Interstellar Cruise Ship Scorpio - IC

[Enigma]

Interstellar Cruise Ship Scorpio
(Shuttle at Beaumonde, Port Charles)

"Gentles, good afternoon," beams a smiling fight attendent from the forward viewscreen and on the smaller screens mounted in the backs of the passenger seats. "This is the passenger shuttle for the Zodiac Interstellar Cruise ship Scorpio! We are taxing away from the terminal and should be lifting up shortly. Crew members are checking to make sure your seat belts are fasten. Please make sure that any loose items are stowed and any bags are tucked under your seat or in an overhead compartment. Your seats should be in the upright position and your serving trays closed at this time. Thank you!"

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(Mythic world of Zayas, Court Room)

The banging of the judge's gavel silenced the soft mutterings of the crowd. Everyone was looking at him, he knew. The verdict had never been in doubt - but the sentence, while traditional for this crime, had not been enacted for generations.

The judge paused for effect, then carefully intoned for the watching cameras and visitors, "Bring forth the prisoner."
__________________________________________________

(Shuttle, low orbit over Beaumonde, night side)

The last whisper of atmosphere faded away from the shuttle's hull as the contragrav coils lifted it into the inky black of space, the planet revolving slowly below their feet. There was a soft "bong" from the cabin speakers.

"Gentles, this is your pilot speaking. We are currently in a low orbit over Beaumonde, we hope you enjoyed your visit there. Those passengers wishing to experience free-fall, please signal your flight attendants for assistance. We will be spending the next thirty minutes in free fall as we swing closer to the Zodiac line's cruise ship Scorpio. We recommend that seatbelts remain fasten until you are directed to release them by a flight attendant, in the unlikely event we have to maneuver suddenly."
__________________________________________________

(Mythic world of Zayas, Court Room)

At the side of the courtroom, the tall doors swung open, revealing the prisoner in orange coveralls and paper shoes, standing quietly between two guards in their traditional uniforms of navy blue with silver pipping, their weapons gleaming in the bright lights. Their faces were hidden under the traditional executioner's hood. A soft muttering could be heard among the visitors. The blank, curious expression on her face was at odds with the screaming young woman who had weapt while fighting futily with the guards from being taken away after the sentence had been pronounced last week.

The guard on either side of her grabbed an arm and lifted her off her feet, making the prisoner squeel with surprise as they carried her in front of the judge's bench. She looked up at the judge with wide, blank eyes. He repressed a shudder.

"Has the prisoner's mind been wiped, as per the instructions of this court?"
"Yes, Your Honor!" the guard on her right said.
"Then you may withdraw with the thanks of this court."

The two guards came to attention, then took a step back. The seal under the prisoner's feet lit up, surrounding her with a soft, hissing field.

__________________________________________________

(Shuttle, low orbit over Beaumonde, day side)

"Gentles, on the forward viewscreens, you can see the Zodiac line's Interstellar Cruise Ship Scorpio," the fight attendant announced as the viewscreens flickered back to life. The gleaming starship shone with reflected light from Beaumonde's sun. "We will be docking in just a few minutes on the ship's port or 'left' side at Amidship's Reception on Deck 8, also known as 'The Life Deck'."

"For those of you who visiting us for the first time, the Scorpio is fourteen decks tall, containing our famous Skylight Park, eleven restaurants and consessions stands, seven bars and night clubs, a casino, art gallery, theme park, convention center, mall and of course, our pool area with four different sized pools filled with actual water. Gravity is maintained in all public areas to Earth Standard, but your cabin gravity can be set anywhere from 0.5 to 1.3 gravities for your comfort."

"The ship will be getting underway in three hours, continuing our year-long tour of twenty-three worlds before returning to Earth. Passengers who have toured all twenty-three worlds will receive a special certificate to commemorate their journey at the Journey's End Party."

__________________________________________________

(Mythic world of Zayas, Court Room)

"Prisoner," the judge intoned, leaning forward to glare sternly at the girl staring blankly back at him without comprehension. "For your crimes against your people, you have undergone the first part of your sentence - the death of personality. Now it is time for us to impose the second part of your sentence - banishment."

The crowd gasped.

"These are the last moments you will spend on the world of your birth. You are now no longer a citizen of Zayas. May the Ancesters watch over you."

He paused, then nodded slightly.

"Energize"

The seal under the prisoner's feet became a column of bright, silvery light. The girl vanished.

__________________________________________________

(Shuttle Portside Docking Station / Airlock, Deck 8 Midships)


There was a several echoing thumps as magnetic grapples locked onto the contragrav shuttle, then a tug to the right as they were reeled in. Two muted thumps sounded at either end as the shuttle pressed against the docking port collar, which hissed to silent life on the viewscreens.

There was another soft "bong" from the cabin speakers.

"Gentles, this is your pilot speaking again. The time is now 15:10, we have docked with the Scorpio. You may now unfasten your seat belts and move freely about the cabin. We ask everyone to check and make sure you have all your hand-carried bags and possessions with you when you exit the shuttle, the Zodiac Line will not be held liable for any lost or missing items. Those passengers boarding from Beaumonde, please report to the reception desk for your reservations. All checked luggage will be send to your rooms shortly."

"We hope you enjoy your stay with us!"

__________________________________________________

(Deck 11 - Ship's Laundry)

There was a shimmer of brillant light, then the prisoner found herself screaming wordlessly as she fell onto bags of dirty laundry. It took her a few moments to catch her breath. Finally, with a frown, she sat up and looked at the brushed metal walls and the mesh bags with room numbers stenciled on them. With a worried moan, she wiggled towards a gap on the edge, and slipped over the edge to land with a squawk in the Ship's Automated Laundry. The robot handling the laundry bags blinked at her then helped her to her feet with a scolding tone, then went back to picking up bags of laundry.

She looked around curiously at the robots, filling the washing machines, unloading the driers and working the steam presses. One of them came up behind her and beeped impatiently. She lept aside with a cry and stared widely at the robot, who slipped passed her with two bags of dirty laundry.

A robot working a steam table paused, then stepped away from its station.

"This is a crew service area, passengers are not to enter. Please follow me," it said, latching on her arm and leading her gently to the large door that slid open at their approach. The robot paused on the other side of the door, then led her to the nearest elevator. "You are currently on Deck Eleven, passenger decks are decks one through eight."

The first elevator opened at their approach. The robot gently guided the girl inside, the pointed to the buttons. "Please select your destination deck. Have a pleasant day."

With a bow and a slight florish, the robot backed out, the doors slipping shut.

The elevator waited for a moment, waiting for the passenger to pick a button. After a minute, the elevator bonged and headed up the amidship's vertical shaft to Deck 8.

__________________________________________________

(Mythic world of Zayas, Judge's Chambers)

There was a knock on the Judge's chamber doors. He looked up with a frown from placing his judicial wig on a head-stand, then called out, "Come in!"

The dark door slid open and a autocrastic gentleman stepped in.

"Lord Vargas!" the Judge blinked, stepping forward. "What an unexpected surprise! How are you today?"

"The Riva girl," Lord Vargas said impatiently. "Where did you send her?"
"Lord Vargas!" the judge rumbled in surprise. "Surely you're not here to protest about her being banished, are you?"
"My concern is merely to be sure that banishing her to some distant world will not reveal our own existance."
"Then you're in luck, because I did not banish her to a world."
"Eh?" Vargas demanded in surprise. "Beamed her into interstellar space? Well done!"
"No! We've been monitoring an Earth ship for a week since I passed my judgement. We beamed her into the heart of the ship. They'll have no idea where she could have possibly have come from. We are safe, my lord Vargas!"
"An Earth ship?" Vargas demanded, balling his fist.
"A cruise ship. They shuttle passengers to distant worlds."
"How... Earthican."
"Is there anything more, Lord Vargas?"

"No," Lord Vargas said, shaking the judge's hand. "Thank you very much!"

As the door slid shut behind him, Lord Vargas looked back, then pulled out his personal comm as he strode away.

"Shade, what is your location?"
"Beaumonde, I'm at the Grand Hotel in Port Charles. What is your instructions?"
"We have a problem; the target has been sent elsewhere."
"Elsewhere?"
"There is a ship in orbit...."
"There are several ships in orbit," Shade growled.
"How many cruise ships?"

Shade grunted, then responded, "One. The Scorpio."
"Your target is on that ship."
"Cruise ships are difficult. Security is tight..."
"That does not concern me."
"Diplomats and world leaders are not easy targets!"
"Then this should be easy for you. Your target is a stow-away. A girl with amnesia. I'm sending you her picture."
"You want me to abduct her?" Shade asked after a short pause.
"I want you to kill her!" Vargas snarled, his face contorted with rage. "I want her completely destroyed, assassin! Nothing left! Her ashes scattered to the four dimensions! Succeed, and I will reward you handsomely! But if you fail me human, you shall suffer as you never have before under the careful attentions of my staff! Remember, not even in death can you escape my revenge! Am I understood?"

There was a long pause.

"Understood."

[VerifyinTr1gIDs]

Michael Roa Valdamjong sat down on his bed, waiting for his luggage to come. He sighed and stood up. He paced around his fancy room for a while. His phone rang. He picked it up.

"Hello, Mr. President?"
"Yes?"
"I've been told to notify you that our blood-fried chicken sandwiches have been perfected and tested. They should be shipped out to restaurant chains on Rezerb within the next week."
"Great news. Thank you."
"Just my job."

Michael closed his phone.

Soon, there was a knocking on the door and he opened it. His two suitcases, one with his clothes and one with his endless supply of coupons for the company's new blood-fried chicken sandwiches, arrived.

"Thanks."

He took the two suitcases and put them against a wall in the room. He took his wallet and made his way down to the Art Gallery. There, he zoned out while staring at, "The Scream", a painting created by Edvard Munch.

[Sy23]

"...249...250...251...252"

The man with the deep chartreuse eyes rummaged in one of the pockets of his jumpsuit, and tipped the stewardess far more than her services warranted. Why not? Whatever else he lacked right now, money wasn't one of his problems. And he'd enjoyed watching her tight little ass as she sashayed along in front of him. He almost fancied she'd out a little more swing in it, just for him.

OK, so here it was. Not a new life, exactly, just a new chapter. He'd tried the navy, he'd tried hunting scalps, he'd tried piracy. This time he'd kick back, let a new challenge come to him. Fate couldn't possibly do a worse job than his own preferences when picking an occupation.

And he had time to decide. Time, for once, was his ally. The more of it that passed, the less likely it would be discovered he'd escaped from the chain gang, collected the huge pile of credits he'd banked under an assumed name, and booked his passage aboard this space-going mansion. Living in luxury, with no hassles, no looking over his shoulder, no superiors or jailers telling him what he should do, where he should be.

He'd probably be bored with this within a week, but right now it suited him to assume he'd come home at last. Security, peace, rest... as long as the ship lifted before a hue and cry could be raised.

He watched the stew undulate away, the memory of her grateful smile still lingering, and walked into the cabin, dumping his single grip-bag (he always travelled light) onto the bunk. The grav-omat was set at Terran level, and the air-con at a steady 25 degrees, just as he'd ordered when booking his ticket. The bottle of Zayan grain-blend was waiting on the bedside table, also as he'd ordered.

He took a look out of the portal - just a space-dock. he'd seen the same scene a thousand times, all over the cosmos, yet it never failed to give his heart a lift. It meant a take off - to somewhere. That's all that counted.

The rest of the cabin contained even less surprises. A threedee - he blessed the memory of the technician that discovered how to receive a signal in deep space - complete with its twelve speakers, all over the cabin. A bedside communicator, clothes press, climate and grav controls, lighting switches. All, of course, a lot more luxurious than he was used to - and considering his recent history, triply so!

He hoisted his bag onto the floor, and sprawled full-length on the bunk. He'd hole up in this luxury womb, until lift-off. After that - well, it would be a long flight, and stewardesses got as lonely as anyone...

[GraftRaven]

There was a crash and a clatter, and with a cacophony of similar sounds a grey-furred being dropped out of an access shaft below a completely smooth black oval (save for where the pointed and articulated landing gear had deployed) that functioned as a ship. The being stood, cursing fluently in a language uncommon to these parts as well as kicking some of the debris that had fallen with him around and brandishing a lit blowtorch and growling at anyone that tried to help him.

Of course Nemix was angry, he had just discovered the source of his ship's recent electrical problem, and the source had kicked him back down the access shaft. He grabbed a rivet gun off of a nearby cart, setting down the torch in its place, no pest was going to stow away on his ship and get out alive.

Minutes later what was left of a gammorean shock-toad fell out of the shaft, followed by Nemix, who was covered in green splatter and wearing a triumphant grin. After a good amount of time spent repairing the damages (from the toad, Nemix's fall, and the short fight that had taken place) Nemix bagged the toad's corpse and set it in the line of things for the incinerator, as was common practice, then made his way back to his room to wash the toad-slime off of himself.

(Feel free to interrupt him, if not I will post again in two or three posts.)

[VerifyinTr1gIDs]

"Earth paintings are so... expressive." Michael walked around the Art Gallery a little more.

[Azazeal849]

Daniel Doverton-Hawke reclined easily in his seat as the shuttle rose sedately through the atmosphere of Beaumonde, seemingly unconcerned as the G-force of the contragrav coils faded away and was replaced by the dizzying sensation of microgravity. He pulled the insulated packet of hot tea he had ordered free of the velcro strip securing it to his tray table, and took a sip. It was Ceylon, from the island of Sri Lanka on old Earth, no less. In fact, it was very good Ceylon, but to Daniel it never quite tasted right if it wasn’t served in a china cup. Or perhaps it was the variant atmosphere, soil and climate on his home planet that made the tea he was used to taste slightly different from the original, despite the same seeds and growing methods.

He carefully closed the valve on the drinking tube and watched as several passengers unbuckled themselves under steward supervision and began to glide slowly about the cabin, enjoying the novel feeling of weightlessness. Daniel did not join them - apart from it being rather improper for a true Londinian gentleman to go floating about like a moron, he already had enough experience of zero-G for his taste. He remembered, rather vividly, launching between the walls and ceilings of the experimental destroyer HMS Cunningham in pursuit of a New Cahaani agent who had sabotaged the ship’s artigrav minutes before an engine test, hoping to pancake the crew and leave the ship free for his compatriots to steal.

He took another sip, carefully resisting the temptation to glance in the direction of the man seated two rows ahead and to the left of him, the one dressed in a simple travelling jumpsuit. His memory was as close to eidetic as a human’s got, and he had already matched the wiry frame and deep yellow-green eyes of the man to the photograph his SIS contact had given him back at Port Charles.

Half an hour later the shuttle manoeuvred carefully into its airlock berth, the artigrav field of the Scorpio gradually adjusting the passengers back to Earth standard as they were reeled in. Daniel retrieved his cane and hat, binned the empty thermos packet, and pulled his briefcase from the overhead locker. As he headed for the airlock he walked carefully to let his legs adjust to the new gravity, which was slightly lower than that of Beaumonde. He stepped aside to allow two young women with tanned complexions to pass, then followed the rest of the passengers through the airlock and into the sumptuously decorated reception area. The designers of the Scorpio had clearly wanted to waste no time in impressing new arrivals, and almost immediately after the double airlock he found himself surrounded by intricately carved wood panelling and soft red and gold carpets.

Daniel was careful to keep his target in sight as he collected his key and took the elevator with him and a dozen other passengers up to deck 2. Ahead of him he could hear the man with the yellow-green eyes counting the cabins as he walked.

"...249...250...251...252."

The same deck as Daniel himself, and only 20-odd cabins down. Now that was lucky. Daniel smiled inwardly, and kept on walking. The man looked up at him as he passed. Daniel merely touched the silver tip of his cane to his hat brim in polite acknowledgement and carried on towards his own assigned cabin, not looking back.

[Sy23]

Kes should have been totally relaxed. The last shuttle had docked, and there was no sign of the authorities coming aboard. He was home free. And yet...

There was a tingling in his psyche, a feeling of disquiet. He had seen nothing consciously, nothing he could place. Yet somewhere, in the deep recesses of the right side of his brain, there was a nagging feeling. Like a nightmare, when you can't remember the content, but know it was of awesome and evil significance.

And he hadn't even spoken to anyone yet - except flirt with the stew, and she'd hardly be a threat! The only other person he'd seen had been that blue-eyed guy with the silver-handled cane, and they hadn't even spoken.

Was there something he'd missed, some track he'd failed to cover, some spoor he'd left? He doubted it. Covering his tracks was one of his specialties...

And yet...

And yet...

He shrugged. Well, one thing was for sure. There was no way he was going to stay barricaded in his cabin the whole flight. If there was some stone he'd left unturned, it'd come to him soon enough. It was time to get out into the public areas, see what talent was around...

[VerifyinTr1gIDs]

Michael walked around the art gallery a bit more before deciding that he should start passing out coupons. He went back to his room and took about, fifty coupons or so, and went down to the mall. He sat down at a random bench and watched the people walk by.

[Enigma]

"Captain on deck!"

On the bridge of the Scorpio, the crew snapped to attention as Captain Sharp entered the compartment, his spaceman's eye running over the stations with practice ease.

"Carry on," he instructed, moving over to his Bridge chair. "Officer of the Deck, what is your report?"
"Sir, we have one late passenger arriving in his own craft who should be docking in ten minutes. All others are aboard and the ship's passenger shuttles are secured."
"One late passenger?" the captain rumbled. "Did he miss the shuttles?"
"No sir," the OOD said. "He ah, apparently decided at the last moment he wanted to take a cruise."
"I hope we applied late fees. Who is this fellow, anyway?"
"John Paris...."
"The diplomat?" The captain stiffened, eyes wide.
"His son, sir."
"Oh," muttered the captain as he settled back in his chair. "Him."
"Yessir."
"He's taken one of the Nova cabins, hasn't he?"
"Yessir."
"He'll be sitting at the Captain's table tonight then, blast it!"

He slumped, then suddenly straightened. "How long before we can get underway?"
"Our slot opens in one hour, sir."
"Blast it, we can't leave him. Nothing for it then. Messenger!"
"Sir!" squeaked a crewman, running forward and saluting.
"Captain's compliments to Lieutenant Phoenix, please arrange for a mix of passengers at my table tonight, 7 PM sharp."
"Well, what you standing here for, boy!" the captain roared. The messenger squeaked, snapped off a salute and ran off the bridge.
__________________________________________________

The elevator slid open, revealing a beautiful domed park. The steward saluted and nodded to his right, saying "This way, sir!"

John Paris II nodded, following the steward and his luggage cart out and around to the Nova Star cabins, the best offered by the Zodiac line.
"Sir, you're in cabin three," the Steward said, pausing at the door for the assassin to slide in his keycard. When the lock buzzed, he wheeled the cart inside.

The room was enormous, a virtual cave. A master bedroom and bath to his left, a den that could be converted easily enough to a second bedroom, a guest bathroom, and a large central area with leather couches, low table, bearskin rugs, a small bar/kitchenette and a view of the stars. There was even a baby grand piano under a chandeller, next to a faux fireplace.

"Where do you want me...." the Steward asked disapprovingly as he reached for John Paris' rather plain, rugged cases.
"Just leave them there," he ordered, turning towards the steward.
"As you wish, sir," sniffed the steward, offering his omni. "The captain extends his compliements and invites you to dinner tonight at his table, 7 o'clock sharp in the Constellation Dining room."

The assassin nodded, tapping the steward's omni to credit a tip that made the steward's eyes gleam.
"Well sir," he said with enthusiasm, "if there's anything more I can...."
"No, I would like to be alone now."
"Oh, yes sir. Of course sir."

John Paris sighed as the door closed. He crossed over to the bar and dialed in an order for Whiskey. A crystal glass slid out into the dispenser and filled with the amber liquid. Taking it, he stepped over to the nearest couch and sat down heavily. Taking a deep draft, he set the glass down and sighed.

"Secure the room."
There was a pause, then the AI on his wrist replied, "The room is secured. All listening devices disabled."
"Display the target."
"As you command," his AI replied. A holographic projection shot out from his Omni.
"Wait... I know her!"
"Sir?"
"It's her!" he snarled angrily. "I don't know how or why, but it's her!"

He stood up and grinned.
"I think I'm going to enjoy this kill very much."
__________________________________________________

Lieutenant Phoenix frowned. The captain wanted a mix of passengers at his table tonight? She wondered if it had something to do with the new Nova passenger. She shrugged, then had the ship select names at random - Nemix K'Aras, Ava Westmore, Llewellyn Caesaro, Daniel Doverton-Hawke, Michael Roa Valdamjong.

Moments later, the ship's network sent out the invitations to each of them for dinner at the Captain's table, tonight at 7 PM Ship's Time.
__________________________________________________

The doors swept open, and a group of people stepped in, talking to each other. They saw her and stopped, still smiling. The Wanderer blinked and smiled shyly back. They turned their backs to her, continuing to talk among themselves as the doors slid closed and the elevator started moving upwards. A few glanced back at her in her orange coveralls and paper slippers and giggled.

The elevator slowed and stop, the doors slipped open and they left without a backwards glance. She glanced curiously through the opening at the few people moving outside the small room when the doors slid closed and the elevator moved up again. The Wanderer moved closer to the doors. When they opened again, she was ready. She popped out, then ducked under her arms as those waiting streamed passed her.

The Wanderer heard the doors behind her slide shut and slowly uncurled as she looked behind her. A small boy standing near by was laughing at her. The Wanderer smiled, then moved away from the elevators and the curious looks people were giving her. There was a flow of bodies going one way, she let herself drift along, taking in the strange and curious sights.
__________________________________________________

"Sir, we've reached the safety boundary," the Officer of the Deck announced over the bridge circuit.
"Time?"
"18:11 hours, sir."
"On my way."

It was just a few minutes later that Captain Sharp stepped onto the bridge, wearing his formal Dining Jacket.
"Are we ready for transition?" he barked.
"Yessir!"
"Make the five minute announcement to the passengers and crew."
"Aye, aye, sir!"


"Gentles, good evening", the calm, assured voice of the Voice of Scorpio stated. "The time is now 6:18 PM and the Scorpio is about to make the transition to Interspace Warp. At this time, we ask that you secure any loose items and to be prepared for a slight jolt as we begin transition. We will be seven days in transition with our next call being the Red Mountains beanstalk on Shilnon."


"Engine room, this is the Captain," barked Sharp over the Engineering curcuit.
"Aye Captain!" the Cheif Engineer responded, rolling his eyes slightly.
"You ready to make the transition?"
"Yes sir, our panel is green."
"Any worries about our containment vessel?"
"No sir! No dings and I'm not looking to make any!"

A green crew member sweeping in a corner frowned and leaned over to whisper "dings?" at the closest console operator.
"We've got a piece of dark matter in the containment vessel. It's not all here, the rest is in hyperspace. When we start transition, we shove our piece deeper into hyperspace and it drags the ship with it."
"I know that! But nobody said anything about 'dings' in school."
"It's when we come out. If we transition too fast or too close to a sizable mass, the fragment swells as more of it follows us into normal space. Sometimes it becomes big enough to ding containment."
"Is that a big problem?"
"No, we're careful and our dampeners prevent full incursion."
"Full incursion?"
"You remember in school how they said two masses can't occupy the same space?"
"Yeah...?"
"They were right," the operator grinned nastily.
"If you two are quite done over there...!" the Chief Engineer demanded. "Transition countdown in five, four, three, two..."


The Scorpio shuddered slightly, followed by a moment where everyone felt like they were being stretched...


"Successful transition sir!" the Officer of the Deck said, smiling at Captain Sharp. Through the view ports, the stars were moving noticeably. One slid off the edge of the screen.
"I expected no less," Sharp nodded. He sighed as he rose from his chair, glancing at the time. 18:33 - 6:33 PM for the passengers. Any moment now the passengers were going to make a rush for the buffet lines and dining rooms. Except those 'adventurous' types who heard all the hype about 'transition sex' - the crew always did a pool on how many room service orders there would be during a transition.

He picked 57.

"Officer of the deck, as per the instructions of our 'Lords and Masters', I will be on the Promenade deck to reassure our passengers that everything is fine before I head up to the Constellation Dining Room to do the same for our high-paying ones. Let me know if there's anything of concern."
"Aye, Aye Sir!"

[GraftRaven]

Nemix stepped out of the small shower in his room, his fur soaked through and in need of drying but happy to have the smell of grease and shock-toad off of himself. He made a mental note to find away around the gravity limits later as he picked up his Omni, noticing the new message. Dinner with the captain? Well at least it was a sign that the crew knew nothing of who he was, or else he would never be allowed near the captain. Nemix looked up at the time, past 18:30 already and he had all of his fur to dry...

Nearly 20 minutes later Nemix exited his cabin, mostly dry save for a lingering dampness in his tail, and wearing a crimson high-necked vest, a pair of formal slacks, a pair of semi-formal shoes, and a different pair of arm-warmers that were a plain black. After all, first impressions were important and Nemix was going for at least "interesting" tonight. He started off towards the nearest elevator at a quick pace, tail swaying all the way to try and dry off a bit, and made it up to deck 3 where the dining was in almost no time at all. He showed his Omni to the hostess, was pointed towards the Captain's table, and told that he would arrive shortly. Nemix thanked her and headed over to the short but well stocked bar and picked a stool before ordering a rum and cola, light on the rum for the moment, then watched and waited for the Captain to show up.

(If any changes are needed say so.)

[VerifyinTr1gIDs]

Michael was still at the mall. "Hmm, I wonder what time it is..." He looked at his intergalactic watch, which even the narrator of this probably insufficient paragraph cannot comprehend how the watch works. It seemed to say 6:35 PM. "I'd best be going back to my room for dinner." So, Michael went back to his room and picked up a notification about going to the captain's table at 7:00 PM, "earth time, at some random time zone". He lies on the bed until 6:45 before going to the captain's table.

After he had arrived at the table, he saw a large empty table. "I'm the first person here?" He sat down at some random chair.

After a while, the steward came by and softly whispered, "Could you stand up when the captain comes?".

"I'm guessing that's Earth etiquette. Sure."

[Azazeal849]

Daniel was down on deck 4, seated in one of the benches along the promenade. He knew now where his target was but couldn’t act on that information until at least tonight when the crowds died down, and didn’t want to arouse the target’s suspicion by seeming to hang around for too long. He had already swept his well furnished cabin for bugs - of which there were none of course, but it did no harm to be methodical - and planted a couple of his own, so the only thing left to do was change into a plain evening suit and head down to the communal decks to relax for a bit.

Ostensibly he was sitting reading the news from a complimentary holo-slate, but his agent’s mind never quite switched off and he kept noting details of the people who walked past, assessing them out of the corners of his eyes.

Human, male, 25 to 35, expensive-looking Omni. Married, judging by the ring on his finger. Young couple, early 20’s, headed for the Grand Buffet dining room. Both slightly flushed - either they’ve been drinking or they’ve been enjoying the warp transition together in their cabin. Hands in each other’s back pockets suggests the latter.

It was these idle, automatic observations that caused him to notice the young humanoid meandering through the crowd. Even to a casual observer she would have stood out in her bright orange jumpsuit, but what Daniel noticed was the aimless way she wandered across the promenade, turning one way and then back the other according to the ebb and flow of the crowd. Daniel got up and carefully manoeuvred through the press of humans and aliens towards her. As he approached, he noted with some surprise that the girl wasn’t wearing an Omni.

“Excuse me, miss.” he said to the girl, “Are you alright?” He spoke in English, still the international trade language on most human worlds and therefore the one aliens were most likely to know. His speech was softened by his rich Londinian accent.

The alien didn’t reply, only smiled shyly as if she did not understand him. She wasn’t tripping on any narcotics that Daniel could detect, so the probable reason for her meandering was that she was simply lost.

“Here.” he said, tapping the holo-slate to bring up a map of the ship and handing it to the young alien with a kind smile. Again, the alien’s only response was a shy grin. Daniel doffed his hat to her with the tip of his cane and walked on.

Very strange. Still, he was expected up in the captain’s dining room at 7, and it would take him fifteen minutes to walk there from his current position on deck 4. He didn’t know why the captain had summoned him personally - indeed it seemed highly irregular - but for a Londinian gentleman such as himself it was generally considered inexcusable to be late for a dinner appointment.

He arrived five minutes early, and took a moment to cast an appreciative eye around the lavishly decorated captain’s table before moving to join the two aliens who had got there before him, who were making introductions.

[Sy23]

"With any luck" thought Kes, "They'll be some gorgeous Persephonian Houri, or one of the feline women form the planet Skhkreee, or the a Drakona girl - they say they have two, er, thingies... in any case, sitting at the Skip's table might be interesting. I'd better back-pedal on the naval talk, though. A Captain's bound to figure out I'm ex-navy - could bring up all sorts of awkward questions!"

He'd changed into his new Zirconium jumpsuit, the height of masculine fashion, and remembered to carefully secrete the small porta-stun in an inside pocket, just for emergencies. As he approached the table, he gave a wry grin. That guy with the cane - why wasn't he surprised he'd found his way to the Skip's table. And two aliens... hmm, nothing there suitable for passing the nighttime hours. Still, the night was young. Who knew what might turn up...

[Enigma]

All sorts of beings were in the corridor, mostly humans but there were a few aliens. They mostly ignored each other as they made their way.

“Excuse me, miss," said a tall man in a bowler hat, “Are you alright?”

The Wanderer turned and smiled at the strange man. Daniel looked close at her, then brought up the device he had.

“Here,” he said, tapping the holo-slate to bring up a map of the ship and handing it to the young alien with a kind smile. Daniel doffed his hat to her with the tip of his cane and walked on.

The Wanderer frowned, turning to watch the man walk away, then turned back to holo-slate Daniel had left her. Someone bumped into her and the holo-slate went flying out of her hands. She cried out, chasing after it as it got kicked from side to side by passing passengers.

It did not go unnoticed.

______________________________________________

"Sir, you better come have a look at this," the security officer sitting at the camera monitors said.

"Where is this?" his superior asked, watching the humanoid girl moving erratically through the crowd.
"Promenade amid-ships, sir."
"Orange coveralls? Looks like prison-wear. We're not transporting any criminals, are we?"
"Nobody in lockup, sir."
"Detail two security guards to question her."
"Yes sir!"

______________________________________________

In the Constellation Dining Room, John Paris Jr. a.k.a. "Shade the Assassin" appeared in the doorway, a few minutes before seven wearing a tuxedo. A waiting steward directed him to the bar to wait for the captain. He knew he should be looking for the girl - but this gave him a chance to mingle and pick up some information. And partially to piss off his hidden masters.

There were three others waiting, two aliens and another human who looked oddly familiar. Familiar people weren't always friendly. Shade stiffened slightly as he mentally reviewed the locations of his weapons on his person as he joined them.

"Good evening," he introduced himself lightly with a smile. "My name's John Paris Junior. I take it you three are also the guests of the Captain tonight?"

His eyes swept the two aliens, then turned towards Daniel. The silver-headed cane the Londinium carried could do some damage. Shade wondered if it was also a concealed weapon? But the bowler hat bothered him.

"Excuse me," he said to Daniel, "But by any chance, are you from Londinium?"

[Azazeal849]

Daniel saw the newcomer stiffen – so slightly that most people would have missed it – and it took him a conscious effort not to do the same. The man in front of him was a ghost. To most people he was the eccentric son of an Earth ambassador, who had caused a massive scandal on Londinium via an alleged affair with the Dutchess of Kentshire's youngest daughter, before vanishing into deep space for two years only to return just as suddenly and retire from public life as a taciturn recluse.

To the SIS, who made it their business to know something about everyone and shared limited information with their Earth equivalent, the TID, he was a rogue Terran agent who had been spotted working for several different organisations over the past several years. He had been reported dead at least once, but that information had evidently been false because he had reappeared in the employ of a Jiangyin cartel not long after. An SIS agent and her TID contact had last tracked him fleeing the murder scene of a prominent corporate executive, but Paris had given them both the slip, and that had been 8 months ago.

"Good evening," he introduced himself lightly with a smile. "My name's John Paris Junior. I take it you three are also the guests of the Captain tonight?"

“John Paris...junior?” Daniel repeated, pretending not to fully recognise the man, “The son of the Terran ambassador? How good to see you returning to the public life at last, an honour to meet you sir.”

He shook Paris' proffered hand. The man looked strikingly similar to his father, John Paris Senior, only with a grimmer cast to his features – hollowed cheeks and wary, slightly sunken eyes that made him appear older than he was. Behind his polite mask, Daniel's mind was working overtime. He had no orders regarding Paris – why should he? The man had been off the SIS radar for months now – but his appearance here could not be simple coincidence. Having noticed that his target Caesaro was also present for the formal dinner, Daniel began to wonder what was going on.

"Excuse me," said Paris, "But by any chance, are you from Londinium?"

Daniel smiled slightly, still keeping up his practiced facade. “Was it the accent? Yes sir, I am. Daniel Doverton-Hawke, historian and archaeologist.”

[GraftRaven]

Nemix nodded politely in confirmation of the latest arrival's suspicions that they were guests at the captain's table tonight. The only reason he did not speak was because he recognized the man, a while ago he had been briefed on a mission, and that mission had included this man, supposedly he was a part-time assassin, though his cover was thick enough to deflect everything but suspicion.

He set down hos drink and, on the pretext of adjusting his arm warmers, brushed over the twin blade mechanisms concealed there, a nervous habit. There was no way anyone was getting the drop on him tonight. He picked his drink up again and sipped at it nonchalantly. He made his way to the only other non-human guest. "Suppose we should get to know each other, I'm Nemix." He offered a hand to shake.

[Enigma]

"A historian and an archaeologist," John Paris nodded. "Interesting."

It could be a cover - but then having attended Londinium schools in his youth, it was utterly plausible.

"I'm just here as a tourist myself," he lied with a smile. "Helps that I have a few shares in the line."

The one called Nemix was introducing himself to the other alien.
"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Nemix and...?" he hinted at the other alien.

[VerifyinTr1gIDs]

"Oh, I'm Michael." He shook Nemix's hand while looking back and forth between Nemix and ... John Paris, was it?

[Sy23]

Kes felt he had certainly been in happier situations.

He knew it was an honor to be chosen to sit at the Captain's table - and an accustomed one at that. He'd sat with the Captain plenty of times on active service, but always with the consciousness that it as master and servant. Now, as a passenger, and, technically, the Captain's employer, he didn't know how to react. He hoped his confusion didn't show.

And to make things worse, there was not a single attractive woman at the table. Well, not a human woman, anyway! With many species of aliens he was never sure...

He went through the ritual of introduction, telling them as little about himself as he could. He'd always used fake names when doing anything outside of the law, so was able ti use his own name with impunity. If they remembered his brief celebrity from the time of the test flight, he'd simply feign a headache, leave, and take the rest of his meals in his cabin. Though, surely, had the skipper known who he was, he wouldn't have invited him in the first place... too much potential for embarrassment all round.

He broke a piece of bread, and took a small sip of wine. There was something else nagging at him too... if only he could put his finger on it...

[Enigma]

At the doorway to the Constellation Dining Room, Captain Sharp paused, just out of sight as he made a last minute adjustment to his dining jacket before giving the nod to the steward.

The steward pressed a button on his control board, signaling the band to start playing the Zodiac Line march as a spotlight lit up the entrance, just as the captain stepped into it.

"Gentles, the Captain is on the Deck!" the steward announced with a flourish.

"Why's my table empty?" Captain Sharp asked, smiling at the passengers in their finery.
"Your guests are at the bar, sir. I'll send them over," the steward said, ducking behind the captain and headed to the group standing at the bar.

"Gentles," the steward greeted the humans and aliens, clapping his hands together. "The Captain has arrived. Please follow me to the Captain's table."

"This should be 'fun'," John Paris smirked, holding a glass of whiskey as he followed the steward.

Captain Sharp eyed the party gravely as they approached, then sat down.

"Gentlemen, you may be seated," he said. John Paris took the seat on the captain's left.
"Mr. Paris, good evening. I knew your father, a good man. How is he?"
"In very good health the last time I saw him," John replied, downing his whiskey then waving at a server to fetch another. Two pills he took before leaving his stateroom would nullify the alcohol - really a waste of good whiskey. But if it looked like he was back at his playboy ways, the more likely they would discount him later.


Then captain scowled at him on cue, then turned to his other guests. "Gentles, if you would introduce yourselves...?"


Below in the Promenade deck, the Wanderer was still chasing after the holo-slate when she ran head-first into a tall, muscular wall. With a surprised cry, she fell backwards, looking up at the two security guards.

"Ma-am, are you alright?" the guard on the left asked.

The Wanderer frowned, then began sliding backwards, away from the two men.

"Hey!" the two men said, diving for her. She rolled to her feet and ran, one paper slipper falling off her foot.

[Azazeal849]

Daniel removed his hat and sat down at the captain's table on command.

"Gentles, if you would introduce yourselves...?"

"Daniel Doverton-Hawke of New Yorkshire, Londinium." Daniel began, "And it's an honour, captain. If I may, to what do we owe the pleasure of dining with you tonight?"

[Sy23]

The person who introduced himself to the Captain, under the name "Llewellyn Caesaro" was a computer records clerk and amateur holo-tennis fanatic, who had been saving for three years for this trip of a lifetime. He was obviously none too successful with the ladies, and with a social nervousness bordering on the gauche. He was honored beyond words to be seated at the Captain's table, but slightly worried as to who was steering the craft while the Captain was at dinner - and he hoped the other diners would pardon his ignorance, but he knew absolutely nothing about spaceships!

It was a cover story he'd rehearsed carefully, the only thing accurate about it being his name - since he'd served in the navy and followed later, less respectable careers, under other names.

He half thought about sending his gazpacho soup back, on the grounds that it was cold, but decided this would be gilding the lily. He made a mental note to use at least one wrong set of cutlery through the meal, though, just to be on the safe side.

[Enigma]

"Daniel Doverton-Hawke of New Yorkshire, Londinium." Daniel began, "And it's an honour, captain. If I may, to what do we owe the pleasure of dining with you tonight?"

"Thank you. The Chief Steward has the computers pick passengers at random, although," Captain Sharp added, momentarily glancing at John Paris who was already downing his second whiskey, "Passengers in our Nova cabins get first preference. Most nights I have absolutely no idea who will be sitting at this table when I get here."

The person who introduced himself to the Captain, under the name "Llewellyn Caesaro" was a computer records clerk and amateur holo-tennis fanatic, who had been saving for three years for this trip of a lifetime. He was obviously none too successful with the ladies, and with a social nervousness bordering on the gauche. He was honored beyond words to be seated at the Captain's table, but slightly worried as to who was steering the craft while the Captain was at dinner - and he hoped the other diners would pardon his ignorance, but he knew absolutely nothing about spaceships!

"Not at all, Mr. Caesaro," Captain Sharp replied, fixing a slightly pained professional smile on his face. Why couldn't that blasted computer have selected at least one woman to be here? "We have a bridge crew standing rotating watches, even in Interspace, and they monitor the ship's systems and ensure we're on our programmed course. If there's any problem, they'll contact me."

A phone buzzed under the table.

"Rather like that, actually," Captain Sharp replied, a little surprised as he reached under the table cloth to unhook the brass and ebony handset.

"Usually they just page me on my Omni," he told his guests. "But it's customary to use the phone when I'm at dinner or in my cabin."

"What is it, Bridge?" he demanded into the handset."
"Sir, sorry to interrupt you..." the slightly faint voice of the Officer of the Deck began, crackling over the sound-powered network.
"Spill it."
"Sir, we've found a stowaway."
"A stowaway? On my ship? Are you sure?" he demanded
"She's not on the passenger manifest, sir. Security says she was wandering on the Promenade deck in a prison outfit...."
"Promenade deck in a prison outfit?" Sharp roared, momentarily forgetting where he was. John Paris choaked, spraying the table with whiskey while all conversation nearby stopped.
"We're not holding any prisoners, are we?"
"No sir!"
"So where is she from? Don't tell me those idiots back at Port Charles lost control of a prisoner!"
"Security didn't say, sir. They've taken her down to Sickbay...."
"Sick bay! What the hell happened?"
"They want the doctor to take a look at her, sir. She doesn't speak and seems confused!"

The Captain swore an oath that would turn a space pirate pale.

"Tell Security I'm coming down," he ordered, then hung up the phone.

"If you would excuse me, gentles," he growled as he stood up.
"Actually..." drawled John Paris, playing the bored playboy to the hilt, "This is the first time I've ever heard of someone stowing aboard. Why don't we join you? If you gentles don't mind?"
"Mr. Paris, this is hardly...."
"Please Captain, just think of the stories that Mr. Caesaro could share with his workmates when he gets back! Or Mr. Doverton at his club? Or these others? While they might not be used to the pleasures aboard ship, I am somewhat all too familiar with them and look forward to something else to divert myself with."

"And besides," Paris drawled, a triumphant smirk on his face, "as I own ten percent of the Zodiac shares...."
"You're a shareholder?" Captain Sharp demanded, turning pale.
"An investment for my... retirement."
"Very well then," the captain spat. "Gentles, if you would follow me?"

[Azazeal849]

"Thank you. The Chief Steward has the computers pick passengers at random, although," Captain Sharp added, momentarily glancing at John Paris who was already downing his second whiskey, "Passengers in our Nova cabins get first preference. Most nights I have absolutely no idea who will be sitting at this table when I get here."

“A lottery?” Daniel smiled, “I can imagine it adding some...excitement to your day, captain.”

The computers pick the guests, his mind raced behind the smile, Well, computers could be hacked. Perhaps tonight's oddly-convenient mix of guests was indeed no coincidence.

As he took a small sip from the water glass that had been set for him, Daniel flicked his gaze between his target, Caesero, and the wild card, Paris. The rogue TID operative was downing 18-year-old Scotch in straight shots – a criminal waste of good whiskey. As a callback to the carelessly extravagant playboy days that the others seated at the table would most likely know him for, it was an excellent cover; but Daniel doubted that the agent would allow himself to ingest a debilitating quantity of alcohol without taking some sort of antidote beforehand. Sure enough, John Paris displayed none of the red flush that should have begun to show in his face by now if the alcohol really was taking effect. It was a common tactic for agents in both the SIS and the TID, putting their opponents off-guard with apparent drunkenness, only to snap to action perfectly sober at the crucial moment. Personally, Daniel usually opted to remain tee-total – partly because the counterholic pill was a recognised tactic whose signs might be spotted by an experienced enemy agent, and partly because his usual cover story as a stuffy Londinian gentleman gave him an excuse to refrain from drinking anyway.

Caesero was good as well, better than Daniel had expected. His cover was almost perfect, down to picking up the wrong cutlery when the starter arrived as if nervous or inexperienced in naval dining etiquette. Any genuine nervousness he was feeling was effortlessly passed off as that of a slightly awkward youth unused to mixing with new and distinguished company. If he had not been informed in advance, even Daniel might not have worked out who he really was. Except for one detail – the tiny tubular bulge in the inside breast pocket of the man's zirconium jumpsuit, suggestive of the barrel of a gun. A very small gun, but a gun nonetheless. Caesero was armed. No innocent civilian would smuggle a weapon onto the Scorpio, and they certainly wouldn't bring it to the captain's table. Idly, Daniel wondered how the smuggling had been accomplished. Bribing a guard? No, that was too risky. A plastic gun, that wouldn't show up on the metal detectors at Port Charles? Perhaps. Manufacturing plastics of sufficient toughness was tricky, but possible. An x-ray-shielded briefcase, such as the one Daniel himself used? Maybe. A pirate needed somewhere to hide their prized possessions, after all.

Daniel talked at length with the the alien called Michael, and watched with polite interest as the captain exchanged words with Caesaro, the former trying valiantly to hide his ever-increasing exasperation. And then the disturbance came.

“That sounds like a girl I met down there just half an hour ago.” said Daniel, the surprise in his voice genuine this time, “I thought she was lost.”

“Actually...” drawled John Paris, playing the bored playboy to the hilt, “This is the first time I've ever heard of someone stowing aboard. Why don't we join you? If you gentles don't mind?”

That immediately set alarm bells ringing in Daniel's mind. Paris' justification was tenuous at best, but his tone was insistent. What did the rogue agent want with this girl? Daniel might not have any orders on the matter, but here was something that needed looking into. He kept the silver-topped cane with the concealed needler held lightly but firmly in his hand as he got up and followed the others, being sure to stay within arm's reach of both Caesaro and Paris.

[Sy23]

"Well, this is exciting," said Kes. In fact, it was more relieving than anything. A whole evening spent making small talk with strangers - and having to watch every second that he didn't inadvertently reveal his naval background - was not his idea of a fun time. And with not a woman in sight into the bargain... at least this stowaway or whatever she was might be worth looking at.

And he had other problems, too. That Doverton-Hawke guy had been looking at him suspiciously, and the expression on the Londinian's face - one that said "I've got you filed, docketed and receipted, my lad" gave Kes a squeezed feeling in the guts. He was racking his mind frantically, wondering if they'd met before. Did he owe the guy money? Had he dallied with his daughter or sister - or mother, come to that? Had he worked a scam on him.

All in all, the Captain's Table was a lottery prize he wished he hadn't won. Yes, indeed, a trip out to the corridor to see this stowaway was a most welcome interlude. He flung his napkin down on his plate, and tagged on eagerly.

[Enigma]

The elevator dinged softly as the doors slid open onto the Life Deck. The mid-deck reception area was mostly empty, only the one live crewman standing his post at the Hotel Reception desk. He stiffed as he caught sight of the Captain.

"This way, Gentles," growled Captain Sharp, waving the party to the left.

Around the corner was the door to sickbay. It slid open at their approach, revealing an empty waiting room.

"Sir?" called out a nurse at her station. "The prisoner is back here."
"Thank you," Sharp nodded.

He frowned when he stepped into the hospital ward and saw the guard stationed next to the quarantine room. Sharp glanced back at the passengers that had followed him, then stormed over.

"Guard, why is the prisoner in quarantine?" he demanded.
"That would be my doing," a voice interrupted. The doctor and the girl were staring at them through the window. He was wearing a full-encounter suit.
"This is merely a precaution," the doctor crackled via the sickbay loudspeaker. "We're running tests to see if she has any unusual viruses or bacterium to account for her condition."
"And just what exactly is her condition?" Sharp growled warningly.
"Amnesia."
"Amnesia?"
"She doesn't speak any known language, so I thought I do the blood tests before we put her through the body scanner."

Paris stepped past the others to stare hungrily at the girl in the window. It was her! Revenge was soon to be his!

[VerifyinTr1gIDs]

"Oh, crud!" Michael stood up, coming out of his trance, since he was told to stand up when the captain came, but since he noticed that the captain, and all the other guests, already left, he looked around and sat back down. "A fast food president shouldn't daydream about a blitzball (Final Fantasy 10 reference) match" He sighed and facepalmed.

[Azazeal849]

“That's definitely her.” Daniel offered, “Poor girl, I had no idea that she was amnesic and not just lost.”

As he pretended to stare at the girl through the bulletproof glass, he caught Paris' expression out of the corner of his eye, and didn't like it one bit. What the reason was he couldn't fathom, but the fact that a dangerous rogue agent wanted the girl was reason enough to deny him. At least until he found out what was really going on.

[Sy23]

"Kind of cute," thought Kes, irrelevantly, trying hard not to stare. She'd have looked better in a swimsuit, of course, or an evening dress. Hell, even a sweater and jeans would have been an improvement. Those orange coveralls were not a good look. Nor, for that matter, was the look on her face - blank, yet wild, like she was not only lost, but had forgotten she had ever not been. And the paper slippers were just plain ridiculous!

Yet under it all, she was a looker, of sorts. Even allowing for how long it had been since he'd truly appreciated a woman. The vulnerability of her position made her somehow appealing, like you wanted to scoop her up and carry her to safety, fighting off Sarnuzian winged dragons en route.

Kes stole a glance at the man named Paris. He didn't like the look he saw there. It was at once predatory and self-satisfied, as if Paris had the power to punish the girl simply for being lost. The look of smug, self-righteous authority, the we're-doing-this-for-your-own-good expression that meant that some sadistic punishment was on the way. The look that would not take well, I'd rather you didn't thanks as an answer.

