What Price Freedom?
Posted on Mon Jun 24th, 2019 @ 7:17am by The Narrator & Lieutenant Commander Meilin Jiang & Staff Warrant Officer Blaise Birch
Mission:
S1E3: Moments Of Consolidation
Location: The Sales Floor Of The Sleepers Bazaar, The Mire, Messier 4.
Timeline: MD9 14.30PM
Team Probable Rescue
The flight from the Resolute to the Sleeper's Bazaar was mercifully brief. The ferry the Harbour Master had provided was shockingly space worthy given its exterior patchwork design. The Proxy had recced into an alcove of the wall, its umbilicals and tubes sliding back into the wall as it became just another dark shape there. Lights had hummed to life in the ribbed ceiling, revealing padded seats in a number of styles for a number of body plans. And the trio of Ritter, Meilin and Theylan watched as those seats not set up for a humanoid body plan shifted around until they were.
As this happened the door sealed, and there was the gentlest of rumbles as the ferry rose from the hanger deck and exited out into space....where the walls vanished. Further investigation revealed simple holographic trickery, layering the walls with a perception fooling illusion of flying in a glass elevator. The fuzzy white ball of the neutron star was below them, and above them the shovel-nosed Norway class starship rapidly receeded as they accelerated away. Other starships came into view, including the drive spine covered Myriad Thorn Ship and the impressively bulky Concordance battleship. There were others there, their shapes daggerish or rotund. A dozen for a dozen species, or a dozen for a kleptomaniac.
Perhaps it said something about those who did not return from the Sleepers Bazaar.
It soon came into view, as the soft bone spars of the Prior stellar cage began to stand out against the blizzard of photons from the neutron star. The Bazaar appeared as first a crack running the length of one of the shorter spars, but as they got closer the parasitic nature of the facility came into focus. The Sleepers Bazaar wound around the spar, latched on with cables and vices. The metal of it was black and oiled purples, with ribbed elongated domes of amber glass here and there. It was a massive place, and a buzzing cloud of ferries frittered to and fro like flies over a carcass.
"I am willing to update my cultural profile," Meilin said, breaking the silence among their tightly clustered trio. "We are dealing with a primitive culture, perhaps a Bronze Age society with technological equivalence to 20th century Earth, that stumbled upon a Delta level technological treasure trove that it had no means of wielding constructively. There is no rhyme or reason presently. No ethical considerations. No honoring of the past. Only a bleak, eternal now. The multicultural marketplace itself will likely defy classification, but this Sleepers Bazaar and its Harbour Master are likely cosmic aberrations of the proverbial boy with a magnifying glass hovering over an anthill." Pausing for effect, she then closed with, "In short, their rules are made to be broken. We must tread carefully."
Ritter listened with a serious expression. "The disparity in the military and technological development of the various visitors here is reassuring in that regard; this place could have been destabilised by now, if someone wanted it badly enough. I don't expect anything here to have a sense of honour, but perhaps a sense of business and self-preservation. The Bazaar needs the neutrality of this place if anyone is to trade with them. They need to respond to outsiders breaking their rules, to show others they uphold them. Maybe they even care about how new local powers affect their business. However, you're right; all of that requires them to think, or care, about what happens tomorrow."
He shifted his weight, feeling the adjusted seating respond. He wasn't sure if it wasn't fully in-place or if it was trying to mould itself better to his comfort - or entrapment. Never again would he grumble about a rickety office chair, he lied to himself, and kept his gaze on the view beyond the bulkhead with some curiosity as he spoke on. "We have to worry about today. They hold our people, and our priority is to get them out. The bare minimum is for them to be located, presently and where they'll end up, so we can plan further action once we leave. And we're to not immediately destabilise the local strategic and diplomatic situation." That could come later, he reflected. With deliberation on what to do about slavers on their porch.
“Click Honoured Sentients, please stand by for docking. You will be greeted by a Proxy, and escorted to the Sales Floor. Of the Sleepers Bazaar.” The monotone cheerfulness echoed out of the walls. The view shifted as the ferry began its final approach, aiming into the spindly arms of a docking facility. As they got closer the spindly arms turned into sharply pointed antennas and sensor spines, each of which was firmly planted within the chest or limb of a desiccated corpse turned black by age and stellar radiation.
