Back to the 1st installment: AGENT 1 <--
Re: MARK4 (mid-20s splendidly-dressed GIRL) serenely WALTZING with a middle-aged BARON, among many other COUPLES:
She's interesting, no doubt, a far-removed cousin with all her Titles and her spicy common sense, working her way up from minor parties to this, the yearly Royal Ball.
Hugging the wall in formal GARB:
She appeared from nowhere a month before I was sent here for important matters. This Cluster in the Outer Core has been unstable for years, brimming with malcontents.
Re: several scattered GROUPS of conspiratorial OLDSTERS & CRONES:
Anything could happen, but the Rulers here worry about the non-existent Ancestry of a minor Princess. Her ID and Documents are certified authentic. If she's a fake, how did she do it?
Nibbling some food but REJECTING the caramel wine:
I've followed her everywhere for 2 weeks, despite all her precautions and tricks.
He briefly re-checks a news item on his phone SCREEN:
Imperial bodyguard awarded
medal for daring rescue.
Music PAUSES. Dance too.
MARK4 retreats thru big doors. Discreetly FOLLOWING:
1 way or another, this ends tonight.
No sign of the girl.
Luckily nobody's discovered the Nucleic trace element I put on her hair.
He checks a small TRACKER.
Following his TRACKER:
She's got a lot to explain.
Starting with the companies she keeps.
He navigates the cramped spaces, food trays, COOKS, corners...
1 of her expensive dancing SHOES under a table. His Tracker BLIPS.
MARK4 blows a CLOUD of fine white POWDER at his face!
Barefoot, she RUNS out (somewhat encumbered by her dress).
AGENT sneezes, recovers, then CHASES!
AGENT runs around bushes, TREES, flowerbeds, small streams...
Finally:
MARK4 fleeing at full tilt across the GRASS/leaves, a few meters ahead. He CLOSES!
He GRABS her arm. She SLAPS him with her other hand!
He SPRAYS her face from a tiny BOTTLE!
MARK4 falls UNCONSCIOUS in his arms.
He CARRIES her to the back seats of a big convertible-vintage CAR.
A GUARD approaches.
Flashing his BADGE:
SECURITY
SERVICE
The Guard SALUTES the departing vehicle.
The car RACES towards it along a (mostly empty) greenery-lined ROAD.
PARKED CAR. AGENT reads an official-looking DOSSIER in wavering light.
He CHECKS the hands+feet-cuffed MARK4. She stirs.
On the other side of the street, a fair-sized (old-ish brick/stone) BUILDING BURNS whole (like a torch), surrounded by POLICE VEHICLES, (civilian) corpses, bits of glass, spent cartridges, POLICEMEN (w/ rifles, riot gear, grenade LAUNCHERS), ambulances, firefighters (letting it roast)...
That nest of criminals was among the places you frequented. They doctored the District's Databanks on your behalf, didn't they?
(uneasy)
I must admit when I alerted the Police I expected to be allowed questioning some detainees, not... this. But! There's the Death Penalty for endangering the State, and all that, y'know.
(icy)
A Terror State, which doesn't hesitate to rob and kill the population, as they did on my home planet when we stood against 'em, not a decade ago! You're as evil as them!
The Empire knows nothing of that, miss. I could write a proper Report if you cooperate. Or should I deliver you to local Law Enforcement?
LOUD SIRENS SHRIEK all over the city!
All lights (but the fire & vehicles) GO OUT!
SHOTS are heard! Policemen et al. SCATTER!
Trying to react but WOBBLING, strangely weakened:
(His POV) FALL/BLINK to BLACK!
BLINK BACK to:
Rising from the car's back seats, wrist CUFFED to a door:
Nearby, in working (uniform-ish) clothes, BURNING official-looking DOCUMENTS (from a big pile) in a sizable FIRE:
People around CHEER.
Their...!? You managed a Revolt!? Don't you know how that always ends? You'll all be dead in a week!!
A Coup. Planet-wide, practically bloodless. Key Garrisons are neutral or with us. We control the Databanks and most Financials too. The other Planets in the Cluster will gladly recognize our new Government.
What new Government? Do you realize neither the neighboring Districts nor Trantor will accept anybody but the old Ruling Family here? Have you left any alive?
Re: the stream of unconscious PRISONERS:
(smug?)
We drugged their drinks with the same slow-acting hypnotic I threw at you. They and their criminal Ministers will be judged and publicly executed before the week ends.
I smuggled it in, within my dress. It's why I needed to be invited to that Party: Royals aren't searched!