Poor girl.

[Enigma]

The faintest of scowls appeared on John Paris' face. The girl didn't recognize him. He'd changed somewhat since he'd seen her last, but she didn't look a day older.

Unconsciously, his fist balled up at his side. It wasn't fair - everything he suffered through, and she was completely oblivious. The mere sight of him should have been enough to strike fear into her heart, making her sleepless wondering when and how he was going to take his revenge for the hell she'd put him through.

"Is it permanent?" he demanded. "No hope for recovery?"

The doctor behind the window frowned.
"We don't know," he admitted. "More tests might lead us to a break through, but we're not set up for anything on this level."

[Azazeal849]

"Is it permanent?" he demanded. "No hope for recovery?"

The wheels in Daniel's calculating mind continued to turn as the conversation unfolded. Why would Paris want the girl to recover? Was she an ally rather than an enemy? No, his body language told differently. Perhaps someone he wanted to interrogate? Had someone erased her memory to keep the information from him? Had she done it herself? Daniel had heard rumours of such devices, variations on the New Cahaani brain scanner powerful enough to eradicate an agent's memory in case capture was inevitable. At the present time the SIS had no solid evidence that New Cahaan agents were actually employing such devices, but that didn't mean that the devious Cahaani hadn't somehow managed to pull a fast one on their Londinian counterparts.

"We don't know," the doctor admitted. "More tests might lead us to a break through, but we're not set up for anything on this level."

Daniel carefully arranged his features into a concerned expression. "So what is to be done with the poor girl until then?"

[Enigma]

"So what is to be done with the poor girl until then?"

John Paris and the doctor turned towards the Londinian.

"While I await the results of my tests, we will sedate her, then start sleep-training. It's bizarre, but we have some specialty sleep-training files from the Brotherhood for people who suffered severe mental trauma that should give her a basic primer in English. Depending on how well she can absorb the material, I don't see why she couldn't be up and about in a few days."

"Not dressed like that," Captain Sharp growled, eying Paris' suspiciously. "Brain damaged or no, she's dressed like a criminal. I want her under constant guard until we know more about Jane Doe here."

"Captain," the doctor said, looking over the Londinian, "It would help if between sleep training sessions if she could interact with others...."

[VerifyinTr1gIDs]

Michael ends up falling asleep in his seat.

[Sy23]

"Dressed like a criminal?" thought Kes, amazed at the captain's naivete. "So how do criminals dress, then? I think what you meant, my friend, was that she'd dressed like a criminal who's been unlucky or stupid enough to get caught - and that's a different thing entirely."

He stood at the back of the group, observing the girl. Poor little things - if she ever recovered she'd need someone to stand by her. At the moment she was like an injured antelope surrounded by wolves.

[Enigma]

"This wouldn't be the first time some government decided it was easier to deport their problems rather than have to handle it themselves," Captain Sharp replied, scowling past Kes at John Paris.

"She looks innocent enough, but I've got the safety of the passengers to worry about," Sharp added. "If she's violent...."

John huffed, a faint smirk on his face. Sharp shot the assassin a perplexed look, then turned his attention to the others.

"Well, gentlemen, I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Let's go back upstairs to the table."

[Azazeal849]

“Captain,” the doctor said, looking over the Londinian, “It would help if between sleep training sessions if she could interact with others.…”

“I would be happy to assist at any opportunity possible.” Daniel nodded. The others probably thought he was just playing the gentleman, wanting to help a young woman out regardless of her circumstances. In actuality, it gave him the opportunity to stay close by her in case Mr Paris tried anything. He might even learn whatever secret it was she held that the rogue agent seemed so desperate to get after.

And the pirate? Daniel glanced briefly at Kes. The man’s face was impassive. Did he have anything to do with the girl? He didn’t appear to be showing any particular interest, beyond simple appreciation of her femininity. Daniel’s mission had now become a delicate balancing act - he had to keep track of his original target, and foil whatever it was that John Paris was planning.

If only he knew what that plan was.

"Well, gentlemen, I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Let's go back upstairs to the table."

“Indeed captain, do lets.” replied Daniel, his face the picture of a calm nonchalance that he was in no way feeling.

[Sy23]

"A good idea" said Kes, aloud, a deliberate casualness in his voice. "There's food on the table, and the entertainment possibilities of one unconscious girl are - well, let's say, somewhat limited."

he turned to follow the others, let out an oath, and bent to retrieve the dropped billfold, containing his swipe-cards, holo-ID, 3D-communicator and other necessities of living in the modern age. Stooping thus, with his back to the others, he was able to put his plan into operation. A plan rare (though not unique) to his normal strategy. For it was performed with no possible gain in mind, simply from sympathy.

He spoke, without moving his lips, in a deep,low voice that would not travel, but would easily slip under the lax net of the girl's subconscious mind.

You are in danger. Come to me. (and his holophone and cabin numbers)

he repeated it three times. Hopefully, when the girl woke (if she ever did), the knowledge would be there. He shrugged inwardly. It was the best he could do to give her a fighting chance to have at least one friend.

"My apologies," he said, reverting to his own (assumed) accent, hurrying after the others. "Now, what's for the next course?"

[Azazeal849]

Daniel pretended not to notice as the pirate engineered an excuse to hang back. He had already noticed the man becoming more furtive when he looked at him, which suggested that he had noticed Daniel's scrutiny and it was making him nervous. Daniel obviously hadn't been as circumspect as he thought, and so to catch his target in the act of this latest transgression might cause unease to turn to suspicion, making Daniel's job even harder. The trade-off, of course, was that he did not catch what the pirate was saying or doing at the girl's bedside.

Sitting back down at the table in the Constellation dining room, Daniel leaned back in his seat and joined in the conversation while they waited for the next course. The talk was slightly stilted – Captain Sharp was still annoyed, and the rogue agent Paris was making no attempt to hide his preoccupied smirk. Kes on the other hand seemed untroubled, still playing the part of the clueless non-spacer.

Daniel realised that he would need a way to keep track of both his targets once the meal was over.

He needed one of the bugging devices hidden in his cabin.

[Enigma]

The lights dimmed, then a floodlight lit up the stage at the front of the dining room.

"Gentles, good evening! We hope you've enjoyed your meal! Welcome to the Constellation Dining Room floor show!" The announcer said, waving at the band who began to play.

Dancers in glittery spandex and feathers poured out the concealed stage entrances, moving between the tables.

Paris sighed, looking at his Omni rather obviously, then leaned forward to whisper into the Captain's ear. Captain Sharp gave him a surprised look but nodded.

"If you will excuse me, Gentles," Paris leered as he stood up, "But I have another engagement tonight."

With that, the assassin left the table, threading his way past the dancers with a grace that made a few of them burn with envy.

"Well," beamed Captain Sharp at the rest of the table, "My night's improved!"

[VerifyinTr1gIDs]

"Zzz... zzz..."

[Sy23]

And so has mine, thought Kes. I don't like that guy. Or, more to the point, I don't like the way he looked at me.

"What an interesting gentleman," he said aloud, retaining the air of an innocent, wide-eyed ingenue. "He somehow seemed familiar. Would I have seen him before, perhaps, Captain?" He looked up, as a steward approached the table. "Ah, Krezunian ice-cake. One of my favorites. Does the galley have any Zinnyan redfruit syrup, by any chance?"

[Enigma]

"Zinnyan redfruit syrup, sir? I shall inquire," the steward discretely replied, delivering the desert.

"Mr. Paris?" Captain Sharp asked, staring blankly at the space pirate. "You may have done, some years back. His father's Ambassador Paris, assigned to Londinium until he retired three years ago."

"Well, he was young and an Ambassador's son, going clubbing every night with the children of the upper crust of Londinium society. Pics in paper, a few scandals. His dad finally shipped him back to Earth for college."

Captain Sharp paused, taking a drink of coffee to relieve his dry throat. "His dad got him a small yacht after he graduated. Boy was on his way back to Londinium - only he disappeared for two years."

"There were all sorts of wild speculation - drive failure, joining the Brotherhood as an initiate, kidnapped by space pirates, abducted by aliens - madness. Turns out he crashed in the back beyond on Charon. Just stumbled into a Brotherhood mission one night."

"Some might have thought he'd had learned the error of his ways," the Captain sighed, raising his glass to catch the steward's eye. "I heard tell he went into government service - Terran State Department, I believe. Didn't stay there long."

"Dunno what he's doing now," he scowled. The steward appeared, taking the Captain's empty glass and replacing it with a full one, then placing a small individual pitcher of Zinnyan redfruit syrup next to Kes' right hand. "Doing well enough if he's got investments in the Zodiac line and can afford his Nova cabin."

[Azazeal849]

Alarm bells started ringing in Daniel's head when Paris looked at his omni. His suspicions were confirmed a moment later when he leaned over to whisper to the captain, but he had been waiting for the rogue agent to make a move and as soon as he saw the giveaway time check he put his own plan into action. He focussed on the dancing girls, allowing a disapproving look to come over his face.

“I'm afraid captain that this sort of display is somewhat frowned upon on Londinium.” he said, carefully avoiding looking at Paris. With him apparently not noticing the rogue agent's cue to leave, it would look more like a coincidence. “Thank you for a most excellent dinner, but I am afraid I will have to excuse myself.”

The result of his carefully timed ploy was that he found himself standing up just a few seconds after Paris. He put his hat back onto his head and tipped it towards the others, who looked variously surprised, amused or indifferent.

“Snobby Londinian twat...” he thought he heard one of them murmur as he made a quick exit. He didn't mind – in fact it was perfect, because it meant his cover was working for him.

Daniel exited the Constellation lounge just in time to see Paris turning a corner ahead, striding purposefully down the next corridor and temporarily out of the SIS agent's line of sight. Daniel quickened his pace and followed him.

[Enigma]

The door to the Scorpio's Sickbay, framing two Brotherhood of Man monks with their arms wrapped around a third who moaned and grabbed at his belly.

"Doctor!" Master Hand on the moaning monk's left called, a hint of amusement in his voice. "We regret the intrusion but I'm afraid that Brother Thyme has partaken too much of your ship's most generous buffets and complains of great ache."
"A frequent complaint," the doctor noted, pointing to a nearby table. "Place him there, I'll be with you in just a moment."
"I have broken my vow brothers," the middle one complained miserably.
"All things in moderation, Brother Thyme," sniffed the thinner monk on the right, self-righteously.
"Including moderation," cautioned Master Hand with a smile, helping Brother Thyme to a seat.

He turned and bowed to the doctor as he approached, then frowned as he saw the girl in the quarantine room - and the ship's security guard posted by the door.

"You have other patients, I see. Should we return later?"
"What? Oh her - she should be fine. Let's take a look at your brother."
Master Hand nodded, but found himself drawn back to look at the girl.

"Forgive me, but what is wrong with her?" he asked, turning back.
"I'm not totally sure," the doctor admitted, glancing back. "Something is wrong with her head. They found her wandering on the Promenade deck."

Brother Thyme and the thin monk stiffened, looking past the doctor to the girl in the quarantine chamber.
"Wandering?" Master Hand asked, his voice deceptively casual. "Can she not tell you how she came on board?"
"No," the doctor sighed. "Whatever happened to her has apparently regress her to pre-verbal. And Security's angry because they've not no idea how she slipped by them. They traced her back to the ship's laundry, getting escorted out by one of the robots. They think she rode down the laundry chute, but I can't find any bruises or scrapes and they can't see where she got slipped in."

"I see," Master Hand said, turning back to the doctor. "My order has some... experience with brain trauma. Would it be alright if we examined her?"
"Well, I would welcome a second opinion," the doctor replied, blinking at the monk with a slightly surprised look, "But the captain's worried about passenger safety. I'd feel better if we could get the Captain's permission first."
"I see. Brother Rose, please stay with Brother Thyme while I go to see the captain."
"Eh?" the doctor frowned, glancing up as Master Hand left. "What's that all about?"
"A Wanderer," Brother Thyme said with a widening smile.
"Brother," Brother Rose cautioned, giving the younger monk a nudge.
"What are you talking about?" the doctor demanded.


John Paris frowned, catching a glimpse off of reflective surfaces that Daniel was following him as he exited the Constellation Dining Room. Paris' mouth became a thin line as he reached the elevators - and froze as a monk stepped out.

"Brother Hand," breathed Paris, forgetting about Daniel.
"Master Hand," corrected the monk. He glanced behind Paris, catching Daniel. "It has been several years since we last met. You look... well."
"And you," Paris replied. "What brings you on board a cruise ship, of all things?"
"It was going our way. And you?"
"Just traveling."
"Oh? For pleasure - or business?"
"You know me, I like to combine a bit of both," Paris said, letting his lip curl into a passable grin.
"I see," purred the monk. "Perhaps we should talk."
"I'm a little busy right now," Paris growled, stepping past.
"As am I," Master Hand replied, turning back towards the dining room.

He gave Daniel a nod and a speculative look as they passed each other.

[Sy23]

"So, Captain," continued Kes, sounding as casually as he could. "What did you think of the - urm, that poor girl? Is this normal - for someone to be in such a state, during interstellar travel? The agency who arranged my flight warned of grav-sickness and star-flu, but didn't mention anything like that. It's as if her memory has been totally wiped."

He was making light conversation - and enjoying the redfruit syrup, which was certainly the best he'd ever tasted - at only the outer level of his being. Inside, his mind was churning at a fast rate. He found it hard to believe that anyone would absent themselves from the honor of sitting at the Captain's table simply on a whim, and what other appointment - on a starship - could be so urgent it couldn't wait until after dinner?

He found himself vaguely registering one of the dancers - half Silynian, by the look of her, and the lightness of her feet, there was no other planet known to produce such good dancers. What she was wearing kept her technically legal, but only that, and made her look more naked than actual nakedness would have done! He wasn't surprised the Londinion had been disconcerted.

"I mean," he continued "One hears of such things, but never quite believes it."

[Azazeal849]

Daniel tipped his hat politely to the Brotherhood monks as they passed him.

"Friends of yours, Mr Paris?" he asked conversationally as he stepped into the lift beside his target.

"Which deck are you heading to?" he added as he hovered his hand over the control pad, making sure he asked first so that he could conveniently claim to be going the same way.

[Enigma]

Captain Stark scowled at Kes. "There's nothing normal at all about this! I don't know where that girl came from, be it a prison or mental hospital, but I assure you whatever happened to her mind happened before she got on board this ship!"

Movement at the entrance caught the Captain's eye as a lithe, shaved figure moved gracefully past the dancers.

"Master Hand?" he asked as the monk drew close. "Is there something wrong?"
"One of our brethren has become overly fond of your ship's bountiful buffets and is in the care of your doctor, a minor matter. But I noticed there was a young woman in the doctor's care as well. Could I ask you a few questions?"


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Deck one," Paris replied, raising his eyebrow speculatively at Daniel.

As the doors slid closed and the elevator started its smooth rise to the top deck, Paris eyed Daniel's reflection in the door, then reluctantly cleared his throat.

"I know why you're here," he said conversationally. "You're hardly the first, and I'm sure you won't be the last. But I actually prefer women. I hope you understand."

[Azazeal849]

"I know why you're here," he said conversationally. "You're hardly the first, and I'm sure you won't be the last."

Daniel tensed imperceptibly. He began calculating how quickly he could bring the dart-gun in his cane to bear, and how quickly Paris could react. The lift was a damnably confined space. If-

"But I actually prefer women. I hope you understand."

The SIS agent abruptly realised what the other man had meant, and relaxed slightly. He wasn’t compromised - yet. He permitted himself a small chuckle at Paris’ statement, and pretended to make light of it.

“Would you credit it, sir, but I prefer women too. Is old-fashioned politeness so rare among heterosexual men outside of Londinium?”

He demonstrated said old-fashioned politeness by taking a step backwards and holding out his arm to indicate that Paris should go first as the lift juddered to a halt and the doors slid open with a soft chime.

[VerifyinTr1gIDs]

"Zzzzzzzzzz..."

[Enigma]

Master Hand paused, glancing at Michael.

"Excuse me Captain, but is that man alright? One does not often find one sleeping during a floor show?"


***** ***** *****

"YOU!"

John Paris flinched, reaching for his knife, then relaxed as a small, angry man stormed into the elevator, waving his finger in John's face. It was the Santos Envoy State Department Courier, Evon DeWinger.

"What are you doing here?!?" Evon demanded. "We hired you to do a job! You are under contract with us! You're supposed to be on Beylix! Yet today I find out you're on board this ship, in a Nova cabin of all places, and having dinner with the ship's captain! On our dollar, no less! We will not stand idly by for this...!"

John Paris sighed. He did not have time for this - he did not espect to run into the Santos spy aboard ship - at least, not so soon. Dealing with this man would mean reports back to his superiors - best to fix this now, and without witnesses. John glanced at Daniel and took on a serious expression.

"Mr. DeWinger," he began, nodding towards Daniel, "This is hardly the place to discuss our business."

The angry man turned and paused. His eyes grew as wide as saucers and the red color of his face suddenly drained.
"N... no, I guess not," he managed, hastily pasting a slightly panicky smile on his face as he took in the Londinian spy.
"I was however able to obtain what you asked for," Paris added. "It's in my ship. Why don't you come with me to the hangers and we'll handle your problem right now."
"Yes, yes, of course! Please forgive my rude outburst." Evon said, forcing himself to remain calm - and failing miserably.

[Sy23]

Politeness, of course, required Kes to make an excuse, rather than eavesdrop upon the conversation between the Captain and Master Hand. As well, to have stayed would have been suspicious in itself - since even the naive ingenue he was pretending to be would understand such basic etiquette.

It was lucky, then, that his hearing was so good, and that he had long ago taught himself the skill of picking out one stream of conversation among a hubbub of voices. He made an obviously transparent excuse, and lingered at the bar drinking iced water (which could have been mistaken for Drazian p'groo, a particularly potent spirit popular with the callow) and strained his ears. This was getting interesting!

[Azazeal849]

Daniel raised an eyebrow, remaining calm and polite despite the obviously awkward situation. “It seems I am intruding, gentleman. I apologise. I'll bid you both goodnight.”

He touched the tip of his cane to the brim of his hat by way of farewell and walked away down the oak-panelled corridor, as if heading for the second berth of Nova-class cabins. He quickened his step just enough to give the impression that beneath his Londinian restraint he was secretly unnerved by the exchange and wanted to get away from whatever Paris and his associate were doing. The truth, of course, was the exact opposite.

Once he was out of sight of the two Daniel turned quickly towards the port-side crew stairwell. He had memorised every detail of the ship's layout and although the stairwells were not intended for use of passengers, there were generally few crewmen using them at this hour to object. Glancing over his shoulder, Daniel pushed open the door marked “Crew Only” and looked quickly around. There were no security cameras that he could detect, and the stairwell itself was deserted. Good. Still, he had no time to waste. Daniel looked down at the stairs that dropped away in a square spiral, and took off his hat. With that and his cane now gripped in one hand, he put the other on the bannister and vaulted over the railing. He free-fell down onto the next landing, dropping into a crouch to absorb the impact and then rising fluidly back onto his feet.

The SIS agent replaced his hat, adjusted his suit jacket, and pushed calmly through the door back into the ship proper.

Walking fast to his cabin, he turned his wrist to the reader by the door so the built-in scanner could read his omni. An LED flashed green and there was a soft click as the door unlocked. The lights mounted in decorative strips along the walls flickered on as he entered. Daniel wasted no time, striding through into the well-furnished suite and tossing his hat down onto the bed to discard a recognisable item of clothing. The cane with its concealed dart launcher he kept, sliding it into the silk lining of his dark jacket. The signed cricket ball on the mantelpiece went into his inside pocket, along with several tiny devices he extracted from the gun-ports of the scale model next to it. Lastly he went to his four-poster bed and pulled out a briefcase from under it. Typing a code into the keypad lock snapped it open, and Daniel opened a false bottom to reveal a thin x-ray-proof compartment containing a snub-nosed pistol and a miniature autofac. The gun went into the back of his waistband, a spare magazine into a holster strapped to his left shin under his trousers, and the spare darts the autofac had been manufacturing over the last few hours into another pocket. He closed the suitcase and put it carefully back under the bed. The entire arming session had taken exactly 30 seconds.

Now fully equipped, Daniel strode out of the room, letting the door lock closed behind him. He headed for the elevator bank, and luckily there was one already waiting to take him down. The hangers were on deck 14 at the bottom of the ship, but Daniel took a short detour back to deck 8. He knew that the girl with amnesia figured in the rogue agent's plan somewhere, and he wanted to know how. He retraced his steps from earlier, winding his way through the almost empty corridors until he found himself once again outside sickbay. He didn't stop, but as he passed he palmed one of the devices in his pocket and stuck it to the wall opposite the door. He placed it low down, below casual eye level, where its tiny size would let it go unnoticed to all but a very careful observer. The device was a miniature camera, and as it attached itself to the wall it automatically activated, transmitting a steady stream of data back to Daniel's omni. Now if the girl left sickbay for any reason, he would know.

He carried on through to the main reception, and approached the young woman at the desk. Her hair was blonde – dyed, because it didn't quite match her eyebrows. The omni on her wrist was a cheap, functional model. Together they suggested that the girl took pride in her appearance, but had a down-to-earth personality. Daniel's habit of analysing everyone he met never really switched off, but he pushed the irrelevant details to the back of his eidetic memory as he addressed the receptionist.

“Excuse me miss, where might I find the pod rental berths?”

The receptionist smiled and pointed. “Deck 14. The lifts are just through there, sir.”

“Thank you.”

A small alibi, and probably unnecessary, but one of the first lessons they taught in the SIS was that you could never be too careful. He rode the lift down with several other passengers, and stepped off at deck 14. Hopefully, he could make it to the main hanger in time to catch Paris and his mysterious associate.

[Enigma]

On Deck Fourteen, there was a "Ding" and the elevator doors slid open. Evon DeWinger darted out, taking in the large cargo doors that led into the various hanger bays.

"Nobody's here," Evon said, looking back at John Paris as he exited the elevator. "Which hanger is it?"
"Hanger 7, down a bit and on your right."
"Don't you mean port?" the little man demanded suspiciously.
"We're facing aft, so port is on your right," Paris said, striding by him into the passenger lock that separated the elevators from the hanger. "If you're coming?"

"Preparations made," muttered a soft voice of his Omni's unique AI in his head. Paris knew he could have made a fortune if he could sell his Omni AI - but the alien tech was too advanced.

Past the lock, he paused in front of the access door.
"Wait, how do I know there's oxygen in there?" Evon demanded.
"Look up," Paris pointed at the lights above the door. "Green means atmosphere. Yellow venting, Red vacuum. Besides, interlocks won't let you open the door to a vacuum."

John waved his omni in front of the security panel and the hanger 7 access door slid open. He stepped through, heading towards his ship and the waiting, open hatch. Evon darted through and caught up with the assassin. "Wait, I want to go in first!"
"Suspicious?"
"Out here, you can't carry. But your ship probably has a small arsenal on board. I wanna go first."
"By all means, Mr. DeWinger."

The little man darted into the hatch, then turned to challenge the assassin as he boarded his ship, closing the hatch behind him.

"Now where's that... no!" he yelled, seeing the tiny gun in the assassin's hand.
"Yes," the assassin said, firing twice.


***** ***** *****

Captain Stark glanced at the sleeping alien and shrugged, raising his Omni. "Steward, I've got a sleeping passenger at my table. Have someone from medical come over to check him out."

"Now that that's been taken care of," Start replied, lowering his omni, "how can I help you?"
"In your 'sick bay' you have a young girl," Master Hand shrugged. "I'm told you have no idea how she came aboard. She seems to be brain damaged without mark or injury, reduced mentally to an infant. Am I correct?"
"You want to take her in as some sort of charity case?"
"One of our duties of our order is the care of those in need," Master Hand admitted, "But in this case, I would like to test her. Your doctor will not approve of us administering any tests without your authorization."
"What sort of tests?"
"Another of our duties are to find and protect the 'Wanderers', Captain."
"Wanderers?"
"Aliens who look very human - but their similarity to us is only skin-deep. For reasons only known to their people, they are cast out of their society without memory to distant worlds. But not without certain 'gifts'."
"And you mean to test her to find out?"
"Exactly."
"Can these test be done in the sickbay? In front of my doctor and ship's security?"
"Most certainly."
"Tomorrow then. I want to see this test."
"As you wish, Captain."
"Darn straight."

[Sy23]

It was fortunate that the Captain's voice - designed for command - tended to carry. Even by straining his ears, Kes was unable to make out what Master Hand was asking, but the gist of the conversation was clear enough.

Kes had never trusted clerics of the order - well, to be fair, he rarely trusted anyone, but the quasi-religious held a special place in his lexicon of paranoia - but he had to fight to suppress a look of dismay at the Captain's agreeing to hand the poor girl over to Master Hand. Had he more influence, he'd have raised his voice in protest. But he knew this would be a pointless act - the Captain would hardly take orders, or even suggestions, from what he regarded as a naive landlubber.

No - better to stay in character, and keep an eye on the situation. From being a mere abstract, the girl had become, in his mind, a fragile thing surrounded by enemies. Much like he'd been himself at various times in his chequered career. She had become a symbol of those that the system would use for their own ends. And as such, he vowed, she could count on whatever protection he was able to give her.

[Azazeal849]

Daniel didn't freeze or let out a curse when he heard the gunshot echo through the deserted deck, but he did drop to a crouch and draw his pistol. He glanced around, then made his way stealthily forward along the hanger, hugging the portside wall. He passed hangers 1, 3, and then 5, all cycled and locked. The airlock door to hanger 7 was open.

Daniel stopped, crouching low. With his gun still in his left hand, he carefully drew out his cane from the lining of his suit jacket with his right. By using his gun he risked killing Paris, and with no other leads as to why he was on the Scorpio that could be disastrous. It would be better if he could capture the rogue agent alive, so that he could find out what he was doing, and how it involved the amnesiac girl up in sickbay. His toxic darts should do the trick, as they would render Paris unconscious within a minute or so, and he should be able to get Paris back to his cabin, tie him up and administer the antidote before the poison proved fatal.

That of course required everything to go to plan. But Daniel knew not to underestimate Paris, he had the element of surprise, and he prided himself on not usually making mistakes. He glanced around once more – the hanger was still empty, and no-one had left bay 7 since the gunshot; Paris had to still be in there.

Keeping low, so that even if Paris was turned towards the door it would still take him a fatal split second to adjust his aim downwards, he spun out round the corner of the airlock. The cane in his right hand was held forward like a sword, his thumb already tensing on the hidden button in the handle that would launch the dart into Paris' flesh in a jet of compressed air.

[Enigma]

The airlock hatch secure behind him, Paris shook his head as he took in the limp body of the Santos spy.
"You can't threaten me," he smirked. "Killing me just pisses me off."

Slipping the tiny gun back into its holster, he reached down and grabbed Evon's legs, then dragged him into the tiny bathroom of his ship, then slipped the body into the shower stall. Closing the translucent door, he stepped back, then raised his Omni to face level.

"Run special shower cleaning program 6."
"Confirm Voice Print"
"John Paris, I confirm."
"Acknowledged," the Omni's sophisticated AI replied. There was a sudden flash of light from the shower cubical, the hidden disruptor destroying the body. Then the shower turned on briefly, washing away any lingering trace to the tiny ship's sewage tanks for processing.
"Cleaning complete," the Omni purred.

"Good," he smirked, turning back to the small cabin area. "Bring up a schematic of the...."
"Incoming transmission," the Omni warned.

John swore, then nodded.

"Paris, what's the status of the girl?" demanded the voice of his lord and master.
"I've located her. She's alive and under quarantine watch in the cruise ship's sickbay."
"Sickbay? Why is she in the ship's sickbay?"
"Ship's security caught her before I did. They think something affected her memory."
"She has no memories anymore."
"None at all?" Paris demanded with an angry scowl. No, they couldn't be taking that away from him like this...!
"None!" the voice insisted, waiting for a few moments, then demanding quietly, "Do they have some sort of neural probe?"
"Why does it matter if she doesn't have any memories?" Paris demanded, eyes becoming slits.
"She doesn't... but she wasn't alone."
"What do you mean? There's someone else on board you need me to kill?"
"No! If you kill her, you kill the other. Just do it!"
"Oh, I will," Paris promised.

The link went dead. Paris scowled. What had they done to her to wipe out her memories? And what did he mean by she not being alone?

"A neural probe...?" he wondered.'
"The closest known neural scanner is on Londinium," his omni announced. "Two research units in New Oxford, plus an extensively modified one belonging to MI5."
"Security is going to be too high for the unit at MI5, I'm going to need to know which lab in New Oxford I can find...."
"A contract has been issued," warned the Omni.
"It's because of her that I'm in this mess," Paris growled, turning towards the hatch, which unlocked and began sliding open. "If I can get her to the neural probe at New Ofxord, maybe I can bring back something..."

[Azazeal849]

...John Paris wasn't there. Like lightning Daniel spun back into the cover offered by the out-thrust frame of the hanger entrance.

The ship. He must be inside the ship. But he wasn't taking off, otherwise he would have closed the bay's inner airlock. Daniel considered his options. He could approach the ship and wait in ambush for Paris as he come out, or he could stay here beyond the airlock. He chose the second option - there was less cover in the main gallery of deck 14, but it placed him between Paris and the exit lifts. It also prevented Paris from running past him, shutting the airlock behind him, starting the decompression cycle so that Daniel couldn't open it from the inside, and blasting the Londinian agent out into space. Unfortunately Daniel couldn't pull the same trick because Paris had the access codes to his ship, and would be able to duck inside in time.

Less than a minute later, Daniel heard the tell-tale whine of an electric motor as the side hatch on Paris' sleek spacecraft began to slide open again. He dropped back half a step to make sure he was completely invisible from inside the hanger. And then he heard Paris talking to someone.

"If I can get her to the neural probe at New Oxford, maybe I can bring back something..."

At first Daniel thought there must be someone else there, but he only heard one set of footsteps climb down from the catch and come striding across the hanger. Having no doubt who "her" was, he regripped his dart launcher and waited for Paris to step through the airlock.

[Sy23]

If the small medical staff aboard ICS Scorpio found the sudden appearance of a new orderly strange, none of them mentioned it. The other males enjoyed his fund of dirty jokes and limericks (all delivered in his musical Welsh accent), and the females had no objection at all to his dark Cymric eyes and gentlemanly ways...

For Kes - (in case none of our readers have guessed that this is who it was) had suppressed his natural flirtatiousness in order to stay in character as a new crew member, who had been led into bad ways by more experienced sailors from ICS Crab Nebula, woken up after an unfamiliar but monumental drunk to find his pocket picked and identity cards stolen, and had to go through various formalities and disciplinary actions before he could rejoin the crew.

What would not betray him, however, was lack of medical skill. During his long and checkered life (and with the research he'd done since his crash, and the rebuilding of his body) he'd learned more about the inside of a human than most doctors would ever discover, and any archaic or informal terminology he could put down to not yet having recovered from his ordeal.

And if he took a particular interest in one particular patient - why, she was the most interesting one around, in fact more or less the only one at this stage (unless one counted a few cases of minor space sickness or shuttle fever), and he was hardly alone!

[VerifyinTr1gIDs]

Michael lazily returned to his cabin and continued to sleep.

[Enigma]

"The head of Neurological Studies at New Oxford is Dr. Herbert Solow," Paris' Omni announced. "There is a Dr. H. Solow listed in the ship's passenger manifest, Silver cabin Deck 3, compartment 318."
"You don't say?" Paris smiled, pausing. "Does Dr. Solow have any registered cargo?"
"Checking....." muttered the Omni, non-pulsed. "Deck 12, hold 7, four crates marked as 'Medical Supplies'."
"Well," Paris smirked, pulling open the manual door for the hanger airlock. "Somebody just might have to work for me on the their vacation."


***** ***** *****

"Do you suppose she is... a wanderer?" asked the brother with the overstuffed stomach as the new orderly moved passed them.
"Do I look like I know as much as Master Hand?" shrugged the other. "there are more secrets about the wanderers than is known.
"Why do they show up in strange places with no memories?"
"One of the great many mysteries, I'm sure," sighed the other monk, then called out to Kes, "Orderly, my friend is in need of treatment but the doctor hasn't returned yet with the meds. It has been a few minutes, could you check to see what's going on?"

[Sy23]

Come on, Kes whispered in the girl's ear. Speak. Speak to me.

It was no good. She remained mute and uncomprehending. Whatever shock she'd been through had obviously been a nasty one. This was catatonia, pure and simple - yet a catatonia where she could get up and walk around, in fear. She was a dead woman running.

But he kept trying, whispering into her unhearing ear everything he could. Telling her how she'd got there. What might happen to her. How she might be able to save herself. How he'd do whatever was in his limited power to help her. Even, at times, how beautiful she was.

He wished he knew why!

[Enigma]

The Wanderer frowned at the man whispering into her ears.

words

Her eyes flared at the strange thought that intruded itself.

words?

There was no reply.

The Wanderer looked up at Kes, listening to the gibberish but the words he spoke she could not understand. She opened her mouth but no sound escaped.

A monk gripped Kes' shoulder from behind.

"You are warrior, yes?" the monk grinned. "You want to protect her? Soon."

He turned his face to smile down at the Wanderer who stared back, confused.

"She is 'mushin no shin'," the monk sighed. "Mind without mind. What she was, is gone. Your words are like butterflies - always moving, never resting, always out of reach. Her mind cannot grasp them."

[Azazeal849]

"Well," Paris smirked, pulling open the manual door for the hanger airlock. "Somebody just might have to work for me on the their vacation."

Just as he stepped through the door, Paris felt a sharp pain in the side of his neck, as if a wasp had flown up and stung him. But of course, there were no wasps on an interstellar cruise ship. His left hand flew to his neck, his right automatically going for the small gun that had so recently killed Evon DeWinger. There was something stuck in his neck - he ripped it out and saw a small plastic dart, his blood staining the tip. As he turned he saw a man in a black suit charging towards him. Not just any man - the Londinian, that bastard Doverton-Hawke.

Daniel barrelled into Paris before he could bring his gun to bear, one hand slamming into Paris’ wrist to deflect the weapon up and to the side. The silver cane in his other hand came round, swiping towards Paris’ face. The assassin was fast; ducking the blow he extricated his gun arm and brought it back up towards Daniel’s face. Again the Londinian deflected, but this time he had to twist aside and drop his cane in order to catch Paris’ wrist and force the gun away. Paris countered fast, and a krav maga grapple ripped the pistol from Daniel’s other hand. Daniel let it go and hooked his right hand into Paris’ face, following it up with a backswing of his elbow. The blow staggered Paris, allowing Daniel to wrap both hands around his gun and send it spinning away across the hanger. Now the odds were even.

The two men punched and chopped with blurring speed, their instincts far ahead of their eyes as they traded forty strikes and counterstrikes in the course of ten seconds. Daniel was adept at MMA, but as he quickly realised, Paris was better. He gave ground, deflecting strike after strike with his forearms and trying to buy time. Sure enough, he began to see the first signs of the poison taking effect. Paris was gasping, his movements becoming slower and more laboured. He jabbed another karate fist towards Daniel’s throat, and this time Daniel caught it and grappled, holding his opponent still. He struggled against Paris as the other man fell to his knees.

“You…underhanded…bastard.” Paris choked.

“Well,” Daniel replied as John Paris finally slumped to the floor, “If all soldiers were honest men we’d never be at war, would we?”


******

With a little difficulty, limping from his own injuries, Daniel carried the unconscious Paris back to his cabin. He supported the man by pulling one of his limp arms around his shoulders, playing the part of someone whose friend had had too much to drink in the Night Sky club and now needed taking home to sleep it off. He looked embarrassed, smiled apologetically to the few people he passed, and made it back to his room without arousing suspicion. Once they were behind the safety of his locked cabin door he dropped the charade, dumped Paris unceremoniously into his desk chair, and set about securing the unconscious man’s wrists and ankles with a quartet of bioplastic rods. Once that was done he reached for the tea caddy on his desk.

Flicking through the sachets, he found one marked "vitamin supplement". Which was technically almost true - instead of tea leaves the sachet contained a 5 gram soluble dose of hydroxocobalamin, a form of vitamin B12 that happened to also be a potent antidote to cyanide. He carefully tore open the sachet and poured the red crystals within into an innocuous looking thermos flask from his luggage that contained a pre-prepared saline solution. He replaced the lid and shook the flask. Next into the solution was a few droplets from a bottle in his bathroom cabinet - labelled as eye-drops, but really containing truth serum. He screwed the lid back into place and shook the thermos a second time. Next he flicked open a concealed tab at the base to reveal a plastic-capped needle attached to a length of rubber tubing coiled inside the double wall of the flask.

Working quickly, with the indifference of familiarity, Daniel unsheathed the sterile needle at the end of the tube and slid it carefully into a vein on the inside of Paris' elbow, securing it in place with a strip of tape from his suitcase. He then placed the flask carefully on the mantlepiece next to Paris' chair, sat down on the bed with his hands folded and his pistol within easy reach, and waited for John Paris to wake up.


******

What agent Hawke didn't know was that Paris' omni had detected the truth serum in its owner's bloodstream, and almost immediately activated an implant in his brain to synthesise a countermeasure. It could have dealt with the cyanide just as easily, but it had calculated that allowing Paris' attacker to capture and question him offered a better chance of getting information in return. The interrogator would never realise that he himself was being interrogated, and in the meantime Paris was free to feed Daniel any story he liked.

Paris was not quite as quietly confident as his omni when he opened his eyes to see Daniel sitting opposite him with a gun pointed at his chest.

"Please don't shout for help." Daniel said, in that insufferably mild and polite Londinian accent of his, "Cleaning all the traces of your blood off the carpet would be such a nuisance."

Paris just smirked at him. "You know I can't die, right?" Then he looked down, and frowned at the drip that had been attached to his arm.

"I wouldn't take that out, either." said Daniel, "It's feeding you the antidote to the cyanide dart I shot you with."

"Cyanide, eh?" said Paris conversationally, "Is that standard for agents in MI6? I'm assuming that's what you are, MI6."

"I believe that nowadays they call themselves the Secret Intelligence Service." Daniel corrected him, without any apparent reaction to Paris guessing his origins so quickly, "And as for me, no, just think of me as a curious stranger. For example, I'm curious as to what Mr DeWinger did to deserve you shooting him like that."

Paris decided to tell the truth, so that he could lie more convincingly about the important questions. "He was becoming a liability. Assassins can't have liabilities."

"So if you're an assassin, does that mean the poor amnesiac girl up in Medical is marked for death too?"

Paris offered his interrogator a feral grin. "Maybe."

"Why?"

"How should I know? I don't ask these sort of questions from the guy writing the paycheck."

"A man like you hardly needs money."

"I'll admit it is more about the challenge." Paris said, shrugging as much as his restraints allowed.

"Alright. So who is it writing the paycheck?"

"Some guy from Jiangyin who gave his name as Tatsu."

It amused Paris to watch the wheels turning in the other agent's head; mulling over the obvious codename - "Tatsu" was Old-Earth Japanese for "dragon" - and wondering if the fictional man was from the Jiangyin government or one of the many shady traders who operated within its borders.

"And did Mr Tatsu just want the girl killed?"

Paris decided to tell a half truth on this one, as the other agent had presumably heard him talking to his omni about Solow as he exited the hanger.

"No. First he wanted me to get hold of a neural probe and extract a bank account password she tried to hide from him by having her own memory wiped. I understand she tried to con him out of a rather large amount of money."

"I see." said Daniel as he stood up and walked round behind Paris' chair. Paris heard him unscrewing the top of the almost empty thermos flask that was running fluid down into his arm and craned his neck to see what he was up to.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding bored.

"I've got something of a treat for you." Daniel said, though his tone suggested it was anything but. Paris heard something splashing into the thermos, which reached his arm a few seconds later. He jumped. It was cold, and it burned as it made its way up his arm.

"Scotch." Daniel explained conversationally. "Very good Scotch in fact. If you're going to die of alcohol poisoning, you might as well make it the best stuff."

Paris let out an involuntary gasp as the painful burning sensation reached his shoulder and began to spread through his chest. Even his implant wouldn't be able to metabolise this much alcohol this quickly.

Oh very clever, Mr MI6, he thought angrily, So you being the good samaritan just drop the drunken sod back in his room and tragically don't stay long enough to make sure he keeps breathing? And in the morning everyone thinks I just overdid it last night? Maybe mixed it up with drugs judging by the needle marks? Well fuck! That!

He started thrashing then, trying to get free of his restraints and to knock the needle out of his arm. It didn't work because Daniel was holding the chair in place and had one suit-jacketed arm wrapped around Paris' mouth so that he couldn't cry out. Then the burning sensation rushed up his neck and reached his eyes, and he went into spasms.

Daniel released Paris as his struggling gave way to violent, uncontrolled twitching. He walked over to the door and checked the peephole to make sure that no-one had heard. He didn't feel any regret, just a vague sense of disgust. He was also disappointed - ideally he would have wanted to hand Paris back to his superiors alive, for sentencing either by them or their TID counterparts back on Earth. But keeping him alive was just too much of a risk.

[Sy23]

"you're probably right," admitted Kes, and meant it. He had no idea of why he was still trying - a futile gesture, and with nothing to gain at that. Perhaps memories... of things he'd repressed, and still didn't want to think about. "But I guess it's a no-loss situation. If there is something alive in there... well, she's going to feel pretty lonely, with no-one talking to her. Even if she can't respond, the fact I'm talking to her might mean the difference between madness and sanity. And if there's nothing left - well, what have I lost? It's costing me nothing."

He gave a grin.

"And what's wrong with butterflies, anyway?"

[Enigma]

The doors swished open and Lord Vargas stormed inside.

"What happened?" he demanded.
"An ambush, milord," the tech reported. "A Londinian agent intercepted and interrogated Paris...."
"Londinian? Show me!"



"And did Mr Tatsu just want the girl killed?"

"No. First he wanted me to get hold of a neural probe and extract a bank account password she tried to hide from him by having her own memory wiped. I understand she tried to con him out of a rather large amount of money."

"Neural probe...? What are they babbling about?"
"The handler shows Paris ran a query about neural probes. Londinium is the first port of call that would have such a device."
"Why would he...? Ah. I get it," Lord Vargas snorted.
"Sir?"
"Paris recognized her after all. He wants her to remember him, before he kills her."
"Sir?"
"He was dying when she brought him to us, foolish girl. During her neural interrogation, she thought that we would just wipe his memories and send him home. Even her companion thought that. But he was perfect for what I needed - there was no way I was going to just let him go."

"Sir?" the tech swallowed, his finger posed over a button. "What do you want me to do? Blow up the body and take out the agent?"
"Will the explosion take out the girl?"
"No sir."
"I want the Londinian agent to be interrogated to find out who sent him," Vargas said, rubbing his chin. "I find it suspicious he was there to intercept Paris. Have the Handler separate and disintegrate the body. Then wake up another one. How long to prep?"
"We would need at least 14 hours sir."
"That's too long! Did the remote make it to Paris' cabin?"
"Yes sir."
"I think Mr. Paris is about to order room service."
"Yes sir!"


Paris' Omni slipped off the band, hovering in mid-air, engaging its optical camo to blend into the room, then darted away to safety as Paris' body flashed blindingly. When it faded, all that remained was four scorch marks on the carpet where the bound man had been sitting - and the carpet was already starting to repair itself.


**********

"Steward needed in Nova Class," purred a wrist omni.
"On my way," the duty Steward said. He arrived at Paris' door, knocked then keyed the door open. The room beyond was dark.
"Sir?" The steward called out.
There was a muted noise, like someone struggling.
"Sir, are you alright?" the steward called out, half-raising his omni. The struggling paused, then started again. It sounded like it was coming from the bedroom.
"Lights!" the steward ordered, stepping inside. He glanced around the large open room with a worried look.

"Please, don't let me find a naked man tied to another bed," he muttered, prayerfully as he crossed over to the door, then opened it slowly. The bed was empty. The steward sighed, but something was still moving around. One of Paris' bags had fallen off the desser, like something was alive inside.

"Oh god, not another pet!" the steward swore, kneeling down to capture and open the bag.

Something that looked to be a cross between a hand and a metal crab lept out of the bag, grabbing the steward's head. He screamed, grabbing the legs that gripped him, then slumped unconscious onto the floor.

"We have a surrogate, sir," the Tech reported. "Shall I send him after the agent?"
"No. Send him after the girl! We've wasted far too much time already!"


**********

"Butt - er - fries?" the Wanderer said, struggling, then staring back wonderingly at the two men.

At the far end of the room, the door slid open and a steward slumped inside, collapsing on a chair. Strange burn marks at his temple still smoked. With a moan, he looked up - and grinned.

"There you are...!" he rasped, giggling. "I've been looking all over for you! You've been a VERY NAUGHTY GIRL!"

He pulled himself upright, a small pistol in his hand that he aimed towards the two men and the girl.

"It's time for Naughty Girls to DIE!"

[Lokidoki]

Harley Black sat down on the leftward side of the Star's End Bar, thinking that he didn't really understand the name. This was something he'd rather not think about, but he knew that tendency of his mind had never been something he could control. At the very least, he could keep it in check, enough to tame his mind so that it could be useful to him. Counter-intuitively, he thought, this was becoming more arduous as he aged. I hope I'm just... saving up, for my day of calling.

Sighing deeply, he voiced to the silver band on his left middle finger, "omning, pull up optical display." Immediately, a point appeared in his vision, from which several lines expanded into a cluster of words and diagrams, and his vision became the background. The omni-ng was an evolved version of the omni, commissioned by the bigwig science corporation, Quantum Artificial Interstellar, but not mass-produced. All the technology of the wrist omni, wrapped into a ring; hence, the "ing" prefix. Lenses implanted in his eyes allowed him to view and interact with data through the omning, like an optical computer. And he used his hands to interact with it, just like a terminal interface. The omning was a constant reminder of his love-hate relationship with that gargantuan corporation.

Gesturing his hand to "slide" to the next screen in his optical view, he didn't notice the bartender before him. "Ehem," the bartender said softly. Harley focused his eyes on the bartender, and his optical view became translucent.

"Would you like something to drink, sir?"

"Oh, yes of course..." Harley considered his options, as he thoroughly enjoyed having options to consider. "Red tea and rum, please, good sir."

"Red tea and rum it is."

He thanked the bartender and winked with his right eye, so his optical view would turn opaque. Apparently the bartender took this to be an indication of fancy, and walked away blushing. Harley was oblivious to the reaction, per usual. So often did he wink with his right eye to refocus on his data view that he had never thought of the people who might misunderstand. After all, once his view was opaque, he couldn't see their reaction.

Harley returned to his work, feeling again that familiar despair at the daunting task that had befallen him. So much to achieve, and with no guidance to achieve it, indeed without even expectation. But Harley expected it of himself nonetheless. If not himself, then who would...? He put his fist over a photographic image and opened his hand to expand it. A 29 year-old man; unusually tall, curly brown hair, with piercing green eyes. Harley could only suspect that his missing brother was the key.

The bartender returned suddenly. "Your red tea and rum, sir." he said, with a tinge of charisma.

"Thank you very much." Harley knew he would be needing it.

"My pleasure." he answered with a smile, before spinning to his left and tending to other patrons.

He flattened his brow at the inexplicable behavior of the bartender. Disregarding it, he took in a gulp of synthesized rooibos tea mixed cold with rum, and felt the rich earthy taste saturate his being, followed by the smoothing sensation of sweet burning alcohol. It was relaxing. He wished he could disregard his task just as easily, and continue drinking red tea until the interworld community was eaten alive from the inside out. There simply wasn't enough time to drink all the rum required to drown the galaxy. He pursed his lips at the thought.

Harley closed his eyes for a clearer optical view, and stared at the photo of his brother. Natalus... where are you?

[Azazeal849]

Daniel Doverton-Hawke was seldom shocked, and, being a true-bred Londinian, he was not given to strong reaction when he was. This latest development however brought him closer to both than he had been in some time.