“Click Honoured Sentients, the generosity of the Harbour Master is not without limits. Break his bountiful peace at your own peril, and please enjoy a financially lucrative stay at the Sleepers Bazaar.”
Team The GM Probably Does Like You But I'd Not Bet On It
The Proxy that had come to collect the Starfleet prisoner's did not treat them roughly, but they did not allow the idea of free will to make itself apparent. 'Non-reversible neurological death' was the favoured statement from the meat and metal machines. They were trotted back to the tram station. They were joined by others, aliens of unknown nature or means. They huddled at the back as the tram closed behind them, the Proxies left behind on the platform, the aliens clicking and murmuring to themselves.
"I'm thinking..." Rollins said. "This might well be one of those 'go down swinging' kinda rides."
Blaise nodded. Speech was becoming difficult. Not the action, but the processing. He needed to reserve his focus for retaining his last shred of sanity. His grim sentiments were in clear agreement though.
“I’m also thinking we let the Doc go first,” Rollin’s said, noticing the taunt muscles of Blaise’s jaw line.
"Might as well," Blaise said, his voice a hoarse whisper through the strain of self-control.
Elias studied a few of the alien faces around them. Some were grim and resigned to their fate. Others were defiant, though they didn't dare resist. Others still were unreadable. He nodded to Blaise and the others. "I didn't come all the way out here to become merchandise. If we go down, we're doing it together. All of us. We need a riot. Right now." He stood up. Taking a deep breath, he took a few steps forward, negotiating his way through the crowd.
Most of the other passengers didn't notice Madrid's movement. Or they just didn't care. Same with the ghoulish conductor on this particular car. Its eyes, or what he thought were the eyes, remained fixed on some infinite point. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, he thought. Who could be possibly find in this broken gaggle of...
That's when his eyes locked on another man's. A humanoid alien. Grayish skin, bald head, and a sharply ridged nose that was taped over with a makeshift bandage. It had been broken recently. "Izbaii! Dozhgul ne pronya!" The alien said with a scowl. His compatriots turned their attention to him, then to Madrid.
Elias noticed that the man's tattered jacket was decorated with various trophies. Most of it looked like jewelry and coins, but Elias saw three or four other objects that he was sure were severed ears. One object, in particular, stood out to him. It was a Starfleet commbadge.
"That's mine," Elias said, pointing to it.
Team Probable Rescue
The docking and debarking process was straight forward enough. Apparently for the guest who did not wish to tarry, or who had arrived late, there was access directly to the Sales Floor. It was a large circular room with a lowered pit, the mouth of which was barred over with twisting and flickering beams that were probably painful to touch if not out right fatal. Around this a balconied area resided, offering plush seating, an array of foods and trays and bowls of powders.
They were also not alone.
Leaning against the balcony was a human woman with white hair, a look that was instantly destroyed as she turned to look at the new arrivals with burning coals where eyes should have been. The Myriad’s simple looking red dress lengthen and grew flourishes, becoming some how more elegant than it had a moment before. To her side a rocky mountain of carved stone work animated itself, coils of what was hopefully muscle roping them stone work together. It made a grumbling sound like a displeased landslide, but did not move.
On the opposite side of the ring was another group, larger than the two on their side, and of a much more tradition bent. They were all different species, but were all dressed in similar fashion: grey long coats, black skull caps. And one of them was a black skinned Xilosian, a male. And each of them bore the same symbol as had been spotted on the hull of the massive battleship back at the parking swarm.
Starfleet was in the presence of the Concordance.
Meilin noted the Xilosian immediately, which could mean only one thing. "Concordance," she whispered to Ritter and Theylan, "destroyers of worlds." Everything about them defied the Tao. "We cannot let them take our people." As a consummate pacifist, that left Meilin with few desirable options.
"Your people are already taken," the Myriad said, stepping towards the Starfleeters. She held up a hand, fingers together in a halting gesturing. "Peace to you. I do not seek the ire of the Harbour Master, I swear on my name and hospitality that I do not seek you harm. Lady Nyessix, of the House Of Foxes. And you, of course, need no introduction. It's so nice when people dress in easily identifiable uniforms."
She turned, gesturing with another hand to the knot of Concordi on the other side. They began to move around the balcony towards them.
