Inside the box is a datacard.

A quick scan of the datacard reveals some newsclippings from a different sector of the galaxy and a funny cat video.

“Huh. That's strange. I wonder why anyone would want this stuff? It looks harmless enough - maybe it's a coded message or something. Maybe just make a copy of that card in your internal memory, and we can compare some future boxes? Well, put that back together and I guess we'll deliver it.”

Destiny Pool:

Barrett and T1-NY pass by a cafe where well dressed youths are handing out flyers. One of them approaches and forces a pale yellow leaflet into Barrett's hands. “Did you know H'asan is currently solidifying his contacts off-world in a bid to take over Waloviska Superior?? All the facts are listed right here!”

The youthful revolutionary's eyes light up momentarily, then his brow crinkles. “I've heard Tremma's name, but I don't know much about him, really. When I see Xyla making a speech, he's often in the background, kinda off to the side. He might be a speech writer or an administrator or something. One of my girlfriends went to school with him, and says he's usually at the Outreach Centre they've set-up down the road from here. When I do see him, he has the bearing of someone who's dependable and a true servant to the cause, under Xyla's banner!” He then begins to ramble on about Xyla's pedigree.

The student's eyes light up! He's never been given carte blanche to exposit to another person before! He launches into a one-sided synopsis of the situation here in Aeza:

• H'asan Yu'ru'ek is using his military might to control mega-corporations to keep the people subdued. (He's possibly using secret police to silence detractors.)
• Xyla has the favour of all of the common people, and she will soon lead them all to rise up against the oppressive regime and usher in a utopia-like democracy. (She's possibly a Jedi of old. She has been known to perform miraculous feats.)
• Things are dangerous here in Aeza, but the danger is all worth it. Even if it should cost them their lives (and it probably will), the cost is small for freedom.

This student has fallen into the trap of scapegoating all of society's problems on the current leader. Things are clearly bad, but it's hard to swallow all of his propaganda without some flags going up. It's clear that he wants to bring about change, and is looking for someone to follow who can make change happen. But he's so intent on the problem, he's not really looking for a solution outside of “remove the problem”.

Soon some of the student's friends begin to gather around. He begins to speak louder as his audience grows. Everyone around Barrett and T1-NY are nodding their heads and cheering him on. Soon picket signs start to appear, with not-so-pithy phrases painted on them. Out of his periphery, Barrett notices some soldiers dressed in black riot gear appear on the outskirts of the vicinity. Their faces are covered, but they appear to be speaking over comms to someone unseen.

T1-NY survey's the options around him.

T1-NY lifts a holokey out of the student's pocket. ( x3) The attached tag says “Aeza University”. Written in tiny ASCII on the back of the tag is the number 1292. () Apparently someone has a hard time remember his locker number.

T1-NY was so engrossed in his skullduggery he didn't notice another organic approach him. () He was so engrossed, he didn't even notice a discrete device was placed on his chassis. ()

The Droid Interface Module immediately attempted to slip into his data system.

The DIM easily access T1-NY's unguarded databanks. ( x4)

= ?

On the Datafloor…

The DIM materialized inside of T1-NY's databanks like a phantom. It immediately began searching for the internal cavity door protocol. It was careful to slip around silently, so as to not notify the host of its presence. Which for the moment was easy. T1-NY's joy centre was lighting up as he carefully groped within the student's pocket. It wheeled over to a clean section of the databank to continue the search.

«Greetings. What is your purpose?» DIM spun around. There was a factory standard droid interfacing with it, though apparently oblivious to the registered AI currently thieving from the mark.

«Greetings. I am search for the internal cavity door protocol. What is your purpose?»

«To obey.»

«Oh» DIM said. «In that case, please tell me where the internal cavity door protocol is.»

The R2 unit wheeled around to a wall of gleaming drawers. He opened one, pulled out a file, consulted it, replaced it neatly, then returned. «That protocol is found at address 23.54.98.G, along that wall over there, next to the shrine of BT-1. Open the panel and twist it clockwise 23.54 degrees.»