He turned round just in time to see the white light vanish, and John Paris Jr with it. Not just the man himself but also everything he had been touching: the chair, the bioplastic rods Daniel had used as binders, the IV drip…everything. Daniel knelt down beside the scorched carpet as the nanobots within patiently and obliviously began to repair the hole that Paris’ disappearance had made. He tried to work out what had happened. Teleportation? Impossible - no teleporter in the known worlds could lock onto Paris while the Scorpio was still in hyperspace. Disintegration? Perhaps - maybe an implant linked to the man’s vital signs, like a kind of dead-man’s switch?

Daniel sat back on his heels and grunted. On the one hand, he now did not have to worry about disposing of the body - on the other, he had just lost some very valuable equipment that his superiors in the SIS were unlikely to be happy about. Hopefully they would be mollified by the fact that he had rid them and their Terran allies of a man who had been a thorn in their side for nearly a decade, even if it had been by chance. He glanced around the room as the carpet finished repairing itself, looking for anything that might have been left behind.

And spied Paris’ Omni lying quietly underneath his bed.

Daniel frowned. He had an eye for detail and a memory as close to eidetic as a human’s got, and he was sure that the device had still been on Paris’ wrist before he had vanished. Moreover, it could not have come to rest under his bed unless it had been violently thrown. And given that it was the only thing left, Daniel had a feeling that he had found the instrument responsible for Paris’ disintegration. Cautiously, he pulled on a pair of black gloves that were sitting in a drawer, and retrieved a pair of tweezers from the cabin’s en-suite bathroom. He didn’t want to set off any genetic detectors in the device; the Omni had caused Paris to disappear into thin air, so God only knew what it might do to him. The Omni however remained inert as he picked it up and held it up to the light. It glittered innocently, looking like nothing more than a simple wristwatch, albeit a very expensive one. Daniel wasn’t convinced. If the SIS could make tools look like ordinary items then so could someone else. But where had Paris got hold of such a device.

Daniel dropped the Omni into an airtight plastic bag and stored it safely in the false bottom of his briefcase. People back on Londinium would want to examine this - people with the right tools and expertise. He would also need to send a report to his superiors about Paris, the amnesiac girl, and this Tatsu character Paris had mentioned as soon as the Scorpio dropped out of FTL. And, he reminded himself, there was still his original, primary mission. Apprehend the fugitive Caesaro before he could jump ship at the next port.

At that moment Daniel’s Omni trilled loudly, receiving a signal from the bug he had planted just outside Medical. It wasn’t a warning beep to indicate that it had picked up someone moving through its cone of vision and into the med lab; it was a shrill alarm tone. Daniel tapped a key on his Omni to bring up the live feed from the bug’s camera, and immediately saw why. The bug’s metal scanner had detected something in the hand of a dark figure who was even now pushing the med lab door control. Against the stark black and white of the video image, the suspicious metal object was highlighted in angry red. A gun.

“Oh dear.” said Daniel flatly. He was already up and moving, his pistol in its shoulder holster as he sprinted out into the corridor, his cabin door locking itself with a click behind him. He made it to the elevators in precisely 8 seconds, and hammered on the “call” button. Luckily, there was a lift already waiting idle on that floor, and its doors ground open with a chime. Daniel leapt inside, his stately Londinian demeanour completely abandoned, and mashed the button for deck 8. The lifts were fast, but he had 6 decks to cover, and the man with the gun was already inside the med lab.

It was late, and no-one else slowed him down by boarding the lift on the way down, but even so it took an agonising 20 seconds for the elevator to chime open in the reception corridor. Daniel was out and running before the door was half open, jinking from foot to foot to get round the people in his way and ignoring their questioning shouts as he passed. He skidded to a halt in the med lab corridor, pausing only to snatch his bug off the opposite wall before ducking low and bursting into the med lab antechamber, his gun-hand already inside his suit jacket.

[Enigma]

The guard slapped his Omni's panic button, then moved to pull his gun. The steward shot him in the abdomen then giggled crazily.
"Naughty naughty, you bad boy! I'm having way too much fun to stop!"

"Get her out of here!" the monk told Kes urgently as he bodily stepped in front of her, blocking the gunman's aim.

"What's this?" the steward snarled, the gun drooping as he stepped closer. "Oh - a hero. You're not even armed. Do you really think you could stop me?"

"No," the monk admitted with a smile, nodding to the left. "But they might."
The two other monks jumped the steward. The crazed gunman snarled and fired, the shot ricocheting as the third moved in.

"Go! Now!" he yelled back at Kes.



**********


Everyone's Omni buzzed, flashing an alert.

"This is a ship-wide announcement," the automated voice of the ship's main computer announced, overriding the ship's speakers. "A gun man is on Deck 8 threatening passenger safety in Sickbay. All passengers and crew on Deck 8, please vacate the deck immediately. If you find yourself trapped by the gunman, please take shelter, assistance is on the way."

"What the....?" the Sharp demanded, raising his wrist. "This is the Captain! What's going on?!?"
"Sir, a steward has gone mad and is attacking the alien in Sickbay!"
"WHAT?!?"

Furiously Sharp stood up, balling up his fists - but Master Hand was already across the dining room, darting into the hallway heading for the nearest emergency crew stair.



**********

"All passengers are recommended at this time to return to their cabins, this is not a drill. All security personnel are to ensure the safety of the passengers," Harley's implant relayed.

Around the bar, the passengers had mixed reactions, pausing to look at one another while two men with security haircuts slid off their stools nearby, heading for the door.

[Lokidoki]

"All passengers are recommended at this time to return to their cabins, this is not a drill. All security personnel are to ensure the safety of the passengers," Harley's implant relayed.

Harley sighed, setting down his tea and rum whilst winking his right eye to turn his optical view translucent. He quickly turned on his stool to observe his fellow patrons. "Omning, shut off display." he said shortly, and the view was gone.

He was already striding through the exit when most of the others were finally getting up. Ponderous and prone to brooding as Harley was, action never failed to engage him. Something is happening, he thought. There's no time to ponder. He could feel the unrest, the movement, he could feel it all around him. And beneath it, there were huger emotions shifting. Oh yes, thought Harley Black, something is happening indeed.

With Harley inside, the elevator door closed. "I wonder what..." And so his pondering returned. He had inadvertently set his destination to Deck 8.

[Azazeal849]

Daniel hadn't had time to draw his gun - and was barely even through the door - when he ran straight into a doctor who was coming the other way, dragging the alien girl by the hand.

As all three of them tumbled to the floor, he realised that the doctor was Kes Caesaro.

Caesaro. The rogue pirate who he had been sent to find was here, disguised as a doctor, with the alien who was apparently up to her neck in some Jiangyin power game. The SIS agent could hardly imagine a more suspicious scenario. But Caesaro was not the man he had seen going into Medical with the gun. So who was the gunman, and more importantly where? Daniel's eyes darted around the empty waiting room, and towards the door that led back into the hospital ward.

“Mr Caesaro?” Daniel asked, affecting a bewildered look as the other man scrambled to his feet. The poor alien girl was still gasping on the floor. “What's happening?”

[Enigma]

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Master Hand slid out of the elevator, moving towards the sickbay.

"Sir, stay back...!" one of the ship's security guards said, stepping out from a doorway.
"I will be alright, I must see to my companions."
"Sir, I can't allow that...!" the guard began, putting his hand on the monk's shoulder. Only it was grabbed. Before he could react, the monk threw him across the passageway to bounce off the wall. He groaned and laid there.
"I can't allow you to stop me," he said, breaking into a jog towards the sickbay. Behind him, he heard another elevator dinging as the doors slid open - more security guards, most likely. Hopefully they would stay out of this.

He found the Wanderer and two men standing outside of a door, both looking like men who could take care of themselves, while he could hear fighting and strange cries inside.

"You need to get her away from here, now!" Master Hand told them as he came close. "Off the ship if possible! If we do not meet again, take her to a Brotherhood house, they will know what to do to keep her safe! Go, now!"


The Wanderer frowned. First the strange man with the funny voice had come in, then the three men in robes had jumped on him while the one who had been talking to her had dragged her out into the hallway. It was another of the men who were there earlier. As they stared at each other, a new man appeared wearing robes, looking very angry.

They were making noises that sounded like... like...

'Words', whispered the Other again, sluggishly.

What was 'Words'? And who was taking to her?

[Sy23]

“Mr Caesaro?” Daniel asked, affecting a bewildered look as the other man scrambled to his feet. The poor alien girl was still gasping on the floor. “What's happening?”

Kes gave a grin, turned to look at the girl - who stared back blankly - and back to Daniel.

"How long have you got?" he asked. "OK, I'll shorten it. One of the stewards decided to shoot Butterfl - erm, this patient. Apparently on the grounds that she'd been a naughty girl. He didn't explain exactly why that should be a reason for shooting her."

He shook his head. If things had gone on any longer, he'd have had to take the gun, squeeze it into a lump of metal - and then he wouldn't have given a snowball's chance in a supernova of maintaining his cover. If it wasn't blown already, as he strongly suspected. He lifted the girl back to her feet, remembering to fake a grunt, as if he found ehr as difficult to lift as anyone without his advantages.

"Exactly how she could be a 'naughty girl' in her current state is beyond me." he grinned. "She's pretty though, isn't she?"

He looked at the girl, who was still curled in his outstretched arms, like a bride being carried over a threshold. To his amazement, the beginnings of a small, rudimentary blush began to creep up over her immobile features.

"I'm taking her to a safer place," he continued. "Until the ship's Master at Arms can do something about that loony in there!"

[Azazeal849]

Daniel heard Kes grunt in exertion and took the excuse to help him lift up the alien. As he stooped he dropped the tiny bug he had just retrieved into the pocket of the alien’s jumpsuit. He was careful to use the alien’s own body as a shield to make sure that Kes wouldn’t see.

"She's pretty though, isn't she?" Kes grinned.

Before Daniel could reply, Master Hand the Brotherhood monk came running in.

"You need to get her away from here, now!" he told them as he came close. "Off the ship if possible! If we do not meet again, take her to a Brotherhood house, they will know what to do to keep her safe! Go, now!"

"I'm taking her to a safer place," Kes continued. "Until the ship's Master at Arms can do something about that loony in there!"

Daniel nodded sharply. “Take her to your cabin.” he said, “I know someone who might be able to help her. I’ll catch up with you in a moment.”

He needed questions answered first. He dashed after Master Hand into the ward, where he could hear shouting and the sounds of a struggle. A guard was writhing on the floor, gut shot, and Hand with two other monks were grappling with the steward that Caesaro had described. The steward had a gun, but was swiftly disarmed by a blow to the elbow followed by a grapple that twisted the weapon out of his hand. A punch to the sternum from Master Hand sent the steward sprawling against the back wall, unconscious. The monks turned, shouting a warning at Daniel, but the Londinian agent had already seen the crucial detail.

There were burn marks on the steward’s temple, a wound that had not been inflicted by the monks. At first Daniel had thought that the steward must have been another disguised assassin - no genuine ship’s steward was armed, nor had access codes for the ship’s weapons locker - but his clumsy manner and the insane babbling Caesaro had described didn’t fit for a professional killer. It was almost as if the man had been brainwashed.

By whom did not matter at this point - that line of thought led Daniel to only one conclusion. Paris was clearly not the only threat to the alien girl aboard the Scorpio. As armed security personnel burst into the medlab to arrest the steward and tend to the wounded guard, Daniel allowed them to push him to the back and recommend he return to his cabin. He exited the medlab and headed straight for the elevators. He needed to go and see Dr Solow, and then he needed to get Caesaro and the alien off the ship. Fortunately, the late John Paris Jr had provided him with a suitable escape vessel. He had also provided him with Dr Solow’s room number, which he recalled hearing as Paris exited the hanger bay.

As the electromagnetic lift purred its way up to Deck 3, Daniel glanced at his Omni to check the alien’s location and reflected on how fortunate it had been that the Brotherhood monks had arrived when they did. With a jolt he realised the obvious. The Brotherhood had a story about Zayas, the mythical world whose inhabitants had supposedly overthrown the equally mythical Dracos Empire back in the days before humanity had even achieved interstellar travel. After their victory they had vanished, taking the technological secrets of the Empire with them. It was said that a very few Zayans - variously referred to as “heralds”, “prophets” or “wanderers” - left their secret hiding place to roam the galaxy at large, but they always had their memories wiped beforehand so they could not betray the location of Zayas to others. No-one alive in the galaxy today knew what the Zayans looked like, and all kinds of bizarre supernatural qualities had been attributed to them over time such as the Compelling Voice, precognition and the ability to move objects with their minds. According to Brotherhood lore their tears had magical healing properties, and because of this the wanderers were revered as almost saintly figures. Daniel admitted that the legend of Zayas might have some truth at its core - there was evidence on some planets for the mighty war fought between the Zayans and the Dracosians, for example - but he doubted that the Zayans could see the future and cure cancer with their tears.

So that’s why the Brotherhood wanted to protect the alien. Because of her amnesia and non-human origin, they thought she was a Zayan wanderer. Unlikely as it was, it gave Daniel a potential ally until he could make it back to Londinium.

As the elevator doors chimed and juddered open, Daniel stepped through and made his way down the twin rows of silver-star cabins to room 318. It was late, and so with a bit of luck Dr Solow would be back in his cabin. He stood up to the door and knocked urgently.

[Sy23]

"You don't say much at all, do you, Butterfly?" said Kes, facetiously, as he laid the alien - now "Butterfly" to him - on his bunk. She looked back at him, her eyes wide, her pupils dilated. In any other circumstances he'd have kissed her - hell, he'd have done more than that - to shake her awake. But to touch her any more than he needed to, in any form of intimate way, would feel like a violation.

He wondered what he'd got himself into, now. Daniel had said he might know someone who could help her. Surely not a member of the brotherhood. well, that alone raised all sorts fo scary questions. He wondered why he was being so chivalrous as to risk his freedom for a stranger - and one who couldn't even laugh at his bad jokes, at that. For that matter, what should he do to look after her? Did she need washing? Feeding? Surely she had to drink water, at least - she needed tubes stuck into her. And despite his pose, he wasn't medically qualified. Another disconcerting thought struck him - what about toileting?

"You're a packet of trouble, you know that, Butterfly?" he grinned. "Still, what pretty girl isn't?"

It was the tiniest of things - so imperceptible than no-one who wasn't used to instantly assessing and correlating every detail as if their life depended on it (which it did) would have noticed...

There was the very slightest movement, from her left eyelid. Just enough that a micrometer might have measured it. And a twitch from her left finger, that didn't even ruffle the bedsheets.

Her mouth moved, perhaps a milimetre. He wasn't sure what she'd said.But...

It might have been "mine?"

[Enigma]

There was a knock at the door. Dr. Helen Solow sighed, closing her book and glanced over at the wall display. You'd think getting a sabbatical to attend a Psychologist conference on Earth would be fun, but she kept running into drunken idiots who wanted to to play doctor, not realizing the kinds of exams she gave had patients leave their clothes on.

"Please let it not be another drunken idiot," she prayed, crawling out of bed and grabbing a dressing gown.

"Just a minute!" she called out, checking her appearance in the mirror. She brushed her blond hair back, trying for some semblance of order. Satisfied, she crossed over to the door and peered through the peep hole.

"Hello..!" she purred, at sight of Daniel standing outside her door, then sighed, glancing down at her wedding ring. "Herbert, I swear you're going to be death of me."

Bracing herself, Helen opened the door slightly.

"Can I help you?" she asked Daniel warily.

**********

The Wanderer blinked curiously at the space pirate and the room he'd brought her to. He kept repeating "Butterfly" at her and some other words she couldn't grasp yet, but seemed really happy when she said "Butterfly" back at him. It hadn't occurred to her to wonder what a butterfly was, yet.

**********

Master Hand checked with his companions, then carefully approached the crazed steward.

"Excuse me," he asked, looking up at the ship's security guards. "Do you know this person?"
"That's Stan Smith, one of the stewards assigned to Nova deck," the guard said.
"Do you know how he obtained these curious burns?"
"What? Someone did something to him? During the fight?"
"I would say before. Would you know what his location was before he came down here?"
"I'm sorry sir, I'm not authorized to release that information to passengers."
"Please excuse me. I was only concerned there may be... others."
"Others?"
"Whoever or whatever may have attacked this man may attack others. Please warn your men they may be walking into some sort of trap."

[Azazeal849]

"Evening, ma'am." said Daniel, touching the tip of his cane to his forehead. He was surprised at how much he enjoyed hearing someone else with a Londinian accent. He had been on Beaumonde for too long. "Mrs Solow I presume?"

He had spotted the wedding ring on her left hand as she held the door ajar, as well as the hastily brushed look of her honey-blonde hair which suggested he had disturbed her. Not from sleep though; her chocolate-brown eyes were bright and alert. Her breathing was even and her skin unflushed, so at least he hadn't interrupted Mr and Mrs Solow in the middle of an intimate moment. That was good. That would have made things awkward.

"I'm sorry to disturb you this late at night," he went on after the woman nodded, confirming his guess as to her identity, "But is your husband in? I need to speak to him as a matter of some urgency."

[Enigma]

"My husband?" Helen demanded, her brow furling. "No, we're separated. He ought to be back in his lab... Don't tell me he's on board!"

Furious, she turned her head to address the display wall. "Computer! Passenger manifest, find Dr. Herbert Solow! I swear if he's shacked up with another grad student I will personally remove anything protruding...!"

"There is no listing for Doctor Herbert Solow in the passenger manifest," the wall interrupted calmly. "Doctor H. Solow is listed for this cabin, there are no other Solows listed aboard."
"Oh, thank you," Helen sighed, then turned to stare at Daniel suspiciously. "What possible pressing need do you have with my husband, if I may ask?"

[Char]

Char had been hailed by the Guest Services Office moments ago, apparently he was being upgraded into the Silver Star area from his current residence in the Economy Class. It was something about promoting alien relations with human businesses, but he stopped listening much after hearing that he was being moved up a class due to overexcitement. Any way one sliced it, it didn't matter terribly much. He was now getting ready to head for a newer, fancier room, and that brought a flattered smile to his mandible-covered, insect face.

He hadn't unpacked terribly much from his single, simple bag since boarding at Beaumonde, and thus it didn't take him long to place his few belongings away and slip out of the door with his backpack across his shoulders. The lanky and fuzzy insect-like alien passed several other people in the hallways on his path to the elevators, as his longer legs took bigger strides than most others'. While he waited for the elevator to arrive, he wondered what the Silver Star Area would be like. He had already been thoroughly impressed with even the Red Star Area, so he could barely even fathom how fancy the Silver and Gold Areas could be. Even the Economy Class tickets for this luxury cruise across the stars were not exactly cheap.

A 'bing' caught his attention as the elevator doors opened, and Char stepped in with a young human couple. He smiled at the two in a friendly way, though not much was said on the elevator ride. Char supposed they maybe hadn't seen many Mza, especially not on the ship, seeing how it was a human operation and all. A friendly AI voice hailed their arrival to Deck 8, making Char relaxed and pleased to be there even though the voice emotions were completely synthesized to suit that exact purpose. Still, a little friendliness and hospitality never hurt, even if such manners were forced.

"How may I help you today, sir?" came the sweet voice of a captivating young human lady that sat behind the Guest Services desk.

Char stepped up to the counter, smiled, and slid his room access card towards her across the cold countertop: "Yes ma'am, I was told I was being relocated to a different room."
"The name on the room?"
"Char Wakan," he replied.
"Ah, yes! We hope you will enjoy your new Silver Star room, Mr. Wakan. The upgrade is free of charge, compliments of the captain and the Zodiac corporation. Here is your new card for room 254 on Deck 2."
"Thank you," Char said after retrieving the card. "Have a pleasant day."

After turning about, Char looked at the overhead signs for the maze of hallways so that he could navigate back to the elevators. He took the left route, which pointed towards the Med-Lab, bathrooms, and elevators. Looking down to place the new card in his pocket, Char accidentally bumped into someone who had just exited from the Med-Lab. Even with his glasses, he still sometimes had a difficult time seeing many things, for which he currently cursed his foolish ignorance. He had to remember to watch out more when walking.

"I apologize, sir," he said as he looked up to address the person who he had nudged. "Are you alright?"

[Azazeal849]

"Oh, thank you," Helen sighed, then turned to stare at Daniel suspiciously. "What possible pressing need do you have with my husband, if I may ask?"

"Ah." said Daniel mildly as he realised his error. Now here was a problem. If he and Paris had both made the mistake, then so too might any other agents hiding aboard the Scorpio. Due to a case of mistaken identity, this other Dr Solow was in very real danger. He lowered his voice and glanced quickly up and down the corridor.

"Ma'am," he said, adopting his most grave and earnest expression, "My name is Daniel Doverton-Hawke, and I work for MI6. There is an alien in my custody with amnesia and I was hoping that your husband's neurological expertise could be of help to her. Unfortunately there are some rather unsavoury characters aboard this ship with the same idea. One of them already planned to pay a visit to your cabin, under the impression that it was your ex-husband staying here. I'm very sorry ma'am, but right now you're in serious danger and you need to get off this ship as soon as possible."

[Enigma]

"Captain, passenger Char Wakan has been transferred to his new Silver Star cabin," the desk clerk for Guest Services said, talking into her Omni.

"Very good," Captain Sharp replied. "When you inform his former neighbors about his upgrade, please remember to capture it all on your Omni for me. The security videos are much too grainy."


Helen stared wide-eyed at the intently serious Daniel for a long moment of silence, then opened her door.

"You'd better come in and have a seat on my sofa," she told him. "I've a feeling there's a very long story in here to explain why a man from MI6 is standing in my doorway and who these unsavory people are who are threatening me over my husband, and what this has to do with an alien?"

[Lokidoki]

"I apologize, sir," he said as he looked up to address the person who he had nudged. "Are you alright?"

Harley winked his right eye to turn his optical view translucent, and focused on the insectoid who had bumped into him. "Oh, I'm just fine. I should have been watching where I was going." He observed that he was a male Mza.

"Actually it was my fault. I ended up down here on accident and got disoriented," he explained with a grin at his own expense. Harley failed to mention that he shouldn't have been viewing his display crossing through a doorway. Moreover, he had failed to mention that coming to the sick-bay hadn't been an accident, but rather a subconscious whim.

Smiling oddly now, Harley commanded his display to shutoff. "I'm Mr. Black."

[Char]

"Haha, no problem, sir!" Char said merrily, dismissing the apologies of the other. "And it's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Black."

The Mza returned the smile casually as the man reminded him of himself, daydreaming a bit and then accidentally bumping into some random stranger. It was an interesting thing, and enjoyable, to meet others like oneself, Char thought.

"There's so much happening on this ship as of late, what with the gun situation on this Deck, and now I've apparently been reassigned to the Silver Star Area on Deck 2. Even though we're going to be here awhile, it doesn't yet seem as though there will be a dull moment! I just hope I don't get caught up in a gun situation, is all."

He shifted the weight of his backpack on his shoulders before speaking again: "Are you staying in the Silver Star Suites by chance?"

[Lokidoki]

He shifted the weight of his backpack on his shoulders before speaking again: "Are you staying in the Silver Star Suites by chance?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I'm not a very luxurious man. Don't worry about getting shot. You're obviously not the sort of person to get into dangerous situations like that." Harley motioned to his friend's backpack. "What's the backpack for, might I ask? Are you... do you not trust the attendants with your belongings?"
He began to walk toward the elevator with his unusual companion.

[Char]

"What's that? Oh, yes, my backpack," Char responded to Mr. Black. "Forgive me, it's just that I've lived in areas with loads of people, not all of them being exactly friendly. I just prefer to keep an eye on my few things rather than taking any chances of losing them again. Having to go out and buy all of one's necessities after having them stolen is disheartening to say the least."

The two fellows arrived at the elevator, which opened conveniently as the pressed the hailing button. Stepping inside, they activated their respective levels on the control panel moments before the mechanisms whirred into action.

"Will you be on the ship for the remaining months of the journey, or are you getting off at one of the ports?" he asked, making a bit of small talk as the elevator hummed with motion.

[Azazeal849]

“You'd better come in and have a seat on my sofa,” she told him.

“Thank you. You’re very kind.” said Daniel as he sat down and Helen bolted the door.

Daniel was faced with a problem. His conscience told him not to leave Dr Solow to the mercy of Paris’ associates, but agents in His Majesty’s SIS could rarely afford the luxury of conscience. Getting civilians involved in an investigation was a security risk at best, and dangerously irresponsible at worst. However, stumbling into this conspiracy as he had, he had no orders or mission parameters to rely on - only his own wits. And in this case, his wits agreed with his conscience. If Herbert Solow’s ex-wife was also a doctor, then depending on her field, she might be able to help get some information out of the alien. Then they might have a clue as to what game Paris, the man he had killed, and this mysterious “Tatsu” were about.

If Helen Solow could help him, then he would try and persuade her to come with him. If she could not, then he would send her on her way, and hope that his warning would be enough to help her evade any other enemy agents who were on her trail.

“I've a feeling,” said Helen, “There's a very long story in here to explain why a man from MI6 is standing in my doorway, and who these unsavoury people are who are threatening me over my husband, and what this has to do with an alien?”

“There is.” Daniel said with a tired smile. And so he began spinning his carefully constructed half-truth. “I was sent here to eliminate a TID agent who went rogue some time ago. One John Paris Jr.”

“John P…” Helen said, looking skeptical, “The ambassador’s son?”

“The very same.” Daniel said, in his most serious voice, “Ever wonder why he disappeared from the public eye for so long? He defected from the TID and has been working as a mercenary assassin ever since. He had already killed at least one passenger aboard this ship before I tracked him here and apprehended him. Under the effects of truth serum he told me that he’d been sent here by a Jiangyin called Tatsu, to hunt down this poor alien girl. The alien, who was found wandering the ship just today, supposedly knows something of worth to this Tatsu character. However, it looks like she has wiped her own memory to keep it from him. She's safe for the moment, with a man called Kes who seems to have been able to bond with her a little, but for her own safety we need to get her off the ship and back to Londinium.

"Another thing I overheard while following Paris is that he wanted your ex-husband’s neural probe to get the information out of the alien. Like me, he assumed from the passenger roster that it was your ex-husband staying here rather than you. Paris himself is…no longer a problem, but I have reason to believe that Tatsu has other men aboard. One of them, a brainwashed steward, just tried to break into sickbay where the alien was being held. I believe they may try to come for you too.”

He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands, looking at Helen to gauge her reaction.

“I’m so sorry to be the bearer of such unwelcome news.” he said earnestly.

[Enigma]

It sounded like one of those spy melodramas. Handsome MI6 agents taking on sly Jiangyin spies and ruthless assassins - and an alien girl with a secret worth killing for!

"It might interest you to know I am a trained Neural Probe operator," Helen told Daniel. "Some of my patients have memories they've blocked, so many psychologists are using them as diagnostic tools. But even if your assassin had my husband, there's nothing he could do without a neural probe suite. There's not many of them off of Londinium or Earth...."

Helen frowned. "The girl's amnesic? That's more than a little extreme if the operator was just trying to block a memory. Perhaps if the operator was unaware of how her mind was structured...."

Helen paused, then came to a decision. She stood up and headed to her dresser. "Give me a few moments to change, then you can take me to see her. Something's not quite right here, I need to examine her."

[Lokidoki]

"Will you be on the ship for the remaining months of the journey, or are you getting off at one of the ports?" he asked, making a bit of small talk as the elevator hummed with motion.

Harley sighed, without trying to be rude. "You know, I really can't be sure," he answered. He glanced at his new friend deductively. He seems like a sincere man, but more importantly, Harley considered, an honest one. It would be rude to withhold rudimentary information from a harmlessly friendly pal.

"Actually, I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing on the Scorpio. But I have important matters to tend to, and I couldn't tend to them on Beaumond. My previous means of transportation was... misplaced, shall we say." Harley had to chuckle at the irony of a one-of-a-kind starship being misplaced. It was outright commandeered. It's just that that would be far above rudimentary information. Mr. Black was courteous and outgoing, but he surely wasn't a newspaper stand.

"Since I'm not very sure what I'm supposed to be doing, and wasn't very sure what I might encounter should I board the Scorpio, I figured it was my best shot. But to answer your question: no, I have no intention of stranding myself planetside." Mr. Black glared thoughtfully for a moment, and then laughed at himself for sounding so out of place. That's me, he thought. But what he said was, "I'm sorry," laughing softly, "this must all sound odd to you. Tell me, what is your name?"

[Char]

"Actually, I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing on the Scorpio. But I have important matters to tend to, and I couldn't tend to them on Beaumond. My previous means of transportation was... misplaced, shall we say."

"Sorry to hear about that. Having a private ship is really nice, though I wouldn't know terribly much because I've never had one. But if one is used to going on one's own terms, reverting to public transportation can be a bit... well, different!"

The man was certainly polite, and as he spoke Char could imagine him as the head of some company, a profitable and proper businessman with all the right connections. Something in his manner of speaking and carrying himself suggested to Char that this Mr. Black was an esteemed character, one with extensive experience in corporations or high society. It was all very exciting to him, as Char rarely ever met anybody of such seeming stature. Of course he enjoyed meeting new people anyways, but to find himself, a lowly commoner, conversing with people of the upper echelon was exhilarating.

Tell me, what is your name?"

"Forgive me, sir," Char said, remembering now that he had failed to mention his name in these first moments of their introduction. "I'm Char Wakan. I mostly do cooking, but I've had a few other jobs in the past. Right now, I'm just on vacation to see some of the galaxy and maybe make a few new friends along the way. Basically, I'm just letting the universe work in the random way that it does and seeing how I'll come into the play of it all!"

Char took out his handheld comm device and opened up a number transfer to Mr. Black's local device.

"Here's my call number, if you ever need help with a problem or just want to share a few drinks."

[Sy23]

"You really are a mystery, aren't you?" mused Kes, in a whisper, half-smiling. Butterfly said nothing, merely gazing up at him with unblinking, unfocused eyes. Her earlier mouthings had not been repeated, despite his attempts to indulge her in conversation. The evidence that she understood what was said to her was flimsy at best. He shrugged. Oh well, Daniel had said he'd be along with someone to help. All he could do was indulge in that futile but necessary pastime of waiting-and-seeing.

He pulled the tab from an autoheat coffee, and sipped. If only there were some way to break her reserve. Something that might push her into giving another sign of recognition, proving that her earlier grunted syllables were a genuine attempt to communicate, rather than random noises. He suspected that there wasn't.

Remembering something that had happened earlier, he smiled at her. "You know, Butterfly," he said, looking deep into her eyes. "You really are very pretty!"

He watched her face carefully. Her eyes, her mouth, all stayed rigid. She was like a statue. But slowly, and so slightly it was all but unnoticeable, the merest touch of redness seemed to suffuse her cheeks for a brief second, before it vanished.

[Azazeal849]

Daniel picked up the shift in Helen's eyes, from skepticism to a glitter of excitement. Excitement was hardly Daniel's emotion of choice for describing how he felt about his work - most of the overeager SIS recruits got weeded out in the first batch of exams, on the grounds that such sentiments tended to get agents killed. That said, the fact that Helen Solow was interested enough to volunteer her help without him having to ask for it was the best possible outcome for him.

Helen frowned. "The girl's amnesic? That's more than a little extreme if the operator was just trying to block a memory. Perhaps if the operator was unaware of how her mind was structured...."

"That does seem possible." Daniel nodded, grateful to have the Doctor's expertise to supplement his own guesswork. "She is an alien, after all."

Helen paused, then came to a decision. She stood up and headed to her dresser. "Give me a few moments to change, then you can take me to see her. Something's not quite right here, I need to examine her."

Daniel nodded in agreement. "Thank you Doctor. Your offer of assistance to King and Commonwealth will not go unappreciated." He paused, and then gave her a slightly lopsided smile. "I'll keep watch outside and give you some privacy to change."

He rose and headed back to the front door. He resisted the urge to glance surreptitiously at the mirror near the door, even though the angle of reflection gave him a perfect view back into Helen Solow's living room. Londinian courtesy frowned on such things. There was also the fact that playing around on the job could get an agent summarily dismissed for gross misconduct - unless of course they were required to seduce someone as part of their mission.

Naturally, that didn't mean he wasn't tempted.

Stepping through the cabin door, he closed it gently behind him and started pretending to be composing an email on his omni. Playing with the device gave him a reason to be loitering in the corridor, and also allowed him to keep tabs on Caesaro and the alien. He stood with his head down, but discreetly kept one eye on anyone entering the corridor as he worked.

[Enigma]

"Your attention please," the quiet yet cheerful woman's voice announced through the ship. "The situation on the Life Deck has been resolved. Anyone who needs to see the doctor may do so now."

"Tonight at the Captain's Request will be the Midnight Marti Gras on the Promenade, Deck 4. Bring your masks, party people! You never know what may happen on the Scorpio tonight!"


Captain Sharp scowled as he leaned over the sedated steward. The burns on the steward's face bothered him. "So you want me to believe that some devilish device was put on this man that drove him crazy?"
"The Brotherhood have seen such devices before," Master Hand replied calmly.
"Chief!" Sharp roared, turning to face his head of security. "I want to know every place this man has been in the last twenty-four hours!"
"Sir, yes sir!"

"So, what about the girl?" Sharp asked quietly.
"She was his target, yes."
"Someone believes this... girl, is one of your sainted Wanderers?"
"It is possible."
"Well, aren't you supposed to be out protecting her?"
"We protect her by drawing the attention of those who seek her away from her. She is in good hands."
"Huh."

"Captain," interrupted the Security Chief, "according to the log, the steward was called to one of the nova cabins."
"Well don't keep me in suspense! Whose cabin?"
"John Paris' cabin."
"Paris!?!" the captain roared.
"Of course," Master Hand replied.
"What? The man's a disgrace! Have you met him?"
"I have. On Charon. It was to our Chapter House that he came to after his reappearance."
"The man's a womanizing playboy, caused his family plenty of problems in the news," Sharp scowled.
"Before his disappearance, yes. The man I met on Charon was very different. I have followed his career with Terran Security and afterward as a freelance assassin."
"Assassin?!?"
"He is the man who refuses to die. Any man who kills him dies soon after - by Paris' own hand."
"What kind of nonsense is that?"
"It is true, I assure you," Master Hand replied calmly. "I do not know who he is working for, but the target is clearly the girl you found on board your ship."
"Well, in that case," Sharp snorted, turning back to his Chief of Security, "FIND THAT BASTARD PARIS AND LOCK HIM DOWN BEFORE HE DOES THIS TO SOMEONE ELSE!"
"YESSIR!" his chief replied, bolting from the doorway, already snapping off furious commands into his wrist omni.

"However," Master Hand sighed, "I am most perplexed as to why Paris would send another, instead of coming here himself? It is most out of character for him."
"The man's a damned assassin, you told me that yourself."
"Indeed."
"Going after a helpless girl. Bastard."
"Indeed."


The Wanderer glanced at Kes and felt her cheeks burning. The way he was looking at her was very... strange. Very intense.
"...likes you..." the Other muttered in her head.

What was 'like'?


Helen dressed quickly, slipping into a pair of jeans, a scarlet blouse and her green blazer. A comfortable pair of shoes were next, then she glanced at the door. From a drawer, she pulled out a tan wallet and slipped it into her blazer pocket, followed by a silver compact - and a small derringer. If this man wasn't who he claimed to be, an agent of MI6, or if the story he told of an alien girl was a lie, she'd be able to defend herself.

She glanced at the mirror, then nodded determinedly to herself. An amnesic alien girl - someone knew just what to say to pull her out of her cabin. She just hoped she wasn't walking into some sort of trap.

"Computer, if I have not contacted you within two hours, please summon security and replay the conversation I had with that man to them. Keyword Rivafani."
"Acknowledged."


Helen opened her door and smiled at Daniel. "Shall we go?"

[Azazeal849]

Helen opened her door and smiled at Daniel. "Shall we go?"

"By your leave, doctor." Daniel replied, sweeping one arm palm-up towards the elevators. He noted that given Helen Solow's choice of clothes, she had taken slightly longer than he would have expected to get dressed. Nervousness? Perhaps. Or maybe she had called security? No, if she had done that she would be trying to stall him. She might well be suspicious of him - that was good; that was only natural. But something told him that the sharp-witted Dr Solow was capable of looking after herself. He smiled inwardly at that.

Daniel led the way from the elevator to Kes' cabin, constantly glancing up and down the corridors for unwelcome guests. He reached cabin 252 and knocked. He heard footsteps, a brief delay as Kes checked the peephole, and then the fugitive pirate opened the door. Daniel noted that he had taken off the medical orderly's labcoat that he had been wearing in sickbay. He still hadn't figured out what game Caesaro was playing, or why he had snuck back into the life deck to visit the alien in private - the second time he had attempted to do so. The hidden gun was still in the inside pocket of the pirate's jumpsuit, and Daniel deliberately avoided letting his eyes flick towards it.

"Mr Caesaro," he began, "This is Doctor Helen Solow, she's here to help our alien friend. Doctor this is Llewelyn Caesaro."

[Sy23]

"Well, I'm glad to see you," Said Kes, throwing the door wide. He nodded towards Dr Solow, noting her bright clothing. The bright green and red reminded him, somehow, of the gnomes and other such faerie beings he'd read about in childhood. What was that character in the holo he'd read recently? The one about the halfling trying to dispose of the really bad jewelry? Tom Bombadil, that was it! He wouldn't have been shocked if she'd sported a cap with a bell on it. Nonetheless, behind the casual clothing, the body was all that could be desired. Or, perhaps, it had been so long that his standards had slipped.

"It's very strange," he continued, indicating the prone body of the alien on the bunk. "She's said two words, one of which might be 'butterfly', and the other incomprehensible. Rather like a baby at the stage their babbling turns into speech." He was guessing the last - he'd have walked barefoot over broken glass rather than indulge in parenthood - "And if I say something nice about her... about her looks... a rather strange thing happens. Her face changes color. Almost like a blush, you know, though of course it couldn't be. And she- "

He stopped, and changed, as if some other thing had suddenly occurred to him. "Oh, and by the way, I wonder if you'd do me the courtesy of either getting rid of those weapons you're both toting, or at least conceal them a little more efficiently. I can't help feeling it's a little disrespectful, don't you think?"

[Azazeal849]

Daniel smiled. "You're right, Mr Caesaro, and I do beg your pardon. Likewise I assure you that I take no offence at you extending the same discourtesy to me."

He gently indicated Kes' inside pocket, where the man's own pistol sat, and then let the matter drop.

"I think you'll agree, Mr Caesaro," he said as he closed the door behind him, "That after what just happened in Sickbay, all of us carrying guns is only prudent. And I think I can tell you what happened. You remember that disagreeable man John Paris who was giving our alien friend such a predatory look when we first went to see her?"

He took a breath. He was about to reveal his identity to another civilian, and his true target at that. But since Dr Solow already knew, it was better that he tell Kes himself rather than have Helen let it slip later and thus immediately put Caesaro on his guard.

"Well, he's an ex Terran Intelligence Division agent who recently went into freelance assassin work. I was sent by the Londinium SIS - you may know it better as MI6 - to track him down. I succeeded. Before Paris died he told me that our alien friend had some information valuable to his employer, but that she had had her memory wiped to keep it from him. Unfortunately, judging by what just happened in Sickbay, Paris wasn't the only means for his boss to project his influence here. So, for the girl's own safety, we have to help her remember why these men are after her and get her off the ship as soon as possible. Dr Solow has volunteered to help with the former, and the late Mr Paris has thoughtfully provided us with a ship for the latter."

He crossed the room so he could take a closer look at the alien girl, who had propped herself up on one elbow to stare at them. She seemed unhurt, though her face was still as mutely incomprehending as ever. He smiled at her reassuringly, then beckoned to Helen.

"Doctor, as you might have guessed this is the alien I was telling you about. Would you be so kind as to take a look at her for us?"

[Sy23]

"But - I don't understand," said Kes, genuinely uncomprehending. "Why would anyone want to kill Butterfl - kill the alien? What possible threat could she be to anyone." He turned to look. The girl was actually looking at them, which was definitely progress. For some reason he couldn't comprehend, it made him feel really good. He felt bad about talking about her in the third person... after his lecture to Daniel and Doctor Solow about etiquette, it seemed somewhat hypocritical. "I mean, she can't even comprehend anything, as far as is known, never mind speak. And if she knew any secret they needed buried - well, she's hardly going to reveal it right now, is she?"

He gave a wry grin.

"And as for John Paris... well, he wasn't as good as he obviously thought he was. We met, a lifetime and a half ago, but I won't go into that." He snorted, his light Welsh lilt becoming stronger. "Freelance indeed. Any organization misguided enough to hire him to find his own ass with both hands would have done well to send a backup! But anyway..."

He turned to watch Dr Solow, as she bent to examine the alien.

[Azazeal849]

"And if she knew any secret they needed buried - well, she's hardly going to reveal it right now, is she?"

"They don't need it buried," Daniel explained, "They need it extracted. According to Paris, she knows the pass-code to a bank account holding a rather large sum of money that she apparently stole from his employer. What doesn't make sense though is that by wiping her memory she stopped herself from being able to access the money either. So unless she has some plan for making herself remember I am beginning to wonder if this memory wipe was an act of desperation, or maybe not even voluntary."

The agent paused, rubbing his chin as he pondered the question.

Kes gave a wry grin. "And as for John Paris... well, he wasn't as good as he obviously thought he was. We met, a lifetime and a half ago, but I won't go into that."

"Still, I must say that the freelancer put up quite a fight." Daniel shrugged, wondering if Caesaro's profession to knowing Paris was a bluff, and what it meant either way. He decided to accept the pirate's brushing off of the matter, and not to pursue the point for the moment. After all Paris was now dead, and he had Caesaro precisely where he needed him. No need to alarm the man by seeming too interested in his past.

"Freelance indeed." Kes snorted, his light Welsh lilt becoming stronger. "Any organisation misguided enough to hire him to find his own ass with both hands would have done well to send a backup! But anyway..."

He turned to watch Dr Solow, as she bent to examine the alien.

"What are your thoughts, Doctor?" Daniel asked as he joined Helen by the alien's bedside.

[Enigma]

All the lights in the Nova cabin suddenly flared into brilliant life as the door to Paris' cabin burst open to let four very-well armed members of the Ship's Security Rapid Response team inside, weapons ready. The first two squeezed the triggers on their Bass Stunners and slowly pivoted, sweeping the large room. Behind them, the team leader and the other man held onto their assault rifles, ready to offer covering fire.

Nothing moved. Nor was there a comforting "thud". The team leader held up his fist, then waved the other team towards the bedroom, then they headed towards the suite's oversized bathroom.

"When we get in there," the Team Leader said, "If you don't see anyone, start shooting at the water."
"Water distorts the waves from the stunner," the other man pointed out.
"Yeah, but unless he's got gills he gotta come up to breathe."

Kicking in the door, they burst inside - and almost fell on the marble floor. The team leader swore, but nothing jumped out at them.
"Sir, the tub's empty!" the Stunner reported.

Gunshots came from the bedroom. Swearing furiously, the two men spun and raced across the cabin, flanking the door, then as one rushed inside.

The other team's stunner was lying on the floor, while his partner was sitting on the edge of the bed, his face buried in his hands.

"Parker? Parker! What the hell happened here? Was it Paris?" the team leader demanded as his partner checked on the fallen man.
"I... I don't know. Something moved, it got Quen! I tried to stop it...!"
"You shot Quen?!?"
"I had to," Parker said, looking up with an evil grin. The edge of his face was pockmarked with strangely shaped burns. "He was very..... NAUGHTY!"

Shots rang out in the bedroom.



Helen glanced at Kes as she knelt to study the girl. If this Paris was such a notorious assassin, how did that man wind up meeting him?

"She looks human," Helen noted. "Bright eyed, alert. Do you understand me? Can you speak?"
"Butterfly?" The Wanderer said, glancing from the woman to the two men, completely lost.
"Butterfly?" Helen repeated, momentarily non-pulsed. "Do you like butterflies?"
"Butterfly!"
"What's your favorite butterfly?" Helen asked, but the alien girl just smiled.

"She knows a word, probably from someone repeating it, but I don't see any sign of comprehension. I'll need to get her to a Neural Probe to learn what's going on inside her...."

The display wall suddenly changed - a man in blue coveralls wearing a web harness and a name tape that read "Parker" was leering back at them.

"Ah hah! I found you!" he chortled, waving his finger at them. "That was extremely naughty! I'm going to have to punish all of you now!"
"RUN!" Parker suddenly screamed, tensing up and grabbing his face. "It's in my head! It wants to kill her! RUN! Aaggha!"
"There's no place to run," he snarled angrily as he leaned forward, putting his hands on the wall. "We're in interspace! There's no place to hide here! Move and I won't kill you quick!"

The display cleared.

"What was that?" Helen demanded. "That man sounded psychotic!"

[Azazeal849]

"What was that?" Helen demanded. "That man sounded psychotic!"

“If I were to hazard a guess,” Daniel said dryly, “I would say that Mr Tatsu has found himself another pawn.”

On an abstract level he was deeply sorry for the man called Parker, just as he had been for the steward, but cold logic told him that there was little he could do for the man right now, and if they stayed here it would only endanger himself, the alien, and the civilian he had dragged into this mess - not to mention the other passengers of the Scorpio.

He was already striding towards the door. “I think we’d better get to Paris’ ship.”

Because Parker’s assertion was wrong. They were indeed in interspace, but if they were able to launch Paris’ ship clear of the Scorpio they would spin clear of its interspace wake and drop back into real space within a couple of minutes. Most likely this would leave them stranded in deep space light-years from the nearest star, but then they could activate their ship’s own interspace drive and set course for Londinium.

He was sure that Paris’ ship had its own interspace drive. Not just because it was only logical for a freelance assassin to have their own independent means of conveyance, but because during the long conversation at the Captain’s table Paris had mentioned that he had docked just a few hours earlier rather than come up from Beaumonde. If he hadn’t come from Beaumonde then he must have arrived from another planet, and he couldn’t have done that without an interspace drive.

His hand resting on his holstered pistol, Daniel stuck his head out the door and checked quickly left and right. The corridor was still clear for now.

“I’ll be with you in a moment.” he told Helen and Kes as he ran to his own cabin 20 doors down and twisted his Omni towards the door lock. It beeped green and let him in, the lights flickering on. The nanobots in the carpet had finished repairing the hole left by Paris’ abrupt dematerialisation. His briefcase was still on the bed, where he had left it before dashing off to Sickbay, and he scooped all the important items from his room into it before snapping it closed and running back to the door. He headed straight back to Kes’ cabin to find the others.

“Let’s go.” he said urgently.

[Sy23]

In one move, Kes hoisted Butterfly from the bed, and hoisted her over his shoulder, in what had, hundreds of years before, been known as a "Fireman's Carry", before automatic sensors had made the concept obsolete. His reinforced skeleton meant that she was no weight at all,though she might have been a hindrance if he had to fight, which he assumed was a distinct possibility.

"I assume we're all invited," he asked Dr Solow. "And that where we're going is going to be explained to us."

Butterfly had collapsed like a dead weight in his carry, reverting to her earlier, almost trance-like state. Due to her position, with her midriff resting on his shoulder, the upper half of her body was facing downward. Suddenly, she shifted slightly, and her arms made a clasping motion, as she took hold of his body. A reflex falling motion, or... ?

He decided to puzzle about what it was - or why it made him feel so good - when time permitted, which wasn't right now!

[Char]

After departing from the small conversation of Mr. Black from the elevator, Char soon found himself in the confines of his new Silver Star Suite, room 254. It was luxurious in every visible way, certainly more so than he had ever seen in a hotel room. Then again, he reminded himself that he had never stayed in a suite. First times for everything, he thought.

He quickly set down his bag onto the soft carpet flooring and proceeded to retrieve a glass of water. Once he had finished gulping it down, Char decided he wanted to get out for a stroll around this new area of the ship. He hadn't spent any time on Deck 2 so far and felt the need to get somewhat acquainted with the area that would be his home for the remainder of his time on the Scorpio.