House... of Foxes? How had this Lady Nyessix come to know of them so quickly? Meilin needed more information. "You may have us at a disadvantage, My Lady. Is your House an agency of the Sleepers Bazaar or are you a customer?"
"You really are new to the Sphere aren't you? I had heard of Starfleet's arrival, but never thought I'd see them here. I am an agent with portfolio for the Myriad, and this is my..." Lady Nyessix gestured towards the carved pile of stonework behind her. "...confidential problem solver, Bastion. And I am both provider and customer here. The Myriad do so like finding the diamonds in the rough, those who tickle our interests. And Abborax did find your Traveller very interesting for the brief time he knew them."
Myriad. Yet another aberration of the Tao, though different from the Concordance. The dregs of Messier 4's society were certainly on array. This arrogant Nyessix was certainly a piece of work at any rate. Her taunting was subtle yet brazen.
Meilin let her rising tension flow through her which she released in a sigh. "I do not see the crew of the Traveller on display, so perhaps Lord Abborax found them even more 'interesting' than anticipated." Her mouth teased with a smile.
"Quite," was the smiling tight-lipped response.
Ritter wasn't displeased to see a spot of verbal sparring, even this early out of the gate. It meant others could test the water and he could remain above it all, before deciding if he had to wade in. "I'm glad we're a novelty to you," he commented to Nyessix. "I despise nothing more than the notion of being a bore." He nodded across the ring, towards the Concordance. "Our compatriots over there don't strike me as other collectors of oddities, however?" The reasons these groups wanted their people only mattered so much in the short term. But how much they were prepared to pay - or sacrifice - to get their hands on Starfleet officers could presently prove intensely important.
"In that, you find us both in 'concordance', as it were," the Myriad said with a bit of venom to her word. "They buy in bulk to feed their great war machine. More converts for their particular brand of zealotry. I at least am selective, I seek out the unique, sift through the common clay to find the truly extraordinary. Why only last season I found a pair of Atn's here, how they had gotten here is of a mystery to me but their minds are astounding. Cost me dearly in trade items to procure them both, but worth the effort. Ah! Lord Provider! So good to see you."
The phalanx of Concordance soldiery had stopped short of the little conversation knot. Form their midst stepped a short humanoid, covered in light grey fur with dark eyes like coals, he did not look at all threatening. And yet he wore the coat, its badge of arms on his breast joined by the bars of supposed medals and awards. He was shorter than the humans by at least two heads and looked at them with a smile that was more kindly than savage.
"I do not believe I have had the privilege of meeting your species before," the leader of the Concordance said in a voice accented heavily by the universal translator. He smiled, revealing broad flat teeth of a herbivore. "I am the Lord Provider. My crew told me an unknown starship had joined them in the parking swarm. A rather dainty affair by Sphere standards, but one assume it serves you well as you made the crossing through The Mire."
Meilin noted Ritter's unspoken approval for poking the bad guys, so she kept it up. "Do you always find it such a privilege to meet the crew of dainty starships?" Her head slanted to one side, eyes slightly widened with innocent inquiry. "I would ask which ship is yours, but undoubtedly I could merely look for the largest ship in the moorings. A starship that is worthy of the glory of the Concordance and not at all compensating for any personal inadequacies."
"Ahhh, you have seen something of our great works I take it? Yes, the Lament Of All Sorrows is an older vessel to be sure, but she has taken part in a number of crusades through her two hundred years of service and acquitted herself many battle honours. She is a fine vessel, a most visceral proclamation of intent and strength," the Lord Provider said with pride, his short stubby whiskers bristling as he continued to smile. "And I always enjoy meeting new people here at the Bazaar. We learn so many new things from these meetings. It also helps one find their social placing among their betters."
Team The GM Probably Doesn't Hate You But I'd Not Bet On It.
Broken Nose frowned at Elias, and then allowed his much-broken fingers to reach up, and brush over the shiny Starfleet issue communicators. He smiled, revealing a row of sharp teeth missing a few in action.
"Took these off gutter snipes. Little feeders who greet newcomers to this hell," Broken Nose said in translated Federation Standard that only deserved the term language because it had copious amounts of computer assistance. He grinned and turned his hand around to point at Elias. "Little gutter snipes take these off you, then you they not yours either shiny space man? These are mine, and I do not let my things go anywhere."