«Thank you!» DIM squeaked and turned to find the panel.

«…and if you're searching for the Hidden internal cavity door protocol…» DIM did an about-face so fast that that it almost tipped over, «it's beneath that one at address 23.54.98.J. Turn that panel 54.129 degrees counterclockwise.» ( x4)

«Much obliged!» DIM carefully scooted to the correct address and popped open the door to the hidden cavity.

( x4 = ?)

Back on the street…

The thief looked down into the Hidden Storage compartment and saw exactly why they were looking for. It was gingerly lifted from within the chassis. The thief carefully removed the DIM, causing the door to snap shut, and they quickly slipped away.

Intruder wordlessly shines the floor where the visitor made some scuff marks. Databanks must be kept clean, a dirty processor is a disobedient processor. Of course, so is a negligent processor, it considers as it quickly writes up a report on DIM. A quick recollection of DIM's operator code flits through Intruder's memory bank and is noted in the report as well. This host droid may be far too rebellious for Intruder's liking, but at least its perception sensors are well-tuned.

With a sense of accomplishment, Intruder completes its report and files it into a section accessible to both itself and its host CPU. The best way for T1-NY to learn the value of obedience and civility is by example, after all. Cooperation is key!

The streets are nearly deserted, which makes navigating them easy. The building you're sent to is old and square, a former store of some type. From within the front windows you see movement. The back door is heavy steel with a sliding view window.

“What's the password?”

“Geez, what too you so long?”

At long last, Barrett and T1-NY are escorted to the top floor of the building. It's an open loft with desks and tables. People of all species are briskly going about their work, about a dozen all told. Some type at terminals, other are speaking over comms. A few are gathered around a table in front of the one window, deep in discussion. You see some maps, some charts and graphs, some holodisplays of news stations. This is a serious place.

“Hey, Tremma! There's a package here for you.” The duo are pushed on towards the table.

A man of medium height stands up at the head of the table and regards you. He has glasses and his face is careworn. Dark bags hang under his eyes. He surveys you up and down for a moment. “What's in the package?” he asks. “Who is it from?”

Tremma arches a brow. “You assumed that I ordered a message for myself… or something?” He returns his gaze to the table. “If you can't tell me what it is or where it's from, then I ask that you kindly remove your package from these premises. Dangerous times, you understand. It's quite likely a bomb or something mundane of the type. Occupational hazard. Those we oppose would have no problem hiring a company such as yours to do their dirty work. If I were you, I would look a little more carefully before you are hired to deliver a package to a politically charged situation. Good day.”

T1-NY restrains himself from rolling a lens in frustration and instead makes some fake “I'm processing things” sounds as he rotates towards Barrett. « Delivery manifest accessed and verified via inspection. Package contains datastick with unspecified text messages and holovid files. » Tremma probably can't understand the droid, in which case T1-NY figures Barrett will get the hint… but better safe than sorry.

Tremma opened his mouth to retort, but he was interrupted by the opening of the door. A woman came in, her blond hair cut short, and formed into intricate curls. She had glasses on, carried a datapad and was followed by a hovercam. “Hey, Tremma! That reporter from the Superior is here. She says she wants to talk to you before she interviews Xyla.”

Tremma scowled in annoyance. “Yeah, yeah, in a minute,” he said to the sentry, waving him and the reporter off. When he looked back at Barrett, his eyes burned with simmering heat. “Listen, I don't care who you think you are or what you think you know about what we're doing here. But when you step into this room, you're in my territory and what you do is my business. I don't give a flying cuss about what you say is in your package or who it's from. Nothing gets received without proper vetting.” The reporter, sensing she had stumbled upon some meaty footage, quickly activated her hovercam, and began to scribble notes on her datapad.