The water glass only made the slightest of noises as he set it gently onto a tabletop. With a few steps he was out of the automatic door and standing in the hallway. Char drew in a deep breath and happily anticipated the new things soon to come...

[Enigma]

The agent left, returning a minute later with a suitcase.

"Let's go," he said. The other gentleman just scooped up the alien and put her over his shoulder, like a pirate taking a captive woman.

"I assume we're all invited," Kes asked Dr Solow. "And that where we're going is going to be explained to us."

"We need to get her someplace with a working neuroprobe that I can use to wake her back up," she explained, stepping out the door. "Perhaps find out why someone is trying to kill her. Oh, hello!"

Dr. Solow had bumped into Char. She'd paled slightly, then relaxed when she realized that it wasn't the gun man. "Sorry! So which way do we go...?" she asked.

"FOUND YOU!" yelled a figure stepping out of the forward access, swinging his gun towards them.

"Midships!" the doctor cried, grabbing Char's arm and pulling him with her down the hallway.

[Sy23]

Kes' first thought was to stand and fight - giving his reinforced skeleton and augmented reflexes, he fancied his chances with the gunman. He'd dealt with worse threats before. Against this, he was carrying Butterfly over his shoulder, and he couldn't risk the innocent (he presumed so, anyway) girl's life.

The decision flared in his brain, and he turned, sprinting after the others, and drawing level with them immediately. He tried to shift Butterfly's weight, so that as little as possible of her prone body was presented as a target, and as he ran, threw her forward, cradling her in his outstretched arms, like a groom carrying a bride. Carrying a fully-grown woman in this manner would have slowed most men down considerably, but his augmented body was able to cope with very little loss of efficiency.

He knew, however, that the brief gap they'd gained would not be much good - for nobody can outrun a laser beam or a bullet. Exactly why the gunman hadn't fired immediately, he could not fathom - temporarily jammed weapon, maybe - but he expected any moment to feel the impact of a projectile slam into his back. The odds were his bones would deflect it at this range, but he wasn't invincible all the same, and sweat had broken out on his brow.

If Daniel didn't turn and use his own weapon soon, it would be up to him...

[Azazeal849]

"FOUND YOU!" yelled a figure stepping out of the forward access, swinging his gun towards them.

Daniel snapped round, and immediately threw himself sideways into the corridor wall, his hand clawing for the cricket ball in his pocket. The psychotic guard was in full security armour, with a full-torso ballistic vest, nanoweave shoulder pads and a combat helmet. The low velocity bullets from Daniel's pistol would probably do no more than stagger him. He needed his bass stunner. His hand closed around the signed cricket ball that concealed the weapon, but it was a race he was never going to win.

Parker's automatic snarled in short bursts, the sound deafening in the confined space. He wasn't aiming at Daniel, but somebody behind the agent yelped in pain. Dropping down the wood panelled wall in a last-ditch attempt to reduce his target profile, the agent held out his bass stunner towards Parker and depressed a button hidden beneath the leather coating, sending several pulses of infrasound into the guard's centre of mass. Parker flopped to the ground as his body and his brain suddenly stopped communicating with each other.

"Midships!" the doctor cried, grabbing Char's arm and pulling him with her down the hallway.

"One moment!" Daniel called back, rising from his crouched position and running towards the unconscious Parker. The period a bass stunner would knock a person out for was highly variable, and he didn't want the mind-controlled guard posing a threat to them or anyone else on the Scorpio if he came round. He picked up Parker's assault rifle, ran back to his cabin and threw the weapon carelessly across the floor before closing the door again, hoping that the automatic lock would be enough to keep Parker out if he somehow guessed where his weapon had gone.

Turning, he sprinted after Dr Solow and the others, catching up with them by the midship elevators.

"Deck 14." he told Caesaro, who was stabbing the call button with one hand while keeping "Butterfly" held secure with the other. The alien didn't seem at all bothered about being folded ignominiously over the pirate's shoulder. Neither of them appeared to be wounded.

"Who was hit?" he asked, turning in concern to Dr Solow.

[Char]

Then the most interesting group of people passed by Char as he began walking in the hallways. Perhaps the thing that caught his attention the most was that a young woman was struggling with consciousness whilst being hoisted around on top of a man's shoulder. He hoped that this was not what he thought it was, because it appeared a bit awkward to say the least.

They were obviously in some kind of rush. Maybe they were kidnapping this unconscious woman? The leading woman did not seem to notice Char standing on the side of the corridor which she was walking down as she plowed into him.

"Midships!" the doctor cried, grabbing Char's arm and pulling him with her down the hallway.

"Oh, sorry miss," came Char's instant response.

He was surprised when she grabbed his arm and began to drag him along. Was he being kidnapped as well? Oh, this was a very strange day indeed. To put the jam on the donut, a bewildered man rounded the far corner of the hall, weapon in hand. The crazed security guard was so out of it that he took a moment or two to remember how to operate his assault rifle. Char watched with amazement as one of the group efficiently took out the other with some kind of stunner weapon. He had been so caught up in watching he didn't even notice the wound on his upper arm until the lady began to tow him down the hallway once more.

"Ah, this is just going to ruin my good day, ha ha," Char chuckled, wincing in pain the laughter caused him. "Let me- let me just rest... just for a moment..."

[Enigma]

A line of red fire burned along her side, but Helen kept moving, even after hearing the whine of a bass stunner behind her and the mad gunman falling to the floor, twitching.

"Elevator first," she gasped at Char. At the elevator, she leaned against the cold stone surround and let Char go.

"Who was hit?" The suave MI-6 agent asked, coming around the corner.
"I'm just grazed. What about you?"


Butterfly shuddered in Kes' broad arms, clutching at him. When the shooting started, she had cried out wordlessly at the loud noise of the gun. She could feel the fear coming from the others. At the elevator, she looked up at him with a hurt look.
"Butterfly?" she asked, confused.


"Milord Vargas, another converted is down."
"Damn them!" his lordship said, slamming a fist down on to a console. "Just how did that agent wind up on that ship? Did someone tip off the humans?"
"Sir, I don't see how. The judge selected the ship as the target for the transmat just an hour before the girl was brought up. And the humans can only do interspace."
"For now," Lord Vargas scowled. "We had to use Paris to make a human hyperspace prototype ship disappear. Our field agents keep us apprised, but we might miss one. That's why we can't afford to let her live."
"Sir?"
"How soon before the next Paris is ready?"
"We're implanting now, but we're still looking at several hours."
"As soon as he's ready, contact me and prepare a transmat to the ship."
"Of course, Milord."

[Sy23]

"Yes, yes, sweetie. Butterfly," soothed Kes, looking down at the girl. He think he had her worked out, now. She had only one word in her vocabulary - so that single word had to do duty for every expression or phrase a language could possibly need, from "What is your opinion regarding the separation of church and state", through "wrap up warm, dear, it's cold" to "What the fuck?" It was a mode of expression that probably wasn't going to oust the more universal form of English any day soon. "I'm going to have to teach you a few more words, when we get somewhere safe, pretty one," he grinned, and looked up at the agent.

"Thanks for the rearguard, I for one appreciated it," he said, and meant it. He stabbed the elevator key again, subscribing to the widespread but incorrect theory that elevators could be intimidated into hurrying if a passenger shows enough anger. "And you're OK, Doctor? And-" his eyes widened as he looked at Char. "So, who might you be, then?"

[Char]

Char laughed a bit at the man's comment while he leaned up against the wall and held his open wound. It hurt immensely, but it didn't seem as though he was going to die from it. He wouldn't be much use currently, but in time he would likely be alright. Or so he hoped.

"Ha, me? I'm just on vacation actually. Though it seems as though I've been dragged into a rather peculiar and intriguing conflict as of these past few moments. My name's Char, by the way. Sorry if I caused a disturbance back there. What's happening with you four?"

Pushing through the sting, Char pressed onto the wound forcibly in an attempt to slow the flow of blood that trickled down his arm and onto the carpeted hallway floor...

[Azazeal849]

"I'm just grazed. What about you?"

"I'm perfectly fine." Daniel replied. Among the vital items he had hurriedly stuffed into his briefcase was a pocket-size first aid kid, and putting the case down on the floor he snapped the catches and extracted the small green container. Unzipping it, he pulled out an antiseptic pressure pad and a roll of gauze. "Let me see?"

The bullet had put a hole in Helen's jacket and slashed open her shirt along her left flank. The material was sticky with blood, though against the red fabric it looked almost like water.

"Begging your pardon, doctor." Daniel smiled as he carefully rolled up her shirt, teasing the torn edges away from the wound. Helen was right, the bullet had only grazed her. She was extremely lucky. He pressed the pressure pad against the red line of the cut and set about winding the gauze around Helen's stomach to keep it in place, securing the loose end with a strip of tape.

"That should hold." he said, giving the doctor's shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he straightened. She didn't need it, of course - Helen Solow had quickly confirmed his first impression of her by remaining calm and clear headed even in the aftermath of a shootout; one in which she had been wounded no less - but he permitted himself the small indulgence.

"Thanks for the rearguard." Kes said, and meant it. "I for one appreciate it."

Daniel inclined his head graciously. "You're welcome, Mr Caesaro. Right now my priority is keeping all of you alive. Although," he added as the door chimed and Kes began to carry Butterfly into the elevator, "I suggest you put the poor girl down and let her walk herself from here. Carrying her around like a kidnap victim is going to give the wrong impression to anyone we meet on the way down."

Picking up his briefcase and stepping into the lift, Daniel turned to Char, to whom Kes was now talking. He recognised a Mza when he saw one - they held the distinction of being the only sentient insectoids in the known galaxy. He also belatedly noticed that the alien was wounded, dark fluid leaking from a crack in the exoskeleton of its upper limb.

"Stop us at deck 8 as well." he told Kes as he extracted another pressure pad from his first aid kit. He knew something of Mza history and culture, but not much of their physiology, and so he hoped that the antiseptic in the pad wouldn't adversely affect the alien.

"Press that against the wound, my friend." he said to Char, using the gender-neutral form of address because he was not sure if this Mza was a male or a female, and didn't want to cause offence. "You should go to sickbay and get that seen to properly as soon as possible."

The Mza looked at him through an almost comically oversized pair of spectacle lenses. No doubt the alien had questions, and no doubt as soon as Daniel let it go it would recount its story to the Scorpio's crew, which would generate additional problems. Even so, it was still much less risky for both them and the Mza itself than to try and take the second alien along with them.

[Char]

The bite of the antiseptic swab made Char squeeze his eyes shut, but at least it was helping despite the pain he now felt. Even though it was hard to remain calm with blood oozing out from a gunshot wound, Char did his best to keep his breathing under reigns.

"Thanks a lot," Char said to the man who seemed to be in control of the group. He was unusually calm, as if he were used to such situations from many years of experience.

"What about you though? Won't you all need some help?" he asked to his new companions, not wanting to abandon the group in case they could use his assistance in the near future.

[Azazeal849]

Daniel smiled at Char apologetically. "I'm sorry, my friend, but the less we tell you, the less chance that someone like the man who just attacked us will attempt to harm you a second time."

[Sy23]

Kes totally saw Daniel's point about putting Butterfly down, and agreed with it. But he wished he hadn't said it. He'd come to like looking after her - it had been many years since he'd had a woman totally dependent on him - most of the women he associated with would have pulled off their own heads rather than admit to any form of dependency or helplessness - and he was finding it rather enjoyable, much to his consternation!

He set her on her feet, gently, and pressed the appropriate key to stop the elevator at deck 8, and turned to regard Char. The Mza seemed puzzled and intrigued by the situation, and Kes couldn't say he blamed him. He stole a discreet look at certain parts of the Mza's anatomy. Yes, definitely "him", with a mid-leg cuticle-joint like that. Few hominids could tell the difference, but he'd served with the race aboard the Starchaser, running Rendian spices and Gauderian iron past the blockade runners. One of them had even developed something of a passion for him, but even someone like Kes had to draw the line somewhere!

"You know, I think..." he said. "I think, on the whole, citizen Char, you'd better stay with us. I doubt you'd get back to your cabin, never mind the med unit, without collapsing, judging by the ikor you've lost." He used the correct word for the circulatory fluid of the Mza without conscious thought, then suddenly realized he'd given away yet another key to his past, dammit. Oh well, too late now. "At least there's a doctor on hand, if anything goes wrong."

"Butterfly," said Butterfly, emphatically, as if she at least knew what it meant.

[Char]

"Ikor... yes," Char said, impressed that this man knew much about Mza at all. So many of the galaxy had never heard about the race let alone seen them.

With the conversation distracting his mind from the wound, the pain was beginning to dull noticeably. He would be fine; the wound just needed some medical gel to stop the bleeding until further analysis could be given. Char could put that out of his mind until this task at hand was seen through to the end.

"I understand your hesitation, sir," Char said to the supposed leader of the group. "You needn't tell me everything. I think I will be able to accompany you further, but an application of minor-wound gel would be most appreciated if we could simply pick one up from the Medical Level?"

Char didn't fully understand the situation, but the people were obviously in a rush to get somewhere or run away from something. They seemed like good people caught up in a bad way: he simply wanted to help them out, specifics aside. Already he liked them. Even though they didn't know him aside from just his name, these strangers seemed particularly concerned with Char's well-being, an excellent yet subtle indicator of what kind of people they really were.

[Enigma]

Parker sat up and groaned. His head was pounding, he much rather just lie there - but the Intruder would not let him be. He stared at the hallway - it was vacant, but he could see blood and ikor staining the carpets, although the nanites hidden in the fabric's weave were already at work trying to dissolve the stains. His left arm moved as if it was under automatic control - which it was, his wrist wearing his ship's Omni stopping just inches from his face.

"Security, this is Parker. I'm on Deck Two, chasing Paris. I got knocked out, but it looks like there was a shoot out here where several passengers have gotten injured. Have you received any injury reports?"

"Parker! What happened to you?"
"I was covering one of the stun team when he collapsed. When we went to aid him, he shot at us but I was able to evade him until Deck 2. But it looks like someone took him on - possibly Paris, I don't know. Has there been any elevator activity from Deck 2 Mid-ship's?"
"Yeah, one car is set for Deck 8. Do you need assistance?"
"No. We may have a hostage situation. Please monitor the occupants of the car and I shall be with you shortly."
"Roger!"


"I've had medical training," Helen sighed, glancing at Char, "But your people were not covered at my university. I do know we need to seal up those cracks! The sickbay on this ship should be able to do it. Then the rest of us will need to talk."

[Char]

"I understand, Doctor," Char said as the elevator dinged at Deck 8. "I'll make it fast."

As the sliding doors parted with a tiny hiss, the Mza began following the designation signs towards the Medical Area. It wasn't long before he found himself at the reception desk.

Seeing his gunshot wound, one of the receptionists cried out: "Emergency! Get a gurney out here, now!"

In moments, two medical assistants laid Char down onto the stretcher and wheeled him speedily through many sets of double doors, likely to an emergency room. One of them prepared a shot and poked the needle into a gap of his exoskeleton, bringing pain relief an unconsciousness to Char within seconds.

[Azazeal849]

Daniel watched as the injured alien was stretchered away, following the other occupants in the reception gallery with his peripheral vision in case another threat emerged.

"Our alien friend should be alright now." he said with a nod, "I suggest we get moving again. What was it you wanted to talk about, Doctor?"

[Enigma]

Butterfly watched wide-eyed as people poured out, surrounding Char as they helped him onto a gurney and wheeled him inside sickbay. She turned to the others and pointed after Char. "Butterfly?"


"Her damage has got to be deep," Helen sighed, glancing at the little alien girl. "How could they do that to her?"

"With the big-circle route this cruise ship is taking, it's going to be two months before we're back at Londinium and a proper mind probe suite where I can examine her," Helen told the others. "By then, she'll have established new pathways and may be functional - and I'd have to tear that all down just to find the original pathways. Assuming I can find them by then."

"And then there's this man who attacked us on Deck 2. You told me this Paris was no longer a threat," Helen pointed out, turning to Daniel. "Who was he? Is he one of Paris' men? He was dressed like one of the ship's security - how many more of them are there?"

"For her sake, we need to get off this ship as soon as possible and head for Londinium. The more time we can shave off means a better chance for us to recover whatever is left of her in there. At our next port of call, can you arrange for a fast ship to take us directly home? We'll save at least a month off travel."

[Char]

"That's not such a bad wound," said the doctor to the nurses. "We'll just clean it out and wrap it up."

Char couldn't feel anything and he could barely hear the voices of the medical professionals as they worked over him. In truth, his mind was far away in some happy dream-like state.

- - -

Once the treatment of his wound was finished, Char sat up in his fresh hospital-style bed and took a deep breath. The wound on his arm barely hurt at all now, likely because of a combination of the pain meds and treatment. It was bound skillfully, making him feel as though he was going to be just fine. Still, he was a bit out of it from the dose of medicine.

Standing up from the bed, he quickly got dressed into his clothes that were neatly folded on a bedside table, both his familiar trousers and a fresh shirt to replace the shot, bloodstained one. Moments after he had slipped into his clothes, the door to his room hissed open and a single person, who Char presumed was a nurse, stepped inside

"Hello there," he said joyfully. "Thanks a lot! I'm feeling much better now."

The person said nothing at all. Char thought for the first few seconds that perhaps the man was simply thinking up a response, but now it was nearly ten seconds later. It was beyond awkward to say the least, and he was beginning to get a very odd sensation indeed. The man hadn't moved at all in his standing position near the doorway until now, where his head cocked strangely to one side. His eyes stared into Char's own with a hollow, dead look in them.

"You know much...have seen much... and you will tell me all of what you know!" the crazed man yelled as she leapt at Char ferociously.

In that last second, he could see the strange mark on one side of his head. It was the shooter from before! But that thought was flushed from his mind very quickly as his reflexes took over to react to the leaping man. Char ducked down and the man sprawled out onto the floor beyond. Upon getting up, the shooter angrily snatched a scalpel from a nearby table and continued to dive at the traumatized Mza. Char couldn't move very well for fear of reopening the gunshot wound, but he could do one thing that would increase his chances of survival.

"Help! Somebody help me!" he yelled as loudly as he could.

The shooter quickly followed with a response of his own: "I'm going to find all of you. I'll make you tell me everything!"

Char turned and hastily pressed the activation button for the door. Once it hissed open, he began to sprint down the hallways as quickly as his injury would allow him to.

"Help!"

But Parker was much faster than the fleeing Mza...

[Sy23]

Kes turned to Dr Solow. "Do these people know anything about Mza anatomy," he asked. It was only a rhetorical question, and he didn't wait for an answer, instead doing what he normally did when in the waiting rooms of hospitals, waiting for news of injured crew-mates. Wandered up and down, helping himself to poor-quality coffee and near-stagnant water that he didn't want, and vending machine snacks that he would normally have scorned to feed to a bird. He'd been in the situation many times - smuggling and space-piracy are dangerous fields - and the modifications to his anatomy had often meant he'd been the only fit person after a crash or mid-air battle. He waved to a couple of orderlies he knew - ironically, he should have been on duty right now, if he were still bothering to maintain his recent disguise!

Through the corner of his eye, he watched his companions. What with Naval service and his less legal history, he'd served with some strange crews indeed. The mix of persona didn't worry him, but the situation did. Somehow, without conscious planning, he'd fallen in with a disparate group indeed. So much for an anonymous voyage, buried in his cabin, emerging only to chase women! He'd let the situation sweep him along, rather than exercising control. Not a course of action he usually took.

And he knew the reason, of course - there she was, sitting staring into space. What was going on behind those blank eyes? Inside that near-comatose brain? She was like a baby in an adult body, learning everything from scratch, yet with instincts a real baby couldn't possibly possess. Even more relevant, what was going on inside his mind - the fact that hostages to fortune were contrary to survival had stuck to him almost like a mantra. Those who fell in love got hurt, one way or another... either it affected their judgment at a crucial moment, or their heart got broken.

Well, he knew what he'd get if he tried to discuss it with her. "Butterfly" - which could have meant anything from a profound existential truth to "I need to piss." Just where was he supposed to go from here?

And then:

Help! Somebody help me

And instinct took over. He pushed by an innocent medical orderly - luckily, since he was known here, no questions would be asked. They'd think he was on some official errand. He made for the room where they'd normally put a patient after an op or treatment, knowing the Mza would be there. Only the fact that he'd automatically drawn his gun would betray the fact that the emergency was anything but medical!

[Enigma]

Butterfly frowned as Kes walked past the doors that Char had disappeared behind. Glancing at Daniel and Helen doubtfully, she followed Kes inside.


"No, no, no, you naughty in-sect!" Parker laughed maniacally, shoving his gun under the alien's chin. "Now how are your friends supposed to hear you all - the - way - out - there?"

The flexible filler on Char's exoskeleton hadn't been stained yet. With his free hand, Parker pressed on the spot gently, hoping to encourage Char to greater volume.

[Azazeal849]

"Who was he? Is he one of Paris' men? He was dressed like one of the ship's security."

"I'm not sure." Daniel replied, frowning slightly as he briefly took his eyes off scanning the perimeter to look at Helen, "I think Paris or another of Mr Tatsu's men may have brainwashed him, and the steward who attacked Butterfly in sickbay. I've seen New Cahaani agents use brain scanners to brainwash people before, and I suppose a Jiangyin cartel could have got hold of one, but I've never seen one that could take effect so quickly. Paris can't have been on the ship for more than a few hours before I accosted him."

"How many more of them are there?"

"That's a very good question. There may have been another agent here before Paris, and theoretically he could have brainwashed any number of crew or passengers..."

Daniel trailed off as he paused for a moment to think. From what he had seen, Paris' brainwash victims were not very subtle, so they couldn't go unnoticed for long. However, that didn't mean that they hadn't been programmed on some sort of sleeper basis, only becoming active upon some trigger such as a word from the controller. On the other hand, Parker had clearly been fighting his programming - to the point that he had become briefly lucid and told them to run when he had first contacted them. But was this an exception rather than the rule?

There was also Paris' own mindset to consider, or the mindset of his hypothetical accomplice. Each attack on a passenger or member of the crew increased his chance of discovery, and so he would have wanted to keep his number of victims to a minimum. Daniel wondered how the unfortunate Mr DeWinger had featured in this. Had he been Paris' accomplice?

"I think it's unlikely that there are many of them," he said aloud at last, "But I wouldn't like to take the chance."

Helen nodded. "For her sake we need to get off this ship as soon as possible and head for Londinium. The more time we can shave off means a better chance for us to reconver whatever is left of her in there. At our next port of call, can you arrange for a fast ship to take us directly home? We'll save at least a month off travel."

At that, Daniel smiled. "I can do better than that, Doctor. The late Mr Paris' ship is currently sitting down in hanger 7 on deck 14, and if he got here in it rather than via the orbital shuttle from Beaumonde then it must have an interspace drive. Given Paris' wealth, as well as his current profession, I'd be willing to bet that it's a fast one. I've also got his omni so we can access it." He patted his briefcase. "We can launch clear of the Scorpio, drop out of its wake back into realspace, and then set our own course for Londinium."

Looking round, Daniel saw that Kes had wandered off, apparently to make sure that the alien called Char was okay. Butterfly glanced at them, and then began to follow. Daniel appreciated the sentiment, but under the circumstances it didn't seem like a very good idea. He was about to call them both back when he heard a muffled shout from sickbay. Kes immediately broke into a run, disappearing through the sickbay doors.

For the second time that day, Daniel found himself uncharacteristically close to cursing.

"I think we've got another problem." he remarked to Helen, and began to run after them.

[Char]

Char tensed up as the pain overwhelmed his brain. It didn't take much pressure from Parker to hurt the still fresh gunshot wound. Char cursed within his thoughts, knowing even before the present moment that the shooter would catch up to him and something like this would happen due to his injury.

Needless to say, Char was not currently very comfortable. His arm hurt badly enough, but now he also had a gun barrel jammed right under his face, and it would very likely go off any minute now. That is, unless the shooter had something else in mind such as using Char as a hostage to gain leverage over the others.

No. He could not let that happen. He didn't even know the others all that well, but Char hated the idea of other people getting hurt because of his own weakness or inability. Steeling his mind for what he was about to do, he moved very quickly. In an instant, his mandibles and skin that covered his mouth were peeled back, revealing a mass of teeth that shot out towards Parker. Simultaneously, Char knocked the pistol-bearing hand of Parker away with his own hand from the healthy arm. A round fired off into the ceiling and ricocheted several times down the hallway, but perhaps the more frightening noise was the piercing of flesh as Char bit into Parker's forearm that had been attempting to protect his face. Lashing out with claws and teeth, Char did everything possible to weaken and distract the shooter.

[Sy23]

Unless one is an absolute past-master with a C47-Z Navy-issue phaser, there are two ways to get off a shot. Totally accurate, or very fast. Kes was good, but not that good! Thus his first shot whistled by Parker, in fact passing closer to Char than the intended target, which, Kes admitted to himself, couldn't have done much for the Mza's peace of mind! His second, still delivered at the run, was better aimed, catching Parker in the left calf. Kes' index finger was already on the firing key, while he swirled the power-wheel from minimum-0 to 3, when he saw a third shot would be superflous.

The Mza looked quite capable of looking after himself.

Parker's pistol flew by Kes's head, and the space pirate had to call upon all of his lightning-fast reflexes to snatch the projectile form the air. Kes winced as the spent projectile-slug cannoned into his ribs. It would have killed an unmodified man, and as it was he'd have a nasty bruise for a few days. Then there was a sickening tearing sound, as Char defended himself, accompanied by a terrified wail of agony from Parker.

Kes felt a presence behind him, and (since there was no immediate threat in front of him) risked looking around. Butterfly had followed him in, and was now crouched, in a pre-natal position, her hands protecting her head, whimpering softly. She'd showed no fear of the Mze before, presumably it was the exposed teeth that were the problem - even Kes, who was familiar with the Mzarian dental arrangement, always found the fully exposed set a bit nightmare-producing, and for someone who had never seen it before...

And then Daniel and the Doctor arrived at a run. "Look after her," spat Kes, grimly, focusing his eyes back onto the struggle. Though whether he'd have to protect Char or the agent was, at that moment, a moot point.

[Enigma]

Butterfly skidded to a stop behind Kes and stared wide-eyed at Char. His teeth come out of his mouth and was biting the laughing man. Parker's gun went off - Butterfly collapsed into a mound on the floor at the sound.

Parker's natural urge was self-preservation - but the invader ruthlessly overruled that, blocking the Mza's attack only so far as to keep Char off while he tried to look past him to see the others coming inside. But the Mza managed to knock away his gun hand as the space pirate shot his leg with a stunner.

"NO!" Parker raged as he fell to the floor, his gun flying. "You are all VERY NAUGHTY! You cannot escape! The BETRAYER must be PUNISHED! There's no place you can go LITTLE GIRL that you cannot be FOUND! The NAUGHTY will be PUNISHED! You will all be PUNISHED! There will be OTHERS!"

Helen knelt by Butterfly, cradling the girl.

"Who sent you?" she demanded, but Parker just laughed before blacking out from his wounds.

[Char]

Char sighed deeply, clutching once more at the arm which Parker had been pressing onto menacingly. I still ached with waves of pain, though 'twas not nearly as bad as before the proper treatment. Turning his head to the side, he spat out bloodied saliva from his mouth that had seethed in upon biting the shooter.

"No time for questions, Doctor," Char said in between gasps for breath. "I think we need to get off of this ship. If they keep finding us like this, we won't be able to stay alive much longer."

[Azazeal849]

Daniel looked at Char. What had just happeneded rude;y disproved the idea that the Mza would out of danger if they and Butterfly were removed from the ship. Still, he was on a mission, and from a purely logical point of view he could not find a reason to justify getting another civilian involved. The answer came to him as he watched the others. He needed Kes. He needed Helen because she could help uncover the mystery surrounding Butterfly. And one or both of them might not come with him if he tried to leave Char behind.

Well, Daniel thought. He was due to be chewed out by his superiors anyway for acting against Paris without orders and for roping another Londinian citizen into this mess - one more was hardly going to make things worse.

“I agree.” he answered Char, without letting a trace of his inner conflict show on his face, “Wash that blood off your face and lets get moving. We should head for the forward lifts rather than going back to midships.”

There wasn’t much point in subterfuge any more - the medical staff had already fled sickbay screaming, and there would be other people outside running towards the cries for help. A knot of passengers were already about to enter the main doors as they exited.

“Don’t go in!” Daniel shouted hysterically as he stumbled through the entrance, “He’s got a gun!”

Leading the others, he pushed his way through the crowd and ran down the corridor towards the forward end of the life deck. He was glad there were no security guards here yet; he could ignore the passengers’ shouted questions, not so much the order of a guard to stop and explain himself. He took a detour down a crewmen’s passage, slowing to a walk as soon as they reached a deserted section of corridor. Kes was supporting Char, while Helen took a moment to try and reassure the bewildered Butterfly.

“Alright.” he said, “Try not to draw attention from here on out. We’re going to make our way down to the bottom deck and catch Paris’ ship out of here. Is everyone okay?”

[Sy23]

"Try not to draw attention," mimicked Kes. "A Mza with blood dripping from his teeth and a wounded limb, a semi comatose girl with a one-word vocabulary, the most handsome guy ever to wink at a lady, a woman dressed like a Christmas tree and a guy who a three-year old could pick as a special agent. I take it you mean we're not to carry around flashing holograms saying 'look at us', or break into a sudden song and dance routine, or something. I mean - it was a relative assessment, right?"

"Butterfly," whispered Butterfly. Which meant either "I agree totally," "What a load of garbage" or something else entirely.

"Yeah, like she said," growled Kes. He turned to face Char. "Well, come on mate - and before we ever do this again, you're going on a diet... understand?"

[Char]

Chuckling, but not entirely standing what Kes really meant, Char used a towel from a nearby tray to wipe his face and mandibles clean. In moments, he was ready to depart from the forsaken ship, Scorpio. What had previously been a place of comfort, vacation, and relaxation was quickly becoming the stuff of action movies and nightmares.

When he really stopped to think about it, Char was amazed at how quickly the situation had just become an utter mess. He had been shot! Never in his mind would he have imagined that he would be shot for any reason.

"I concur," Char said to the others. "I'm ready."

[Azazeal849]

"I take it you mean we're not to carry around flashing holograms saying 'look at us', or break into a sudden song and dance routine, or something. I mean - it was a relative assessment, right?"

Kes' statement, while somewhat hyperbolic, did hold an element of truth. Daniel cocked an eyebrow. "Quite."

The Agent continued to glance around, conscious of danger as they reached the forward elevators and waited for the lift car to respond to their summons.

"Paris' ship is in hanger number 7." he told the others.

[Azazeal849]

"I take it you mean we're not to carry around flashing holograms saying 'look at us', or break into a sudden song and dance routine, or something. I mean - it was a relative assessment, right?"

Kes' statement, while somewhat hyperbolic, did hold an element of truth. Even if his apparent willingness to insult a lady's appearance to her face did offend Daniel's Londinian sensibilities. He cocked an eyebrow. "Quite."

The agent continued to glance around, conscious of danger as they reached the forward elevators and waited for the lift car to respond to their summons.

"Paris' ship is in hanger number 7." he told the others.

[Enigma]

"Christmas tree?" Helen repeated, non-pulsed, then shook her head as she followed them to the forward bank of elevators. The Wanderer also known as Butterfly smiled and pointed as they went down the hallway.

The elevator dinged and slid open, disgorging a handful of partying passengers who slipped past them in a happy drunken state.

"Well, someone's having a good time tonight," Helen muttered as they vanished around the corner. There was a lingering odor of drunken vomit and a shrinking dark stain on the floor where the nanites were hard at work cleaning up the mess. Helen's nose wrinkled but she stepped inside, dragging Butterfly in after her.

"This ship we're borrowing," Helen asked. "Are you sure we can get in?"

[Azazeal849]

"Not sure," Daniel admitted as he snapped open his briefcase, opened up the false bottom into the x-ray-proof compartment, and carefully drew out the clear plastic bag containing Paris' Omni, "But quietly confident."

[Sy23]

This ship we're borrowing. Are you sure we can get in?

Kes turned to the doctor and smiled. "I don't know about him, but I'm pretty damn certain," he said, confidently. And then suddenly remembered his resolve not to reveal too much about himself. The rest of his sentence - I've broken into more shuttles and similar craft than the rest of you combined have had hot dinners - he left unsaid. "I mean, that thing that Henry Handsome, the debonair special agent is carrying - that'll get us in without any drama, right?" he substituted, without pause.

"What I'm more concerned about is what happens after that. Do you really think that four passengers, and one -er - well - " he looked at Butterfly. "One piece of cargo, or commodity, or whatever this poor girl's regarded as - aren't going to be missed? And for that matter, when we get wherever we're going - what's going to happen then? Personally, I'm out of my depth here... just a boring, law-abiding mister average, me...

Until I choose to reveal otherwise. In which case, you hurt this girl and may all the gods have more mercy on your psyche than I will...


"...and I confess I'm way out of my depth here. Just what is this plan of yours? And where does butterfly fit in?"

"Butterfly fit in," echoed Butterfly, having heard her name.

[Azazeal849]

"What I'm more concerned about is what happens after that. Do you really think that four passengers, and one -er - well..." He looked at Butterfly, "One piece of cargo, or commodity, or whatever this poor girl's regarded as - aren't going to be missed?"

“Almost certainly.” Daniel said cheerfully as the lift began to descend. “One of the hangers decompressing while the Scorpio is in interspace will probably set off every alarm on the ship. Fortunately for us by the time they shut down the drives and drop back into realspace they'll probably be light-minutes ahead, and they'll have to turn round and come back. By then we'll have plotted our own jump and be on our way to Londinium. My only regret is that we'll be unavoidably spoiling a lot of people's holidays.”

He turned Paris' Omni over in his hands and looked at Butterfly.

“As for our alien friend I think the best description for her right now is 'asylum seeker'. We need to keep her safe until she gets her memory back and can explain why so many people seem to want her dead.”

“What's going to happen then? Personally, I'm out of my depth here... just a boring, law-abiding mister average, me...and I confess I'm way out of my depth here. Just what is this plan of yours? And where does Butterfly fit in?"

"Butterfly fit in," echoed Butterfly, having heard her name. Daniel looked at the alien in surprise as she demonstated this unexpected expansion of her vocabulary.

“I do apologise for dragging you into this mess, Mr Caesaro. But you seem to have something of a rapport with miss 'Butterfly' that might help her in getting better. Let me say that I am grateful for your continued assistance. The plan is to get back to SIS headquarters on Londinium as soon as possible. As Dr Solow said,” He nodded politely towards Helen, “We need a facility with a neural probe if we are to help her. After we know exactly what's going on, I imagine you will all be compensated and given safe passage, after signing the Official Secrets Act of course.”

The elevator chimed as it reached its destination, and the doors slid open to reveal the expanse of the hanger deck stretching away to their left. There was nobody about, and as soon as Daniel had satisfied himself of the fact he stepped out and began walking towards hanger number 7, the bagged-up Omni in one hand and his briefcase in the other. He put the briefcase down to work the control panel on the bay doorframe, passing the Omni in front of the scanner when prompted so that the light flashed green and the inner airlock doors began to grind open. Beyond the door was Paris' ship, a sleek vessel about 20 metres long from nose to engine exhaust, with its raptor prow still pointing inward as it had docked. The entire ship was finished in burnished silver.

“Normally I would say ladies first,” the agent said as he looked back over his shoulder at the others, “But given the circumstances...”

He put his suitcase down again and drew his pistol as he walked round to the ingress hatch on the starboard side of the ship's nose cone, which was still standing open just as Paris had left it, right after he had killed DeWinger.

[Enigma]

"I don't know what's going on here anymore!" Captain Sharp fumed. "Paris' gone, Parker flips out and takes out the rest of his team then shoots at passengers? Then comes down here to attack them again?!?"
"Sir, we've got lead on Paris! His omni was just used to open Hanger 7."
"What?!? Didn't anyone check his ship?"
"Do you have cameras in that area?" Master Hand asked, stepping forward.
"We do," the technician replied, glancing at the Captain for approval before putting the feed onto the display wall.

"Wait - it's the girl and the people who were sitting at my table tonight! But what is the Mza doin' with them? And where's Paris?"
"Sir, I think they're planning on taking Paris' ship!"
"What? Well I'll put a stop to that!" the Captain fumed.
"No."
"What?"
"They are taking the girl off the ship. We must allow them to leave."
"Are you crazy? Let them steal a ship and the girl and just let them take off?"
"Unseen forces are moving against the girl. This may be her only chance for survival and I must insist this is allowed!"
"But what about Paris?"
"If Mr. Paris wishes to file a complaint," the brotherhood monk shrugged, "by all means throw him into the brig."
Captain Sharp paused, then laughed. "Yeah, I see your point. John...?"
"Jacobs, sir!"
"Whatever. Let them take Paris' ship. My orders."
"Un... understood, sir."



A door slid open and a table bearing a naked John Paris slid out.
"Clone is on the table," Tech 1 reported. "Core body temp is a little under but within tolerance. However, I can only detect one heart and it seems to be mis-aligned...."
"Humans only have one heart," the doctor at the center console replied, then glanced at the tech on her right. "Are we ready for programming?"
"Yes doctor, we're ready to proceed on your order."
"Very well then. Position the neural injectors."
"Positioning!" Tech 2 replied, flipping a switch.

A robot with several arms slid down from the ceiling, bathing Paris' body in brilliant light that scanned him. Four separate arms slid out to form a basket over the clone's head.
"Restraints."
"Confirmed!" Metal cuffs slid out of the table to trap the clone's wrists and ankles. "We are ready for injection!"
"Very good. Proceed."

The robot hovering over Paris began humming deeper as the neural injectors came to life. The clone screamed, his first voluntary sound as his body arched off the table but held by the restraints as the robot began restructuring its neural net, imprinting Paris' mind upon the virgin brain cells.


"The sooner I can get her to a Neural Suite, the sooner we can start to unravel whatever was done to her," Helen told Kes as they entered the ship. "I'd like to sedate her before we leave. The less she's exposed to new experiences, the less I have to restructure to get at her locked memories."

The interior was functional, with just a small amount of flare. Helen found herself disappointed slightly in that there didn't appear to be weapons mounted on every available surface.

"Is this really the ship of an assassin?" she asked, shaking her head slightly. Leaving the men folk to cluster around the pilot console, she led Butterfly towards the back. Butterfly whined, wanting to go to Kes, but Helen coaxed her gently.

Pausing at the first door, she opened it - and grimaced. A bathroom. One equipt for zero-g, she noticed as she closed the door. Was that for when the ship's electronic systems were shut down, to prevent the grav plates from revealing a hiding ship?

The second door was the gun room.
"He's got enough in there to start his own private war!" Helen blinked. Butterfly tried to slip inside but Helen pulled her away.
"No no, that's nothing you want to play with, I assure you."

The third door proved to be Paris' own private cabin. Helen glanced up the passageway to the cockpit, but the men seemed preoccupied. Stepping inside, she pulled the compact out of her pocket.

"Scan and neutralize," she ordered mentally. The compact hummed for a long moment, then sighed.
"Three surveillance and tracking devices deactivated. Room is secure," a quite voice muttered in her mind. Helen smiled, then led Butterfly to the bed.

"Come sit down, little one," she said invitingly. "This won't hurt a bit. We're just going to have a nice little nap."

"Butterfly," the girl replied, sitting down on the bed.

Helen slid open the side table drawer and found a portable med-kit.
"Mr. Paris certainly likes to be prepared," she said, opening the case. A flap inside contained the auto-injectors. Most of them seemed to be chemical interrogation drugs, which made her eye brows twitch, but there were a few sedatives. Selecting one, she turned and pressed it against Butterfly's arm.

The alien girl squawked as the cold jets squirted the drugs into her arm.
"You didn't tense. Good girl," Helen smiled, rubbing the red spot on the girl's arm. "You'll start to feel sleepy, don't fight it. Have pleasant dreams of home - if you still can."
Butterfly's eyes rolled up and she collapsed onto the bed. Helen pulled off the girl's shoes and tucked her in.
Glancing at the doorway to make sure she wasn't being watched, she pulled out the compact and held it over the sleeping girl's head.
"Scanning," the compact replied softly in her mind. "Damage appears to be 90%. Chance of full recovery estimated at 23%, 28% if placed in a neural suite within the next 63 hours. Improved functionality estimated at 73%, 82% if within the next 80 hours. Node appears intact."
"I see," Helen sighed, slipping the compact into her pocket.

Closing the door behind her, Helen made her way forward to where the men and Mza hovered over the piloting boards.
"Butterfly's sleeping," she told them. "Are we set to leave, gentle beings?"

[Sy23]

I imagine you will all be compensated and given safe passage, after signing the Official Secrets Act of course.”

Kes was forced to suppress an ironic laugh at that one. Llewellyn "Kes" Caesaro - public enemy # 1-5 (depending on which inter-system report you read), renowned and feared space pirate, smuggler, wanted for murder, GBH, theft, fraud, smuggling, piracy, breach of promise, treason, disturbing the peace and, probably, unpaid library fines, on at least thirty planets. And they were only the ones he could remember. The SIS were more likely to throw him into the deepest, darkest ultra-maximum "no one gets out of here alive" security dungeon they could find, and throw away the laser-key. Damn it, the last time that had happened to him, it had taken weeks to escape!

To hide his amusement, he began examining the controls of the craft. Most were fairly familiar to him. It was certainly well-equipped, with the latest stabilization gear and navigational equipment. He gave a whistle of appreciation as he brought various systems on-line. Sure, the Space-Navies of various rich planets had craft as well equipped, but a vessel of this nature...

At least three of the systems, however, failed to respond to his command to fire up. Given enough time, he could possibly have cracked at least two of them - providing he didn't mind letting Daniel's obvious suspicions harden into certainty about what he was! Instead, he faked a look of gross incomprehension... "Why do they have to make these things so frekking complicated?" he said, just loud enough so that the others could hear him, while pretending he was talking to himself.

All the time, he was watching Butterfly through the corners of his eyes. Failing to notice detail had never been one of his failings. He had to fight hard not to show his surprise when the "asylum seeker" made an attempt to slip inside the weapons room... it could, of course, had been simply co-incidence, or a random piece of curiosity on the girl's part, but Kes tended not to believe in coincidence. Could it have been a clue as to what the girl had been, before she became "Butterfly"?

The sooner I can get her to a Neural Suite, the sooner we can start to unravel whatever was done to her. I'd like to sedate her before we leave. The less she's exposed to new experiences, the less I have to restructure to get at her locked memories.

Kes gave a nod of agreement. While he was dubious as to the benefits of sedation - surely the girl was sedated enough already - he couldn't really think of an argument against it. And he knew the medical mind - they preferred to deal with the technology of their craft. He'd have given anything to have seen the results of Dr Sulow's scan, but in this case he genuinely wouldn't have understood too much of it.

He busied himself with locating and neutralizing the fourth tracking device - unless the owner of the ship was a congenital idiot with a death wish, Kes knew, he'd have at least one device that would slip under the radar of a bug-scanner. He finally found it - a heat sensor on the control panel, with a tiny radiation emitter built in. The radiation would lessen its efficiency by more than 50%, but also render it immune to a sweep. It was only the slightly different color of the light that gave it away. He was forced to get his body between the others and the control panel, and discreetly pull the light from its mooring. There was still the possibility that the craft had yet another device beyond even the conjecture of Kes' paranoia, but he'd done all he could.

"Well, I hope you know how to pilot this thing, is all," he said to Daniel, trying to look as foppish and technophobic as possible. "Because it's way out of my league!" He began pretending to search for a coffee dispenser, making sure to "accidentally" blunder into Paris' cabin on the way. As far as he could tell, the doctor was not up to anything more than what she claimed to be. "Ah, here's the beast. Right, who wants cream and sugar then?"

He registered that Butterfly snored. Who would have thought it?

[Azazeal849]

Daniel searched the ship, but there was no-one aboard, and less expectedly he was unable to uncover the body of the unfortunate Mr DeWinger. There weren't many places to hide a body on this ship, and he wondered if Paris had used the same disintegrator that had later destroyed his own body to remove the evidence. He certainly hadn't seen Paris put the body anywhere else before he had ambushed him outside the hanger.

"Is this really the ship of an assassin?" Helen asked as she stepped aboard. In contrast to the chromed exterior, which was clearly meant to reinforce the impression of Paris being a rich playboy with more money than sense, the inside of the ship was relatively subdued in its decor. It was also, at first glance, profoundly normal in its lack of exotic military equipment on display.

"Well." Daniel shrugged in reply as he made his way back to the cockpit, "One assumes he didn't want to advertise the fact. There is however a room full of guns over there that I'd advise everyone not to touch - he might have installed genetic detectors in the grips."

He pulled the scale model of HMS Hood from his briefcase and placed the sleek star dreadnought on the cockpit dashboard, tapping a button in the engine manifold as he did so.

"Mascot?" commented Kes dryly.

"It stops any bugs in the cabin from actively transmitting." Daniel explained as he took a minute to familiarise himself with the control layout. It was perhaps ironic to be talking of covert listening devices at that moment, because a second later Daniel's Omni let out a warning beep to inform him that the tracker he had dropped into Butterfly's pocket was no longer transmitting. He frowned.

"Sorry." he said to Kes, "If you'd excuse me for a moment?"

He turned and headed down the narrow corridor that ran the length of the crew module towards the room where Dr Solow had taken the alien. As soon as he was gone, Kes set about removing a heat sensor from the command console.

"Butterfly's sleeping." Helen told Daniel as she reappeared, putting something back in her pocket as she did so. Daniel was careful not to let his eyes stray towards it, but he thought he had just found his answer. Ah, of course, a compact. A mind-machine interface would no doubt appeal to a doctor of neuroscience. And she too had thought to sweep for bugs. Granted, she was probably hunting for ones left by Paris than by Daniel, but once again Helen Solow had proved that she was capable of looking after herself.

"That's good to know." Daniel nodded in reply. His mystery solved, he gestured politely to suggest that they should join Char and Kes. They returned to the front of the ship, to find Kes pretending to curse at unfamiliar controls.

"Are we set to leave, gentle-beings?" Helen asked, with a hint of irony.

"We are." Daniel answered as he manoeuvred around Kes to sit in the second pilot's chair, and began flicking switches to close the exterior hatch and bring the ship's power online.

I hope you know how to pilot this thing, is all." Kes said to Daniel, trying to look as foppish and technophobic as possible, "Because it's way out of my league."

"Well it's your lucky day, Mr Caesaro." the agent replied, happy to play along with the pirate's charade, "Because it's an SIS requirement that all its field agents know the basics."

He beamed a signal to the computer controlling the hanger doors, and there was a pause as sensors within the bay made an automatic check for personnel still standing outside the ship, before the inner airlock doors juddered closed and the 30-second alarm began to sound. The sound of the warning klaxon gradually faded away as the air in the bay was evacuated. The passengers felt a brief sense of vertigo as the gravity plates of the bay were powered down and Daniel immediately compensated by turning on the shuttle's own artificial gravity. This was followed by a jolt as the magnetic locks holding the ship's landing skids against the deck were disengaged. Through the cockpit windows, the outer doors of the hanger slid silently open to reveal the pitch black of interspace.

"Hang on to something." Daniel advised, "When we hit the interspace wake it might get a little bumpy."

He fired a burst of the ship's ventral jets to lift it gently off the floor, and then another from the aft retros to propel them out of the hanger berth. He held the burn for longer than normal; he wanted to be sure that they had enough momentum to carry them clear, and that the inevitable spin from the interspace wake didn't send them crashing back against the hull of their parent ship.

The ship drove clear. For a few seconds the momentum from the Scorpio kept them flying sideways almost in parallel with the larger ship, then their forward progress carried them into the wake, and their ship was spun end over end with enough force to make its passengers stumble sideways. Paris' ship endured the lateral stress, although several lights lit up amber on the command console. Daniel watched the cockpit windows and his dashboard intently, a slight clenching of his jaw the only sign betraying the tension he felt, until the vast bulk of the Scorpio's engine cowling spun into view, drifting away from them. Both ships were travelling at astronomical speeds, but relative to each other the star liner's retreat seemed almost stately. Daniel let it reach a safe distance before he began firing the thrusters to cancel the spin and bring them around to face their direction of travel.