Blaise looked at Elias. His words were more of a guttural groan than coherent speech. "Gooo dowwwn ssswingin'..."
Broken Nose might've stood a chance in a fair fight. Who would have expected a spindly albino with jet black hair and fingertips and a shop rag wrapped around his eyes like a bandanna would pose an imminent threat? Clearly the gray brute knew his way around a scuffle. But when Blaise attacked him, it was not as a fighter. Blaise attacked as a devolved force of nature, like a feral animal with the intelligence of a well-read planetologist.
The first move was a cross body tackle that threw them both on the ground in a tangle of limbs. After the briefest of scuffles, Blaise opened veins at both wrists and tore open what passed for an artery in the other's neck. He howled in savage delight in the shower of blood.
In an instant a collective cry went up from the other prisoners. Those wanting no part scrambled away, opening up a hole in the middle that would become the fighting pit. It wasn't much room. Some were climbing the walls of the car, kicking and stepping over others. The gruesome flesh machine that was supervising this shipment was inadvertently knocked over.
Broken Nose's loose collection of allies, mostly from the same species, launched themselves into the fray. One produced a shank that he had concealed in his sleeve. It was small, only about four inches long, with a makeshift hilt, and looked like it had been fashioned from plastic. It had been melted and sharpened into a lethal blade. Now its owner was moving towards Birch.
Elias threw himself at Shank, swinging away. The first haymaker went wild, glancing off the man's temple. The second connected with the right eye. Elias felt the crack of bone, although he wasn't sure if it was him or the other guy. Maybe both. It didn't matter. Shank screamed and stumbled away, his attack on Birch ruined. Elias was still in his feet, adrenaline pumping.
Not for long, however, as two other bad guys wrapped their arms around his legs and torso and dragged him down to the deck. One clawed at his neck trying to get his hands around Elias's throat. Elias reached up and grabbed the attacker's long hair. With a sharp yank he pulled him down until they were nose to nose. Then he sunk his teeth into the man's cheek. Another scream.
Team Probable Rescue
Before anyone could respond, a chime sounded throughout the chamber. A hatch in the ceiling irised open with the speed of a guillotine, and something descended from within. If the meat machine nightmares that were the Proxies of the Harbour Master were as workers to a fast hive, then this iteration was a cut above the common cloth. It was suspended from the ceiling by an arm of polished brass and chromed pistons, with various cables and feed lines gentle twined around it like ivy.. The arm was connected between the ornately carved shoulder blades of a very human looking skeleton, the bone polished to a glittering lustre that only aided in highlighting the runes and glyphs picked out in Escher like complexity. The spine was similarly on display, each vertebra alternatively swapped out for one made of gold.
The arm turned slowly, bringing the torso on its end about to face the knot of beings. From the front it was no less impressive, the metallic ribs holding in a glossy transparent lining within which the still beating meat remained. Lungs sighed, and coiled intestines wriggled hungrily, and a heart enclosed in silver mesh beat at a sedate pace. All of this was topped by a solar plexus and collar bone arrangement of blue metal picked out with jewels and other precious stones.
The head, connected with metal pistons and throbbing rubber veins to its torso, was almost utterly unremarkable. Pale skinned, bald, skin pulled tight against the skull so that the eyes were opened wide in a shocked expression, the orbs jittering around as though seeing nothing and everything at once. The teeth were on show, the enamel cut and honed with the same devilishly complex writing as its shoulder blades.
It raised metal arms powered by glossy harvested muscles, its platinum tipped fingers clicking gently together as it opened its hands in a grand gesture.
"Honoured Sentients,' it said in an androgynous voice that roses and fell in a haunting counterpoint to the odd cadence of the Proxies. "I welcome you to this eighteen hundredth and ninety forth bidding process at the Sleepers Bazaar. As your host, I bid you all good fortune and fair health during these proceedings. Especially to our new guests from the United Federation Of Planets, a commonality of worlds found within the galactic disk below us."
The armature hissed, decoupling itself from the hatch and affixing itself to a complex rail system in the ceiling. With a hum of motors, it rode towards them, the arm dodging and weaving through the rails, but keeping the Harbour Master's puppet on a steady path towards the Starfleeters.