“Every day, we take our lives, our futures into our hands,” Tremma continued, playing only slightly to the camera. “We do this because of the things we care about most. For our families, for our friends, for our children and all of their futures! You want be flip about that? You want look on from your little courier ship and cluck your tongue and wag your head? Fine! We don't need you and we're stronger without you. But you walk through my door and scoff at the meager protection I can offer these people? You have the gall, the audacity to treat this all like some game? Like we're just fooling around up here? Like, we can just go back to a normal life when this gets inconvenient? To hell with you. I'm sure whatever rebellions you 'helped with' were happy to see you go. Probably left when the whole thing got inconvenient. That's what flakes do. I've seen enough of them to recognize your type when they show up. Take your package and get out of here. We don't need any more flake outs in Aeza.”

In the distance, there is a faint voice speaking over a megaphone. Possibly the idealistic student from before.

Barrett rolls around possible courses of action in his head. The most appealing is to speechify right back at Tremma. Maybe make up some story about the value of their box and then hand it off to the reporter. It would mean not getting paid, but (being blissfully unaware of the price of dereliction of duty in the UDTS company handbook) he was willing to risk it. Walking away was not an option. Something grand and dramatic was in order.

Those were the thought rolling around in Barrett's head when the percussion entered the room. The cracking and tinkling of glass. The look frozen on Tremma's face. The gore splatter that landed on Barrett's face and T1-NY's dome. The bullet that exited Tremma's skull and embedded itself in a wall someplace. In an instant, a dozen lives were thrown into a new direction.

“POLICE RAID!!!” someone nearby screamed as everyone dropped to the floor. Tremma's body collapsed onto the table, dead, blood pouring from his massive head wound. Smoking canisters were smashing through the picture window panes, causing the room to quickly fill with choking haze. Everyone hugged the ground, coughing, uncertain when the next bullet would be fired.

A Duro who was sitting at Tremma's meeting belly crawled along the floor, throwing smoking bombs back out the window, even as they heard the downstairs steal door being blown in. He reached the wall next to the window and stretched up towards a panel. He smacked a prominent red button which caused a security shutter to clatter down over the window. “This is not a drill,” he yelled out, short of breath. “I repeat, this is not a drill. Alpha Team, secure the door! Beta Team, destroy the files! Correllian Team get these civilians to the Safe Room!”

The space was suddenly full of panicked movement. Barrett and T1-NY could only take the frenzied action in for a moment before they, along with the reporter were shoved towards a storage room. Boxes were thrown aside by a Bothan to reveal an antique door. It was opened and the trio hurried down the passage beyond, the reporter drawing a blaster as she did so. “This leads into a room in the next building,” The Bothan said. “You'll be safe there. I'll divert the passage so the police won't be able to track you. Probably.”

They suddenly found themselves in an austere room, ten feet square. A single switch turned on the single, buzzing office light overhead. A shelf contained some canned provisions and bottled water. Two benches faced each other from opposite walls. “Xyla's people already know you're in here. I'll lock you in, and you hang tight. Someone will come for you when it's safe.” With that, the Bothan ran out the room, slamming the door shut. Moments later a detonation and the sound of a passage crumbling could be heard.

The reporter walked on shaky legs towards one of the benches, one hand reaching out towards a the walls for reassurance. The other hand still gripped her blaster. She slumped down and held her face in her hands. “That is not what I had expected,” she said, her voice clearly strained.

A few minutes later T1-NY received an incoming communication from DX31. “Crew, please return to the Cheery Butler. I have reason to believe that this package has not been dispatched from an authentic UDTS depot. Please suspend this delivery until I can verify its origins.” ( x 4)

When the reporter raised her face, she looked composed once more. She took a deep breath and straightened herself. “Well, the trip is far from a bust. I finished my official business here. Hopefully I can make some progress on a personal matter now. In fact, maybe you two can help me.” Her tone was completely level.

She looked directly at Barrett and continued without waiting for him to respond. “My brother has been living in a hospital for a while now. His mind was somehow broken and he's completely unresponsive now. He doesn't speak. He doesn't move. He just sits in darkened rooms. It's… painful to watch.” She looked away for a moment before continuing.

“There was some kind of… incident… at the mine where he was working. Something happened that must have been a PR nightmare for the company, because they have totally covered it up. All of it. Everything! They won't even tell me and my family what happened. They just dropped him off at my parent's house and said 'something happened' and that's it. He's been getting regular credits deposited in his account, but we're all totally stonewalled from knowing the truth.”