Several FIGHTER PLANES fly (high) by.
(deflated)
Congratulations. You won the day. But your Royals have friends and Allies around the whole Province. Who do you have? Even their rivals will oppose you! The Galactic Empire works that way, I've seen it a dozen times, and if you antagonize it, the Grand Fleet will invade with their Legions or bomb this whole Cluster to rubble.
We won't antagonize anyone. This is a strictly local affair. We'll honor all the external Agreements and Commitments, Trade, mutual Defense... Nothing will change, and no-one will need to come kill us.
DROPPING more documents from the pile into the FIRE:
We'll negotiate with Trantor a new more affordable Tax regime so our people will be able to prosper!
(stern)
The Empire doesn't negotiate their lifeblood. You'll find yourselves paying war reparations. The survivors, that is.
(pokerfaced)
We'll see how we do it. Meanwhile, there's a ship waiting for you. Someone must officially carry our message, in case a Blockade prevents us from doing so.
(upset)
But he's an enemy! Got our friends killed!
Offering his CUFFED wrist:
Handing the car's KEYS to a couple associates:
As the ESCORTS board the car:
2 Case Files:
the Mystery Royalty
+
the Politically
unstable Cluster
STAMP 'em:
SOLVED
STAMP 'em:
Under
Internal
REVIEW
Laid on the bed, half-dressed (shorts) staring at the ceiling, a half-empty LIQUOR BOTTLE in hand:
The Court Martial was probably necessary.
On the other side of the bed, a NEWSPAD:
Newly appointed
Royal Heiress + MARK4 (nice photo)
heralds renewed Government
A subheader:
Intense diplomatic activity on the brink of War
Disciplinary action was perhaps deserved.
Faraway SOUNDS (laughter, CLINKING glass, music) of a big PARTY.
A couple emergency LIGHTS come to life, start blinking ORANGE.
The Belts are more lively than ever with all that's been happening around the Periphery.
MAIDS, SERVANTS busy at work, coming/going.
1 of 'em, pushing a SWEETS CART, gives RED+GOLD bands to a few others.
But I did nothing wrong!
The Liner JUMPS/BLINKS out!
Or did I?
BACK TO:
LATER. Different emergency LIGHTS.
NEWSPAD:
Admiral Akra retires after illness + an UNIFORMED OLD WOMAN's pic
Fleet to choose replacement
The WINDOW shows a static colorful STARFIELD.
Faraway SOUNDS (screams, BLASTS, running) of a brief FIREFIGHT!
A different half-full BOTTLE in hand, a flowery SHIRT on, snoring, FLOATING a couple centimeters above the bed, AGENT barely notices.
Varied items also FLOAT (near their normal positions).
The door is KICKED OPEN!
In the null-G FLOAT overturned FURNITURE, broken glass bits, several CORPSES...
The assembled 10+ PEOPLE (passengers, crew, others in leathery/sailory outfits, all ARMED, w/ RED+GOLD armbands or HEADBANDS) don't seem to mind.
ARRIVING (impulsed with hands/feet) at speed:
Captain, they surrendered! Ship's ours!
Hurrah!
Reading a PAD:
6 casualties: 2 dead, 4 injured. More than 2000 prisoners. The rest of our fleet will arrive shortly.
BLASTER in hand:
RAISING bottles & weapons (guns, swords):
Hurrah! HURRAH!
ARRIVING:
We found a bottle, stuck to a sponge!
He DRAGS AGENT (asleep, barefoot, disheveled, bottle firmly in hand) to the middle of the group.
That's the Soldier. Been onboard for weeks. Funny fellow, ex-military. Didn't talk much, unless you were a pretty lady.
He PULLS Agent's shirtsleeve to reveal a
DEATH
from
ABOVE tattoo on the biceps (w/ an eagle's SKULL).
Quite harmless while the alcohol lasts, but there was something about a pig of a Commanding Officer...
(MIMICS cutting own throat)
Peeking closer:
He tries to TAKE it, but:
He GRIPS the bottle tighter!
BOSS signals. 2 ROGUES try to snatch the bottle.
AGENT reacts fast, PUNCHES #1 on the nose, hard, KNOCKS #2 on the ear! (w/ the sturdy bottle)
Both REEL! The others LAUGH!
Straightening up, eyes blinking:
HOLSTERING his Blaster:
LATER, both hanging next to the (still static) window: (the bottle floating between)
Scarcity and necessity breed entrepreneurs like us. If a planet is struck by Famine but cannot afford extra food shipments, or speculation inflates the prices of treasured raw materials...