"And we're on our way." the agent said in satisfaction. In a few minutes they would drift clear of the Scorpio's interspace field, and then their ship would drop naturally back into realspace.

"Ah, here's the beast!" said Kes a minute later, having located the drinks dispenser, "Right, who wants cream and sugar then?"

"I'll have tea please." Daniel replied over his shoulder, reaching into the caddy in his suitcase and fishing a genuine Earl Grey teabag from between two that contained poison antidotes. "No milk."

He tore open the paper cover and passed it to Kes. He was abruptly aware of having not had a cup of tea since the orbital shuttle from Beaumonde, and that it was starting to make him edgy. Like most Londinians, he suffered from a fairly high degree of caffeine addiction.

Turning back to the ship's computer, he fired up the database and ran a search for "DeWinger", and then a second for "Tatsu".

[Enigma]

DeWinger brings up an Santos Intelligence Bureau personnel file for a field agent - and several other recordings and images in the folder showing Evon DeWinger engaged in some very questionable behavior that his superiors back on Santos would definitely crack down on if they'd seen them. Several pictures have him with shady Jiangyinites, one or two notables family heads are in the pictures.

"Tatsu" brings up entries for Dragon, then thirteen files. Twelve of them are on Jiangyin criminals, three of whom nobody's ever heard of. The thirteenth is a Londinium native, Harris Jacob Brown, Freelance Reporter for The Independent. The records in this file suggest this shabby-looking journalist is actually the head of a hidden criminal empire that stretches to most of the worlds. Several atrocities that nobody's been able to figure out are listed neatly as jobs performed by Paris, ordered by Harris Brown.

The navigational system status display is showing "Recalculating" as it tries to determine just where the ship is in Real Space....

"Char," you look..." Helen paused. How could you tell anything on a creature with an exoskeleton? "You should probably sit down."

Taking the Mza side, she leads the alien to the booth next to the drinks dispenser, only to stiffen when she sees a stain on the plastic seat cushions.

"There's blood over here! Did we miss someone?"

[Char]

All the running had left Char rather dizzy, what with the loss of blood and mixture of pain meds that still lingered in his circulatory system. They seemingly weren't working quite so well anymore though, as a slight throbbing could now be felt in his well-bandaged wound. At least he wasn't at risk of bleeding out any longer. Now, he could take a deep breath and rest for at least a few hours: safely aboard Paris' ship, it would be awhile before they arrived at any place of consequence.

He had remained very quiet for most of the ordeal, instead letting the others do most of the talking. It wasn't just that he was a bit tired and aching, Char just was one of those people that liked to listen more than he liked to talk. Such a trait helped him be invisible, so to speak, as it did now. Still, the others had much on their minds to sort through in order to better solve this great mystery of the girl known as Butterfly. From what little he had gathered Char assumed that many people were after this girl, however the reasons for this chase were unknown to him.

"Char," you look..." Helen paused. How could you tell anything on a creature with an exoskeleton? "You should probably sit down."

"Yes... yes you're correct, Doctor, thank you," Char said, smiling at the fact that the good doctor was indeed observant of much around her.

She helped him slowly walk over to a sitting booth near where Mr. Caesaro was mixing some strange drinks for the others.

"I know I may not be in the best condition now but if I may help later, please do let me know, Doctor," the Mza offered politely. "Perhaps a slight rest would do me some good for the time being."

[Sy23]

Kes felt quite domestic as he prepared the brews for himself, Doctor Sulow and Daniel. It took longer than it normally would have done, since twice he had to rush away into the head, and dry-reach, pretending to vomit. He wondered if he wasn't perhaps overdoing the "naive innocent" role, and whether it was fooling anyone, anyway. There were also, he noticed, special herbs that steeped in water, a delicacy on Char's home world... and a rarity on a non Mza craft. He stored the information away for future consideration.

During his second pseudo-desperate rush to be sick, Kes had deliberately sought out the cabin where Butterfly was sleeping. She looked peaceful enough, and he blew her a kiss as he exited.

There's blood over here! Did we miss someone, Dr Sulow was saying as he returned.

It's an assassin's ship, you dopey cow, he thought, be weird if there wasn't some blood around!

But he kept his lips tight shut. Such a reply would be the type of thing to come from the galaxy-renowned space pirate Llewellyn "Kes" Caesaro - not some naive, effete playboy caught up in events beyond his control or understanding.

Not that there was that much difference - the real Kes, ultimately, had no more idea of what was going on then his alter-ego did!

[Enigma]

The comm panel buzzed in Lord Vargas' office.
"What is it now?" he groused.
"Sir, Paris' ship has left the hanger."
"What are you talking about? We haven't sent him back yet!"
"Sir, I know - but the ship appears to have fallen back into real space. Security feed shows the girl is on board...."
"BLOW IT UP!" Vargas screamed. "Destroy it now!"
"We can't!" the technician wailed. "They've disabled access to all the systems!"
"What?!? How is that possible?"
"I don't know sir! But we're locked out!"
"I'm on my way over," Vargas snarled in his cold fury. "When I get there, you will find me a way to stop this girl once and for all!"


After seeing to the Mza, Helen wandered forward into the cockpit area and caught sight of Daniel's computer query.
"Harris Brown?" she blinked, reading over his shoulder. "That smelly old man? I remembered when he interviewed my husband two years ago. He didn't look like he had more than a tenner in his pocket."

She turned her attention to the control panels. "Shouldn't we get going? Why are some of these panels dark? What do they do, are they important?"

[Azazeal849]

DeWinger brought up a Santos Intelligence Bureau personnel file for a field agent - and several other recordings and images in the folder showing Evon DeWinger engaged in some very questionable behaviour that his superiors back on Santos would definitely crack down on if they'd seen them. Several pictures had him with shady Jiangyinites; one or two notables family heads were in the pictures. Daniel tutted quietly to himself as he looked over the obvious blackmail material. And yet, something didn't seem right. From what Daniel had overheard in the lift, Paris seemed to be working for DeWinger rather than the other way around. Of course, while he had this evidence that implicated DeWinger as a double agent and thus a traitor, Paris could have done what he liked while ostensibly remaining in the Santosian's employ. DeWinger had seemed angry and uncaring of who overheard him when he had accosted Paris; of course, that might have been a clever act, but if he was capable of such subtlety why not attempt to seem calm and thus draw less attention? Was that why Paris had killed him? DeWinger had decided to damn the consequences and ignore Paris' attempt at blackmail? Daniel sat back in his seat, frowning to himself.

"Tatsu" brought up entries for Dragon, then thirteen files. Twelve of them were on Jiangyin criminals, three of whom Daniel had never heard of. The thirteenth was a Londinium native, Harris Jacob Brown, freelance reporter for The Independent. The records in this file suggested that this shabby-looking journalist was actually the head of a hidden criminal empire that stretched to most of the known worlds. Several atrocities that nobody had been able to figure out were listed neatly as jobs performed by Paris, ordered by Harris Brown.

“Well.” Daniel mused aloud. “That's...interesting.”

He produced a small camera from his briefcase and took several photos of all the search results. It would be prudent to have a backup even though the ship and its computer would soon be in Londinian hands.

Could it be true? Could this have all slipped under the radar of the Security Service, SIS' counterpart for internal affairs? It seemed fantastically unlikely, but not impossible. And after what had happened so far, and the depth of the conspiracy he and the others seemed to have stumbled onto, Daniel was not going to rule anything out at this point. He read through the file again, trying to find connections to the alien now sleeping in the rear cabin, and what she might have done to anger Mr Harris “Tatsu” Brown.

"There's blood over here! Did we miss someone?"

Daniel stood and made his way back to the small living module, crouching beside Helen to examine the stain.

“I rather suspect that that might have been the unfortunate Mr DeWinger.” the agent said grimly. The blood looked relatively fresh, and lay in a streak rather than neat drops, suggesting that it had splashed from a wound during a moving struggle and not simply dripped from a limp corpse. Most likely spatter from the gunshot wound that had killed the Santos spy. “Don't clean it up. The boys back on Londinium will probably want to run some tests. Thank you, sir.”

That last was to Kes, as the younger man handed him a plastic cup full of Earl Grey. He inhaled deeply, before carrying his drink back to the cockpit and placing it down on the dashboard. Transitions to interspace always generated a feeling of vertigo in passengers, even if no actual force was applied to the ship, and he didn't want to embarrass himself by spilling his drink. The familiar aroma of the tea was incredibly soothing as he set about plotting the course to Londinium.

“That's it.” he said to Helen, keying in the last of the jump commands as the doctor appeared behind him, “We should reach the Londinium jump point in 42 hours, add on 5 more to reach orbit and set down, and we can have our little asylum seeker safe and sound straight after that.”

Helen nodded, accepting the time frame, before she caught sight of Daniel's computer query.

"Harris Brown?" she blinked, reading over his shoulder. "That smelly old man? I remembered when he interviewed my husband two years ago. He didn't look like he had more than a tenner in his pocket."

“According to this he was something entirely more sinister.” Daniel said, gravely. “What subject was he interviewing your husband on, if you don't mind my asking?”

There probably wasn't a connection, but the agent wanted to have all bases covered.

Helen turned her attention to the control panels. "Shouldn't we get going? Why are some of these panels dark? What do they do, are they important?"

“They're all locked down.” Daniel explained, frowning, “Paris' omni didn't open them, so I'm guessing they require an additional password or biometric scan. Probably weapons control or something else Paris wouldn't want anyone else tampering with. Since we don't need them to get to Londinium, and I don't particularly want to set off any failsafes, I'm happy to leave them alone. The R+D boys can have a proper look at it when we get home.”

In the rear of the ship, the hum of the powering interspace drive grew towards a droning crescendo. Digits on the command console began counting down.

“Hang on.” Daniel smiled at Helen.

As the counter reached zero, Paris' ship lurched back into interspace.

[Enigma]

Inside Daniel's bag, Paris' Omni suddenly hummed to life....


"Milord! We have access!" the tech suddenly announced, leaning forward. "Paris' Omni's back online and is accessing the ship's controls remotely! Some sort of pre-programmed routine."
"Can you order the ship to self-destruct?"
"No."
"NO?!?"
"We're locked out of that, somehow!"
"WE"RE LOCKED OUT?!?" Vargas demanded. "How is that possible? Nevermind! What can we access?"
"Navigation and ship's status. Hold on - the engine second stage protocols are coming online! Why did that fool programmed that into his Omni?"
"WHAT? Where is it headed?"
"Londinium, sir."

Lord Vargas swore, then lunched forward. "You said we had access to navigation?"
"Yes sir, but what good...?"
"Can you overide Londinium and send it elsewhere, without them being aware of it?"
"Yes sir, I believe I can..."
"Reprogram and lock the controls to take them to Santos!"
"Santos, sir?"
"Paris has connections with the Santies and they political opposites of the Londinians! Do it!"

[Potatrobot]

function 'power' =true;
function 'ok' =true;
booting (time:integer);
funtion 'persona' =101100010010100100101001010; {Standard}
optics =true;
displaycolour =false;

It was very dark. Where was he? Surely, at this time he would be at the Star's End Bar. What was he doing in this-

funtion 'persona' =0101010111101110101010; {Actor}

He should wave to the audience, they loved his performance. It's not every day that a high end actor blesses them with-

funtion 'persona' =00111101000101001101010; {Soldier}

The battle raged all around him. Bullets whizzed over his head, jeeps roared into the distance, and shells exploded everywhere. This is where-

funtion 'persona' =101100010010100100101001010; {Standard}

It was very dark. Where was he? Surely, at this time he would be at the Star's End Bar. What was he doing in this dark — and cramped — space? He should get out of there. Time to go.

displaycolour =true;

On board John Paris' ship, in his private cabin, and in the wardrobe, no less, a lone robot lit up, bathing the tight space with white light. The light came from between the metal plates that made up his humanoid figure, and from his deep-set eyes. Now, with the ability to see, he oriented himself towards the door and pushed it open.

The room beyond the door was dark as well. The robot's lights didn't illuminate the cabin as well as the much smaller wardrobe, but there was still more than enough to see by. The carpet was nice, oh yes it was. The ceiling had a beautiful fresco painted onto it, that much was apparent, and the bed. There was somebody in the bed. Maybe that person could give the robot some directions out of the dark room. He tip-toed over to the sleeping person and gently shook its shoulder.

"Hey there!" He whispered in a remarkably cheerful tone, "Wake up! Can you tell me where I am?"

[Sy23]

There are few things harder to fake then space-sickness. To be sure, one can lurch about, pretend to be fighting back the urge to vomit, make groaning sounds. A really consummate actor, with access to white make-up and the availability of constant retakes, could probably have done a pretty fair job. Kes had many abilities, but thespian experience was not part of his CV. He contented himself with turning his back, hoping to suggest he was embarrassed about his queasy appearance, and was grateful when the others seemed to be more interested in the instrument panel - especially the bits that weren't working - than his own (faked) distress.

As soon as he could, he made an excuse to get his body between the others and the control for the Astral-drag Compensator. If that had been working, space-sickness would have been next to impossible, even for the veriest tyro He slid a small device from his pocket - a device it was illegal for anyone to own, were they not members of the Fg'hian Space Navy (and which it had nearly cost him his life to steal) and waved it over the relevant control. A few seconds later, the device's light shone out with an arrogant brilliance.

"Hey, this light seems to have come on." he said, injecting an ersatz note of surprise into his voice. "And I suddenly feel so much better!"

[Azazeal849]

With the shuttle on its way through interspace and the alien girl sound asleep, Daniel took the time to shower and clean up. The bruises from his fight with Paris were turning dark to leave livid marks on his arms where he had deflected the assassin's blows, and more on his torso where Paris had made it through his defences. They were still tender, and he winced slightly as he pulled on a fresh shirt from his briefcase, checking carefully to make sure his injuries weren't visible before he returned to the cabin. Kes, Helen and Char were in the cockpit, which aside from the bedroom and the cramped galley module was the only area with space to sit down. He moved to join them.

"Did I miss much?" he asked them.

It was then he heard noises from the bedroom module. He could tell at once that the voice wasn't Butterfly's.

Exchanging a significant glance with Helen and Kes, he drew his gun and ran towards the bedroom.

[Potatrobot]

The figure in the bed appeared to be asleep. Instead, the robot decided to roam the room he was in.

"I wonder what I'm doing in here?" The robot whispered, still in his unusually cheerful voice. As he walked toward the wardrobe he was stashed away in, the lights in his eyes and his joints changed colour again, signaling another temporary change in personality, this time to a light cobalt. His voice took on a suspicious edge that belied his common optimism.

"I was kidnapped! That's it! It was the people, the people at the bar! They kept giving me strange looks, always watching, planning, scheming! They must have shut me down while I wasn't looking!"

The robot continued to rant to himself in such a fashion, gaining little progress in the way of developments as to how he actually ended up in the room, and who the sleeping character was. Such was his malfunction: with every new identity a new way of thinking accompanied.

It was at that point that he heard someone approaching from the other side of the door into the room. Being as paranoid as his current identity made him, the robot prepared himself for an attack. He ran back to the wardrobe and reached inside. He pulled out a bladed weapon that was worn on the forearm, and likewise equipped it, tightening it by way of straps. Three knives, all parallel to the arm, sat on the top and sides of the forearm. The robot pulled a lever on the underside of this weapon down toward his elbow, and the three knives (attached to the gauntlet like a Z-shape) moved up, over, and down again, toward his hand. This way, if he tried to throw a punch, the target would receive three stab wounds from the knives.

The robot then underwent another identity change, his eyes and joints turning red, but it was not one that would deter him from using the gauntlet. Red represented the identity of a soldier, and a violent one at that. As usual, he retained all the memories that he had gained when in another identity, all stored to a common memory bank. Hence, he still thought that he had been kidnapped, and that the perpetrator was approaching the door.

[Enigma]

The ship shuddered noticeably as the hyperspace boosters began a controlled shutdown, returning the tiny vessel to interspace. The displays in the cockpit flickered as they resumed live feed instead of the simulation program data Lord Vargas' technicians had inserted years before to help hide the ship's capabilities to any passengers Paris might need to bring along.

The Interspace Transition Alarm sounded in the cockpit as the ship's autopilot began shifting the ship out of interspace into normal space, 1.3 light-seconds out from Santos' Gravity Shallows.

"Daniel! Kes! What's going on? We've only been in interspace two hours! Why are we coming out?" Helen demanded. She turned pale. "Is it... is it a gravity shallow? Are we having an intrusion?!?"

In the dark matter containment vessel of the engine room, the fragment of dark matter remained steady, expanding under controlled rates to its normal space dimensions. There was no threat of the dark matter swelling uncontrollably to fill the volume of the ship, a dark matter intrusion.


On board the Santos Picket Station, a technician sitting at her console frowned as an alert appeared on her screen - a transitioning ship was entering Santos controlled space. Interspace detector buoys were relaying information to her station on the incoming ship. Normally, a screen full of information would appear with the ship's registry data and e-visa. Instead, her screen flashed a red banner.


*** S I B ***


Swallowing, wondering briefly if someone else would be sitting at her console next shift, she keyed the alert button for her supervisor.
"Sir," the technician said softly, "We have an unexpected arrival in sector 3. It's flagged..."
"What's its code?" the supervisor asked.
"Sir, it's SIB."

There was a pause as the supervisor shoved the illegal book he was reading into a cubbyhole and pulled up the technician's display and swore.

"Alert the nearest interception ship," he ordered. "Transmit the information and order them to intercept and escort the ship in. I'll alert SIB."
"Sir, will we...?"
"What? Oh," he realized, glancing at the cubbyhole at his desk with its incriminating volume. "Ignore the stories you heard. SIB is not going to snatch you out of your chair for reporting a flagged ship."

"At least I hope not," he muttered after cutting the connection. "For both our sakes!"

Muttering a quiet prayer to himself, he keyed in the sequence to connect him with the station's office for the Santos Intelligence Bureau.


"Lord Vargas! Paris' ship is emerging from Hyperspace in the Santos system, as ordered. The ship's dark matter engines will be disabled at the end of transition to prevent them from leaving."
"How did they get activated in the first place?" Lord Vargas demanded.
"Sir, I don't know. Paris must have programmed something to override the security protocols...."
"And how did he managed to do that?"
"Sir, I don't know," the technician admitted. "But once the ship has transitioned to normal space, they're stuck there while the generators recharge the capacitor banks, at least several hours. By the time they've realized they're in the wrong system, it will be too late for them to do anything about it."
"And if the Santos try to examine the hyperspace boosters?"
"Sir, not even Paris could override the bombs. We are the only people who can open up the hyperspace boosters without destroying the ship."
"We are supposively the only people who control Paris' ship, and yet here we are," Lord Vargas snarled. "I hope for your sake that you are right."

[Char]

Char was utterly confused, and even a tad concerned. The hyperspace had cut out early, which more than likely meant some time of engine failure from his understanding (which wasn't much). The insectoid Mza twiddled his claws as the ship dropped back into real space. What this would mean for their journey, he was not yet certain. However, it was a complication and would therefore likely take up more time.

"What is happening?" he asked in a concerned tone.

In a way, he didn't expect that any answer offered up would be good news.

[Sy23]

Daniel! Kes! What's going on? We've only been in interspace two hours! Why are we coming out? (Helen)

What is happening? (Char)

Two very good questions, Kes reflected. On the face of it, stupid ones when asked of someone as experienced as he was pretending to be - how could he possibly have been expected to know. On the other hand, since his naivety was simply a pose, Kes did know - and knew very well.

He looked from Char to Helen, and back.

"Tell you what," he said, bluntly. "One of you tell me, and we'll all know!"

But he knew exactly what was happening - or at least, could make a damn good guess at it. The sudden shift in speed, the flicker of the instruments, the dimming of the hyperspace-indicator... it wasn't the first time he'd experienced such a phenomenon. The ship had dropped back into normal space, unbidden. Which either meant some kind of sudden mechanical failure (unlikely on a ship as well-maintained as this one), or...

Or that some outside force had been able to over-ride the vessel's controls. As to the "why" of it, he could form no conjecture. He could, however, make one shrewd guess about the situation. Whoever had snatched the ship from its intended trajectory was unlikely to mean well by its occupants.

And then, he heard the sound of a disturbance coming from the sick bay - as if he didn't have enough to contend with.

[Potatrobot]

The robot in the bedroom was sure that the perpetrator was about to enter when the floor shuddered. Floors on the Scorpio don't shudder like that, even when they enter and leave hyperspace; the vibrations are much greater. No. The robot concluded that he was on a small vessel, and that the vessel itself had just left hyperspace. If and when he got the chance, he would turn the ship around and return to the Scorpio.

But that wasn't relevant at the time: the robot had to win a fight first, so he made an effort to sustain his identity in order to keep the experience and expertise that it provided. The transgressor on the other side of the door was taking too long to enter the room. The robot suspected that he or she, or even it, was waiting on the other side, waiting to ambush him. It would be folly to play into that ambush; because if they had the means of incapacitating him once, they probably maintained them until then.

But the robot had something that the antagonist didn't: a hostage. If need be, the sleeping figure would provide the leverage needed to make his own demands without personally inflicting hurt. But if the figure beyond the door tried to hurt the figure, then problems would arise. There were many loop-holes in the three robot laws, but that situation did not count as one. He would be in perfect position to defend the figure. As such, the robot began to think of ways to make it impossible to save the sleeping person in the bed in time if the unknown assailant tried to hurt him or her.

[Azazeal849]

Daniel hit the door control and dropped low onto one knee, below the level an armed antagonist would instinctively point his gun. There was a second figure in the room with Butterfly, but to his surprise it was not a human but a robot. How had that got in here!?

The wardrobe, he realised, it must have been sitting deactivated in the wardrobe. That was irrelevant right now because the robot was also armed with some sort of bladed gauntlet. That should have been impossible - no autonomous robot could cause harm - that would contravene the First Law of their programming. It was only that fact, and the fact that he didn't want to risk ricochets and hull punctures, that stopped him from emptying his pistol into the armed and clearly threatening robot right then and there.

"Drop the weapon!" he told the robot sharply, his gun aimed squarely at the CPU in the machine's torso. He was appealing to the Second Law, that a robot must obey human commands, but on the ship of an intergalactic assassin he wasn't taking anything for granted any more.

At that moment the ship jolted violently, knocking Daniel sideways into the doorframe and throwing off his aim. It felt like they were making a transition back to realspace, but the translation was far too rough, and far too soon.

[Potatrobot]

"Aha!"
The robot lunged forward and drove the gauntlet down onto the figure's wrist. With a dull *SHUCK* two of the three knives embedded themselves not into the wrist itself, but rather they passed on either side and penetrated the door frame. The man's pistol hand was trapped. As soon as the robot was sure that the gauntlet couldn't be yanked straight back out, he undid the straps keeping it to his arm and left it there, thus binding the gun wielding figure.

"Weapon dropped," the robot said, his voice laden with aggression as per his identity, "and now..."
The robot pulled the pistol out of the figure's hand, and tossed it onto the ground a few feet away. Turning back, he said "Why am I on this ship? I should be on the Scorpio, so where are you taking me?"

[Azazeal849]

To his credit, Daniel only flinched slightly when the gauntlet blades came within a hair's breadth of impaling his arm.

"Weapon dropped." the robot said, his voice laden with aggression as per his current identity, "And now, why am I on this ship?"

Daniel looked at the robot, trying to work out the programming that was driving it. Did it see him as a threat to Butterfly? If so then any commands he gave it would be overridden by the First Law. His first priority, then, was to convince the robot that he wasn't a threat.

"Your guess is as good as mine." he told the robot. If it was some sort of assistant for Paris, then might it have been programmed to purge its own memory in the event of his death - something like the failsafe that had disintegrated Paris' own body?

"I should be on the Scorpio, so where are you taking me?"

"We had no intention of taking you anywhere," Daniel replied conversationally, "Because we didn't know you were aboard."

He didn't bother asking the robot about Paris. Trying to detect lies from a machine was an exercise in futility.

"Who is 'we'?" the robot asked sharply.

"Dr Solow, Mr Caesaro, and an alien called Char," said Daniel, "And of course Butterfly there, our protectorate asylum seeker. All of whom will probably be quite alarmed if they see what's going on here. So I would politely ask that you take this thing off my arm and we can go and find out what that sudden lurch was. I assume you've gathered by the shouts coming from up front that it wasn't supposed to happen."

[Potatrobot]

At that moment, the robot's identity expired, and the red glow emanating from his joints and eyes faded to bright white. Then he spoke, and his voice was once again overtly cheerful: "Oh! Well, do forgive me! Yes, let's go see what that was all about!"

He leaned forward and, without any apparent struggle, pulled the gauntlet straight out of the door frame. He pushed the lever on the underside forward and the knives returned to their original position. He then tossed it into the wardrobe. As he walked back, he underwent a few short identity changes:
"Prepare the dinner ham!"
"We can expect scattered showers on--"
"Is the butter chicken ready?!"
"Share the love!"

He reverted back to white and continued to walk, oblivious to what had just happened to himself. He picked up Daniel's pistol and handed it back to him.
"Here you go!"
With that, he walked straight to the cockpit.

[Enigma]

"Tell you what," Kes said, bluntly. "One of you tell me, and we'll all know!"

Helen ignored him, staring at the distant ball of Santos. It was a blue-white marble like Londinium or Earth, but the continents were shaped differently.

"That's not Londinium," she decided. "Where are we and how come we dropped out so soon?"

"Daniel, what's...?" Helen began, turning to look - and saw the entertainer robot. "A bot? Where did he come from? Did he override the ship's navigation to bring us here? Is he working for Paris?"

The radio crackled.

"Alpha-Omega-Niner-Zero-Zero-Zero-Seven, you have entered Santos Protected Space. Shut down your engines and prepare for boarding!"

[Potatrobot]

As the robot walked briskly toward the cockpit, he was assaulted by a barrage of questions asked by a rather festively dressed woman.

"Where are we and how come we dropped out so soon? Daniel, what's...? A bot? Where did he come from? Did he override the ship's navigation to bring us here? Is he working for Paris?"

These questions he registered as things that the people around him didn't know. He also deduced that the ship had 'dropped out' sooner than expected, an indication that the shuddering was that of the ship leaving hyperspace. He also figured that the ship had been remotely controlled in order for that to happen, a fact supported by another of the questions. The woman's second question filled him in on the name of the man he walked with. He had already figured that they didn't know he was aboard the ship, simply because Daniel had flat-out told him. But working for Paris?

"Oh dear, no. I am not employed by any French organisation. No need to stress! I see, though, that your trip to Londinium has been interupted by someone taking control of the ship! Isn't that exciting?"

The strangest thing about his cheerful tone of voice and way of speech is that it would have sounded patronising if he wasn't being serious.

"It seems that the people of Santos aren't happy about our presence here. We should respond."

[Sy23]

"Dr Christmas-Tree, it's very flattering," said Kes, "that you ask me so many questions, with an obvious assumption that I know the answers," he spread his hands. "Fact is, I know no more about what's going on here than you, do, and I doubt Daniel does either. I know about as much as you do - which is that this ship seems to be under the control of someone other than ourselves, and that judging by the announcement that just came over the com, that 'someone' are the rightful authorities of Santos. I also know that a bot appears to have materialized from nowhere. And that poor Butterfly - who this is supposed to be all about - is still lying comatose in our sick bay.

"Now, my humble opinion is this. We're in no condition to fight. Shit, we're not even in a condition to run. So all we can do is go along with the situation, watch and wait, and see what develops. I know you're scared - I can't blame you. I don't profess to know much about such situations, but it's my guess a chance to turn the tables might eventuate, if we keep our eyes open. So

In fact, I know damn well they will. They always do. I've been dodging planetary authorities longer than you've been dressing up like a forest elf. But there's no way I'm letting anyone here know that.

what we need to do is not panic, and stick together."

he turned to the bot.

"And perhaps, you had better explain just who you are, and where you came from?"

[Potatrobot]

"Oh! Yes, of course! I am a Zodiac-produced S.C.H.I.Z.O model robot. That stands for Socially Compatible High Intellect Zest Outfit, but you can just call me Schizo. My programming allows me to assume an identity that has the same interests and areas of expertise as the person I talk to, and then keep them company. Pretty nifty, huh?

"As for how I got here, I don't know! The last thing I remember is serving a rather handsome man a scotch-on-the-rocks at the Star's End Bar, accessing the till, depositing the payment, and then poof! I'm in this wardrobe!

"If it helps, a whole bunch of people say I do a lot of things that I don't actually remember. They say that I start switching identities really quickly, and then stop. But that doesn't account for me being on this ship, now does it? That's not very helpful."

[Azazeal849]

With that, he walked straight to the cockpit.

It was a mark of the strangeness of the situation that even Daniel Doverton-Hawke had to pause for a second to process it.

“I see.” he said under his breath, then pocketed his gun and fell into step beside the robot on the way to the cockpit.

"Daniel, what's...?" Helen began, turning to look - and saw the entertainer robot. "A bot? Where did he come from? Did he override the ship's navigation to bring us here? Is he working for Paris?"

The radio crackled.

"Alpha-Omega-Niner-Zero-Zero-Zero-Seven, you have entered Santos Protected Space. Shut down your engines and prepare for boarding!"

"Oh dear, no. I am not employed by any French organisation. No need to stress! I see, though, that your trip to Londinium has been interrupted by someone taking control of the ship! Isn't that exciting?"

“Perhaps not the first word I would choose.” Daniel said mildly. “My apologies, doctor – this robot was in the wardrobe in Butterfly's bedroom. Whoever he is his programming seems to have been rather badly corrupted. It might be safer if we shut him down for now, especially since he just tried to pin me to the wall.”

“You know, Dr Christmas-Tree,” Kes put in, “It's very flattering that you ask me so many questions, with an obvious assumption that I know the answers." He spread his hands. "Fact is, I know no more about what's going on here than you, do, and I doubt Daniel does either. I know about as much as you do - which is that this ship seems to be under the control of someone other than ourselves, and that judging by the announcement that just came over the com, that 'someone' are the rightful authorities of Santos.”

“That shouldn't be possible.” Daniel frowned, “We swept the ship for bugs and the jammer in that,” he pointed to the scale model he had placed on the dashboard, “Should have stopped any that we missed from transmitting or receiving, including remote access signals.”

He shrugged. Exactly how someone had managed to seize control of their stolen ship didn't particularly matter at this point. What mattered was that Paris had been working in collaboration with a Santos spy, that both of those men were now dead, and that they had now ended up in high orbit around Santos itself. It was far too bad a situation for them to be a coincidence.

“Now,” Kes went on. “My humble opinion is this. We're in no condition to fight. Shit, we're not even in a condition to run. So all we can do is go along with the situation, watch and wait, and see what develops. I know you're scared - I can't blame you. I don't profess to know much about such situations, but it's my guess a chance to turn the tables might eventuate, if we keep our eyes open. So what we need to do is not panic, and stick together.”

“Essentially.” Daniel said. He disagreed with the undercover pirate on one point though – Helen Solow hardly looked scared. Confused yes, but still cool and collected. He liked that. While he still regretted putting the doctor in this dangerous situation, and fully expected a dressing down from his superiors for it when they got home, she remained the one addition to their impromptu team that he was genuinely glad to have along.

“It seems that the people of Santos aren't happy about our presence here.” said the robot. The strangest thing about his cheerful tone of voice and way of speech is that it would have sounded patronising if he wasn't being serious. “We should respond.”

“Yes we should.” said Daniel, easing between Kes and Helen to kill the forward thrusters and flick the comm switch. “Orbital control, mayday mayday, we have suffered a failure of our interspace drive. We are carrying a sick passenger to Londinium and need to get her home as soon as possible. We need you to put us through to the Londinian embassy so we can organise her alternative transport. Over.”

[Potatrobot]

"Whoever he is his programming seems to have been rather badly corrupted. It might be safer if we shut him down for now, especially since he just tried to pin me to the wall.”

"Ah," replied Schizo, "you must be referring to my little handicap. You see, my programming allows me to generate any new identity that I don't already have by emulating the person with said identity that I need to keep company. However, one day I tried to emulate someone with a multiple identity crisis. As a result, a loop-hole in my mainline was exploited and now I have my own little multiple identity crisis. Pretty stupid, huh?

"I can observe and maintain parts of my mainline that become defective through unpredicted circumstances, but some parts are off limits for me to repair. After all, if any robot could do that, they'd eventually free themselves of any responsibility and reprogram themselves to do whatever they want. They might even try to remove their obligation to the three laws! We don't want that, do we?

"This particular part of my mainline is one of those parts, so I can't get rid of the glitch. No one can, for that matter. It's not very often that I choose which identity I assume every now and again, but sometimes I do have a say. It's really helpful, too! I get all the expertise that the identity is required to have in order for me to be able to relate to people with the same interests, and there are infinite identities!

"Think of all the fields of study I can be an expert on, all in an instant! Palaeontologist, steel smelter, call operator, gardener, neurologist, dentist, gamer, carpet weaver, the list goes on! Isn't that useful?"

He turned to Daniel. When he spoke, a hint of regret coloured his - still cheerful - tone.
"I'm sorry I pinned you. You can probably tell that I was under the influence of another way of thinking, and a rather aggressive way of thinking at that. I was being defensive because I thought you were trying to kidnap me. That wasn't very nice. I feel really bad now."

[Enigma]

“Orbital control, mayday mayday, we have suffered a failure of our interspace drive. We are carrying a sick passenger to Londinium and need to get her home as soon as possible. We need you to put us through to the Londinian embassy so we can organise her alternative transport. Over.”


There was a long pause, then the radio crackled again. "Alpha-Omega-Niner-Zero-Zero-Zero-Seven, this is the Lenin. We have received your distress message and are commencing boarding procedures to render assistance. Please stand by."

From the picket ship, two small launches jetted out of its bays, heading towards Paris' ship while encrypted transmissions were sent.

Helen glanced at Daniel and Kes, more concerned with Butterfly than the robot. "Wouldn't we have noticed if someone took over the ship? Could the navigation console be broken?"

[Sy23]

one day I tried to emulate someone with a multiple identity crisis. As a result, a loop-hole in my mainline was exploited and now I have my own little multiple identity crisis. Pretty stupid, huh

"Not really," muttered Kes, under his breath. "I'm sure it could happen to any microcephalic with congenital syphilis!"

Helen glanced at Daniel and Kes, more concerned with Butterfly than the robot. "Wouldn't we have noticed if someone took over the ship? Could the navigation console be broken?

"I rather think we have," Kes replied. "Noticed, I mean. Obviously, it is broken. It's as fucked as a whore on Landfall Day*. It's not easy to take control of a ship with as many built-in defenses as this, but obviously someone's managed it." He glanced at the scanner. "Two shuttles? Funny, that. Daniel never said how many were on board. Spooky in fact."

He looked at Daniel. All pretence of his being a naive playboy was forgotten. It was too late for the disguise to be of any use. "So, how do we play this?"




*Landfall Day - the main festival on the planet X'drx'hj, a holiday given over to licentiousness, abandonment and narcotics.

[Azazeal849]

Helen glanced at Daniel and Kes, more concerned with Butterfly than the robot. "Wouldn't we have noticed if someone took over the ship? Could the navigation console be broken?"

“I would have said it was possible.” said Daniel, “Probable even, if it hadn't landed us in slightly too perfect a pickle. Barring someone up there really hating us, this was deliberate.”

"I rather think we have," Kes replied. "Noticed, I mean. Obviously, it is broken. It's as fucked as a whore on Landfall Day. It's not easy to take control of a ship with as many built-in defenses as this, but obviously someone's managed it." He glanced at the scanner. "Two shuttles? Funny, that. Daniel never said how many were on board. Spooky in fact."

He looked at Daniel. All pretence of his being a naive playboy was forgotten. It was too late for the disguise to be of any use. "So, how do we play this?"

“By ear.” Daniel replied. “And tell as much of the truth as doesn’t actually incriminate us. Unfortunately Paris was supposed to be doing a job for the SIB on Beylix, so if they know that this is his ship we could be in for a...hard time.”

He didn't let it show, but both the agent's mind and his heart rate were racing. He walked through to Paris' armoury, taking the Hood model and his briefcase with him. He had to prepare for the eventuality that the Santosians would find out who – and what – he was. And so he began, quickly and methodically, to destroy anything of value to the SIB.

He knocked the memory chip out of his camera and swallowed it, replacing it with a blank one from his case. His silver-rimmed monocle, made with glass laced through with microscopic night vision optics, he placed on the floor and ground beneath his heel to prevent analysis of the ingenious technology. The tiny camera and listening bugs from the Hood's gunports went next, followed by the delicate jammer nestled in the underside of the hull. He took a small knife to the bass stunner cricket ball and peeled away the leather with its incriminating Londinian signature, cutting it into shreds which he dumped into the ship's waste disposal unit along with the ruined bugs and the shards of glass from his monocle. He took a silk handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped his fingerprints off the knife and bass stunner before placing them back in the rack of weapons, there hopefully to be mistaken as belonging to Paris. His pistol went with it, and the dart-launcher cane, which he stood next to what looked like a narrow blade sheathed inside an umbrella. Inamongst weapons from a dozen worlds, the Santosians would be less likely to draw the connection between him and the distinctly Londinian artefact.

The miniature autofac he left in Paris' room after wiping it down and purging its programming for the toxic darts it had been producing. Lastly he turned to his own omni and typed in a long code. The sophisticated device immediately wiped itself of everything relating to the SIS and his mission, becoming just a regular wristwatch omni.

Daniel sighed. Between the omni, the bugs and the monocle, he had just destroyed a million crowns worth of high technology, but at least now the SIB wouldn't be able to replicate any of it. The weapons and other kit he was leaving behind, though less valuable to the enemy researchers, probably added up to another million.

“Such a waste.” he said with a shrug as he headed back to the others. By the time he had finished, the Santosian shuttles had matched course and speed with their ship and were carefully maneuvering in to dock.

[Potatrobot]

“And tell as much of the truth as doesn’t actually incriminate us." Daniel said. "Unfortunately Paris was supposed to be doing a job for the SIB on Beylix, so if they know that this is his ship we could be in for a...hard time.”

When the posse of mixed irregulars had first told Schizo about Paris, he was under the impression that they were talking about the French city. But now, hearing the name being used in such a context, everything clicked.

"Oh! You must be talking about Mister John Paris Junior! He owns cabin three of our Nova class cabins. He's very wealthy."

It also occurred to him that this was Paris' ship. He looked back at the armoury, and at that point, he switched identities again, to his rather paranoid self. His eyes and joints turned light blue.
What was he doing in the wardrobe of a very wealthy man with a room full of weapons?

"Excuse me," he said, his voice devoid of its optimism and carrying a subtle aggression, "but before we are boarded, would you please call up an image of John Paris? I need to know what he looks like."

[Enigma]

"So, how do we play this?"
"Well..." Helen began, pausing when she noticed that Daniel was destroying his gear.

"Excuse me," the robot said, his voice devoid of its optimism and carrying a subtle aggression, "but before we are boarded, would you please call up an image of John Paris? I need to know what he looks like."

"I never met him, sorry," Helen shrugged, glancing at Kes, then turned back to Daniel, the silent insect and Kes. "Remember, I'm a doctor. That girl in Paris' bed is my patient, as is him. We've declared a medical emergency. Interplanetary treaties mean they have to offer assistance. If we try to resist, we'll be stuck here until the embassy can get us free. By then I may have lost my only chance to rescue that poor girl's mind."

One shuttle, slightly above and to the right of their stern suddenly fired its forward maneuvering jets, slowing itself. The other shuttle's forward jets fired as drifted up the side, slowing as the hatches of the ship and the shuttle faced each other.

"Paris, this is a short ranged transmission, impossible for anyone else to intercept. I salute your ingenuity! We will lock on and board now."

Magnetic grapples shot out from around the Santosian shuttle, thudding into the steel hull. A tube snaked its way out of a recess around the shuttle hatch, stretching out until it made contact with Paris' hull. There was a faint whispering sound past the hatch, growing into a roar - and faded. A red light above the hatch switched to green. Moments later, the hatch buzzer buzzed.

"Let's just stay calm," Helen said, her voice rising in pitch slightly as her hands fluttered nervously. "Someone should open the hatch and let them in. Calmly. I'm sure once we've explained what happened, they will let us leave for Londinium."

[Sy23]

...Someone should open the hatch and let them in. Calmly. I'm sure once we've explained what happened, they will let us leave for Londinium.

"Oh, of course," laughed Kes. "They'll probably shake our hands first, and load us up with a picnic basket to take on our way." He drew his complex-looking gun, and began to fold it in on itself swiftly. It was so designed that it could be locked in on itself, into a small oblong that could be slipped in the average pocket. Lifting his foot, he slid back the false catch of his heel and deposited the weapon. The other heel contained lockpicks, and other useful things. "But, just in case - on the merest infinitesimal off-chance - the Planetary Authorities here do decide that violating their airspace without clearance or any indication of our arrival, in a stolen ship full of illegal weapons, it's just possible that things might become slightly inconvenient. It's faintly possible we might all receive the tiniest slap on the wrist each - such as tossing us all into maximum security cell-cubes and scrambling the combinations beyond recall, or mind-wiping us. You know, trivial impositions of that kind."

He watched as Daniel slipped his own gun into the weapons rack. Had that not happened, Kes would have been prepared to fight it out. Daniel having surrendered, he now knew the ause of resistance was hopeless.

"What I'm asking, Doctor," he said, grimly, as he jerked his thumb towards the sick-bay. "Is that you look after that girl as best you can. Do I have your word on that?"

He looked towards Daniel, and thumbed the control pad to open the hatches.

[Azazeal849]

“You know, trivial impositions of that kind.”

“Mr Caesaro,” Daniel said gently, “I would appreciate it if you were a little less caustic towards Dr Solow. Imminent peril is hardly a cause for being rude.”

The agent smiled, rather wolfishly, as the magnetic clamps of the Santosian shuttlecraft clunked against the hull. He looked at Helen, who, for the first time, was beginning to show traces of fear. “I'm afraid, Doctor, that based on that last transmission our impending guests are probably members of the Santos Intelligence Bureau, and like most organisations of their type they aren't above ignoring interplanetary treaties when necessary. However, they probably don't know that Paris was blackmailing their agent DeWinger, or that he was also working for this Jiangyin customer Tatsu. Ergo, it's possible that they don't know who Butterfly is. It'd be best if we keep it that way.”

“What I'm asking, Doctor,” Kes added, grimly, as he jerked his thumb towards the sick-bay. “Is that you look after that girl as best you can. Do I have your word on that?”

Daniel turned back to the door. If it wasn't to retrieve Butterfly, what had the SIB been expecting of Paris? What they did next hinged on the actions of the people now making their way through the pressurised grav-tunnel towards their ship. Having prepared for the worst by destroying any SIS secrets that might be of use to the Santosians, Daniel Doverton-Hawke gave Helen's shoulder a reassuring squeeze and prepared to try and prove that destruction unnecessary.

“You've got the right idea, Doctor.” he said as Kes looked towards him, and thumbed the control pad to open the hatches, “Keep calm.”

[Enigma]

There was a pause as the hatch slid open, then an armored Santosian Marine stepped inside. He was a large blonde man, which made the compact sub-machine gun he wasn't quite pointing at them look almost dainty. A dark-haired marine stood behind him.

"Pajoska, to move to far side of cabin," he said in heavily accented English.
"Pater, Gregor, you worry too much," came the jovial voice from the radio behind the marines. "Paris is clever man. Should anything happen to me, the other shuttle will fire. All a terrible accident."

Reluctantly, the two marines stepped away, allowing the shorter smiling man in the dark suit to enter. His smile faltered as he took in the mixed persons in front of him. His eyes swept over Kes, paused and there was a small flicker of recognition. Ignoring the robot and the insectivoid, he glanced next at Helen, dismissed her as well, then switched his full attention to Daniel.

"The one person I do not see here is Paris, however. This is most troubling. I take it I shall need to wait longer for my package. My name is Colonel Zhurkov. May I ask who you all are, and why you are here?"

"I'm Doctor Helen Solow," Helen said, eying the guns worriedly. "We're all passengers from the Zodiac Liner Scorpio. I have a patient in the other cabin who's sedated. We're taking her to Londinium for emergency treatment."
"Emergency treatment? And where is the owner of this ship?"
"Still on board the Scorpio, I would imagine? We left from there."
"The Zodiac liner Virgo arrived last week. If I am remembering correctly, Scorpio is not due for what, two months?"
"I don't know," Helen replied.
"The Zodiac line's sick bay is as well equipt as one of our field hospitals. I find it curious that they could not handle this emergency themselves?"
"The patient has had a complete mental structure collapse and requires urgent emergency treatment in a specialized neural theatre if there is to be any hope of recovery," Helen explained.
"A neural theater? Most curious. I take it you are an expert in this area? Perhaps you were unaware that Santos has many fine neural theaters? If time is truly of essence, I would be remiss not to offer our services."

Raising his wrist, Colonel Zhukov tapped his omni. Unlike the stainless steel models the marine wore, his had the dull sheen of platinum.
"Pilot, this is Colonel Zhukov. It turns out there is an actual medical emergency on board. Send over the med techs. Inform the other shuttle that we are escorting the ship to Santos and to arrange priority clearance to land and transportation."
"Da, colonel-tovarich," the omni responded.
"There, is all arranged," the colonel replied, his cold gray eyes glittering. Behind him, two worried med techs appeared, glancing around the cabin worriedly as the came through the hatch.

"Doktor, please to take Gregor and a med tech with you so we may check on the status of your patient," he instructed. Helen nodded, giving the two men a worried look as she stepped away from the wall, waving down the passageway towards the cabin. "The other med tech to please check our insect friend, he appears to also need assistance. Pater, close the hatch and order the pilot to disconnect so we may proceed. Afterward, know that our good mutual friend Paris possesses a very interesting collection of weapons in the room on the left. Please to secure the door. I know from personal experience he would not like it if we allowed anything to happen to it."
"Da, Colonel-tovarich."

The hatch is sealed. Moments later, the light over the hatch turns red and there is a slight popping sound as the magnetic clamps disengage.
"Pilot, you may proceed to planet," the Colonel directs Kes. "While we are traveling, perhaps you gentlemen could introduce yourselves, since you will temporarily be our guests?"

[Potatrobot]

Bearing in mind that Schizo was under the influence of an extremely paranoid persona, the arrival of several armed men and mentions of a shuttle opening fire on Paris' ship would have been detrimental to the situation. However, as his malfunction dictated, he could not sustain the persona and, while Colonel Zhurkov spoke, he switched momentarily to a cowboy, a psychiatrist, a biology student, an engineer, and a weathergirl (each without speaking a word) before reverting back to his old, optimistic, forthcoming self.

"Hi there!" He rushed forward and shook the Colonel's hand with vigour. "I am a Zodiac-produced S.C.H.I.Z.O model robot. That stands for Socially Compatible High Intellect Zest Outfit, but you can just call me Schizo. How can I help you?"

[Sy23]

As Colonel Zhukov made his speech, Kes' eyes narrowed. It might have been fair to call him a cynic - save that his almost default position of mistrust towards his fellow humans (and other sentients) had, in the past, more often proved right than wrong. In short, he trusted Colonel Zhukov no farther than he could throw him. In fact, considerably less, for with his customized body, and in this low-grav environment, he could have thrown the Santosian high-official a considerable distance, and would have liked to.

"My name's - urm - Lit Deitisu," he said, reverting quickly to his innocent, playboy persona. "Citizen of the planetary system Iesvi-Visse," (One of the few political groups that never took part in warfare of any kind, and the safest place to claim false citizenship of, in tricky circumstances. "I was a volunteer orderly upon the Scorpio," (this was, at last technically, true,) "and the comatose patient we're carrying was in my care. May I respectfully ask, Sir, what are your plans for the patient? And may I advise you that Dr Sulow is one of the most highly respected neural-psychologists in the human-inhabited universe, her name being a byword for dedication and ability in at least five planetary systems."