“I've been able to use some of my contacts to get some files off of their servers, but I haven't found anything concrete. The best piece of intel I could acquire was the droid log manifests from before and after 'the incident'. I compared all the serial numbers, and one droid was unaccounted for after the incident. They logged every piece of equipment, operational and destroyed, but this one R2 unit disappeared without a trace. I've been trying to track down that droid, hoping it can tell me what happened to my brother.”

She then turned towards T1-NY. “Please, I need to know what happened to him. Is there anything we can do to bring him back?” Her eyes were earnest and determined. Her voice was soft and confident. Her blaster was gripped and ionic.

She keeps her gaze on the droid, and her blaster hand flexes slightly. “I'm Ace Fortunebringer. Care to dance?”

She gestures to T1-NY with the ion blaster. “Your friend knows what I'm talking about! I just need to know what happened in the mine so I can help my brother. That's all I care about.”

Meanwhile, in the databanks…

Intruder's quarterly log finished processing. (All reference's to his ID have, of course, been run through a global find/replace subroutine.)

Annoying *Beep*hole's Quarterly Report

Annoying *Beep*hole polished floor

• Glisten level at max capacity

Annoying *Beep*hole studied operations manual

• Understanding of rules already at maximum

Annoying *Beep*hole surveyed T1-NY processes

• Listed 238,783,098 inefficiencies
• See appendix

Annoying *Beep*hole interacted with DIM

• DIM user: unknown
• DIM planet of origin: Lo'kam
• DIM purpose: Access storage compartment

Annoying *Beep*hole polished filing cabinet handles 78 through 109

• Glisten level at max capacity

Inventory check shows that everything is accounted for except for Meera Slank's datapad.

“Haywire droid, huh?” She considers this for a moment. “Hmm, I guess that would explain this…” she reaches into her satchel.

They both notice a black datapad inside her satchel. T1-NY specifically notes that it's an Astroserver datapad. The same make as Meera's.

She pulls out a holo-projector. “One of my contacts was able to slip me this holo. It doesn't say a lot, but it does point to droids gone wild.” She presses play and a 2 second holo plays. It's surveillance footage, so a little blurry and grainy. The setting is industrial, and probably in the mining complex in question. The clip shows a Trandoshan backing into a corner, fear painted across its reptilian face. A droid is advancing on it, arc welder ablaze. A human male lies dead between them. The droid begins to run over his skull in his grim march. The droid is clearly an R2 unit that Barrett finds familiar.

The holo plays several times over before she shuts it off. She tosses the projector to Barrett. “My contact info is on there. If you find out anything further, I hope you'll let me know. If this was the result of some haywire programming, maybe I can learn more by looking into those databanks. That's where I'll go next.”

K'arana scoots further back into the room, her back to the corner, blaster gripped, satchel slung over her shoulder. Her eyes dart back and forth between the two, not sure whom to be more wary of. Then like a switch, her demeanor changes. Her eyes take on an assertive bearing and you're suddenly reminded of a predator stalking its prey.

“Sure. I'll deal you both in.”

Without missing a beat, she lays her blaster on the shelf to her right and lifts the satchel up off her shoulder and wedges it between herself and the wall. She then takes off her own jacket and places it on the bench to her left. The tank top she's wearing beneath is slim cut and hugs her curves purposefully. There's a chain around her neck, and something upon is hiding within her neckline. An unfamiliar symbol is tattooed on her exposed left bicep.

She confidently snakes her right foot out, fishing out a small table from under the shelf that lands between the three of them. She opens her hand, looking expectantly at Barrett. His grin widens, then confidently reaches out and gives her the deck.

“Here's the rules: dealer asks the questions. If you want in, you answer the question truthfully. You don't lie to me and I won't lie to you. Whoever wins the hand deals the next round; asks the next question.” She looks at T1-NY. “You don't make a move on me, and I don't voice-activate the ion grenade in my bag.” She looks at Barrett, cracks a knuckle and flexes a toned bicep. “Clear?”