He UNCAPS the bottle, DRINKS, CAPS it again.
... or someone raises Import Duties beyond reason, or a carrion bird gets too wealthy and showy for their own good... It's only natural that market forces seek a better equilibrium. You follow me?
AGENT eyes the armed Rogues GUARDING doors & corners, AGREES.
The Imperial Fleet has but token presence in this Sector, their patrols are a joke. Trantor cares not what happens here, and we've all seen how things go elsewhere without a firm leadersip. A tough guy like you could do great with us.
TAKING the bottle:
Soldiering for fortune has crossed my mind. Closest thing was a few years guarding Fleet arsenals, driving vehicles, fixing things for booze, exchanging ammo for medicines...
He DRINKS.
Main LIGHTS activate.
Gravity RETURNS (in stages). Everything falls/settles on the floor.
Emergency SIGNS deactivate.
Looking 'round:
Our Technical squad will welcome you to their inexhaustible workpile. Meanwhile, if everything goes as planned, we'll be Jumping around for a week, or more, and rotting meat is worse than useless.
AGENT (unarmed, w/ RED+GOLD armband) + ROGUES (armed) gather (10s of) CORPSES onto wheeled luggage CARTS. (searching & sometimes robbing 'em)
Re: (dried) BLOOD stains:
Others systematically OPEN every door, CHECK every cabin, take note of PEOPLE & valuables before LOCKING 'em in again. (roughing any that try to resist)
At an INTERSECTION, a scared barefoot WOMAN runs (panting) past 'em, PURSUED by 2 ROGUES!
From an open door in the intersecting CORRIDOR:
AGENT cautiously pokes a SWITCH (with a screwdriver).
Outer doors SLIDE OPEN to the void of starlit SPACE. Air rushes out CARRYING small loose ITEMS.
BACK TO:
PEEKING thru a nearby Inspection Port:
A CLOUD of BODIES exits 1 of the outrider PODS.
BACK TO:
Impressed:
Indeed it is! The biggest and bloodiest of the Rogue Islands! Unbent and roaming for decades!
The CLOUD of BODIES mostly scattered away.
The big Liner ACTIVATES Shields & Engines. So does the ROGUE FLEET.
They RUN for a while, then all BLINK/JUMP OUT.
A big (raised-floor inset) BATHTUB half-full with a pearly IRIDESCENT creamy/oily liquid.
At its side, AGENT & ROGUE TECH work on a small CONTROL CIRCUIT.
In swimming TRUNKS:
I didn't find 'em, they contacted me. Nobody knows where they'll be unless invited to rendez-vous, and that only if you got the right kind of reputation and can provide something they want.
The bathtub starts BUBBLING!
1 moment, please.
Kneeling, gingerly TESTING the swirly bath with his fingers:
BOSS slowly enters the bubbly liquid, then SITS inside the bathtub.
If that's all, aft starboard Life Support is playing up again. My understudy can finish & close.
RELAXING:
ROGUE TECH EXITS.
Finishing his work:
FLASHBACK:
AGENT (well-muscled, in skimpy sports gear, small scars + tattoos showing) LIFTS weights.
YSE (20s, petite, goldenbrown hair in braided ponytail, skimpy sports gear) ENTERS.
He appraises her. She (playfully) RECIPROCATES.
BACK TO:
She should, given the alternatives. Go fetch her, then, and tell the cooks to send me dinner. Tomorrow will be a long day!
The door UNLOCKS.
KEYCARD in hand, entering:
He closes the door. Notices half-eaten food in a DISH on the nightstand.
He checks under the bed. Nothing.
He opens the bathroom door, swiftly BLOCKS a GLASS thrown at his face!
Inside:
Outside:
Throwing a table KNIFE at him:
DODGING:
SCREAMING, she LUNGES at him!
TACKLING:
AGENT carries (unconscious) YSE on his shoulder, bound & GAGGED.
Nel would approve.... Or not!
All work and no pay make bright lads go away! I left my rainy birthright for the Merchant navy (the Military were too strict for me), I saw many worlds, many sad tales, and then...
A CONSOLE fills with SIGNALS & DATA.
Dustworms! 10 or more! Here we go!
(to RADIO)
Bouncer to dancers: Party's over! I repeat: Time to go NOW!
Shouldn't we be assaulting an Hospital, to grab the more valuable Doctors and stuff before anyone could react?
That's a special request from NewTown. This is for us, and it also works as a diversion, like that time your mates smuggled a load of women into the Barracks. I loved that one, the way you told it!
FLASHBACK:
Thought no-one listened to my drinktime anecdotes.