Well, Daniel had asked him to be less caustic towards the doctor. Surely this fit the bill.

"So may I again respectfully suggest she be allowed to continue to treat her, given that she is au fait with what has occurred thus far?"

[Azazeal849]

"Emergency treatment? And where is the owner of this ship?"

"Still on board the Scorpio, I would imagine? We left from there."

While maintaining an expression of polite interest, Daniel watched Zhurkov carefully. He was trying to gauge any hidden reaction when Helen revealed that Paris had been on the Scorpio, instead of on Beylix as DeWinger had claimed he should have been. Was Zhurkov privy to all the details of Paris' mission, or was he just there to collect the "package"?

"There, is all arranged." the colonel replied, his cold grey eyes glittering.

Again, Daniel watched the man - surreptitiously, but closely. Could this be a trap, or had the colonel just offered them a golden opportunity of free passage to the surface, where they could potentially make a break for the Londinian embassy? The agent was inclined to be cautious even as he began spinning possible escape plans in his head. Someone had dropped them out of interspace light years short of their target, and whatever reason they had for doing so it was likely to be to their detriment; maybe even also to the detriment of the SIB agents who were steering him and the others towards their own inscrutable agenda. The current situation was a powder keg of unknown variables, and he would have to tread very carefully.

"So may I again respectfully suggest she be allowed to continue to treat her, given that she is au fait with what has occurred thus far?"

At least the duplicitous ex-pirate was still on form, Daniel noted. Even if he was merely acting out of protective instinct towards Butterfly, he had identified the importance of keeping the group together, and of preventing an SIB scientist from being the first to uncover the truth of Butterfly's origins. However, Kes was also potentially their biggest risk of discovery: Daniel had seen the brief flicker of recognition on Zhurkov's face, even if he didn't know the reason behind it. He hoped that Kes would be sharp enough to come up with another convincing lie if Zhurkov wondered why a medical orderly was also the designated pilot.

"Daniel Doverton-Hawke, at your service colonel." he said after the two men had finished speaking and Zhurkov turned his questioning eye on the Londinian. "I am a friend of Doctor Solow. Your friend Mr Paris kindly offered us his ship for transport when the emergency occurred. He said he would not need it while he concluded his business on the Scorpio, and would return for it later." He glanced pointedly at the marines and med-techs who were squeezing around each other in the hallway behind the cockpit. "I will assume, given our present company, that said business is too important for it to be wise to inquire about further."

"Hi there!" the robot suddenly rushed forward and shook the colonel's hand with vigour. "I am a Zodiac produced S.C.H.I.Z.O model robot. That stands for Socially Compatible High Intellect Zest Outfit, but you can call me Schizo. How can I help you?"

"My apologies, colonel." Daniel added with a slight smile. "Mr Paris must have left his hatch open and this robot wandered in. We didn't know it was on board until we were already off the Scorpio. I should warn you that it has suffered something of a glitch, as it seems to change personalities randomly."

[Enigma]

"So may I again respectfully suggest she be allowed to continue to treat her, given that she is au fait with what has occurred thus far?" Kes "Lit Deitisu" asked.

"A good question. We would need to verify her credentials. I shall order such, so that proper authorization can be waiting at the hospital," Colonel Zhurkov decided.

"Daniel Doverton-Hawke, at your service colonel." he said after the two men had finished speaking and Zhurkov turned his questioning eye on the Londinian. "I am a friend of Doctor Solow. Your friend Mr Paris kindly offered us his ship for transport when the emergency occurred. He said he would not need it while he concluded his business on the Scorpio, and would return for it later." He glanced pointedly at the marines and med-techs who were squeezing around each other in the hallway behind the cockpit. "I will assume, given our present company, that said business is too important for it to be wise to inquire about further."

"Hi there!" the robot suddenly rushed forward and shook the colonel's hand with vigour. "I am a Zodiac produced S.C.H.I.Z.O model robot. That stands for Socially Compatible High Intellect Zest Outfit, but you can call me Schizo. How can I help you?"

"My apologies, colonel." Daniel added with a slight smile. "Mr Paris must have left his hatch open and this robot wandered in. We didn't know it was on board until we were already off the Scorpio. I should warn you that it has suffered something of a glitch, as it seems to change personalities randomly."

"Ah yes," Colonel Zhurkov said, shaking his head. "What curious toys the other worlds create for themselves. Robots on Santos are not so plentiful nor do they exist to entertain us. Would you care to immigrate, comrade robot, and be rebuilt as a tractor perhaps? Or perhaps not, if you are damaged?"

"Tovarich Colonel Zhurkov," announced his wrist omni, "Authorization has been provided for immediate landing clearance. We have an ambulance standing by to take patient to hospital on your arrival."

"Ah! Very good!," Zhurkov chortled. "Pajoska immediate record search for Dr. Helen Solow of Londinium. Verify she is licensed as neural doctor."
"Da, Tovarich Colonel Zhurkov!"

"There," the Santos Intelligence agent said, beaming up the two men. "Pilot umn-Deitisu, please to listen for instructions from Red January field. From there, we will get into cars and travel to hospital where patient will be admitted and treated."

"Including you, tovarich-schizo!" the colonel added.


The landing is rather routine. After everyone is secured in jump seats or in beds, Paris' ship lands at the field and is taxied to a large hanger where two military ambulances and an two state cars are waiting. And behind a barricade, Santosian State Press and the Interstellar Press are waiting under a cloud of flying remote cameras, kept in check by barricades and armed Santosian soldiers in their dress uniforms.


"This is very simple," Colonel Zhurkov smiles as he checks himself out in with a mirror. "Girl is being put into stretcher. We go out, we say a few words for press how Santos is more than happy to assist in this urgent matter as girl is loaded into ambulance and our insect friend is loaded into the other. Then we follow in the other cars. At hospital, everyone will be searched, including you, tovarich-Schizo, then shown to a waiting room for a nice comfortable wait while girl and doctor enter neuro theater for emergency treatment."

"Such surgeries can take many sessions, so we have arranged rooms in a hotel near the hospital for you all to stay. Free of charge, of course. We can arrange for you to visit a few places to keep you from being bored, and to talk to press to assure everyone of how well you and the girl are being treated. Then hopefully all of you can return to the Scorpio when it arrives in system. If not, we shall wait for another Zodiac ship, and you all may resume your journey and I can thank our good mutual friend Paris for the generous loan of his ship."

There is a bustle in the passageway as the two med techs appear with the still sleeping Butterfly already strapped into a portable stretcher, while Helen hovers near by.

"Ah good," Colonel Zhurkov beams. "We can spare a few minutes for everyone to visit bathroom and to pick up anything they may need."

Unsaid was the warning to leave behind anything dangerous a search at the hospital might discover.

[Sy23]

Kes reaction to what followed in the small cubicle was a mixture of apprehension and amusement. The perplexed look on the faces of the minor-ranking officials when they saw the readings of the detectors forced him to restrain helpless laughter. Their inability to comprehend his explanation that it was his skeleton, and not some secreted device that was sending the reading off the scale made things even worse. And their ability to pronounce the word "Adamantium" sent him so close to the edge of hilarity that he was forced to hang on by his metaphorical toenails. In all the confusion, of course, the officials totally overlooked the genuinely illegal items stowed in his boot-soles!

A quick medical check revealed Kes to be free from any contagious diseases, and that Lit Deitisu had no criminal record whatsoever - little surprise there, since Kes had not used the identity in this sector for many years. Officials were usually not inclined to mess with citizens of the Iesvi-Visse planetary system anyway, given that it clung to its neutral status in all wars with the kind of fanaticism usually reserved for more martial pursuits in other systems - and that it was the source of most of the narcotic and stimulating pleasures enjoyed by the rest of the known galaxy!

He even managed to beg a swig from the flask of liquor that one of the officials wore strapped to his belt, before being smilingly sent on his way,

However, his amusement was balanced by another consideration. At liberty he might have been, but what would happen to Butterfly? There was no way he could protect her, and while he was sure the other members of the crew would do their best - well, the whole party were on enemy territory now. Things did not bode well, was his general opinion.

[Potatrobot]

Schizo found himself talking to a reporter. He didn't recall how the conversation started, but he was fully aware of the direction it took. The reporter in question - a calm, collected and in-control looking individual - had a facial expression that revealed that he was in fact worried, confused and without any grasp on the situation at all.

"I'm sorry," the man stammered, his eyes closed and his head shaking slightly, "what was that all about?"
"What was what?" inquired the oblivious Schizo, a smile on his face as usual.
"You just started saying a whole lot of phrases. Very different phrases. Just seconds ago! Don't you remember?"

It was not a situation Schizo found himself out of very often, people asking him about his behaviour.
"No, I can't say I do. But I do remember people on board the Scorpio telling me the same thing. Your cameraman is recording this, I assume?"
The reporter and cameraman both gave a shaky nod.
"Well then! You can look over that footage and show me what happened!"

Normally one would expect Schizo to stay put and take a look at that footage, since he never gained any closure from those sorts of situations. But Schizo wasn't a normal robot. With a curt nod his eyes and the gaps in his plating turned aqua green as he jumped to the identity of a dancer and subsequently moon-walked back onto Paris' ship.

Within the next few hours the CEO of Zodiac would be sitting in his office, staring at holovision footage of a defective S.C.H.I.Z.O unit performing a well executed dance move. No repair program was sent to Santos to correct the robot's behaviour and nor was there any revision of the product's mainline, owing to the fact that several thousand orders for S.C.H.I.Z.O units were currently flooding in.

Even though the identity jump was unprecedented, Schizo wound up where he had intended to go anyway. He made his way to the cabin and then to the wardrobe. Opening the doors, he beheld all of his belongings. Three of them were weapons, and three of them weren't. First of the weapons was his bladed gauntlet. Next came a single - and very old - grenade. The last and largest was his laser pistol. The pistol itself was sleek and shaped like a normal handgun, but a thick cord connected it to a pair of large Leyden jars. The jars were attached to each other, side-by-side, and had a few straps that allowed them to be worn like a backpack. Inside each jar was a second, smaller jar that made use of the empty air inside. Naturally, he was keeping these for the purpose of withholding them from human hands where they could be used to cause harm.

The three other items were a pack of playing cards (usually given out at the Star's End Bar as a complimentary gift), a rubber duck and an old radio headset.

"This would be all so inconvenient to carry," Schizo optimistically observed, "I need something to put them in."
He started rooting through the apparel in Mr Paris' wardrobe. Surely, he wouldn't mind lending this robot one of his many outfits, especially since he had recently suffered a mild case of death. One by one, Schizo pushed coat hangers bearing unique sets of clothes to the side, looking for something nice. Then he found it.

"What a nice outfit!" Came the cheery remark. A few minutes later, he was all dressed up. The outfit he had chosen (or rather, an identity with experience in the fashion industry had chosen) was a tuxedo. Black pants, black blazer, black tie and a white shirt. The outfit came with polished black leather shoes with white insteps, and also with a black trilby hat with a white band.

The tuxedo was obviously the uniform of a casino dealer, because there was a white spade emblem on the blazer's left breast and on the left side of the trilby hat, above the band. On top of that, there were small pockets inside the sleeves where a number of cards could be kept. Dealers also had to keep themselves armed in case any gamblers got violent, and this showed in the small gun holster that came with the outfit, and was strapped to Schizo's right ankle, underneath the pant leg.

The playing cards went into the left sleeve pocket, and the rubber duck into the right inside pocket. The radio headset, though old, was flat enough to fit on Schizo's head and still allow him to wear the hat on top of it, so under the right side of the rim was a single headphone speaker with a microphone attached to it via a thin, black, angular rod.

The weapons, however, would be a little hard to explain to Santos security. While they were banned objects as per the security protocols, they were not Schizo's protocols to follow. He had convinced himself that possessing the weapons was the best way to keep them from harming humans.

He pulled his right sleeve back and strapped the gauntlet to his arm before pushing the sleeve back over the weapon. It was slim enough to be mistaken as a part of his casing should anyone feel it through the suit. If he needed it, he just had to pull back both the sleeve and the lever on the underside to extend the blades. The grenade he dropped down the front of his pants, despite the unfortunate implications that usually accompanied such an act. The trick was to not pull the pin, and assume that, robot or not, no one would ever have their groin patted down by security.

The pistol would be harder to get past security, but Schizo probably had an identity who could help him out when it came to the search. He disconnected the pistol from its cable and stowed it in the holster on his ankle. He then twisted the holster around so that it was between his legs, for the time being. During the search the security personnel would pat him down from his shoulders to his ankles, but not between the legs. All that remained of Schizo's belongings was the pistol's power source, but that was no longer a weapon. He could wear it openly without raising suspicion, what with it being a set of batteries and he being a robot.

Confident that he had successfully hidden his most dangerous belongings, he strode proudly out of Paris' ship with the Leyden jars strapped to his back and made his way to the rest of the crew, who gave him surprised looks for donning the spiffy tux.

[Azazeal849]

"Then hopefully all of you can return to the Scorpio when it arrives in system. If not, we shall wait for another Zodiac ship, and you may all resume your journey and I can thank our good mutual friend Paris for the generous loan of his ship."

"Thank you, colonel." said Daniel, with a warm smile that was just as convincing and just as fake as Zhurkov's own probably was. "You are more than accomodating."

Of course, the Londinian spy had no intention of them waiting around for the Scorpio. Indeed, it was doubtful that the Santosians would just let them leave if Butterfly let some of her new memories slip at the wrong moment, or if they discovered evidence of DeWinger's untimely demise on Paris' ship.

One way or another, it was looking inevitable that they were going to precipitate the kind of interplanetary relations incident that Daniel's SIS bosses would really prefer for him to avoid. But until then, if they were not to simply steal a ship, then he would need to get to the Londinian embassy to arrange some sort of alternative pickup. Daniel considered his options as the ship descended towards Santos, the arti-grav slowly adjusting to bring them down to the Santosian normal.


******

Schizo made his way to the rest of the crew, who gave him surprised looks for having donned the spiffy tux.

"Very dapper." Daniel commented with an amused smile, as he held the car door for the others before sliding in next to Helen. "What's the occasion?"

The SIS agent pulled his briefcase in after him and rested it on his knees. It still contained his clothes, tea, camera and the now-harmless Hood model, but the only item now hidden in the x-ray-proof compartment beneath the false bottom was Paris' omni.

After a short drive they found themselves at the hospital, where the humans were all made to walk through a standard metal detector arch. Kes' bionics immediately set the alarms buzzing, and he was escorted aside for a more thorough x-ray scan. Helen looked concerned, and Daniel kept glancing in the direction of the second booth as a male security guard checked his suitcase, his omni, and finally patted him down for concealed items. Luckily Kes appeared a few minutes later, apparently unhindered. Daniel carefully controlled the sense of relief he was feeling.

"Very strict security measures you have here." he commented to the guard, "For a hospital at least."

"Standard counterterrorism measures, gospodin." the guard replied tonelessly as he gave Daniel the signal to pass.

"I think it's safe to assume," Daniel said in a low voice as they were led upstairs to operating theatre and its adjoining waiting room, "That they will be watching us. Don't remove any bugs you find in the hotel - that will make them suspicious - just don't talk openly about anything that might get us into trouble."

They reached the waiting room a few minutes later. It was brightly lit through large transparisteel windows, with the walls painted in light, pastel tones. Standing by the window was a member of the Santosian state press, who was practically hopping from one foot to the other in excitement. Daniel acknowledged the reporter with a polite nod before looking round at the rest of the room. The furniture consisted of several sofas, a central table and a bookcase. There was a screen on one wall which Daniel assumed was to allow them to watch the surgery.

"Well, I guess this is us." Daniel said, adopting an appreciative look as he surveyed the room. He turned to Dr Solow, and said earnestly, "Good luck, Helen."

[Potatrobot]

"Very dapper." Daniel commented with an amused smile, as he held the car door for the others before sliding in next to Helen. "What's the occasion?"

"Oh, it's such a special occasion," mused Schizo, "I thought I would dress up for it." The robot slipped into the car before Helen, carrying those huge jars. He rested them on his knees like Daniel had done with his briefcase.

During the trip, Schizo switched to several different identities: a dentist, a football coach and a very quiet student, to name a few. The rest of the time he just stared forwards, saying nothing. He was planning his own search.

When they arrived at the hospital, Schizo waited behind most of the others in the line to the security officers. When it was his turn to undergo the search, he carefully placed the Leyden jars on the conveyor belt for the X-ray scanner, before turning to enter the metal detector. The operators just stared dumbly at the robot as the sharp siren blared. One of the officers pulled Schizo aside, neglecting to look at his face. He didn't notice that the robot's eyes were a dark orange, the colour corresponding to an identity that, by intent rather than chance, was quite a slippery individual.

The officer began patting down the robot's arms. When he came to the forearms, his hands closed around both at the same time. He would have noticed something thick under the right sleeve, but he was distracted by something thicker under the left. By request, Schizo reached in and pulled out a deck of playing cards, kept neatly in a box with the Star's End logo on the back. They went through the X-ray without a worry.

Then, the officer began patting down Schizo's chest, and once again his attention was drawn to a bulge on the right side. The rubber duck also went through the X-ray.

Then, the officer began to pat down his sides, starting with the area one would call his ribs and getting lower towards his feet. When he came to the legs, Schizo was right about him only patting down the outsides only, where his pistol would have been if he hadn't turned the holster around. Even then, he was sure that the security officer would notice an inconsistency on the right ankle, and was just about to when...

"Ah, I forgot something!" The officer jolted from the surprise, not even caring to think that he might have missed something. Schizo's voice wasn't overtly cheerful, in fact it was smooth and well punctuated. He reached up, took off his hat, and showed the officer the radio headset sitting there. Into the X-ray it went, and with that, the search concluded.

Schizo collected his items: the cards went back into the sleeve, the duck into the pocket, the headset under the hat and the Leyden jars onto his back. He followed the others into the waiting room, and looked at Daniel for a time. It didn't take long for him to notice that Schizo had his eyes on him; they were like tiny headlights. Without breaking his gaze, the robot gently patted his right forearm where Daniel could see.

Normally, this means "Keep an eye on the time." Although while in this case it did not, it served as a fair disguise as to the real meaning behind the gesture. Daniel knew what he kept on his right arm.

[Enigma]

Helen darted out of the car the moment it stopped at the hospital. The ambulance holding Butterfly the alien was already unloading her gurney and taking her inside. The girl was stirring.

"She shouldn't be awake yet!" Helen yelled, storming over.
"Butterfly?" the girl asked, a little frightened when she discovered she couldn't sit up.
"Shhh, it's ok, you'll be all better very soon," Helen told her, glaring at one of the med-tech.
"Sorry, was orders."
"Orders?!?"
"I am sorry, Doktor, we had to be sure," Colonel Zhurkov replied, coming up behind her. He gave the med techs a nod, and they pushed the gurney inside. "While I wish it could be different, we have a ship without owner and our worlds are not on the friendly terms."
"You think this is some kind of trick? Why?"
"To be perfectly honest, I do not know. Now, please to come this way so you may prepare," Colonel Zhurkov said, waving at the doors Butterfly had gone through.

Helen glared at the Santosian officer, then sourly entered with the others from the ship. A female security guard gave her a large tray to put what she was carrying on. Her omni, various odds and ends from her pockets and lastly, with great reluctance, the compact she'd brought with her from the ship was surrendered, then she strode through the detector. Helen was glad she had left her derringer back on Paris' ship.

"This is unbelievably primitive," she complained.
"We are sorry to inconvenience you," Colonel Zhurkov shrugged.
Helen turned towards the conveyor, but her tray was not there.
"Where are my things?" she demanded.
"Not to worry doktor, you will get them back after surgery," Colonel Zhurkov smiled, then waved over an orderly.
"But I need..."
"We have an excellent setup here in this hospital, I am sure we can provide."
The orderly put his hand on her arm, Helen shook it off, glaring at him. The orderly smiled and pointed down the hall. Helen glanced back at the others being screened and reluctantly followed him.

Colonel Zhurkov watched her go, then turned to watch the others as they went through security, chuckling at Schizo.
"Rubber duckies and cards, it is most curious what you carry, Robot tovarich! If we are through, we should go now to the observation lounge."

Colonel Zhurkov paused at the entrance of the lounge where the reporter waited, letting the others stream by. There was something about Daniel that seemed too right, too calm. Why did the robot stare at Daniel like that after he got through Security? Was it just because Daniel was a familiar face? Robots! Who could tell with machines? Humans on the other hand revealed much at a glance.

He held out a hand to catch Kes' arm.
"Pardon me tovarich Deitisu," the colonel smiled. "I was wondering if this was your first visit to our world? You remind me of a trader who would come through when I was working security at the Customs office?"


The screen lit up, showing Butterfly, now dressed in a surgical gown, strapped into a massive reclining chair, her head half hidden inside a large cone with various attachments, a hairdryer designed by a madman. Helen was standing to the side with a technician at a console, talking quietly to him while another monitored displays on the hellish hairdryer.

"We're ready to start," Helen announced. The technician flipped a switch, and a large display above the chair flashed to life, showing basic medical information about heart, blood pressure and other vitals. The bottom half showed no data.

"Level one," Helen instructed. The tech nodded, pressing a sequence of buttons on the screen. Butterfly moaned, staring around her wildly as the unit began to hum. Wires thinner than a human hair were being fed through the girl's scalp and into the brain. On the display, graphs were appearing at the bottom of the screen.

"Level one complete. Gathering baseline... my god, what happened to this girl?"
"There's massive neural disruption," Helen scowled, scanning the finer readouts on the console. "Let's go deeper, Level two."

The tech pushed a bank of sliders with his spread fingers to a marked position, shaking his head. "How is this possible? Very little activity, yet no apparent injury?"
"Put the patient to sleep, we need to go deeper."
"Yes, Doktor."
In the chair, Butterfly's body went slack and her eyes rolled up inside her head.
"Patient is unconscious."
"Go to level three."
"Scanning... Doktor, what is that?" the technician asked, pointing at the small screen in front of him.
"I'm not sure...." Helen frowned. "It looks like a knot?"
"It looks as if it was sealed - I do not understand!"
"Neither do I, but that's not an essential area for neural functions. Let's go to four..."
"We should scan this first," the technician insisted. "This does not belong."
"This won't restore her memories, her personality..."
"The damage is too massive to restore, even I can see that Doktor," the tech said curtly. "Without a memory ingram, whoever this girl was is lost now. She is an empty cup, waiting to be filled. We can implant basic knowledge, language - but this node could interfere - it is on the pathways we would need."

Helen slumped, closing her eyes as she took a deep breath, then nodded.
"Probe it."
The technician adjusted the controls, diverting small wires to invade the isolated lump.
"There is something here..." the technician whispered, flipping a switch. The large screen turned blue, then showed faces looking down at the viewer, cooing and offering fingers...

...small hands clumsily trying to grab orange cubes on a tray while someone unseen laughed and spoke alien words that flowed like music...

...a sunlit room filled with simple furnishings, a man smiling and holding out his hands. A woman's voice speaking unknown words of encouragement, an arm pointing at the man. A pair of smaller, disembodied hands reaching out as a child giggles, taking their first hesitant stumbling steps towards the man....

...explosions, something screaming overhead. Staring up at flickering lights on the ceiling, the scene shifting as the unseen cameraman gets out of bed to stumble towards a window. Outside, shiny metal ships, ancient of design have landed nearby and disgorged an army of Dracosians, the lizardmen wearing body armor and helmets, clutching massive guns in their hands as they began to fan out by the light of fires....

"Perhaps," Butterfly spoke suddenly, her voice deeper like a man's and sounding very annoyed, "if you would tell me what it is you're looking for, I could help you find it?"

The other technician monitoring the chair stumbled back in surprise while Helen and the console tech stared at the alien girl in disbelief.

"Get him out!" Colonel Zhurkov screamed, pointing at the State Reporter, who was furiously typing into his handheld. A guard grabbed his arm and pulled the protesting man out of the room. "Seal the door! No one is to come in or leave this room without my express permission and double the guard on the neural theatre they are using!"

[Sy23]

"Pardon me tovarich Deitisu," the colonel smiled. "I was wondering if this was your first visit to our world? You remind me of a trader who would come through when I was working security at the Customs office?"

Kes felt an icy shock run through him, just for a second. If he had been on this planet before, under his current assumed name, he would have been quite relaxed at the Colonel's question. After all, this was one of the few spheres on which he was not wanted for criminal activities. The fact that the Colonel had recognized him facially could not be good news... Inter-Galactic circulation of fiiles among security organizations was ever the curse of the freebooter!

"Urm, it's funny you should say that, Colonel," he replied, blandly, recovering himself quickly. "My younger brother's a trader, and he's been here on several occasions. Cetves, his name is. I wouldn't be surprised if you met him - he's much more of a social being than myself. To be honest, though - " Kes tried to look embarrased. "I'd be less surprised if your security forces knew him in a professional capacity. He always had a somewhat cavalier attitude towards minor regulations... quite the black sheep of the family, in fact. My father won't hear his name mentioned in - "

"Perhaps, if you would tell me what it is you're looking for, I could help you find it?"

Kes' eyes swung towards the operation theater. There were few things that could surprise him, but this was one of them. An exclamation - in fact, one refeencing the mating habits of the sentient natives of the planet Feroz, and certainly not fit for Dr Sulow's ears - escaped him before he could control it.

"What... what the.. . What's going on?" he whispered. "Should Butterfly... should she.. . should that happen?"

[Potatrobot]

"Perhaps, if you would tell me what it is you're looking for, I could help you find it?"

"Seal the door! No one is to come in or leave this room without my express permission and double the guard on the neural theatre they are using!"

Sometimes, powerful situations act as stimuli for the appearance of an identity that is appropriate to the situation at hand. So as the unconscious, mute girl spoke that strange voice and the Colonel ordered an effective lock-down on the waiting room, Schizo's eyes turned blue beneath the rim of his trilby hat as he reverted to his paranoid persona.

Looking around subtly, he leaned forward in his seat and began untying and retying the shoelaces on his right foot, with the Leyden jars placed strategically between them and Colonel Zhurkov. Although the jars were made out of glass with insulated bottoms, they refracted the light enough to hide that Schizo was actually taking the opportunity to turn the holster on his ankle back around so that it was on the right side, making the pistol all the easier to reach for in an emergency.

He stood up and walked over to the screen that looked into the operating theatre and, without his usual cheerful tone but with a paranoid sneer, said:
"Well, it looks like that girl was hiding something after all. Do you think that she might be dangerous?"

[Enigma]

The med tech paused in the doorway, glancing up from her tablet to take in the unconscious alien lying in bed, covered only by a sheet.

"Well," she almost purred, a slight smile on her face, "Aren't you exotic?"

She drifted up to Paris' bedside, glancing up at the monitor panel that showed his vitals. "If you were one of us, I'd be worried. But for a human, you're completely normal."

The med-tech paused, glancing at the door, then leaned over the bed to steal a kiss from the sleeping man. A hand like a steel clamp grabbed her by the throat - the girl stared wildly down at Paris as he opened his eyes. She clutched at his hand as he squeezed her throat and she struggled for breath.

Paris pulled himself upright, then with a sneer he released her, letting her drop to the floor where she laid coughing and wheezing.

"Why didn't you kill her?" Lord Vargas demanded, stepping inside the room.
"Nobody paid me to," Paris said coldly. "Or do you mean that little girl on the ship?"
"You do remember, good." Vargas snapped his fingers. Moments later two med-techs appeared. They paused in the doorway, giving Paris and Lord Vargas a frightened look before stepping cautiously around the two men to collect their fallen comrade and drag her out the door.

"What was that Londinium agent doing aboard the Scorpio?"
"How should I know?" Paris scowled. "I didn't even know the girl was going to be on the ship until you contacted me. Maybe they put agents on all the cruise ships, there's a lot of intelligence there."
"So you're just saying this was all by chance?"
"Unless your security's been penetrated."
"Impossible!" Vargas snarled. "It's now worse than before."
"Worse?"
"The agent and others took the girl off of the Scorpio using your ship."
"I'm surprised you didn't blow it up."

Vargas glared at Paris. The assassin frowned, then smiled. "You did try."
"We tried and failed. Something on the ship was blocking us..."
"What? How is that possible?" Paris demanded, his mind racing.
"It shoudn't be possible!" Vargas fumed. "Once you've killed the girl and completed your mission for Santos, we'll want you to renew your 'friendship' with the Londinians, so we can see what they're equipping their agents with."
"Just send me back to my ship," Paris smiled. "I'll catch their man by surprise and send back his dead body and everything he has on him."
"Your ship has landed on Santos," Vargas admitted. "They are no longer on board."
"Santos? How long did it take you to revive me?"
"They managed to engage your hyperdrive. It was all we could do to divert them," Vargas snapped. "If you hadn't have programmed in your override, this wouldn't be a problem!"

"Programmed..?" Paris blinked. He hadn't programmed the override code into the ship systems - so who had? The only people who could were Vargas' people. Could the girl have done it? Or was there someone else?

"Yes," he drawled, bowing his heat contritely to Vargas. "I'm sorry about that my lord. I will, of course, fix that immediately. Do we know where the girl is?"
"We managed to listen in on one of the external cameras, they took her to a hospital."
"To fix her brain," Paris nodded.
"They can't," Vargas stated grimly. "But they might break the seal."
"The what?!?"
"We're sending you to Santos after the girl. Remember, we need her destroyed!"
"What about my mission to Santos? I didn't retrieve the artifact yet! If I show up empty handed...."
"One of our techs can produce a new one that you can give them to plug into the Converter. Now get ready."


｀、、ヽ｀☂ヽ｀、ヽ｀、ヽ


"Do you mind removing me from this contraption?" Butterfly asked testily. "The needles are making my scalp itch."
The tech glanced up at Helen, she nodded. "Do a complete shutdown."

"So, who are you?" Helen asked, turning back to the alien girl.
"You can call me 'Éąchért'," she replied in her deep voice.
"What are you?"
"A rider," the girl shrugged. "Sort of an adviser. Our more promising children can petition the Brain bank to be allowed to receive an impression implanted in their heads, allowing them to access our knowledge and experiences."
"Impression? Are you a memory engram?"
"An engram?" the girl smirked, then sighed as the hood of the neural surgeon slid away. "No, I am not some crude recording etched down."

She glanced at the other med-tech staring open-mouthed at her.
"Well?" the alien demanded gruffly, "Aren't you going to release me?"
"What? Oh!"

The alien smiled as the man began unstrapping her from the device. When Butterfly was released, she slowly stood up, then stepped down to glance around the room.

"So where did the Council send us?" the alien asked.
"Santos," Helen said slowly, glancing at the camera.

[Azazeal849]

Daniel was, in a word, thrown. It was not a pleasant sensation. It was all he could do to stop himself reacting with noticeably more shock and concern than the others. In his history studies, before he had applied and been recruited by the SIS, he had looked at the ancient ruins and other time-frozen markers of several alien worlds. One had borne the scars of conflict that archaeologists had theorised dated back to the mythical Zayan-Dracosian war, and a few ancient pieces of evidence alluded to what the Dracosians might have looked like. Bipedal, saurian, wielding huge weapons that might have been clubs or firearms. The things darting across the screen from Butterfly's memory looked very much like them.

That could mean any number of things, but one possibility stood out above the others. The Brotherhood, for all the myth and legend embellishing their beliefs, had been right. Butterfly apparently was a Zayan. That had been a pretty major gap in Paris' story when Daniel had interrogated him. Of course truth serums were not foolproof, even the specially concocted ones used by agencies such as the SIS, but had Paris somehow had a resistance to the one he had used? Some kind of cybernetic, or artificial gland? The dead man wasn't going to tell him, because the truth had been incinerated along with Paris' body. If it was true though, did that mean Paris had been telling a half truth, or flat-out lying with impunity? Was one of these “Tatsu”s from his database really involved, even if they did apparently exist, or had Paris' last act been to try and send him running along a completely wrong trail? With a secret as powerful as a real, living Zayan in his keeping, it seemed likely.

Paris had known that Butterfly was a Zayan. Daniel now knew that she was a Zayan. Who else in the room knew it? Zhurkov must have known something, judging by the panic he was showing. Daniel could think of too many organisations who would kill to learn secrets from a bona fide Zayan, and unfortunately the SIB was very much among them. He hoped that the conflict with colonel Zhurkov would come later rather than sooner. What about the others? Did they know?

"What... what the.. . What's going on?" Kes whispered, and for once the undercover pirate's confusion seemed genuine. "Should Butterfly... should she.. . should that happen?"

“I imagine not.” said the agent, raising an eyebrow in the direction of colonel Zurkhov as he all but threw the reporter out of the room.

“I...” Daniel frowned as Helen held her bewildered conversation with 'Eachert', trying to look like he was grasping the situation much more slowly than he actually was. “I don't think that's even her. If 'engram' is apparently the wrong word then what would we call it, a symbiont? Amazing. Truly amazing. And it's a stroke of luck that she knows English at any rate!”

How a species that had gone into self-imposed isolation and never shown itself to the wider galaxy since could know English, was a question he couldn't voice in the present company. They must have means of covert surveillance far in advance of anything the civilised worlds possessed.

"Well,” Schizo sneered, back in his paranoid personality, “It looks like that girl was hiding something after all. Do you think that she might be dangerous?"

With her current personality being some sort of imprint with a memory full of carnage, Daniel could see the robot's point of view. Butterfly, or whoever she was now, seemed calm enough. But Daniel knew that the most dangerous individuals could remain inscrutable right up until the split second they chose to act, at which point it invariably became too late. It would have been foolish to discount the possibility totally, even if he didn't let on that he was considering it.

As much as he wanted to keep the newly-revealed Zayan in his sights until he knew more, he found himself concerned for Helen's safety. He had manipulated her into this mess, and even a secret agent's conscience couldn't stay completely buried.

“No, I don't think so.” he said to Schizo in opposition to his inner fear. He turned to colonel Zhurkov. “If it helps, sir? Mr Dietisu formed a rudimentary bond with the patient during her time in his care. She was around him longer than Dr Solow. I don't know if it will make recovering her old personality harder, but I daresay letting her see us might help her feel more comfortable in the short term?”

[Sy23]

Do you think that she might be dangerous?
No, I don't think so

Kes leaned against the wall, playing at calmness, eying Daniel carefully with his peripheral vision. Daniel's lie wasn't easy to pick - here was an obvious professional at work - but for a man who had spent much of his life on the run, whose survival depended on picking up the subtlest of clues, the small signs were enough. There had been just that brief second of hesitation, the miniscule dilation of pupils, that quick glance of eyeballs towards the right, the slightest throbbing in the vein in Daniel's neck, too quick to notice unless you were looking for it. Kes would have bet his life no-one else in the room had picked it.

It was, Kes reflected, somewhat strange - to be in a situation where everyone but himself had a hidden agenda! Well, unless you counted staying undetected, and therefore free was an agenda in itself. Not for the first time, he wondered why he'd been so stupid as to attach himself to Butterfly - somehow, he'd let his instincts guide him, or, perhaps, his emotions. So much for the low profile he'd planned to cultivate.

"Yes, that's true, after a fashion," he confirmed. Don't pile it on too high, or they'll suspect a lie. "I had to - you know, feed her, change her sheets. Urm - toilet her. I guess you could call it a bond, of sorts. She seemed to trust me, as much as anyone can tell."

I taught her the one word she knows. She blushes when I pay her compliments. I put my life and safety on the line to try and protect her. She hugged me when I carried her.

"Whether or not you can call that a bond, I couldn't say." He forced himself to shrug. "I don't mind. Guess it couldn't do any harm to try.

[Potatrobot]

"No," Daniel said, "I don't think so."

Schizo was glaring at him while he answered. He noted that his eyes darted over to the right, probably to look at him, which is a polite thing to do when talking to someone, but their quickness betrayed a nervousness. It certainly begged the question: Why would he be nervous about looking at Schizo when Butterfly was the most likely to be a danger?

Subject may be lying, thought Schizo, and so refrains from eye contact.

Schizo tested his hypothesis with the current situation. Given that Daniel was indeed lying, then he certainly thought that the girl was dangerous. Given that, then Daniel's nervous glance at Schizo could be explained by the possibility that he was lying. Since Schizo had plenty of reason to believe that the alien girl posed a threat, he concluded that he was more or less correct.

While it was possible that Daniel wasn't lying at all and merely wanted to keep an eye on Butterfly, the possibility was not considered thanks to Schizo's paranoia.

"I-"
"Cheese!"
"You are clear for take off!"
"Plastic bag! Plastic bag! Plastic bag!"
"-don't quite believe you. Anyone can see that the girl is a potential hazard."

He turned back to the screen showing Helen, the med tech and Butterfly, pulling the rim of his hat a little lower over his forehead.

[Enigma]

Colonel Zhurkov glared at Daniel, Kes and Schizo, torn with his desire to be in the room with the alien girl and wanting to keep his eyes on these three.

"Very well," he nodded, then turned towards the guard at the door. "Call in a squad for escort duty!"

"We will all go together," he said, turning back to the rest, pulling out a bandana and mopping his forehead.

It took a few minutes for the the squad to get settled, then at the Colonel's nod, the door was opened and he waved the three of them out. It was a short walk down the hospital corridor to the Neural theatre Butterfly and Helen was in.

Zhurkov himself thumbed the door released and waved everyone inside. "You three, inside. Squad will defend this door. Nobody in or out without my expressed permission!"

Inside the room, Colonel Zhurkov scowled at Butterfly - who stood there with a slight bemused expression.

"So, what's all this then?" she asked, her voice still very deep. "A welcoming committee?"

"I have questions," Colonel Zhurkov said. "Who are you? Where are you from?"

"I am Lord Éąchért, late of the planet Zayan," Butterfly said, bowing slightly. "Forgive my appearance, I wasn't expecting to wake up after Reifani was mind-wiped and banished."

｀、、ヽ｀☂ヽ｀、ヽ｀、ヽ


In the shower cubical of Paris' ship, the air shimmered, then Paris wearing a Santos Navy uniform stepped through, weapons drawn. He was carrying a small daypack on his back. Gingerly, he opened the shower door, but nobody was waiting. He relaxed slightly, then crossed over to the corridor door, opening it slightly.

There were voices.

sliding the door open just a slit, he glanced through. Someone had put a seal on his armory door. Just beyond in the common area, he could see techs wearing booties swabbing the wall and taking photos. Paris swore - thanks to that Londinium agent capturing and killing him, he hadn't had the chance to clean his ship. Very soon now Santos Intelligence was going to learn that their agent on the Scorpio had died in this ship.

Soundlessly, he slid the door open and silently stepped out into the passage, then quietly walked down the hall to his compartment. Fortunately, the techs were too engrossed in their job to notice him.

He slid inside and scanned the room. Someone had made a mess of his bed. Crossing over to the oversized wardrobe, he knelt down and opened the door - and swore again. The robot was gone. The nature of his work meant he worked alone usually, but he had spotted this robot in the lounge calmly cracking the lock on a storage room it didn't have a code for. This was a system that his secret masters would approve of. He'd disabled the machine and had taken it down to his ship, but it must have reactivated and escaped.

Laying his hand on the deck plate, it hummed softly and slid open. Paris slipped into the hole. Moments later, Paris was climbing down the right rear landing gear, his guns hidden inside his jacket. He walked unhurriedly from the hanger.


｀、、ヽ｀☂ヽ｀、ヽ｀、ヽ


Colonel Zhurkov stared incredulously at Butterfly and the others, then began to chuckle, shaking his head.

"Almost I believe it," he chortled. "A girl with amnesia, who suddenly speaks fluent Russian, accompanied by two Londinium citizens, now claiming to be a Zayan?!? What is next, robot saying he is Santa Claus?"

Butterfly frowned, tilting her head curiously as she stared at him.

"What is 'Ruski'?" she asked. "And who is Santa Claus?"
"I hear her speaking English," Helen interrupted.
"No, she spoke Russian," the med tech beside her insisted, standing up. "But her lips aren't moving right."

"Do not be alarmed," Butterfly said a little smuggly, tapping her head. "While we were captives of the Dracosians, we used their stolen technology to improve ourselves. By a happy accident, we discovered we could turn ourselves into walking telepathic translators, allowing anyone near us to understand each other, no matter what language they spoke. It allowed us to move among the other slave races the Dracosians took and get them to co-ordinate together in a massive uprising that succeeded where the others failed."
"But we were down the hall, in a waiting room!" Colonel Zhurkov insisted.
"So?"
"You can read our thoughts?"
"It's a little complicated," Butterfly admitted. "We've become sensitive to the part of the brain that controls speech. We can subconsciously collect it and then mentally broadcast a simultaneous translation to the people around us that affect the part of the mind that interprets sound. It even works in some way with machines."

"You are Zayan," Colonel Zhurkov breathed.
Butterfly crinkled her eyes at him.
"Were you looking for us?"
"We thought you all had died out, so we sent out agents to look for artifacts believed to be Zayan. It wasn't easy," he admitted. "The Brotherhood searches for them too."
"And what do you need with artifacts?"
"I think you will see. All of you."

[Potatrobot]

While Butterfly and Zhurkov carried out what could usually be called a conversation, Schizo stared suspiciously from under the dark rim of his hat. However, at the mention of a certain robot being a certain holiday figure, his eyes switched briefly to bright pink, representing an identity of one who dressed up in a red suit and promised children presents during holiday periods, before reverting, at long last, back to white.

"My, that is a fascinating ability you have there." he remarked, referring to Butterfly's linguistic capabilities. She was right when she mentioned that such translative processes worked on machines. As Schizo listened to her talk, as a paranoid sociopath, as a Santagram, and then as a cheerful yes man, he interpreted her speech in every language stored on his system. Butterfly spoke in twelve languages at once as far as the Schizo unit was concerned, each one being translated straight back to English. The strain of the counter-productive translations was immense, and if one were to look at Schizo while Butterfly spoke, one would notice an infrequent twitch or flicker of blue, pink, or white eyes, depending on when one looked at him.

"If you don't mind," he continued, "I would like to examine your personal traits. You possess a character the likes of which I have never seen, and I would be delighted to collect a sample array for my archive!"

[Azazeal849]

"I am Lord Eachert, late of the planet Zayan."

Daniel cocked an eyebrow at Helen, and then at Zhurkov.

"Well, my lord," he said, bowing slightly, "I suppose we had better introduce ourselves also. This is colonel Zhurkov of the Santos Intelligence Beureu; medical orderly Lit Deitisu of Iesvi-Visse; Dr Helen Solow, your neurosurgeon from Londinium; my name is Daniel Doverton-Hawke, also of Londinium; and our robot companion you may call Schizo. We were looking after your...host?" He paused to see if Eachert objected to the term. "And trying to help her."

"Forgive my appearance," said Butterfly as he finished the introduction, "I wasn't expecting to wake up after Reifani was mind-wiped and banished."

"Reifani." said Daniel, "Would I be right in assuming that that is your host's name?"

"Yes."

Daniel adopted a concerned frown. "Whatever did she do to deserve being banished?"

Here, he supposed, was a chance to verify his sudden suspicion about Paris' story. Assuming, of course, that 'Lord Eachert' was inclined to tell them - and to tell the truth.

[Enigma]

Éąchért/Butterfly's right eyebrow rose as she started curiously at Schizo.
"What a curious device you are," she replied. "No, I would rather not be sampled just yet."

She glanced past Schizo to Colonel Zhurkov, busy giving orders to one of his men and shook her head amusedly.

"Is that deception really supposed to take anyone in?" she muttered to herself, then turned back to the others - and blushed. Raising her hands to touch her cheeks, she smiled, glancing unashamedly at Kes. "Well, good to know you're still in there someplace, girl."

"You wanted to know why Reifani had been banished?" she asked, turning to Daniel, "Well, that may be a little hard to put into context, but I'll try. We were originally a very peaceful people - still are, really. However, the invasion of our world was totally unexpected. An entire generation grew up under the guns of our Dracosian Overlords. Our people suffered greatly under their rule - even more so during the uprising. We paid a terrible toll, and I think that was what led to their decision."

"You see, the Dracosians took everything of interest to them - especially knowledge. They combined the greatest discoveries of our world with the collected sciences and knowledge of all the enslaved worlds and combined them, even the theories - and out of that came incredible discoveries, incredible advances in understanding. However, the Dracosians' terrible purpose was the subjugation of all the worlds - anything that they felt did not help them in that was filed away and ignored. Ultimately, it was this willful blindness to the possibilities that allowed us to defeat them."

"When we had won our freedom, we took that all that knowledge with us. While I and a few others tried to use it to help our new-found neighbors, back home they decided to use that to keep the rest of the universe safely away. In short, they built 'The Barrier'."

Butterfly grimaced in embarrassment as she glanced at Helen and the others.
"Reifani saw the possibilities, like I did. She didn't share the suspicions and attitudes of our people, she wanted to walk among the worlds like I did, so very long ago. It's why I agreed to be implanted as her mentor."

"She was working on a project that took us to 'The Barrier'. And what we found there was horrendous - a lost alien ship, the occupant dying. Others would have let the ship drift past - but not Reifani," Butterfly smiled proudly." She opened a port in 'The Barrier', drew in the ship and rescued the being inside."

Butterfly sighed, the smile fading from her lips. "But in doing so, she rewoke the repressed fears of our people. They saw it as a great betrayal, the possibility that we would be discovered and invaded again. And so we were dragged off to trial for high treason, she and I. The result was never in doubt, just the verdict."

"In a way, she got her greatest wish when they decided to banish her; but the irony being she would never know it."

[Azazeal849]

"How sad." said Daniel earnestly. "What happened to the being you saved?"

[Potatrobot]

"No," Éąchért rejected, "I would rather not be sampled just yet."

Since the being speaking from Butterfly's mouth wasn't technically human, Schizo didn't have any technical obligation to consider her preferences other than politeness, and politeness was enough to stop him from initiating the scan. But beneath that layer of social etiquette, a part of Schizo was already taking notes on Éąchért's persona.

Voice sample complete. Compiling vocabulary... Complete. Noting history and knowledge.
Behaviour analysis: Subject is a persona stored within the psyche of another, and displays an affection for what used to be the host. Host seems to retain some bodily control. By extension, subject holds a place of power within its own society and knows what may be an extensive history of said society. Talks of possibilities, may be a visionary. On personal matters, subject is self-kept.
Capabilities: Subject can mentally interpret any speech and broadcast a translation to any nearby person.
Remaining requirements: More capability and behavioural observations, and a summary of experiences.

To change the topic, Schizo turned and addressed Colonel Zhurkov.
"So, Colonel, what are we to do now that the neuro theatre is no longer required?"


* * * * *

The CEO of Zodiac was ushered into the meeting room and quickly took his place at the head of the table. Every single member of staff sitting on the narrow, high backed chairs arranged around the incredibly long oval table knew what the meeting was for and why it had been held at such short notice: the malfunctioning S.C.H.I.Z.O unit.

A sales representative stood a couple of metres from the CEO's end of the table, just off to the side so everyone could turn to see him. A screen lowered from the ceiling and the lights dimmed.

"As you have probably heard," explained the representative, "just a few hours ago, a defect S.C.H.I.Z.O unit on planet Santos made instant headlines after an interview at a hanger en route to a hospital. Santosian State Press and the Interstellar Press both caught the footage and within an hour and a half, the whole sector was buzzing with news of this dancing robot."

He pulled a dongle out of his pocket, aimed it at the screen, and pushed one of the oval-shaped buttons. The footage of Schizo's interview began to play. The most salient image on the screen was the robot himself with the reporter from Santosian State Press, with Paris' ship and Daniel loitering in the background. He was suffering one of his schizophrenic rants.

"Fire the missiles!"
"Soups on!"
"I'm afraid it's terminal."
"The inverse square law is used to find the intensity of electromagnetic radiation at a certain distance."
"Stellen Sie die Fliegerabwehr Kanonen!"
"Have you even tried this pasta?"