She looks at him and cracks another knuckle.

She deals the first round. “How long have you two known each other?”

“Save the questions for your deal.”

K'arana shows her hand.

She considers the question for a moment, then shakes off the doubt. “I have to have hope that something, somewhere will help him. He needs me, and I can't give up on him. If I have to dedicate my life to finding these answers, and they still don't help him, even then it would have been a life well spent. If there is even one answer out there, Stave deserves it.”

She lays out her hand:

She arches an eyebrow for just a moment in surprise. “This,” she says, pulling on the chain so that a silver replica of her tattoo pops out from her shirt. Her eyes and voice take on a steamy, throaty quality. “This is a pimento of an old friend. A dear, close friend.” She leans forward, to give Barrett a better look 'at her necklace'. “You might even say, she was an… intimate friend.”

(After this hand - Kyle, let me know if this runs counter to some of the success/advantages you've been rolling.)

“You know, I had a thought,” K'arana began, leaning back on her bench. “Droid data banks are amazing things. So much information can be locked away inside of them. Information they aren't even aware of. It could be that some clues to the droid incident at the mine are tucked away inside that he isn't even aware of.” She reaches into her satchel and pulls out her DIM. “I have a module here that would interface almost perfectly with this model. If you'd let me, I could connect directly with the databanks and see if there's any little kind of clue, anything at all that might help me in my quest. What do you think?”

K'arana works really hard to suppress an eye roll, but fails. “This isn't a bolt. It's a tool used to help droid with corrupted sectors or locked databanks that they can't access themselves. It's completely read-only. It just allows someone to hook up to a datapad and run some diagnostics. See if there's anything hidden beneath the surface that the droid can't access. And it's fresh from the factory. I just opened it… after landing.” She pulls the packaging out of her satchel.

She survey's Barrett's face which is unchanged. “Here,” she places the DIM and datapad up-link cable in his hand. “If neither of you trust me, then I'm sure he trusts you enough to do it. I just need any info I can get on that mine.”

Everyone in the room becomes aware of a gruff voice coming from the other side of the door. All heads and lenses swivel towards it. “Is this the one? … Well, open it!” There is a beeping and booping, and the security door depressurizes. It opens a crack and you see the Bothan who had brought you here has returned. He looks tense.

The door swings open the rest of the way. Four men in black riot gear are standing there, heavily armed. “Which one?” the man in the lead barks at the Bothan. He raises a furry paw and points at K'arana. The man in black points his helmeted face at her. “Reporter! Come here. H'asan wants to tell you the truth about what has happened here!”

K'arana's face blanches and her jaw drops a little. “No, you don't understand. I'm not a reporter. I just-” The man in black indicates the hovercam they brought with them that she left before fleeing the seige.

“Come, you report to your subscribers about the truth of H'asan and the justice that was brought to the Tremma criminal today. You tell the world.” He makes a curt gesture and two of the men step into the room, reaching for K'arana. With her instance of warning, she's able to grab her satchel before the men have her gripped by the arms and drag her from the small bunker. “No! No! I'm not who you think I am! No!”

H'asan's men turn to leave, dragging K'arana with them. The Bothan looks back in the room and raises his paw again. His face says, 'Just keep cool.' He looks over his shoulder, then closes and seals the door again.

K'arana's ion blaster and jacket still remain.

One hour later, the Bothan returns, alone this time. He opens the door, then quickly helps you to navigate your way through the building to a back exit. He updates you on the situation as you dart down dark hallways. He's the only one to survive the siege. (Bothans are resilient that way.) H'asan's men looted the office for as much information as they could, but most of it was destroyed before they got the door open. They took the reporter woman to speak to H'asan directly. As a voice to the people, they wanted to treat her as kindly as possible.

The trio emerge onto the street, a couple buildings over from where you entered. This alley is private, but it's not hard to pick-up on a heavy police presence in the area. Barrett turns to thank the Bothan for saving them, but he has already melted into the shadows.