BACK TO:
I did, sometimes, while checking things, before our seizing the Liner. Boss liked the idea too.
D
i
s
t
r
i
c
t
*
B
A
N
K
On the street below, 10+ POLICE CARS arrive, with their SIRENS, surrounding the Bank!
They won't. Boss will see to that with our Gunboats. He knows all the ins and outs of small planets like this, from his time in Orbital Traffic Control.
A group of DARK-clad ROGUES arrives, loaded with BAGS. They all CLIMB inside the DROPSHIP, which activates, then FLIES away! (fast & almost quiet)
BACK TO:
Most consoles ACTIVE.
PILOTING:
Ready for your Medical appointments, guys? We'll reach the other side of the city in a few minutes!
Beyond the open door, the others ROAR.
Nearby, a big floating makeshift CONGLOMERATE of SPACESTATIONS & SHIPS (of diverse makes/sizes/ages, many armed), w/ PATROLS.
Not far, 10s of parked SHIPS (many armed, of all makes/sizes/ages). Small SHUTTLES come & go.
Farther away, IN JUMPS the LINER (w/ a few escorts).
It should have been easy to sell 'em the Liner whole, but if we're gonna stay here half a day transferring the cargo, we could go shopping too...
(unhappy)
Forget it: you'd vanish soon as you set foot on that pit of depravity! Demand's high for all kinds of Techs. Scarce as they are, they fetch good prices. Someone strong like you would attract even more eager buyers. If you proved too stubborn, lowlifes would strangle you and sell your body parts. Happens too often.
I'd like to see you try, another day. We got work to do: they'll send a Shuttle loaded with broken things, and we'll try our luck with those here, under heavy guard, for our own safety.
A shuttle travels between the Liner & the Conglomerate, passes another going opposite.
A big boxy shuttle PARKED next to 1 of the Liner's Outrider PODS.
AGENT, ROGUE TECH & others, dirty/SWEATY, w/ tools, SURROUNDED by discarded PARTS, cables, nuts, bolts... WORK on a big kitchen-ish APPLIANCE.
LATER:
The boxy shuttle DEPARTS as the open/shielded DOOR closes.
ENTERING, with his guards around:
Tired:
WIPING his sweaty torso with his sweaty shirt:
Be glad we could fix a few things so NewTown's still happy with us!
Now would be the perfect time to review those juicy Arsenals of yours, the big ones where the large warships are fitted. The best kept secret of the Galaxy!
The guards POINT their Blasters at:
(grim)
The Fleet doesn't guard much anymore around here, didn't you notice? 1 day soon they'll be gone to never come back, and then whoever acts first could rule a Prefect! Even a Province!
Take a ship, you're a pirate, a murderer; take 100 and arm 'em, you're a strategist, a force to be reckoned with; take 1000, you're a King! It's happened enough times already!
The Rogues CHEER!
There must be Armories or Military Shipyards somewhere, lightly guarded, full of Blast Cannons, Railguns, Torpedos, or anything we could grab and use. Start talking unless you prefer to scream in a vacuum. And your girl too.
The Conglomerate SPLITS into 8-10 independent GROUPS, each of which accelerates AWAY from the others, then JUMPS (on different vectors)!
In 1s, 2s, 3s... the other ships JUMP too.
Among 'em, the LINER & escorts.
Flipping SCREENS:
The Imperial Fleet learnt long ago to keep their stuff away from populated areas. Many of the biggest Depots in fact aren't on populated planets.
There'll still be heavy Shields protecting everything. All a Garrison needs to do is call for help and relax, even if it takes weeks!
We'll point this heavy ship at their heads, loaded with rocks. Remember that Imperial Fortress the Zeonians clobbered with a mining station?
His fist IMPACTS the palm of his other hand.
Huh... If the Legends are true, Shields resisted, but underneath rock cracked and melted. Quakes and magma swallowed the whole thing days later, with the defenders still trapped inside.
Just so. A big reason why most places got heavy weaponry on their Traffic Control systems. But only near population centers. Our gunboats can handle an isolated Garrison.
Finally:
If memory serves, there's a lot of stuff gathering dust in that uninhabited System, but if anyone not on the books Jumps in too close, alarms will trigger automated missile Defenses.
Peeking closer:
By the big starlit windows, disheveled, BOTTLE in hand:
By the piano, idly caressing some KEYS:
PLAYING a few (improvised) piano notes:
Say goodbye to the simple life, mate: we're only a few more Jumps from ascending to a higher level! We'll be rich and powerful!