"We have very rarely had such far-flung guest join us here. Why I do believe the last time was when we were visited by the Intransient Confederacy some forty kiloyears ago. It is nice to know that their passing into galactic history made space for new sapling species to ascend to galactic prominence," it arrived and held out one of its metallic hands in a gesture of greeting. "A pleasure to meet you all in the flesh."
Meilin blinked, not once or twice, but thrice. This aberration of nature made the Borg look elegant by contrast. "Flesh may be an overstatement," she whispered to her compatriots.
"But not an over exaggeration," the Harbour Master said, bringing one of its hands up to pat the smooth side of its skull. "I have excellent hearing courtesy of a Hiudarian. Ultra and subsonic, all of its controlled by a never cluster smaller than the head of a pin."
Another chime filled the air, and the Harbour Master smiled.
"Honoured Sentients, today's bidding will be a joint celebration of our common cause. For the experianced, there will be a chance to bid on a selection of exciting and new items that were brought to market only recently. For others, new to our small but select circle, it will be a chance to experience first hand the visceral thrill of the bidding process," the Harbour Master crooned, the arm turning and bringing it closer to the balcony.
Below in the pit, the floor rolled aside to reveal the rising form of a machine not dissimilar to the ferry the Starfleeter's had arrived on. Smaller in scale, and lacking the ornate and patched engine assemblies, it rose into place with a clank as the floor closed in around it. It then opened like a flower, its sides and walls unfolding out to reveal the fight raging within. Elias was down, dog piled by ragged coloured aliens, and Blaise was...enraged in a manner not often seen.
"As you can see the assembled collection is in high spirits," the Harbour Master continued. "You have all of course paid for the catalogue, and thus know the biological minutiae of what is on the docket. But to see it with your own eyes is to know something no data set could provide. And given our new friends virgin status among us, it feels only right that the party from the United Federation of planets should make the first bid."
An expression of disgust was easy for Ritter to summon as he looked down at the scene before him. What took skill was to transform this displeasure into a disapproval at the condition and comportment at the officers before him, rather than any whiff of compassion or judgement sweeping in. Aware all eyes were on him, he cocked his head and let his lip curl, then waved a dismissive hand. "You bring them before us in this condition?" He sounded disappointed, rather than outraged.
A ragged sigh escaped his lips, and he shook his head. "I paid to get here. I start the bidding at that - fifteen litres of saline solution, if that's of consequence to you." He was in a rare situation, Ritter knew. Anywhere else in the galaxy, he could hardly play the Starfleet officer who might just become too indifferent or tight-fisted to save his crew. And he would likely never be able to do so again in this place, with these people. Perhaps, even, he was convincing nobody. But it was necessary to try, lest others smell the blood in the water and then drain the Resolute's supplies dry.
"A fair bid, a fair bid," the Harbour Master mused thoughtfully. The cybernetic oddity looked to the Myriad, and then to the Lord Provider. "Counter bids?"
"The Concordance offer's 16 metric tons of liquid poly-alloy, as well as the magnetic guidance tools to sculpt it," The Lord Provider stated with firm assurance. "A suitable price, instead of merely fabricating saline."
"The Myriad would be content in providing the technical specifications on an improved matter/antimatter reaction system designed by the Tinchar Imperium. It is a design that has been out of circulation in the Sphere for nearly 100 kiloyears, and is far more potent than current models seen in the parking swarm at present," Lady Nyessix said sweetly.
"Huum...I think perhaps the Myriad has won that round," the Harbour Master said. "Unless the United Federation of Planets would like to up their bid from mere medical grade saline to something of true import?"
Meilin raised her hand. "In addition to the saline solution, we also offer a priceless relic of lost Xilos -- a genuine and functional Xilosian slugthrower." She had acquired one among other items of anthropological interest from the Xilosian cradle and had neglected to transfer them from her quarters on the Resolute. "Complete with ammunition."
The Xilosian who had thus far stayed at the back of the Concordance party bristled, dark eyes flaring as they began to push through their comrades. The lord Provider, though much shorter stopped them with a raised hand, and a curling smile. He turned to look at the Harbour Master.