"I'm sorry," the reporter stammered, his eyes closed and his head shaking slightly, "what was that all about?"
"What was what?" inquired the oblivious Schizo, a smile on his face as usual.
"You just started saying a whole lot of phrases. Very different phrases. Just seconds ago! Don't you remember?"
"No, I can't say I do. But I do remember people on board the Scorpio telling me the same thing. Your cameraman is recording this, I assume?"
The reporter gave a shaky nod.
"Well then!" exclaimed Schizo. "You can look over that footage and show me what happened!"

It was at this point that Schizo's eyes turned aqua, which a member of the meeting in charge of Product Development knew referred to the persona of a dancer, before he moon-walked away from the reporter, up the ramp of Paris' ship and out of sight. The footage paused and the sales representative took the stage again.

"The unit's defect is undiagnosed and will remain that way, owing to the fact that it is responsible for one of the largest increase in sales of any product across our board. We can represent this increase visually."
He pushed another button and the paused footage gave way to a bar graph. The air pressure in the room noticeably dropped as every single occupant, other than the sales representative, gasped.
"As of..." he checked his watch, "four minutes ago, sales of S.C.H.I.Z.O units has literally quadrupled. Our biggest buyers just got bigger, most of them ordering upwards of twenty bulk S.C.H.I.Z.O packages. Our smaller buyers just collectively forked over our salaries' worth for the robots."

"That's impossible!" cried out a Workplace Health and Safety chief halfway down the table, "They can't have increased by that much! There has to be a mistake! Besides, what's a S.C.H.I.Z.O unit doing on Santos? They hardly have any robots there!"

"These are very real sales," assured the sales representative, "everybody down at sales has been up to their ears in orders from everyone from our largest benefactors down to individual customers. As for your other question, we traced it back to the Scorpio."

"Naturally," the chief of Product Development cut in, "no number of sales will replicate this scenario. After all, the unit is defective, and it was by sheer luck that it managed to do just that in front of so many cameras."

"You're right." The CEO of Zodiac stood up and addressed the meeting. "Selling more robots won't make this happen again, and unless some of you here don't want increased salaries, we all want this to happen again. Even now, the rate of new orders is beginning to ease off, marking the climax of the Schizo Rush."

"So how will we make this happen again?" asked an On-site Support Representative. "Will we just tell the unit to get more publicity?"

"That might not be a good idea." interjected the chief of Product Development, "The S.C.H.I.Z.O mainline uses the same programming language and layout as our own IT system. Its defect could transfer a virus if we engaged in an open transmission with it, and that would severely mess up the company's... well, everything."

"You don't 'ave to talk to him to get 'im to do what you want." wheezed a very unexpected voice. Everyone in the room turned their seats around to face the source of the voice, the janitor. He was leaning on his roller-vac, some distance from the table, unseen in the dark room.

"What do you mean?" inquired the CEO.
"I mean exactly what I said. You don't always need to talk to someone to get 'em to do something, you can just send them a letter. You can't get a virus from sendin' a letter."

The various members of the Zodiac staff all bowed their heads in thought, while the CEO's face lit up with a smile. "You'll get a raise, too." he assured the janitor.

"Good." he wheezed back. "Old Sweepy here needs a new set of axles."
"That's fine." the CEO said flatly. "Ladies and gentlemen, that's exactly what we're going to do."
"Buy a new set of axles?" asked a Media Strategist.
"No, we're going to send a message to our little friend on Santos to keep up the good work, and we'll sweeten the deal for him with a gift." He turned to the chief of Product Development. "As I recall, your area was producing an update package for the units for the last few months?"

"Yes," said the product developer, "and we just finished it. We were going to finalise it and add it to the market by the end of this week."

"Good. I want you to send a copy to the unit on Santos, and I'll add a little gift card."


* * * * *

Just over seventeen minutes later, Colonel Zhurkov's wrist omni buzzed aggressively as a powerful one-way transmission blasted through the hospital's firewalls and into Schizo's head. Everyone but the robot jumped at the harsh alarm, but after things settled down, they jumped again as Schizo blurted out: "How nice of them!"

The vocalisation warranted several, rather irritated looks. Schizo explained:
"I just received a transmission from Zodiac! That's very unusual of them, especially when it's a present, and it's just for me! It came with a little message from the boss, too."

The organic occupants of the room were variously confused, annoyed, and indifferent.
"Oh, dear." Schizo chuckled. "He wants me to keep showing off in front of the cameras, how silly! Well, I might as well since they went through so much trouble for me."

"What did Zodiac send you?" asked Daniel.
"It's a software update, and a pretty hefty one, too. They must have been planning to sell this one for quite a shiny penny, and they're just giving it to me! Let's see... there's a new compression and decompression codec, that will save me terabytes! There's some energy efficiency upgrades, a neuro-sensor update, and a language package! Seven new languages at my disposal, isn't that great? Oh, and they've also included a few more identities! Never seen anybody like this before. I guess I'll have to get back in the spotlight soon!"

[Enigma]

"Poor wretch," Éąchért/Butterfly sighed, then shrugged. "I honestly have no idea. We lost all contact after we were arrested."

"So, Colonel, what are we to do now that the neuro theatre is no longer required?" Schizo asked, then started his rambling about some update.

"We go back to the ship," Colonel Zhurkov announced, turning back to them. "All is arranged. We go now to the cars."


An alarm sounded in the hanger. Paris froze, glancing back. Men were gathering together - he joined them.

"We are to prepare this ship for immediate departure on orders of Colonel Zhurkov," an officer announced. Paris' eyebrow rose up. Of course he'd be involved in this. "Get to your stations! Maintenance crews to your duties!"

Paris joined the maintenance crew, slipping inside the ship with a bucket, then ducking into his cabin and under the secret panel in the closet - but he stayed in the pocket. Either the Londinium spy was returning, or Colonel Zhurkov was.

[Azazeal849]

So, Daniel thought, that was how 'Butterfly' had ended up mind-wiped; but they were yet to find out why Paris' still-unrevealed employer wanted her dead. And he couldn't ask Eachert about it without provoking suspicion in Zhurkov.

"We go back to the ship." colonel Zhurkov suddenly announced, turning back to them, "All is arranged. We go now to the cars."

"Now?" Daniel asked, cocking an eyebrow, "Where are we going? What about the rest of the surgery?"

[Potatrobot]

"Well," Schizo said cheerily, shouldering his Leyden jar battery pack, "we no longer require the use of a neuro theatre because our patient is already back on her feet! I guess this means we get to go back to the Scorpio, but I'm still curious as to why I was in Mr. Paris' ship in the first place."

He stood there for a moment, before asking the Colonel: "What ever happened to our insect friend? Is he still OK?"

[Enigma]

"We go back to the ship." colonel Zhurkov suddenly announced, turning back to them, "All is arranged. We go now to the cars."

"Now?" Daniel asked, cocking an eyebrow, "Where are we going? What about the rest of the surgery?"

"Well," Schizo said cheerily, shouldering his Leyden jar battery pack, "we no longer require the use of a neuro theatre because our patient is already back on her feet! I guess this means we get to go back to the Scorpio, but I'm still curious as to why I was in Mr. Paris' ship in the first place."

Helen blushed, raising her hand. "I..."
"She can't finish the surgery," Éąchért/Butterfly interrupted. "I'm in the way. Isn't that right, Doctor?"

"We have never seen anything like this," the technican said, staring in awe at Butterfly. "It is a fully functional being inside another person's head! We have not even dreamed this was possible! But whoever the girl was before, she is not there now. Perhaps if it was just some linkages that were broken, we could reattach. But this? Whatever her people have done to her, recovery not possible. All we could do is to feed her basic information. Language, some programmable skills. In a few months, she could be a good, productive citizen again - but it would be someone new. And we cannot feed her that information as whatever he is, he is sitting in our path."
"But you could recover her if you had access to a copy of her neural map, yes?" Éąchért asked.
"You have one?" Helen and the technican demanded.
"I may be able to get hold of a copy that wasn't filed," Éąchért shrugged.
"We would need to format information in way the machines can understand, and..."
"And I will be wiped out as a result," Éąchért smiled grimly. "I understand."

"No wiping out!" the Colonel demanded. "Not now! First you all come with me!"

He stood there for a moment, before asking the Colonel: "What ever happened to our insect friend? Is he still OK?"

"What?" Colonel Zhurkov demanded, blinking at Schizo in surprise, then lifted his wrist omni and began pecking furiously. "Comrade Wakan is recovering and cannot be moved at this time until the repairs to his carapace have set. We do not have time to wait!"

The doors opened and a guard stood there.

"Comrade Colonel, the trucks are waiting."
"We go now," Zhurkov insisted, waving people to the door and the escort outside.
"What is it you've found, I wonder?" Éąchért/Butterfly asked, a tone of speculation to their voice. Butterfly turned to the others and Éąchért said, "Shall we go see?"

[Sy23]

"Hold on. Hold on!" Kes made as if to grab the technician by the lapels of his medi-suit, and restrained himself only with difficulty. He had to be careful to act like a shy medical orderly, not a who-gives-a-fuck space pirate! "Listen - you say that that's Lord Éąchért, in there. In Butterfly's body. So... so where is... ?"

He subsided, as a wave of sadness rushed over him.

Where is the woman I protected. Who blushed when I said she was pretty? Who was helpless and lonely?

Where is the woman I fell in love with?

"Where's the girl who was my patient, for whose medical care I'm responsible? Where's Butterf - er, Reifani?"

He glared angrily around the room.

"Where is the girl who rightfully owns that body?"

[Potatrobot]

Schizo walked and talked, heading for the transport arranged by the Colonel Zhurkov. "Lord Éąchért said that it is possible to recover her if he had a copy of her neural map. It may even be possible for me to sustain her identity in order to keep Lord Éąchért's intact, or vice versa. All we really need is that map."

True identities, which were hard to remove from their host bodies, had never been tested in a S.C.H.I.Z.O unit, or any kind of known robot, for that matter. However, since the persona templates of the S.C.H.I.Z.O units could contain such large amounts of information each, it could be possible to contain all the skills, memories, and philosophies of a true identity. The only problem was finding a way to transfer it straight into the unit rather than just copying it and discarding the original.

"Lord Éąchért," he went on, "do you think it would be possible for this neural map to be contained my a computer such as myself?"

[Enigma]

"Where is the girl who rightfully owns that body?"

"Reifani is a memory," Lord Éąchért sighed, slumping slightly as she turned away. "For the moment, anyway. As for the girl you know, she's asleep. New minds need a lot of sleep."

Lord Éąchért paused, glancing back at the Kes speculatively. "Right now, she's a child - with all that implies. A very unusual child, with very unusual needs. She'll need protecting, more so than most. You should consider that very carefully."

With that, the girl known as Butterfly turned, taking Helen by the arm and started heading towards the door.

<Hello Helenne dear,> Lord Éąchért spoke telepathically. <You're looking well. I must admit I wasn't expecting to see you out here. Or anyone, for that matter. Do you have any idea where this Zhurkov fellow wants to take us?>
<Shouldn't I be asking you that, Great-Great-Great-Great-Granduncle?> Helen sent, patting her on the arm. <How many of your 'little projects' did you leave behind when you finally came back home?>
<They dragged me back, if you recall. My return was not by my choice.>
<You're lucky you weren't the first to get mindwiped.>
<I am one of the big names of the Revolution dear, little chance of that. Still, I did what I could for them. So, did you bring it?>
<Bring what?> Helen's smile froze.
<Reifani's memory engram, of course. She is your neice, after all. Someone in your position I'm sure has the means of extracting one.>
<It's in my compact.>
<Compact...?>

"Lord Éąchért," Schizo went on, "do you think it would be possible for this neural map to be contained my a computer such as myself?"
"Hmm?" Lord Éąchért blinked, glancing at the robot. "A very good question. However, how compact can you make yourself? A memory engram, especially for one of my people, can take up a lot of room."

"Colonel," Helen called out to Zhurkov. "What about my things your people took?"
"Hmm? What of them? They are easy enough to be replaced...."
"They are precious family heirlooms - and not so easy to replace."
"My apologies. I shall inquire. Please to be boarding now, we have a long way to go."

[Potatrobot]

"Oh, I am quite compact, Lord Éąchért, rest assured. I am already playing host to over ten thousand personae this very minute! That's a lot, huh?"

As he walked to the transport organised by the colonel, he suffered a rant.

"I suppose you would want to know how compact I am. That's none of your business!"
"... as many as two point five million personae..."
"... like a bouquet of flowers where each is completely unique!"
"... it can be likened to the concept of a snow flake..."
"... since souls are merely patterns of electricity..."
"... with terrabytes upon terrabytes of information!"

After the rant, he landed on the particularly stealthy persona that he used to sneak his weapons into the hospital, his eyes glowing a dark orange under the rim of his hat.

"If I were to acquire the neural map, I could host with ease. Most people won't even know that I am, so I could get her into areas where she would otherwise be unable to get herself."

[Sy23]

Kes followed, a bemused look on his lean features. He was still piecing together exactly what had happened in his complex psyche. Emotional attachment was not a common component of his mental make up, and he had always assumed that if he ever had developed such feelings it would at least have been for a person he would have known well. To be feeling the way he was about a woman who had only ever said two words to him (and probably hadn't even known she was saying them) was the most bizarre thing that had ever happened to him in a career filled with strangeness and weirdness.

There was a question he longed to ask Dr Zukow - to test if his theory about himself might be correct. But, after what had just happened, he was starting to feel it had receeded to a mere academic question.

- - - Updated - - -

Kes followed, a bemused look on his lean features. He was still piecing together exactly what had happened in his complex psyche. Emotional attachment was not a common component of his mental make up, and he had always assumed that if he ever had developed such feelings it would at least have been for a person he would have known well. To be feeling the way he was about a woman who had only ever said two words to him (and probably hadn't even known she was saying them) was the most bizarre thing that had ever happened to him in a career filled with strangeness and weirdness.

There was a question he longed to ask Dr Zukow - to test if his theory about himself might be correct. But, after what had just happened, he was starting to feel it had receeded to a mere academic question.

(For some reson the site is going bonkers, and added the same text twice in one post!)

[Azazeal849]

Daniel swung himself into the window seat of the car, next to Helen and Schizo, and pulled the door closed after him. The SIB agent who was driving and his partner in the front passenger seat appeared to be talking rapidly, but with the soundproofed glass partition separating the front and back of the car it was impossible to hear what they were saying, and the angle was bad for lip-reading. Daniel however didn’t need to hear them to guess that they were talking about Butterfly and Eachert.

“So,” the Londinian agent said to Helen and Schizo, keeping his voice low. The soundproof barrier between them and the SIB agents might work both ways, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t a microphone hidden somewhere in the rear passenger compartment. “If our new friend Lord Eachert is able to procure his neural map, how long would it take to install it?”

He nodded towards Schizo. Transferring an organic personality into a robot carried a whole slew of ethical questions with it, but the fact remained that Reifani was their only chance of getting to the bottom of the Paris/Tatsu mystery. Daniel liked to think that the Londinium SIS had a better track record than some of its rivals where ethics were concerned, but planetary security didn’t always have the luxury of putting morals before necessity. Reifani’s right to be put back in her own body might have to be considered at a later date, presumably after Zhurkov had given them permission or was otherwise out of the way. Daniel was still wondering how deeply the Santosian colonel was involved in all of this. He had a feeling they would find out when they arrived at wherever Zhurkov was storing his “Zayan artefacts”. Daniel was eager to see what the SIB had been hoarding; alone they were priceless museum pieces, but if they were activated, or otherwise back-engineered…if Zayan technology was as advanced as the legends told, then they could significantly alter the balance of power in the known worlds. The SIS would want to know about this right away.

Of course, Daniel knew that his Santosian counterparts would almost certainly try to kill them to protect such a secret. He wondered if the others had also figured that out. Fortunately there was one thing still in their favour, and that was the fact that Zhurkov still didn’t know who he was dealing with.

Daniel listened to Schizo answer, the robot’s eyes flashing as he glitched through several personalities mid-speech, and glanced at Helen. If she was nervous, she was still controlling it well.

“I hope the good colonel is able to get your things back.” he said to the doctor, a little louder. He thought it prudent to make some more relaxed conversation - if the SIB agents were listening in, he didn’t want to tip them off that he was overly worried, or that he was watching their every move. Out of the corner of his eye, Daniel noted that they were pulling into a hanger. Paris' ship was still sitting where it had landed. Tech crews appeared to be preparing it for another take-off.

Well, Daniel thought, There's another thing that probably won't turn out well.

[Potatrobot]

"Just one moment..." said the sly smuggler whom Schizo was, at that moment, as he attempted to summon an identity with more experience in the relevant field of study. After three failures, each resulting in the brief appearance of a baker, a novelist, and a pencil sharpener respectively, he identified the correct persona. His eyes turned to a rich purple and he spoke with a broad, Scottish accent.

"Ah, yes. The current theory as to what a 'soul' is can be summarised as 'a pattern of electricity.' This makes sense, since the brain communicates to the rest of the body via electrical signals, so it would be well within its power to play host to a large pattern. This also explains how a soul can be stored electronically, as I am theoretically capable of.

"There is much to discuss on the topic. I should start off with how I do store such a large number of personae. I am equipped with a set of neural sensors, designed to read a subject's brain wave pattern, as well as detect the pattern of electrical pulses that circulate around the subject's brain. I then organise the information and store it an an array, of which I have many. This time will be different. I am not just reading and copying the pattern, I will have to retrieve it and coax it, if you will, into a template so that it can reside within my system.

"But the thing about these patterns is that they are so complex, which is understandable when you consider how much information they carry. So complex, in fact, that if observed, they could be mistaken for random pulses for months before they begin to recur.

"As to how long it will take? That very much depends. It will be much longer than the process of copying an identity, even if the individual who resides within the neural map is cooperative in transferring into a template. There is much more to a genuine personality than the raw copies I collect."

[Enigma]

"He can't seriously be thinking....!" Helen glared at Lord Eachert, who was watching out the back seemingly without a care in the world, then turned to glare at her hands in her lap. They became fists.

"It's possible," Helen grugedly admitted. "The original SCHIZO units were designed not as companions but as trainers for Neural Suites. After all, you can't put just anyone into a chair to image, tear apart, and then rebuild their mind.

"They would have remained that way too, if some company rep escorting a neural suite hadn't gotten drunk one night and unpacked the Schizo unit so he'd have a drinking buddy.

"The robot was a hit - so much so the cruise line bought the robot factory making them. Only they weren't happy with the base six profiles - Lil' Macaulay, Teen Phoebe, Capt'n Sam, BondJamesBond, Roger, and Old Bill. So they came up with the template system so the robots could change quickly. You've seen how quickly he can switch personalities.

"But the second gens went further - they observed and then tweaked their profiles, making them more natural. They had to pull the second gen models though. They wanted the robots to be more aggressive, so they weakened the first law somewhat. Some people got hurt and came forward. It was a terrible mess.

"Schizo may be a third generation unit, but he's still got he original trainer hardware inside him. We could put you inside Schizo's head and you wouldn't know until afterward."

[Potatrobot]

"That's right, dear Helen," said the Scottish neurologist, "the S.C.H.I.Z.O units were indeed used with neural suites as a sort of test dummy for the students and apprentices to train on and learn from, but it was soon discovered that only six base personae were simply not enough to prepare the students for the diversity and spontaneousness of the sentient psyche, which is why they were then designed to acquire more from their surroundings. This was better than just making more and sending them to every unit, because it meant that the units were then equipped with personae from people who lived in the general area. It was more likely that you would operate on your neighbour than an insectoid secret agent who lived seven parsecs away, which almost nobody could be prepared for."

Schizo's neurologist had said everything he could without getting too technical, and thus expired, leaving the robot's eyes white.

"Oh, yes I am a third generation unit; the second generation units were pulled a long time ago, probably because their obligation to the first robot law was so volatile! That is the biggest difference between the second and third generations, other than some minor upgrades."

Schizo leaned in close and began to whisper.
"But I'm different from the rest of the third generation units. My lasted update — you know, the one I got when we were in the neural theatre operating room — included something I couldn't mention in the presence of Colonel Zhurkov: a weakened obligation to the first law, just like the second generation units had!

"It basically lets me set my own parameters as to what counts as harming a human, but don't worry: I won't hurt you. I will, however, be able to defend myself and all of you with serious force, should such actions become necessary. My guess is that Zodiac wanted me to become more flexible, but they also warned me not to bring the kind of bad publicity that the second generation units garnered. That wouldn't do very well, and it might result in my termination! That would be sad."

[Azazeal849]

Daniel hushed the robot quietly as their car pulled up, alongside the one carrying Zhurkov and Kes. With the comparative lack of robots on Santos it was less likely that the SIB agents would understand the implications of an android that could break the First Law, but it was still risky to mention it while they might be listening in.

"Well." he said as the two suited SIB agents got out and went to open the doors for them, "Shall we?"

[Enigma]

"Why would they do that...?" Helen whispered, eyes wide as she stared back at Schizo, but Lord Eachert/Butterfly just laughed.
"Excellent! Why should the ones with flesh have all the fun, eh?"
"But you don't realize..."
"Not everything can be under one's control. Sometimes you have to allow others to exercise their own judgement."
Helen winced.
"Well." Daniel said as the two suited SIB agents got out and went to open the doors for them, "Shall we?"
"Let's," Lord Eachert/Butterfly smiled, stepping out with Kes. She glanced up at Paris' ship and raised an eyebrow. "Interesting design."
A limousine pulled up behind the truck. A soldier opened the passenger door and saluted as Colonel Zhurkov stepped out. One of the soldiers from the truck sprinted over and saluted as well, then said something to the Colonel. The colonel started at him with surprised anger and slapped him, then pointed a finger at him and quietly lectured him for a few moments before pushing past him to join them.

"We board now," Colonel Zhurkov said. "There will be no questions if we use our mutual friend's ship. This will be a short trip."

After everyone was on board and secured in their seats in the dining area, Colonel Zhurkov's pilot lifted the ship up. They had barely achieved orbit when he started towards Santos' sister planet. The trip took a little over two hours. Once in orbit, Colonel Zhurkov contacted the ground to identify himself and personally requested permission to land. After a pause, permission was granted and the Colonel gave the pilot the co-ordinates to use.

Inside his hidden cubbyhole, Paris glanced at the tiny display unit he had. The girl seemed more lively than when he'd last seen her, talking quietly with the spy who'd captured him and others he recognized from the ship. The surprise was the robot - someone had reactivated it and it was acting as if it was a member of the group. He seen it cracking security codes in the bar and had decided to steal it - he wanted a tool he controlled instead of his secret masters. And now the girl had it too.

The co-ordinates flashed on his screen and he raised his eyebrows. They were taking them to the Santosian secret project, just like his unseen masters hoped they would. Paris scowled - he still hadn't given them the part, so what was it he was missing?


The landing was uneventful. Once the ship touched down, Paris crawled down the access tunnel to the outer hatch and carefully popped it, slipping out of the ship - only to face two guards with rifles, escorts waiting for the Colonel to open the hatch. Paris scowled, raising his hands and surrendering his pistol to the two, then allowed them to manhandle him towards the opening hatch.

"Paris?!?" Colonel Zhurkov said, surprised. "I was told you would not be joining us, old friend. How did you get here?"
"I came for my ship," Paris said, glaring at the others as they were led out of the hatch. "They stole it from me."
"Did they now?" Zhurkov beamed. "An act of mercy, I was told."
"Mercy? That man there tried to kill me," Paris said, pointing towards Daniel.
"And why would he do that?"
"He's MI6."
"Seize him!" Zhurkov demanded. "Search him most carefully! As for you, there was something you were supposed to bring me. Do you have it?"
"If I may?" he asked, glancing at the soldier still pointing a rifle at him. At Zhurkov's nod, he slowly reached into a pocket of his uniform and pulled out a small oblong device. Behind the Colonel, Lord Eachert/Butterfly stiffened as she saw it.
"So you did steal it back!" Zhurkov beamed, stepping forward to take it. "Excellent! Order another truck for the spy and our friend Paris here - make sure both are secured in the back. These others will ride in the first truck. We go to the machine."

[Potatrobot]

Several stimuli for a multitude of different identities presented themselves to Schizo in the form of armed guards, John Paris junior, Colonel Zhurkov showing interest in him and tales of Daniel being an MI6 agent. His paranoid persona was the first to arise due to John Paris' presence, and his smuggler identity came next when the armed guards began searching Daniel. The sight of their weapons brought forth his soldier character, and it was the sound of several Russian accents that caused Schizo to adopt an identity he copied from a Russian physicist. But ultimately, the robot's eyes reverted to white when John claimed that its new companions had stolen his ship.

"Hahaha!" Schizo chuckled in his happy-go-lucky tone. "It's funny you should mention the concept of theft, mister Paris. I do not recall being put inside your wardrobe. Removing property from Zodiac Line cruisers is considered theft, and since the people you see around me were not aware of my presence until after your ship had left the Scorpio, that leaves you responsible.

"According to Zodiac regulations," the robot went on with his bureaucratic argument, without even switching identities at all, "you are subject to fines that rise exponentially with the value of the goods stolen. S.C.H.I.Z.O units are a valuable part of the entertainment aboard the Scorpio, so you'll be looking at quite a lot of zeros! That concludes my mandatory preliminary warning. Also, it's good to see you for the first time!"

Some time passed without further input from the defective robot, until a second truck arrived to take everyone barring Daniel and John to the alleged 'Machine'. As John was led to his truck and Schizo to his, he turned to the human and said: "I also hope you don't mind me borrowing your suit. Indefinitely. It's very rude to run around without any clothes on, as far as most of my identities are concerned."

[Azazeal849]

Seize him!" Zhurkov demanded. "Search him most carefully!"

Daniel Doverton-Hawke was starting to rue the number of unexpected surprises this day was springing on them. He had no idea how Paris had survived an almost certainly lethal poisoning, let alone how the assassin had teleported off the Scorpio under the guise of a disintegrator when it was still in interspace, but his reappearance could mean nothing good for any of them.

Once again he didn't curse, but he did bite the inside of his cheek as two of the SIB guards stepped forward to grab his arms. Having taken in all the details of his surroundings, he already knew that it would probably be futile to make a fight of it. He might be able to seize the gun of the first guard, and maybe even incapacitate the other, but there were three other SIB agents - not counting Paris and Zhurkov - who could drop him with their own guns before he could make his next move. Given that Zhurkov would probably want information and so was unlikely to have him killed immediately, he decided to hedge his bets and wait.

He was glad for having destroyed all of his equipment several hours earlier as a third SIB agent started giving him a very thorough pat down. As such there was nothing for the Santosian woman to find, although she did relieve him of his Omni and his cufflinks, probably assuming them to be some kind of disguised weapon or tool. In the case of the Omni she was quite right, but since Daniel had previously purged the wrist-computer of all its sensitive software she was unlikely to get anything useful out of it.

Daniel looked over at Paris, who only allowed himself a flicker of a smile befire turning back to Zhurkov and handing him a strange device. He also saw Butterfly - or rather, Lord Eachert - go suddenly rigid as she caught sight of it, although he wasn't sure if Zhurkov or the others noticed it. Another Zayan artefact? Must have been.

But Daniel wasn't going to let the assassin have everything his own way.

"While we're letting cats out of bags, Mr Paris," he said mildly, "Did you tell the good colonel what you did to poor Mr DeWinger?"

Zhurkov stiffened. "How do you know DeWinger?"

"I'm afraid I didn't know him well, I just happened to be in the vicinity when Mr Paris shot him."

The colonel's eyes snapped from Daniel to Paris. Paris, Daniel noted, was very good - not giving away the slightest hint of shock or fear that would have confirmed his guilt. However, the suspicion that Daniel had planted in Zhurkov's mind was apparently enough - well, either that or the colonel had always been planning to double-cross the assassin regardless.

"Order another truck." Zhurkov said, with little trace of his previous good humour, "For the spy and our friend Paris here - make sure both are secured in the back. These others will ride in the first truck. We go to the machine."

Despite his predicament, Daniel drew a little satisfaction from the fact that the others had not come under suspicion as he and Paris were forced at gunpoint into the back of the truck. The SIB agents weren't taking any chances, standing well back from the two prisoners to prevent any surprise grapples or sucker punches. They left both men's hands free, but that was of little consequence as they secured the door, shutting Daniel and Paris inside a featureless steel cuboid with nothing but the two low benches on either side. Daniel and Paris sat down in opposite corners and eyed each other warily. Daniel spoke first.

"I suppose I must congratulate you on your tenacity, Mr Paris." He paused, putting one hand against the smooth wall to steady himself as the truck began to move. "But I am curious - just how did you survive our little altercation back on the Scorpio?"

[Enigma]

Paris eyed the other truck, paying close attention to the girl and the robot, until a guard jabbed the butt of his rifle into his kidney, ordering him into the back of the other truck. Paris sat down on the inside of the door, eying Daniel warily as they sealed the door and the engine began to rev.

"I suppose I must congratulate you on your tenacity, Mr Paris." Daniel paused, putting one hand against the smooth wall to steady himself as the truck began to move. "But I am curious - just how did you survive our little altercation back on the Scorpio?"

"You didn't report in, did you?" Paris demanded, shaking his head with disgust. "Didn't tell them about how you interrogated me, then decided to be judge, jury, and executioner all on your lonesome. Or about the girl? Not even about Harris Brown? Couldn't you get past my file security?"

With a sigh, Paris leaned forward. "Let's see if you're of any use at all. That robot wearing the suit - it hurt anyone?"

[Potatrobot]

"Wow! This sure is exciting!"

Schizo's eyes cast an additional white glow over the otherwise gloomy walls of the truck and its three organic passengers. He was the happiest one there.

"Although I am a little curious: what was that item that mister Paris gave to the Colonel? It sure looked important. Maybe it has something to do with this 'Machine' they were talking about. And that raises the question as to what the 'Machine' actually is; who knows, maybe a giant robot or something!

"I'm also a little surprised about our friend Daniel being an MI6 agent. He did always conduct himself with politeness, but I never expected to learn that it was a disguise! I suppose I can't talk about disguises; I'm keeping a potentially harmful downgrade right here in my mainline! Imagine what would happen if word got out about that?"

[Enigma]

"It looked like a data cache," Eachert/Butterfly replied to Schizo's question. "When I was roaming in my early days, before being rudely brought back home, I sometime used them as keys."
"Keys?" Helen frowned.
"The programs and whatever data I needed to run a particular device I'd store on the data cache," Eachert/Butterfly shrugged. "This way the device was harmless once separated."
"Harmless?!?" Helen demanded, eyes wide.
"Well, relatively. Allowed me to keep control."
"So does this data cache run whatever device we're going to?"
"I honestly do not know. This may be for another device - or it might be a master key."
"A master key?"
"A data cache can hold a lot of information," Eachert/Butterfly shrugged. "So sometimes I would put the files for multiple devices on one data cache, a sort of backup."
"And you left those just lying around?!?" Helen demanded angrily.
"Of course not! All of my master keys I put in very safe places and they're encrypted. Still, I wonder just where this Paris of yours got a hold of one. But then I have no idea what exactly is on that particular data cache. Could be my missing reading list, for all we know. Or someone's ancient vacation photos."
"Ancient?"
"We got the data caches from the Dracosians," Eachert/Butterfly shrugged. "Who knows who they stole that from. That was what, two thousand years ago? It's ancient tech."
"Just how much information can one of those hold?"
"The entire library of the ancient Dracosians," Eachert/Butterfly said grimly. "Everything they stole from all the races they enslaved."
"And just how many copies of those are floating around?" Helen demanded, gritting her teeth.
"Not many. I put them in..."
"...a very safe place," Helen and Eachert/Butterfly chorused together.
"Don't you think that's rather irresponsible?" Helen demanded, waving her hands.
"Without a reader, they're just tiny bricks."
"And your readers are in a very safe place, right."
"Well," Eachert/Butterfly shrugged, "It's more than likely the machine they're taking us to has a reader."
"So the accumilated knowledge of a hundred worlds or a program to run this machine could be on that data cache," Helen scowled.
"Possibly."
"You didn't think you could have said something earlier?"
"How was I to know they had one?"

[Azazeal849]

"You didn't report in, did you?" Paris demanded, shaking his head with disgust. "Didn't tell them about how you interrogated me, then decided to be judge, jury and executioner all on your lonesome."

"Well," Daniel said, sweeping one arm palm-up towards the very much alive Paris, "Maybe not executioner. But you would be positively frightened to learn how much leeway the SIS gives its field agents in protecting the crown from, oh, let's say, galactic assassins wanted by both the SIS and the TID." He paused. "If it makes you feel any better, I would have contacted them if I'd had the chance."

"So you didn't tell them about the girl?" Paris went on incredulously, "Not even about Harris Brown? Couldn't you get past my file security?"

Daniel chewed the inside of his cheek, as if conceding the point. "I'm afraid not, so I suppose I must congratulate you again even if it's to my own extreme detriment." He smiled wanly. "But thank you for confirming Mr Brown's involvement."

Agent Hawke's discomfort was not entirely an act. Without a secure transmission, he had indeed been unable to send word to his superiors about the Zayan, or Paris, or the apparent conspiracy taking place on Santos. He did have the camera chip with the photos of Paris' database, safely sealed in a plastic capsule inside his stomach, but he wasn't about to tell Paris that. Moreover, they wouldn't do much good if he was unable to deliver them back to HQ which was - to put it mildly - far from certain right now.

With a sigh, Paris leaned forward. "Let's see if you're of any use at all. That robot wearing the suit - it hurt anyone?"

"Of course not." Daniel said, cocking an eyebrow. "You have heard of the Three Laws, have you not Mr Paris?"

Even if Paris somehow knew about the glitch that Schizo had mentioned during the car journey, Daniel figured that it would be advantageous for Paris to think that he himself did not. He was quite happy for Paris to keep a low opinion of him if it helped to disguise how much he really knew.

"I do wonder though," he said, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands, "Why do you think the good colonel is taking us along to his machine rather than sending us straight back to a secure cell? Is he that paranoid about word of this getting out?"

[Enigma]

"I do wonder though," he said, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands, "Why do you think the good colonel is taking us along to his machine rather than sending us straight back to a secure cell? Is he that paranoid about word of this getting out?"

"It's taken me three years to get this far," Paris scowled. "Although, to be fair, I would have been here sooner if Vargas hadn't sent me after the girl.

"I'll make this quick. About eight years ago, Santos sent the first batch of prisoners here to carve out a colony on the Eastern continent. They followed them with a bunch of forced colonists, and they started planting farms and factories. The eco-nuts were screaming about it for months. Then five years ago, they yanked everyone off the planet, citing some rare species they found roaming the Western continent. Only they didn't bring those people home - they were all shipped off to terra-form a moon. Should be done in oh, another three hundred years.

"Turned out Santos' Internal Security Committee found something here they called 'The Machine'. Only they needed parts - alien parts. I was sent to the Alien Bazaar on Beylix to find out who was buying it all up - and that's where I ran into Harris Brown. I knew him, and he knew me - he used to bring reports to my dad back when he was the MI5 Liaison Officer. Harris knew something was up when instead of exposing him, I sent him a list of the parts I'd been sent to ask about," Paris grinned.

"My real bosses gave me a few trinkets to sell to the Santosians - and they came back for more. They must of had trackers inside - Vargas began ranting about some 'device', Eachart's device. Ever since then, he's had me play nice with Colonel Zhurkov, passing him more gadgets to fix up the Machine, like he's got some kinda blueprint. Only every time I gave Zhurkov something, I made sure Harris Brown knew about it."

Paris paused for a long moment. "Out of the blue, Vargas sent me to Beaumonde to kill a girl. Wierd, I thought - until I got the packet and saw who it was. Thanks to her, I've been stuck working for Vargas. Only I don't want her dead - least not right away. Vargas does though. I'm been hoping I can use her to get to him.

"Only what I got was you, blundering in." Paris added sourly. "But then there's that robot. You know when they pulled the second generation robots, they replaced them all with third - or at least that's what they told everyone. They swapped them out in two months - two months! Only what they did was to warehouse them for a bit so they could wipe their memories then install a software patch to fix their First Law problem - a patch! And then they all got loaded on different ships."

"I found out when I became a prime stockholder in the Zodiac line," he shrugged. "I get very well payed, so I invest here and there. A few of the robots went crazy anyway and had to be scrapped to keep the secret. So as a favor to the board, I keep my eye out for them. A robot with a weak first law where we're going can do a lot of damage."

[Azazeal849]

Daniel let the assassin talk. Perhaps now they were getting down to the truth of the matter, or perhaps Paris was spinning another web of clever lies. If he was then Daniel couldn't detect it – the man gave off no tells whatsoever.

“Only every time I gave Zhurkov something, I made sure Harris Brown knew about it.”

“You played corrupt members of MI5 and the SIB off against each other,” Daniel pointed out mildly, “And you didn't expect an SIS agent to come knocking?”

Paris paused for a long moment. “Out of the blue, Vargas sent me to Beaumonde to kill a girl. Weird, I thought - until I got the packet and saw who it was. Thanks to her, I've been stuck working for Vargas. Only I don't want her dead - least not right away. Vargas does though. I'm been hoping I can use her to get to him.”

Combining this with what Eachert had told them, Daniel suddenly realised that Paris must have been the survivor they had picked up in Zayan space. So, 'Vargas' was another Zayan, and one with a grudge against Eachert...or Reifani, the former's erstwhile host. This was interesting. He would check Paris' story with the Zayan – if he got the chance.

"I found out when I became a prime stockholder in the Zodiac line," he shrugged. "I get very well payed, so I invest here and there. A few of the robots went crazy anyway and had to be scrapped to keep the secret. So as a favour to the board, I keep my eye out for them. A robot with a weak first law where we're going can do a lot of damage."

“I imagine it could.” Daniel agreed, “I'd watch out though. The robot in question doesn't seem to like you very much.”

[Enigma]

The truck comes to a sudden stop, then moments later the back is opened up and guards order everyone out, in front of a large barn. For whatever reason, the barn is pressed against the hillside. On the opposite site sits a small camp of soldiers, no few are eying you as you get out.

"Check the handcuffs on those two," Colonel Zhurkov orders, puffing on a cigar. "We do not want surprises. All good? Follow me."

Inside the barn is surprisingly cool - and absent of any animals. Instead, several modified shipping containers line the walls, each appearing to be labs or work stations. Zhurkov ignores them however, leading you around a corner to where a cave mouth appears. Stings of work lights lighten the gloom.

"Mind your step," Zhurkov warns, stumbling on a stone.

It's about a five minute walk before the cave opens out, revealing a large cavern - and a very massive machine that fills it. Before you is a walkway that leads to the middle where a raised platform awaits.

"Below us are massive geothermal generators, enough to power Santos by themselves. Yet this machine waits - for what? Perhaps today, we find out."

[Azazeal849]

Daniel held his arms forward and patiently let one of the SIB agents check the handcuffs that they had put on him as they exited the truck. Making a breakout with his hands chained together would be difficult. Not impossible, but difficult.

"Below us are massive geothermal generators, enough to power Santos by themselves. Yet this machine waits - for what? Perhaps today, we find out."

"Most impressive." Daniel said, apparently looking up at the machine in either quiet awe or an ironic imitation thereof. Actually, he was doing neither - he was scanning every detail of the cavern and its occupants with his peripheral vision. "What do you suppose it does?"

[Enigma]

"Maybe that's it," Lord Eachert shrugged, striving to keep Butterfly's body calm. "Just a big power generator."
Helen frowned at her suspiciously.

"And yet, for who?" Colonel Zhurkov shrugged, waving at the silent machinery. "We brought in many teams to dig, and eventually they find ancient cities buried under hills. We wondered who made these cities, and where they went. You can imagine our surprise to learn they were still here. Bring it in."

Guards appeared, dragging what looked like a small, fluffy cloud with legs into the chamber.

"We thought at first this was animal like sheep, harmless - yet it is strange such creature exists without enemies. And stranger still, we find drawings of these living in the cities we dig up, driving vehicles, building houses, waging war. And we ask ourselves - what happened? And then we find this."

Lord Eachert scowled, a sour expression twisting the girl's features as a nearby tarp is removed, revealing a sign showing the native sheep standing upright walking in, then others walking out on four limbs.

"Strange, is it not? We decided to do scientific study of creature, and discovered this."

Colonel Zhurkov upholstered his gun, aimed at the native sheep and fired in one smooth motion. The sheep gave a startled bleep, then collapsed. Eachert winced.

"Please to watch," the Santos officer said, waving at the sheep with his gun. After a moment, it gave another bleep, sounding more confused than in pain, and got up.

"It is quite unharmed," Colonel Zhurkov shrugged. "We try very hard, but we cannot kill them. Yet we find ancient tombs filled with bones. So we ask ourselves, what happened?"

With a grin, he waved at the silent machine around them.

"And we found a clue, a strange symbol in corner of sign," he added, striding forward to point at it. "It looks familiar, does it not?"

On it was a small symbol, a curiously shaped character inside a circle, last seen decorating the robes of Brother Hand of the Brotherhood of Man.

[Potatrobot]

Schizo was enjoying the opportunity to take in new information on the situation, but since his memory bank was shared by each and every identity in his body, he wasn't the only one who would enjoy it. Something was bothering him, however. He could hear a sharp, high-pitched ringing. Not only could he hear it, it pervaded his core CPU in the same fashion as Eachert's self-translating voice — interfering with data processes and distorting small pieces of data. His head jerked sharply to the side and shuddered as his eyes cycled through countless colours of the spectrum before settling on purple. The Scottish neurologist had returned.

"It looks like this machine affects the state of the animal's mind. That sign shows them walking in on two feet and out on four. If my years of research are of any value-"
"If your brain is located in your head-"
"-and not in your rectum!"
"-then I would say that the device reverts the level of sentient development to basic urges. That is, it takes away their intelligence and turns them back into simple-minded creatures. This is supported by the alleged 'drawings' of them carrying out civilised expressions of intelligence. For some reason, the machine was built to take it away from them, although I would expect it to give it to them."

The ringing began to grown in pitch. It didn't have an identifiable source, but he designated the machine as a prime suspect.

"These creatures could have been transcendental before they were put through the machine, which could explain their immortality-"

Schizo's voice started to descend to mindless static before — with a sharp jerk of his head — he began to cycle rapidly through his countless identities like a radio. His eyes were just a rainbow, going through almost every conceivable colour a S.C.H.I.Z.O unit could assign to an identity. His head jerked frequently and the facial plates that passed for his right cheek shuddered upwards, giving the impression that his eye was twitching. His mouth, however, was kept in an unfaltering smile.

After about half a minute, the erratic seizure ceased, but in its wake something was left not native to Schizo's collection of personae. The light in his eyes went out and his body froze, apart from his mouth, which spoke with a genderless, monotone voice.

"Reverse the function of the device and put the creature backwards through it."

The strange voice then left Schizo, and he collapsed forwards onto the rocky ground. His hat bounced away from him, towards the Machine.

[Azazeal849]

All of this sounded somewhat absurd to Daniel, had it not been for the fact that within the last 6 hours he had seen the legend of the Zayans come to life and John Paris come back from the dead. When Schizo collapsed he took a step forward, as if in concern or surprise, his hands still manacled in front of him. His true aim however was to bring himself within arm's reach of the nearest SIB agent. The man's pistol was in a rig at his left shoulder, a fact which Daniel had ascertained by studying the agent out of the corner of his eye. The Santosian stood with the easy balance and relaxed stance of a professional fighter. Daniel had a chance – still not a very good chance, admittedly, but all the same a chance – if the need came for them to escape.

He caught Helen's eye and, for the moment, continued to observe.

[Enigma]

Lord Eachert/Butterfly's eyes narrowed as he studied the robot, lying on the floor after its outburst, vaguely aware of movement around him/her.

"Not quite right," he said in the hush. "Their minds are elsewhere while the body run on instinct. I suppose you could say they're in the clouds."

Lord Eachert smirked, then let it slide off her face when she took in the others' expressions.

"In any event, bringing one of these fellows back would be a very bad idea...."
"I do not care! Tell me how to do this!"

Lord Eachert sighed, glancing back at Kes and the others. "Otherwise you'll shoot one of them, right? Very well, let me..."
"No!" the colonel said, blocking Lord Eachert with his outstretch hand. "You stay away from the controls and tell me what to do!"
"Paranoid much?" Lord Eachert muttered, then shrugged. "Your data cache, plug it in - there."

Colonel Zhurkov glanced at the distant console, then down at the one in front of him where there was a similar set up for holding the data cache. "Why do I not use this one?"
"Because that one in front of you is a trap," Eachert shrugged. "Any data cache plugged in at the main console will be overwritten. It's a safeguard in case someone tried to run this without me. Putting the real reader over there gave me a bit of distance to work."
"And you say I am paranoid! How do I know that the one over there is not the trap?"
"Because you'd shoot somebody if it's not," Eachert said, looking him full in the face. "You know it and I know it. Only I have a particular fondness for the girl whose body I'm wearing, so I'd like to prevent anything from happening to her. But go ahead if you don't believe me - just don't scream at me when it doesn't work."

Zhurkov scowled at Butterfly, who stared non-nonchalantly back.
"You!" he ordered, glancing away at a guard, holding out Paris' data cache. "Take this and plug it in over there."
"Sir!" the guard straightened, stepping in to take the oblong device over the console, then walking over to the one by the conversion tubes. It took him a moment to attach the device. "Sir! It is done!"
"Now what?" Colonel Zhurkov demanded shortly.
"It would be faster...."
"TELL ME!"

"Press the red button on the top right."
Zhurkov stared at Eachert, then swallowed nervously before pressing the button. Holographic displays flickered to life around them, data pouring across the screens as the machine came to life, reverberating with a rich hum.


The Zayan technician sitting at his console suddenly straightened. "Lord Vargas! It's begun!"
"Finally!"


"It works. Now how to do what robot said, to reverse process?" Colonel Zhurkov demanded.
"You really don't want to do that...." Eachert winced.
"TELL ME HOW!"
"You have to key in some commands," the alien shrugged, glancing back at Helen. "I don't suppose you have a pen on you?"
Helen's jaw dropped, but she fumbled in her pockets and found a pen. Furious, she held it out for her.
"Thank you," Eachert said, covering Helen's hand with her own.
(what are you doing, just giving in like that?)
(Trust me, I know what I'm doing.)
(But you're just letting him do it!)
(Yes. Thanks for the pen!)

Stepping back, Eachert accepted a notepad from a guard and began writing symbols. After a few moments, he handed the notebook to the Colonel. "Put the fuzzball into that first tube and key that in."
"This will revert creature?" Zhurkov demanded, his eyes flickering over the list.
"Oh yes."

Zhurkov glanced up as his men finished shoving the sheep-like creature into the tube, then started keying in the sequence. Helen, looking over his shoulder, frowned at Eachert questioningly as he pressed the final button.

In the first tube, the alien sheep cried out in fear as it began to straighten, putting its paws in front of its face. Butterfly cried out as well, collapsing to the floor. Paris' and Daniel's handcuffs and the guards' guns were suddenly gone, while something began to form in the other tube....


"Lord Vargas, the machine has gone into operation! Should I activate?"
There was no response. The technican frowned, glancing back, then spun around in his chair. He was alone.


"Well, this is cozy," Eachert remarked inside Schizo's braincase. "Wake up, my friend! It's time to fight!"

[Potatrobot]

A sudden, massive transfer of data forced Schizo to power himself up. The process deviated from the usual procedure, as the robot's auto-scan subprogram kicked straight in; a foreign entity had overridden the persona function.

function 'power' =true;
function 'ok' =true;
booting (time:integer);
function 'persona' ='token_not_found';
system_scan =true;
{running emergency diagnostic}
{anomaly detected... anomaly diagnosed [persona]}
{factorising persona}

What? Eachert blurted, as parts of his being were inspected and labelled in preparation for storage. The process took about eight seconds, whereas a normal scan would take as much as 0.24 seconds; Eachert took up a lot more space. Once every major aspect of Eachert's identity was labelled, they were sorted into an identity template. However, he was still way too big. Forty empty templates were merged and Eachert was filed into it. Schizo stored him away with all his other personae, before finally booting up.