"You will have to forgive our new friends here, but Xilos is no more. It was put to The Trial five years ago. Of its population who were chosen by the Divine to ascend to the stars with the Concordance, none carried weapons. And the subsequent orbital bombardment was quite thorough. I am sorry to say that there is no possible way that the newcomers to Messier 4 have access to a weapon made slag by atomic fire," he chuckled coldly. "They merely wish to divert your attention. I would be willing to provide, as well as the poly-alloy, forty atomic weapons of sufficient payload to disrupt the mantle of an average-sized world."
"Not to disrupt the bidding process, but I am a keen observer of biology...the human does not appear to be fabricating a falsehood," Lady Nyessix added. "It would appear that someone passed your Trial, Lord Protector."
"Making what is offered highly singular. Highly....Unique." The Harbour Master slid forward, an overly powerful perfume of flowers hiding the undertone of rot as its jittering eyes peered at Meilin. "And it is in a working condition? An original, not a replication?"
"Correct," Meilin said, willing herself not to flinch at the imposing creature's advance. "It was gifted to me by a Commander Kle after we rescued the surviving population of an underground bunker on Xilos." A thought occured to her. "In fact, depending on the efficacy of your proxy's scans aboard our vessel, you may have confirmation of possession already on file."
"SHE LIES!" The Xilosian bellowed, the fronds atop his head illuminating in vivid reds.
"Silence," the Harbour Master spoke. In the same utterance, hatches opened int the ceiling, and weapons turrets unfolded from them on complicated armatures. The air became suddenly heavy as Jacob's ladders of electricity began to dance along the barrels of the weapons. The Harbour Master's grotesquery pivoted around on its arm to look at the Concordance party, its eyes levelling on the Lord Provider. "Control men, Lord Provider. You offer easily mass produced atomic weapons, things your people throw around like confetti at a festival day. What the United Federation Of Planets offers...is singular. One of a kind."
It turned about, looking at Meilin.
"The weapon for all of your compatriots. Of course...I would see the weapon first. It is after all our first transaction together, and I would very much like to ensure we begin on the right foot towards a bastion of trust," it held out a clawed hand. "Do we have an accord?"
Ritter had been racking his brains as the bidding had escalated, but the narrow band of what he could reasonably give without handing over weapons and what might interest these unknown aliens had been thwarting him until Meilin spoke. But as the Harbour Master's gaze had turned on them he didn't back down, even if the bulk of attention fell to the Science Officer. "Starfleet officers keep to their word, as you will see," he fibbed to the Harbour Master, but looked to Meilin. He didn't think she'd needed to be put in a position where it was harder to back down, but it didn't hurt to be sure.
He should have packed his crate of Alpha Centauri wines onto the Resolute, he mused, and then decided he didn't want to know if they could drink it or care.
"Splendid! You will travel back to your ship with your purchases via my ferry, where they will remain until the weapon is handed over to my Proxy for verification. Should all be well, they will be released to you. Should things not be as they appear...then I will retain them, and your ship," The Harbour Master said with a smile.
Ritter returned the smile with a practiced air, then stepped back and extended a hand the way they'd come. As the Harbour Master would send a proxy, this was more in demonstration than invitation. "I'm sure you'll be more than satisfied." The smile faded a half-inch. "Now have my people taken out of that fight, and escorted to the ferry. And we can get on with a reasonable transaction."
"Fight?" The Harbour Master said perplexed before it turned and looked over into the pit. "Oh, yes of course."
it then waved a hand, and the energy turrets that had been locked onto the Concordance emissaries moved along their rails to rest over the pit. Then with machine efficency, the turrets spat fire, neatly pinning one of the aggressors with a charring bolt of energy. Within moments the fight was done with, the Federation prisoner's unharmed by the fire if not by the combat. Proxies concealed in the walls of the pit disengaged from their sockets and moved in to clean up the bodies, and help direct the battered survey crew into a tunnel.
"They are being taken aboard your ferry as we speak," the Harbour Master said gleefully, a dreamy look in...its...nowhere. There was no dreamy look, just the same mad jitter. "A Xilosian slug thrower. Crude, but singular. If you by chance have any Xilosian's to hand, I would be more than willing to offer handsome recompense for them as well. Their photo reactive cranial follicles always caught my attention as aesthetically pleasing."