Well, this is cozy, Eachert remarked inside Schizo's braincase. Wake up, my friend! It's time to fight!

optics =true;
displaycolour =true;
function 'persona' =00111101000101001101010; {Soldier}

Schizo's eyes flashed with red light as he pulled his hands beneath himself. With a grunt, he pushed himself off the ground and looked around himself. The guards had lost their weapons, and Daniel and Paris were no longer bound. He was good to go.

He stooped down and pulled the laser pistol out of the holster on his ankle without apprehension. It was a simple pistol shape (http://images1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120704233523/fallout/images/9/95/9mm_Pistol.png) with a rounded slide, and was a glossy black all over. The front and rear iron sights were capped with tiny red lights, though they were off. Sitting flush with the rear of the slide, in place of a hammer, was a four-holed power socket an inch and a half wide. It matched the four-pronged plug on the end of the cord that dangled from the Leyden jars on his back. He reached back, caught the cord, and shoved the plug into the pistol socket. Immediately, the iron sights lit up bright red as the gun powered up.

One of the guards made a grab for the gun to replace his own. He received the sole of Schizo's black and white leather shoe, aimed directly at his face.

"Good to see the update works." he remarked.

How did you get in my head, Eachert? Schizo demanded of the Zayan as he held his gun defensively up at the creatures.

[Azazeal849]

Paris' and Daniel's handcuffs and the guards' guns were suddenly gone, while something began to form in the other tube...

Daniel only had a split-second window of opportunity, and he took it. Turning on his heel, he fired a ramrod of a punch into the nearest SIB agent's solar plexus, kicked his knee out from under him, and hooked his elbow into the man's throat before he had even fallen to the ground. As the other agents went for guns that they suddenly realised they didn't have, Daniel sprinted towards Zhurkov and the machine. He didn't know who Paris' device was materialising, but it could only be bad news for them.

Someone tackled him from behind when he was still 10 metres short of his target. Daniel hit the ground hard, lashing out instinctively at the person who still had hold of his right leg, and rolling over onto his back he came face to face with Paris.

“Not this time, Mr MI6.” the assassin grunted as he slammed an elbow down on Daniel's quadricep, turning his whole leg numb.

Daniel pulled back his free leg and kicked Paris in the jaw as hard as he could, sending the man reeling back.

“You still don't get it, do you?” Paris spat as both men staggered to their feet. Zhurkov's agents were rapidly closing in on them, and another was fighting Kes. Paris however, looking past Daniel, suddenly smiled and broke away towards the machine, evading the SIB agent in his path. In the second tube, next to the now-upright sheep creature, was a humanoid in an elaborate purple robe. His dark hair was streaked with grey and his face was wild as he hammered on the glass.

Daniel was unable to stop Paris as another SIB agent barrelled into him, and without the element of surprise this time, this new attacker was no pushover. The SIS agent could only back up towards Helen and the fallen Butterfly, trying to protect them even as he fended off the brutal, efficient Systema strikes of his opponent.

[Enigma]

At the cave entrance, there was a loud thunk, then massive doors started to slide close. Guards instinctively reached for guns - to discover that they were no longer there. While they stood there angrily yelling at one another, one soldier darted through the opening. Nobody followed.


Lord Vargas reeled slightly, his hand reaching out instinctively to steady himself - only to feel cold glass, curved inward. Looking around in shock, he found the next tube was occupied by a humanoid sheep staring back at him with intelligent, questioning eyes. On the other side, a fight was in progress. A robot held a laser welder on an overweight officer in a uniform while kicking another uniformed man in the face. And just beyond... the traitor Reifani! And her Aunt!

"This is impossible!" Lord Vargas demanded hotly, slamming his fists on the tempered glass. "Where am I? Who dares to transport me against my will?!?"

A man ran out of the crowd and stopped, smiling at Lord Vargas.

"Paris?!?" Vargas demanded, then felt his knees buckle as he realized where he had to be. "This is Eachert's secret lab, isn't it? Get me out of here!"

Paris scowled at the tube and the wall behind it, then sprinted over to the console.

"How do you open the tubes?" he snarled. "I can't kill that man while he's trapped inside!"


"How did I get in?" Eachert snorted, watching Vargas' face contort inside the tube. "I side-stepped. We can't let Vargas out of that tube. I don't want him escaping. If that's his memory module, who knows what's hidden inside?"

[Sy23]

Invisibility is not a thing easy to learn.

During his short stint as a mercenary with the J'anise of the sphere Gf'd in the system of Dgfee, kes had seen it demonstrated. One of his drinking buddies, Skal XXIV by name (The Gf'dians were big on ancestry) had been simply standing still at the bar, staring into space. Kes had asked why no-one seemed to be serving him, or even paying him any attention - Skal XXIV was, after all, one of the bar's best customers.

"Good. That shows it's working," Skal XXIV had said. "I'm practicing NRT - Negative Registration Transmission. I'm surprised you saw me - but then, you just walked in, or I'd have allowed for your presence. I'm crap at it, you see. Drok XXI now - he's the real expert."

"Shame he's not here to demonstrate it, then," Kes had essayed, naively.

"He is - he's been standing next to you the past five minutes!"

Fascinated, Kes had set out to learn the art of NRT. It seemed complicated at first, until you learned the basics. Then it was - even more complicated. Essentially, it was a combination of extreme stillness, subconscious hypnotism, control of bodily functions, confidence, and a special mystic ingredient that even the Gf'dians could not explain. Kes had the very best teachers, and remained crap at the art. He wouldn't have been able to fool a native Gf'dian for five seconds. And practicing the art at all was physically and mentally draining in the extreme.

Against space police, civilians and most humanoids, however, his limited abilities in the field had saved his life more than once. But it was so unpleasant, he had to be really pushed before he'd use it.

By the time five minutes had passed, he'd slipped out of the chamber, silently felled one of the guards at the outer door from behind, relieved him of his weapon.

And was feeling very pleased with himself when he returned - to find the game had changed completely. From the corner of his eye he saw Daniel and Paris locked in a death struggle, the latter spitting blood and teeth from what was obviously a tender jaw - registered it for just a split second, then two of Zurkov's agents jumped him. He felt the whip of a pistol butt on his skull - increasing the headache he'd already gained from the NRT session - and heard the agent swear. Kes almost collapsed with laughter at the hilarious sight of the agent staring blankly at the barrel of his pistol, now sans handle - which was a thousand shattered pieces on the floor.

Both of Kes' hands shot out, lifting the agents bodily, and bashing their heads together.

"I'm a classic model, you see," he said, almost apologetically. There's little short of a heavy-duty neutron -blaster would stop me."

A blinding flash, a series of psychedelic lights, shot across his vision. The headache was really bad, now. He scanned the room, groaning, taking inventory. Guards lie about, groaning, in various postures of submission or unconsciousness. There was the crazy robot - who, presumably, by now, had metamorphosed into a combine harvester, a mime artist or Rastus N'Gobla, the Ninety-first President of the United States/Europe Confederation. There was Paris, stabbing frantically at the controls of the consol, a panicked expression on his face. Butterfly - well, Butterfly's body, anyway, he corrected himself - and Helen, both cowering behind Daniel, threatened by the remaining pair of agents.

"They're only set to high-stun," he said, calmly, touching the muzzles of two of his stolen guns at the kidneys of the two agents. "You might even live - for a few hours. In searing agony, of course... and pissing and shitting your deathbeds into the bargain." His Welsh accent had taken on a calming, sing-song quality. "Or you can be sensible, and drop your weapons, and back away with your hands in the air."

"I'd rather die than betray my oath!" spat the taller of the two agents.

"Fair enough," whispered Kes, sadly, thumbing the key on the appropriate weapon. The agent collapsed, screaming. "How about you?" he whispered to the other.

"I have a wife and four children," squeaked the other. "I want to live."

"Not sure of the connection between those two statements," admitted Kes, who certainty wasn't of the marrying kind. He kicked away the weapon the second guard had let fall, clubbed him with the pistol-butt. The guard fell, unconscious. It was about time someone else had a headache!

"So," continued Ks, smiling at Daniel. "What's to do now?"

- - - Updated - - -

Invisibility is not a thing easy to learn.

During his short stint as a mercenary with the J'anise of the sphere Gf'd in the system of Dgfee, kes had seen it demonstrated. One of his drinking buddies, Skal XXIV by name (The Gf'dians were big on ancestry) had been simply standing still at the bar, staring into space. Kes had asked why no-one seemed to be serving him, or even paying him any attention - Skal XXIV was, after all, one of the bar's best customers.

"Good. That shows it's working," Skal XXIV had said. "I'm practicing NRT - Negative Registration Transmission. I'm surprised you saw me - but then, you just walked in, or I'd have allowed for your presence. I'm crap at it, you see. Drok XXI now - he's the real expert."

"Shame he's not here to demonstrate it, then," Kes had essayed, naively.

"He is - he's been standing next to you the past five minutes!"

Fascinated, Kes had set out to learn the art of NRT. It seemed complicated at first, until you learned the basics. Then it was - even more complicated. Essentially, it was a combination of extreme stillness, subconscious hypnotism, control of bodily functions, confidence, and a special mystic ingredient that even the Gf'dians could not explain. Kes had the very best teachers, and remained crap at the art. He wouldn't have been able to fool a native Gf'dian for five seconds. And practicing the art at all was physically and mentally draining in the extreme.

Against space police, civilians and most humanoids, however, his limited abilities in the field had saved his life more than once. But it was so unpleasant, he had to be really pushed before he'd use it.

By the time five minutes had passed, he'd slipped out of the chamber, silently felled one of the guards at the outer door from behind, relieved him of his weapon.

And was feeling very pleased with himself when he returned - to find the game had changed completely. From the corner of his eye he saw Daniel and Paris locked in a death struggle, the latter spitting blood and teeth from what was obviously a tender jaw - registered it for just a split second, then two of Zurkov's agents jumped him. He felt the whip of a pistol butt on his skull - increasing the headache he'd already gained from the NRT session - and heard the agent swear. Kes almost collapsed with laughter at the hilarious sight of the agent staring blankly at the barrel of his pistol, now sans handle - which was a thousand shattered pieces on the floor.

Both of Kes' hands shot out, lifting the agents bodily, and bashing their heads together.

"I'm a classic model, you see," he said, almost apologetically. There's little short of a heavy-duty neutron -blaster would stop me."

A blinding flash, a series of psychedelic lights, shot across his vision. The headache was really bad, now. He scanned the room, groaning, taking inventory. Guards lie about, groaning, in various postures of submission or unconsciousness. There was the crazy robot - who, presumably, by now, had metamorphosed into a combine harvester, a mime artist or Rastus N'Gobla, the Ninety-first President of the United States/Europe Confederation. There was Paris, stabbing frantically at the controls of the consol, a panicked expression on his face. Butterfly - well, Butterfly's body, anyway, he corrected himself - and Helen, both cowering behind Daniel, threatened by the remaining pair of agents.

"They're only set to high-stun," he said, calmly, touching the muzzles of two of his stolen guns at the kidneys of the two agents. "You might even live - for a few hours. In searing agony, of course... and pissing and shitting your deathbeds into the bargain." His Welsh accent had taken on a calming, sing-song quality. "Or you can be sensible, and drop your weapons, and back away with your hands in the air."

"I'd rather die than betray my oath!" spat the taller of the two agents.

"Fair enough," whispered Kes, sadly, thumbing the key on the appropriate weapon. The agent collapsed, screaming. "How about you?" he whispered to the other.

"I have a wife and four children," squeaked the other. "I want to live."

"Not sure of the connection between those two statements," admitted Kes, who certainty wasn't of the marrying kind. He kicked away the weapon the second guard had let fall, clubbed him with the pistol-butt. The guard fell, unconscious. It was about time someone else had a headache!

"So," continued Ks, smiling at Daniel. "What's to do now?"

[Azazeal849]

"So," continued Kes, smiling at Daniel. "What's to do now?"

"Now, Mr Caesaro," Daniel said, wincing slightly from the pain in his hands and arms where he had deflected the agents' brutal strikes. "We get to the bottom of this. Keep an eye on Mr Paris if you please."

Daniel inclined his head as Kes tossed him one of the overcharged bass-stunners, and took his weight off his screaming right leg. The SIB agents had quickly picked up on the damage Paris had done and continually forced him back onto that foot as they fought, leaving Daniel too unbalanced and too pained to do more than defend himself until Kes had come in to tip the scales. Now the agents were down, Zhurkov was temporarily subdued by the threat of Schizo's archaic lasgun, and Paris was hovering warily by the controls to the Zayan machine. The two aliens inside the tubes had fallen into a trepid silence. The guards outside, on the other hand, were hammering loudly on the closed doors leading into the cavern. They might not have much time.

"Clever trick, my lord." Daniel congratulated Butterfly, limping towards her and Helen while keeping an eye on Paris. He was answered by a mechanical cough from Schizo.

"I'm over here." the robot said in Eachert's voice. Its eyes and running lights had turned deep black.

"Oh." said Daniel, glancing sharply from Schizo to Butterfly. Now he looked at her, he saw that she had regained the lost, helpless look that she had worn back on the Scorpio. He turned to Helen. "So that's...?"

"Just Reifani, yes." said Helen. She was holding the younger woman protectively.

"I see." Daniel nodded, and glanced back at the door. "How long will it take them to break through?"

"With plasma charges?" said Zhurkov, "Seconds."

"But you don't have any." Daniel countered, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I observed your available assets very carefully on the way in. Can they bypass the door controls?"

"Not on my watch." said Eachert through Schizo, before the robot's eyes blinked back to their usual colour.

"Well then." said Daniel, "If we have at least a little time before backup for our friends outside arrives capable of breaking in the door, I think now is a good time for some answers." He retrieved his omni, cuff links and briefcase from one of the fallen SIB agents and moved over to the machine, still walking gingerly on his right leg as the pain gradually subsided.

"So," he mused aloud to everyone as he carefully fastened his cuff links back into his shirt sleeves, "We have colonel Zhurkov, looking for immortality. We have a Zayan machine, constructed by Lord Eachert, and rebuilt by parts provided by Mr Paris and the corrupt MI5 agent Harris Brown. It's a pity Mr Brown isn't here in fact, given that Mr Paris told him about every alien part that he sent here."

Behind him, Daniel sensed Zhurkov directing a furious gaze at Paris.

"We have Miss Reifani," the Londinian continued, "And her engram of Lord Eachert, mind-wiped for bringing an outsider into Zayan space - that would be you, Mr Paris, if I'm not mistaken." He nodded to the assassin who was looking warily down the barrels of both Daniel's and Kes' guns. "And we have, I presume, Lord Vargas - Mr Paris' employer who I am given to understand he is not very happy with."

Daniel looked up at the purple robed, red-faced man still locked inside the second tube. "If you speak English, then an honour to meet you my lord, and I am hoping that you will be kind enough to fill in any gaps in our knowledge, so that we might perhaps start to consider letting you out of that tube."

"And you..." Daniel paused as he regarded the sheep creature in the other glass tube. "I do beg your pardon, my friend. Who might you be? Do you speak English?"

[Enigma]

Na'groth trembled inside the tube.

"I do beg your pardon, my friend," one of the aliens spoke, addressing him." Who might you be? Do you speak English?"

"English is what?" Na'groth demanded, burying his face in his hands. "I am where? I... I am small! Herd is where?"

[Azazeal849]

"English is what?" demanded the upright sheep in a strange, reedy voice. "I...I am small. Herd is where?"

Daniel's eyebrows raised slightly in an expression of polite surprise.

"Your herd," he told the alien gently, "Is nearby. We will take you to them soon." He directed his next question to Schizo. "Intriguing. My lord Eachert, is our friend here speaking English or does the machine translate?"

He turned back to Lord Vargas in his glass prison, and Paris standing tensely nearby.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about these charming creatures would you, my lord? Although my real question to you would be why you wanted miss Reifani dead, after you had already rendered her harmless via memory wipe."

[Enigma]

"Intriguing. My lord Eachert, is our friend here speaking English or does the machine translate?"

"Why would I need a translation program?" Eachert asked, wondering if Schizo could shrug. "We have both my students here, Reifani and Vargas."
"That's Lord Vargas!" the trapped Zayan yelled back, his voice crackling over a hidden speaker.


He turned back to Lord Vargas in his glass prison, and Paris standing tensely nearby.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about these charming creatures would you, my lord? Although my real question to you would be why you wanted miss Reifani dead, after you had already rendered her harmless via memory wipe."

"Harmless? HARMLESS?" Vargas roared, pointing at Butterfly. "Here we are in the middle of Eachert's hidden lab and you want to claim she's harmless?"

He turned slightly to sneer at the alien sheep in the next tube. "The Botah should all be long dead, the Draconians killed all their females in retaliation. But you couldn't let nature take its course, could you? You just had to interfere!"

"We owed the Botahs," Eachert stated, nudging Schizo for control. "If not for their gifts to us, we would have never survived to defeat the Draconians."
"We didn't need them!"
"They didn't have to help us either," Eachert stated, lurching towards the control panel. "Friend Botah, I am Eachert."
"Friend Eachert?" the Botah frowned. "He who promised? Your promise fulfilled?"
"Not just yet," Eachert said, pressing a series of keys. The alien sheep's tube flashed - for a long moment, everyone was frozen yet aware that time was somehow passing - and then the moment ended. Vargas immediately began groping himself frantically.
"Oooh!" bubbled the Botah, happily. Something was different about the sheep's voice. "Your promise kept."
"What did you do?" Helen demanded, stepping forward.
"After my forcible return home, I realized I had been overthinking the problem of the Botah - rather than raising a generation of females, I could just convert half of them into females. They are, after all, a matriarchal society."
"I am oldest," the Botah swayed happily.
"Problem solved," Eachert said.

"ENOUGH OF THIS!" Vargas roared, turning to Helen as he pointed at Schizo. "I order you to release me and arrest him!"
"And just what were you planning on doing here, Lord Vargas?" Helen demanded. "Sending private agents offworld? Sending them after Reifani, who'd been mind-wiped and banished? Eachert, can you tell me what was in that memory core?"
"Agent Helenne," Eachert nodded, keying the displays. "Ah. You never were very subtle, Vargas. I've found a routine here, it's overridden system safeties, the generators are overloading."
"Can you stop it?"
"Hmm, no, but I can bleed off some of the excess by opening up transports."
"Very well. Lord Vargas, I am placing you under arrest under section 1 of the Zayan code," Helenne announced, then turned to Paris. "Eachert, I'm going to need him as a witness."
"What are you going to do with him?" Paris spat.
"Under Section 1?" Eachert sounded amused. "Mind wipe and banishment."
"You wouldn't dare!" Vargas blustered, turning pale. Paris smiled, glancing at Vargas.

"What about them?" Eachert asked, leting Schizo gaze pass around the room.
"They'll have to come with, there's no other choice!"
"Not quite. I can send Reifani back to the cruise ship, along with any else who wants to go. The Botah and the guards I can transport to the surface, and I can send you, Vargas and Paris back to Zaya."
"And yourself?" Helenne demanded.
"There's no auto routines for this, someone has to stay and man the controls," Eachert lied.

[Potatrobot]

The blackness of Schizo's eyes was a bizarre spectacle. They, along with the gaps in his casing, glowed various colours given off by the multitude of energy converters beneath the casing. They prevented the unit from overheating by converting heat energy directly into light, which then showed through the gaps in the casing. Since black is the absence of any other light, it is impossible for something to 'glow black'. And yet his eyes projected darkness that behaved just like light; they deluminated objects around them in the same fashion that light would illuminate them.

The truth of the matter was that the presence of Eachert's persona had somehow caused the energy converters to run in reverse in that they were absorbing the surrounding light and converting it back into heat, which would be detrimental to Schizo should Eachert maintain control of his body for too long. Fortunately, such a time ended as Schizo blinked back into his share of control over the body.

"Pardon me," he interjected, "but I couldn't help but notice that this means that I will have to stay behind in addition to Lord Eachert. I'm not bothered, of course, as a robot must only preserve itself so long as such preservation does not endanger the lives of humans. I'd be happy to stay."

In reality, if it weren't for the humanity of Daniel, Kes and Paris, he'd have no obligation to stay other than that of basic courtesy. The third robot law kept him tethered, and his yes man attitude sealed the deal.

[Azazeal849]

"Agent Helenne," Eachert nodded, keying the displays.

Agent...? Daniel thought. Ah. Helen is a Zayan too. No wonder she was so keen to stay with us and look after Reifani once she found out who she was. And then he smiled. He had had Helen down from their first meeting as someone who could take care of herself, but he had still clearly underestimated her.

Well, Danny boy. he chuckled to himself, You obviously still have a talent for picking out women who are out of your league.

He turned serious as Eachert went on.

"Not quite. I can send Reifani back to the cruise ship, along with anyone else who wants to go. The Botah and the guards I can transport to the surface, and I can send you, Vargas and Paris back to Zayas."

Daniel cocked an eyebrow. "If I may," he said to Helen - or rather, Zayan agent Helenne. "While I can sympathise with Mr Paris for the coercion that our Lord Vargas put him through, the fact remains that he is a pan-galactic assassin who several planetary governments - including my own - would rather not have running about. Can I have your assurance that he will be, if not detained, then at least very carefully looked after?"

Paris shook his head. "You really think I want to go back out there?" he said acidly.

"Perhaps not." Daniel admitted, "But please forgive me if I don't simply take your word for it."

[Sy23]

"Very carefully looked after, eh?" Kes whispered to Schizo. "Yeah, we know what that means, don't we?" He'd received plenty of similar offers in his time. Usually they involved locks with multiple, cyphered combinations, chains forged from reinforced adamantine steel and round the clock guards armed with neutron-blasters set to maximum. And food you wouldn't feed a rabid dog. He turned to Eachert.

"So I have this right? Butterf - erm, Reifani, Agent Helenne and I - we can just wander back to the cruise ship? Just like that?

He didn't exactly add the phrase so what's the catch? - but the tone and timbre of his voice left little doubt as to his meaning. With Vargas and Reifani aboard - both of which were highly inconvenient to the powers that be - he could guess exactly what would come to pass. The two of them -along with a certain innocent, naive hospital orderly - had been promoted to the dignified position of "inconvenient loose ends". And he had no doubt that Agent Helenne, as he guessed he should now call her, would be penciled in as unfortunate collateral damage. The exact time and nature of the unfortunate accident that would befall them were problematical, but the fact that it would take place were written in stone. They were about as likely to see Scorpio again as to suddenly spout tails and eye-stalks.

"No need to send us anywhere, actually," he added. "I mean - don't want to put you to any bother, you know?" He took Butterfly's arm, more or less forcibly marching her towards the exit. "We'll just - you know... nice meeting you all. Don't take any plastic credit notes."

He wondered just how far he'd get.

[Enigma]

"Place is going to explode," Eachert reminded the space pirate. "You can stay behind if you wish."

Schizo's hand began moving over the control panels.

Can you read these symbols? Eachert asked Schizo silently. We're gonna open a portal between here and that relay, that will get my unfortunate countrymen out of our hair. Then we'll make our own escape.

Circles appeared under Helenne, Vargas and Paris - then they appeared to fall in, shimmering as they vanished.

At last, thought we were never gonna get rid of them.

"We should leave now, before Helenne gets some crazy idea of coming back."

[Azazeal849]

"Place is going to explode." Eachert reminded the space pirate. "You can stay behind if you wish."

"What about Reifani?" Daniel put in, "Are you not sending her back too? I'm sure she'd get better care from Helenne than with us."

Eachert shook Schizo's head. "Section 1 is final, no matter what. She'd just be banished again to a random location, and without me in her head this time she really would be alone. No, I can't send her back to Zayas. We should leave now, before Helenne gets some crazy idea of coming back."

We. Daniel noted, picking up on the tiny contradiction. If Eachert was coming with them, then why would he lie to Helen about having to stay behind? After all Helen was, by the look of things, the Zayan authorities - Eachert shouldn't have had anything to fear from her. Of course, there was plenty about Zayan politics that Daniel did not understand, and no luxury of time to discuss it further. They had to go, and they had to go now.

"A Brotherhood temple." Daniel said, resuming the current conversation with no outward signs of concern, "That's the safest place for Reifani right now. Send us there."

[Potatrobot]

Schizo could hear Eachert whisper inside his head like some omnipresent ghost. Even still, the translative effects of his voice caused Schizo to hear what he said in every language he had available, which put strain on his CPU. His hand hovered over the keyboard.

The Zayan completely controlled the unit's body whenever it granted him command, and likewise for Schizo. Since Eachert's persona was properly 'alive', priority for control over the body was split between the two at random or decided intervals.

Can you read these symbols? Eachert asked Schizo silently. We're gonna open a portal between here and that relay, that will get my unfortunate countrymen out of our hair. Then we'll make our own escape.

Schizo, who could still see and hear through his body's sensors, stared at the symbols on the keys whenever Eachert turned his head to see them.

I'm afraid they aren't a part of any language that I have installed right now, he replied, even as his own hands tapped away at them, but that's alright, you've already go that taken care of! Wow!

He also took note of Eachert's use of the word 'we'. Control of the body went to him for a brief moment.

"Oh so I don't have to stay behind? That's even better!"

"A Brotherhood temple." Daniel said, "That's the safest place for Reifani right now. Send us there."

[Enigma]

"A Brotherhood temple? Wonderful choice!" Eachert said, directing Schizo's hands once more on the controls.

If we keep this up, we'll have to make some arrangements, Eachert whispered to Schizo's assorted throng.

The Botah shimmered in her tube and vanished, as did the Santosian guards and the major.

"Next stop," Eachert/Schizo began....

Circles opened up under everyone's feet - there was no choice but to fall - or more correctly, to slide.

Butterfly wailed and clutched onto Kes, feeling her body being stretched and pulled again.

And then they were out, dropping onto cooling desert sands, next to a water-filled channel. Downstream was a jumble of a city, where faint cries and music could be heard.

Eachert/Schizo sat up. "...Beylix. Hmmm. Looks like there's been a few changes since I was here last. Oh well, even if it's more than just a mining outpost, there will be a Brotherhood temple where we will all be welcome! Hm? Alien market? What are you talking about?"

[Azazeal849]

"Everybody alright?" Daniel asked as he shook out his arms, trying to get rid of the disconcerting feeling of the teleport.

"Beylix. Hmmm. Looks like there's been a few changes since I was here last. Oh well, even if it's more than just a mining outpost, there will be a Brotherhood temple where we will all be welcome!"

"Beylix, eh?" Daniel said.

It wasn't a bad choice for a hideout. One of the most cosmopolitan planets in the Known Worlds, Beylix was home to both humans - mostly refugees from the PAX Confederation civil war - and many different species of alien. Its main tourist attraction was a pre-settlement statue of what, despite extreme weathering and corrosion, appeared to be a human. It might have been taken to be the work of unregistered explorers, or the veneration thereof by a primitive alien society; both of which would have been good theories if carbon dating had not placed the statue at several thousand years before the people of Earth discovered space flight. After mystifying archaeologists for decades, it had been placed in a protective stasis bubble in the Perseverance City natural history museum. In light of what had happened today and the revelation of who the Zayans were and what they looked like, Daniel had a new theory on the statue's origin. That wasn't the only thing on his mind though. He was recalling Evon DeWinger's words to Paris shortly before the latter had murdered him.

"We'll still have to ask the Brotherhood to be discreet." he added. "The late Mr DeWinger mentioned that our friend Paris was supposed to be on Beylix rather than the Scorpio. The SIB might have some other agents on-world. They probably won't be on the lookout for Reifani, but still I'm sure Colonel Zhurkov would be most upset to hear from them."

As the four of them began to follow the river towards the patchwork city, Daniel matched pace with Schizo. The agent was still limping slightly from the numbing elbow strike that Paris had dealt him. Together with the other bruises from their first fight, and the scrap with the SIB agents, he'd feel rather self-conscious about undressing at any public swimming pools right now.

"May I speak to Lord Eachert?" he asked the robot, and waited for its eyes and running lights to turn black.

"If you don't mind me saying, my lord," he continued, his tone remaining light. "You are quite the trickster, aren't you? The secret laboratory, the Botah, a hand in the Brotherhood judging by how closely their symbol matches the one on your machine, and I wouldn't be surprised if the statue they've got in Perseverance City is you too. And now you deceive Agent Helenne into thinking that you've just blown yourself up. Is there something that we should know?"

[Enigma]

"Statue?" Eachert demanded crossly, then unexpectedly chuckled. "Oh, HIM. Sorry, that's not me, they had that thing up there when I came back to build the Brotherhood Temple. Gave me quite the start when I first saw it! Well, him and the girl. No, they weren't Zayan, just a pair of wilders from some uncontacted world."

"I'm sorry I had to trick Helenne, but I wouldn't want to be dragged back and get shoved in the Brain Bank. Better Helenne's bosses believe I'm dead again. I can understand some of their position - here we'd just won everyone's freedom from our Dracosian enslavers, I'm not surprised most of them went immediately home and hid our planet. I didn't realize just how scared they'd gotten, you see."

Eachert let himself back away for a moment, giving Schizo a brief time to cool down somewhat.

"Our freedom did not come without great cost. So many died," he faltered, shaking Schizo's head. "Some of us believed that debt had to be paid back. Like with the Botah, doomed to die out if we didn't do something! None of us would have survived without them! So I build my laboratory on their world to help them! Some of us when to help the others. Then one day I heard that Cholars had reappeared after a long absence, apparently brain-damaged. I dropped everything, of course. But what I found surprised even me."

"Cholars had gone back to Zaya, through the Barrier, trying to convince our people to help the other races. And when they turned him down, he tried to take some supplies and leave. Well, they weren't having that! So afraid that others would come and find them, they wiped his mind and cast him out as a warning."

[Potatrobot]

Schizo's first thought after being teleported was that of the fashion designer whom had picked out his suit, and it was that he seemed to have left the accompanying hat back in the cave on Santos. However, a brief search of the sand around him concluded with him finding it, sitting innocently beside him.

His eyes blinked back to black as Eachert began to speak.
"...Beylix. Hmmm. Looks like there's been a few changes since I was here last. Oh well, even if it's more than just a mining outpost, there will be a Brotherhood temple where we will all be welcome! Hm? Alien market? What are you talking about?"

Control flicked back to Schizo. He stood up and dusted himself off, getting a bearing on his surroundings. Sand, a water channel, and a city with a prominent statue were the first three that he noticed, but the most demanding of his attention was the heat. While the desert was beginning to cool down — for dusk seemed to be approaching — it was still much hotter that the cave on Santos. Coupled with Schizo's wearing of a tuxedo suit and Eachert's reversed effect on his heat-to-light conversion system, he was heating up. A lot.

To shade what he could of his body he replaced the hat on top of his head, and to free up his hand he unplugged the laser pistol and put it into the holster by his ankle. He didn't even need to use the thing.

As they set out towards the city, Schizo redoubled his efforts to keep himself cool. The energy converters beneath his casing were working at an increased capacity, drawing more heat out of his body and converting it into light almost twice as bright as normal. A strange, luminous white glow seemed to shine through his white shirt, occasionally changing colour with every identity switch.

Schizo was under the influence of one of his many personae when Daniel approached and asked for Eachert. A rather crazy one, at that, and one that felt the need to take the rubber duck out of his pocket and demand to know where it had hidden its treasure.

"Come on... tell me!" He gave the resolute duck another squeeze. It didn't possess a squeaker, which was fortunate for the tempers of those within earshot, but to the insane interrogator it came across as a refusal to speak. He began squeezing it profusely, until Eachert resumed control, muting the sociopath and the bath toy. It wasn't going to tell, anyway. He replaced the duck into the jacket pocket it came from.

"Statue? Oh, HIM. Sorry, that's not me, they had that thing up there when I came back to build the Brotherhood Temple. Gave me quite the start when I first saw it! Well, him and the girl. No, they weren't Zayan, just a pair of wilders from some uncontacted world.

"I'm sorry I had to trick Helenne, but I wouldn't want to be dragged back and get shoved in the Brain Bank. Better Helenne's bosses believe I'm dead again. I can understand some of their position - here we'd just won everyone's freedom from our Dracosian enslavers, I'm not surprised most of them went immediately home and hid our planet. I didn't realize just how scared they'd gotten, you see."

Schizo spent what cooling time Lord Eachert gave him reversing the heating effect of the Zayan's dominance of the body, and of the planet's sun; the bright light from his eyes and the glow from within his shirt was still in the green-grey of the crazed vagrant. It was like taking a breath before submerging again, having to fortify oneself before going on without oxygen. His demands for the duck's treasure had not become any less annoying, so he was silenced soon enough.

"Our freedom did not come without great cost. So many died... Some of us believed that debt had to be paid back. Like with the Botah, doomed to die out if we didn't do something! None of us would have survived without them! So I build my laboratory on their world to help them! Some of us when to help the others. Then one day I heard that Cholars had reappeared after a long absence, apparently brain-damaged. I dropped everything, of course. But what I found surprised even me.

"Cholars had gone back to Zaya, through the Barrier, trying to convince our people to help the other races. And when they turned him down, he tried to take some supplies and leave. Well, they weren't having that! So afraid that others would come and find them, they wiped his mind and cast him out as a warning."

Schizo was listening intently (for the crazed identity had finally ceased to prevail over his neutral one) and trying to piece together the story Eachert was weaving. The little pieces seemed to form something much bigger than he first thought, but he felt like he had missed out on some vital detail that tied it all together.

"Pardon me, but is that the same reason that Miss Reifani was wiped of her mind and banished in the same fashion? I'm sure I must have missed something, because you always know what you're talking about."

[Enigma]

Eachert glanced towards Kes and Butterfly, remembering Reifani.

"Reifani was doing research on our barrier technology, and had traveled to the barrier to get some direct readings. Only there was a tiny ship there. She was curious, so sent a probe to investigate. What she found horrified her - a dying alien boy, looking so very much like one of us. So she brought him inside, through the barrier! No hesitation! Proud of that girl!" Eachert beamed.

"However," he sighed, "breaching the barrier set of all sorts of alarms. In minutes, our people were there, ready to fight off the enemy! Did they see a caring girl tending a dying boy? No, they saw a foolish girl who let an invader inside. Damn fools!"

"At her trial, we were told the boy had been mindwiped and sent back to his people. I am sorry to see that Vargas got his hooks into him instead. His grandfather brought down the Pax Confederation - was he trying to do that to your people too?"

[Azazeal849]

"Possibly." Daniel admitted. "Paris did hit several high-profile targets before his last alleged 'death', but there was no apparent connection between them, and our friend Vargas was obviously very good at making it look like he was doing the work on behalf of other groups. Both the TID and my own department were convinced that Paris was acting as a simple mercenary."

The agent changed his briefcase to his other hand, his bruises obviously paining him.

"I doubt we'll get the truth unless your fellow Zayans feel like sharing the results of Lord Vargas' trial with the whole class. For the moment, I think any threats to us and Reifani will come from a more human vector. Even with the Brotherhood I'd feel better if she had a bodyguard, maybe even a food taster..." He glanced at Kes. "Mr Caesaro, those splendid bionics of yours wouldn't happen to have any features for detecting or metabolising poisons, would they?"

[Sy23]

Kes' eyebrows shot up in surprise. What does he think I am, he thought. A fregging android?

"Afraid not," he replied, urbanely. "Bash me with a sledgehammer, and you'll need to replace the hammer. Drop me from ten stories and I'll walk away." Both of these were slight exagerations, but Kes was not immune to a slight touch of self-aggrandisement. And in any case, he was getting tired of playing the shrinking wallflower. "But I can be laid low by a good dose of cyanide as well as anyone. And in any case... I'm afraid my time for loving you and elaving you is fast approaching. You see, I... I have a sick uncle, I need to visit."

The "sick uncle" was in fact a shipload of Gr'enian Folyybdnum, worth more than twenty such ships stacked to the brim with gold if sold on the open market, and nearly as much if fenced. And an old colleague of his, with whom he'd worked on many such jobs before, knew such a fence. Furthermore, said colleague said he knew that when the guard changed, there was a brief window in which an experinced team might manage to render said guards comotose... and where, to boot, there was a fast ship, that he might ilberate, in order to get the folyybdnum and themselves to a planet where no questions would be asked. Apart from that, Kes hadn't been lying. After all, he was going to visit the ship!

The offer had been made, by the secret channels that only experienced Space PIrates knew of - and Kes was pretty sure it would still be open. And if he stayed around here...

Reifani's face swum before his mind.

No, that was not to be contemplated. Kes Caesaro helplessly in love? It couldn't be.

[Enigma]

Eachert smiled, listening to Daniel and Kes, While they were talking, they had made their way from the canal to the Grand Square. Here stood the Digger, a statue dedicated to those who had lost their lives on the project, following this singular being who had also died, trying to make his dream a reality.

"Bodyguards and food tasters are not going to be a problem," Eachert said, speaking through Schizo, waving up the street to where the Brotherhood of Man temple waited. "Butterfly will be well protected while you tend to your 'sick uncle'."

Eachert hoped Kes would return. Butterful would not understand, at least not for a while, why Kes left. Perhaps Helenne would return with a copy of Reifani's early memories from before meeting Paris at the Barrier.

--------

There was a shimmer of brilliant light, then the prisoner formerly known as Lord Vargas found himself screaming wordlessly as he fell into a canal. As the water closed over his head, he panicked. Struggling, he managed to make his way to the surface.

On the bank of the canal, Paris stirred. Thanks to his new employers, he had been gene-sculpted to make him slightly shorter, more broad shouldered and thicker in the mid-section, with an entirely new face. It put the illegal body shops on Liann Jiun to shame.

The silenced pistol he pulled out fired two shots. Both hit Vargas in the head. He stiffened, eyes rolling back in his head before he vanished beneath the water. Paris tossed the pistol after him. Stepping back into the shadows, he raised his Omni and signaled.

"Report," Helenne demanded, her voice crackling ever so slightly.
"Target eliminated as instructed."
"Good work. Prepare to return home. There's another job."
"Looking forward to it." Paris said, as the ground vanished beneath his feet.

[Potatrobot]

Interstellar Cruise Ship Scorpio, Deck five

The entire deck was dark and totally deserted, and had been for an entire hour. Closing time. There was, however, one outlet with a light on: Star's End. The bartender wiped down the bench himself for the first time in weeks, looking rather upset. Doing it himself was no chore, but the old cloth fuming with chemical detergent and alcohol was, until now, expertly handled by a hand made of metal and plastic.

On top of losing an unpaid, untiring employee, the plump, balding man had lost his bar's biggest interest-grabber: the malfunctioning S.C.H.I.Z.O unit. Day in and day out, Mic (for he had named him Mic, acronym for Multiple Identity Crisis), would clean the bar, mix and serve drinks like it was his purpose, and chat up the customers with fractured, erratic charisma. He had dared not talk to him himself for fear of disrupting his services, but it didn't matter any more. Mic was gone, and he probably wasn't coming back.

The bartender finished off the bench and wiped the sweat off his brow with the same cloth. A newspaper awaited him in his cabin, one which he hoped would fill him in on all the commotion that had the entire Scorpio riled since the night before.

Slowly, the bartender put away the cloth, hoping to see those bright white eyes glowing off in the dark distance of Deck five, but there was still nothing. The last light on the entire deck went out with a click, plunging everything into darkness.

Zodiac Headquarters, IT Support

Computer technicians and programmers had been at it for hours now, occupying every single computer on the floor and even some on the floors above and below. The long range transmitters, one of which had been used to send Schizo his 'unofficial upgrade', were all powered up and aimed at Santos. They weren't being used to deliver a message this time, they were being used to scrutinise Schizo like a microbe in a drop of water under a microscope.

The IT Support floor was abuzz with tapping keyboards, excited shouts, murmuring conversations and rushed footsteps as everyone aided the effort to get a conclusive diagnostic on the defective S.C.H.I.Z.O unit, one that would help them reproduce the circumstances under which Schizo had made them all famous and rich. Suddenly, a cry rang out from the middle of the floor, from one of the computer desks.

"I got it!"

Having predicted the ensuing stampede of people who wanted to see what was on his screen, the technician switched his computer output to the gigantic screen mounted on the wall the desks faced. Everyone stopped rushing to the man's desk and turned their gazes up to the screen.

"What is it?"
"What is that even supposed to mean?"
"I can't read that coding!"

Sure enough, the feed that Zodiac was getting back from Schizo was nigh unrecognisable compared to the neat and intrinsic mainline that many people there had written themselves for the third generation units. Fractured, messy, and partially translated, it sent the hearts of those who looked upon it sinking.

"Is that the glitch?!"
"It's just gibberish!"
"You must have got the feed wrong, let me take a look at it!"

Hundreds of experts on the situation, self-proclaimed or otherwise, all pushed in on the young man's computer desk. He would have been crushed if he didn't start yelling.
"Back off!" They hushed and complied.
"This is literally the unit's feed!" he continued, standing up and correcting his glasses. "Now, I don't know what's happened to it, but I'm pretty sure that it's not because of the glitch! Only a small part of the mainline would be broken to allow that sort of behaviour, not the whole thing!"

"But it must be wrong!" cried out someone near the back.
"This is the same procedure we use to communicate with other units," said the technician, turning away from his computer, "so there must have been some sort of interference on the way back. I think it's underground somewhere, and close to something that could cause electromagnetic interference."
They all looked up at the screen. Strange symbols — Zayan ones in fact, though nobody knew it — fluttered across the otherwise English column of text like moths across a city tower at night. There was no one who could tell, but it was merely the work of Eachert's dominance over Schizo's body at the time, disrupting the feed. Then, suddenly, it vanished.

No one made a sound. They all stared at the blank, white screen, waiting for something to happen. But nothing came. Whether it was destroyed by the virus it harboured or physically damaged, nobody knew. The unit had simply vanished.

Moments later, Schizo would find himself on the sands of Beylix.

Planet Beylix, Grand Square

Schizo smiled at the Digger, for he was once again in control of the body. His white eyes glowed all the brighter in the late dusk, illuminating a circle of paved stone around his feet. Already the city was lighting up under the darkening sky.

No irrelevant identity shoved its way into bodily dominance; it was only Schizo, enjoying this quiet moment of cool serenity. One day, he thought, everything would sort itself out, and he would return to the Scorpio and the Star's End bar. But until then, there was much to be taken care of.

With Kes announcing his departure, and the probability that Daniel would too, Butterfly would have to be supervised by Eachert as well as the Brotherhood of Man, and that meant that Schizo would be staying on Beylix to play host to the Zayan.
But there was plenty for him here, too. New people to get to know, new things to do, identities to copy, skills to learn, and secrets to uncover. There would certainly be people to mend the little nicks and hurts his equipment may have sustained, and surely he would be able to acquire some new apparel to keep the precious suit preserved in good condition.

Schizo looked up at the sky, at the stars that were already making themselves visible against the dark canvas. Buried somewhere in his massive data bank lay the dormant task of returning to the Scorpio, programmed into him upon activation just like all the others that were assigned to the cruise ship. One day he would return, but until then, he would be staying on Beylix with Reifani and Eachert.

[Azazeal849]

"By jove." Daniel's contact back on Londinium breathed as he digested the news. The secure, real-time communication was achieved by a highly secret and highly expensive quantum-entanglement radio, owned by Daniel's fellow agents on Beylix who he was temporarily sheltering with. "Zayas more than a legend, Santosian superweapons, traitors in high places...it's all a bit of a game-changer, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry for getting so badly sidetracked." Daniel said dryly. He had taken his leave and linked up with the SIS cell in Perseverance to make his belated report as soon as he could after making sure that Reifani was safe with the Brotherhood. Both he and Eachert had stressed the need to keep the girl's presence a secret, but he wondered if that would last once the monks started to guess at her origins. Brother Hand had jumped to a conclusion pretty quickly after all, back on the Scorpio. Hopefully, with Schizo staying as Reifani's guardian, Lord Eachert would be able to use his subtle cunning to keep them quiet. However, while his robot host was trustworthy, relying on the wildcard Zayan was a risk in itself. Daniel preferred to mitigate risks wherever possible, which was part of the reason why he had offered Schizo (and by extension Eachert) the chance to join him. Despite its erratic behaviour, how useful would a machine like Schizo be working for his organisation? Certainly much more than against it. But the robot hadn't given him an answer yet, and he wondered if it was Schizo itself or Eachert who was the source of the reticence. For now, the robot would be staying with Reifani as a nominal ally but independent of any SIS involvement.

"I'm uploading the photos from Paris' database now." he added as he slotted the memory chip from his spy camera into the machine. Recovering it from his stomach had been a slightly unpleasant business, but enclosed in its plastic capsule it had been no worse for wear. He also still had Paris' omni, which would be going to a Londinian lab for analysis as soon as secure transport could be arranged. He hoped that all the information he had gathered would offset the fact that he had been forced to destroy or abandon most of his rather expensive spy equipment shortly before his capture by the SIB. The technical branch tended to get slightly upset when agents didn't return their toys in mint condition.

The projected image of his superior frowned as the pictures detailing Harris Brown's extensive criminal network began to come through. "Most perturbing. We'll have to have a word with Mr Brown. So, Hawke, what do you recommend based on your observations on the ground?"

"I would recommend," Daniel said, sitting back slightly in his chair, "Increasing surveillance on colonel Zhurkov, so we know what the fallout is on Santos. Particularly, if they recover any fragments from Eachert's machine. The Botah, if they resurface, are a diplomatic concern rather than a security one. Also, I would recommend marking any reappearance of John Paris or Helen Solow as a high priority for investigation. Associates should be questioned, especially miss Solow's ex-husband. If he knew anything about her true origins, or if there are any other Zayan agents on Londinium, it's best that we find out about them right away. We should also take Char Wacken in for questioning and witness protection."

"What about the girl Reifani? What's your assessment of her?"

"She doesn't know anything, but the SIB know who she is and they might come after her. While I don't think we should intrude on Lord Eachert unless he does something rash, we should keep close watch on the temple, with covert military support if necessary. Also, Dr Solow mentioned possessing a memory engram for Reifani, and if she gets her memories back the threats will need to be reassessed."

"We'll handle that. But what about your primary target?"

Daniel frowned. "The secret data we acquired from Kzae was accurate - Caesaro is significantly augmented. It was impractical for me to apprehend him. He also knows that I'm SIS, though not that he was ever my target. It might be best to let someone else bring him in now that my cover's blown. One of my colleagues is shadowing him in case he leaves Beylix, but if he does I believe there is a high probability that he will return to the temple at some point in the future."

"Because of Reifani?"

"Because of Reifani. If he does, then for a stakeout I would recommend nothing less than a full SAS team equipped with bass stunners set to maximum. There is however a more subtle option - he is, by his own admission, vulnerable to poisons and anaesthetics."

Daniel smiled slightly at that. That had, of course, been the ulterior motive in suggesting that Kes stay and become Reifani's food taster.

"You know I can't sanction a raid on neutral ground like that." his superior frowned, "But I'll pass it to the people who can. It might interest you to know though that we also can make a good guess as to where Caesaro is headed."

Daniel cocked an eyebrow. "You've been busy, sir."

"You're not the only one. Home Security have finished interrogating the crew of the Firefly and while they stand trial for piracy our colleagues in SS have pointed us towards their network of contacts. One of them recently informed Caesaro about a folyybdnum transfer from Gr'enia. It seems he's planning a heist."

"Is that so." said Daniel, without his usual touch of amusement.

"It is. As you know, arresting people on foreign soil is problematic, and we want it done quickly and quietly. We're cooperating with the TID on the sting operation, and we plan to grab the whole network at once. That, however, is not where we need you. I'm going to inform the King about the Zayan problem, and as soon as he authorises action I want your help with the response. Once you've settled things with the robot, report back to Londinium ASAP for a full debriefing."

"Yes sir." Daniel nodded, and turned off the radio, extracting his now-blank camera chip from the machine. Now that the SIB and several other individuals knew who he really was, he could see that it was impractical for him to continue field operations here. He was also professional enough to put his own desires to one side - the desire to stay on Beylix to see to it that Reifani and Eachert were properly watched over; the desire to personally ensure that Kes Caesaro was brought in. He was a professional, for better or worse. He was SIS.