This big pleasure cruiser carries weapons for self-defense, to keep the status-quo. It's time to use 'em for a higher goal!
Bigger indeed! The Galactic Empire is a fraying illusion, held together by custom, inertia, power, need... But most people think only of themselves, their kin, their city, or at most their planet.
DRINKING from his bottle:
Old Seldon was an optimist. Where's his wisdom now? Swallowed by the barbarism of the Periphery. What a waste!
Nowadays it's everyone for themselves and damn the rest. The tide of decadence and strife sweeps everything. Rumours abound: even Governors and Captains of the Fleet...! But we can make a stand, with luck a tide of our own.
Discreet emergency LIGHTS come to life, blinking ORANGE.
PLONKING a discordant piano CHORD:
(firm)
They lived in a dream, part of the problem, either abusing their privileges like vultures, or quietly suffering like dust underfoot. We only woke 'em and improved our odds!
He falls ASLEEP too.
BLINK to BLACK!
Piano MUSIC.
A couple Rogue SCOUTS Jump IN, explore around.
A couple more ARRIVE, start exploring elsewhere.
Nothing but empty space!
In 1s & 2s, the rest of the Rogue FLOTILLA Jumps IN, incl. the LINER.
IN JUMPS an Imperial Taskforce of 4-5 BATTLECRUISERS + 100-120 smaller warships, in encircling FORMATION!
Small EXPLOSIONS all along the Liner's central SPINE! Shields & engines stop glowing!!
The other Rogue ships SCRAMBLE every which way! The Imperials open FIRE!!
AGENT (Blaster in hand) float-jumps too, mercilessly PUSHING away any who interfere.
From a lateral STAIRCASE:
AGENT punch-KNOCKS him out cold, LEAPS up the stairs!
The group's armed escorts FIRE back, but are OVERWHELMED.
All the Ordnance you may wish, and more!
The Liner, mostly DISABLED, drifts INERT.
Blasted wannabes: nobody told 'em the Fleet has no planetside Armories or Shipyards? Their big Leviathans reproduce among themselves like the oceanic monsters of yore!
YSE tied to the bed, gagged, unharmed, STRUGGLES (feebly) against her bonds.
The door is KICKED open!
Entering, HOLSTERING his gun:
We must go now, while we can!
The bathroom door's SCREEN displays:
HULL BREACH!
DANGER!
ABANDON SHIP!
He UNTIES her.
Remotely-detonated mines were hidden aboard this likely target months ago...
He swiftly CARRIES her to the:
Gently DUMPING her into the baththub:
He CLOSES the door, TURNS to work a few (erratically) blinking DIALS behind the mirror.
Most doors are locked. Main Escape Pod systems are out of service, but I made sure manual releases work here.
He uncovers a BIG RED BUTTON, pushes it!
GRABBING his Blaster:
A small but VERY CLOSE explosion ROCKS the whole room!
Sound of the Blaster FIRING!
FADE TO BLACK.
From 1 side of the Liner DETACHES 1 tiny bathroom-shaped ESCAPE POD.
FADE TO:
A Case File:
the Bloody Rogues
of Wellam Province
STAMP it:
SOLVED
BLINK TO:
Standing, in pristine FLEET ADMIRAL uniform:
Immobile on the (half-upright) bed, extensively BANDAGED & MONITORED:
Of course: noblesse oblige. We've sent her to her Father the Count, and her anxious future husband the Dukeling. Their political Alliance has waited long enough for that arranged Marriage.
Another Case File:
the Runaway Bride
STAMP it:
CLOSED
BACK TO:
(amused?)
The Captains endorsed my mother's pick, logically, since most of 'em were once her picks. Our big victory last month against those damn Pirates helped.
Unwrapping a small cloth-wrapped item:
Years sending our best Operatives to infiltrate those monsters... You're the first to come out alive.... barely. I guess this saved your bacon.
She hands him his CHARRED half-melted BADGE.
Appraising the half-destroyed symbol:
I couldn't leave it behind, hidden in a broken sewage pipe...
(in pain)
Unghh!! My life for the Service!
Giving him a shiny new GOLD/WHITE badge:
On the brink of emotion:
After the liner's beacon vanished, it was a surprise when 4 of the spare Hyper-Trackers we gave you reported from different coordinates within 3 separate Regions. We had to scramble to catch up to them!
We destroyed 3 of these darn 'islands', captured the 4th mostly intact. No sign of the rest, but perhaps the Psychic Probes will yield useful clues in the ongoing interrogations.
(firm)
Local Police will handle the rest. There's plenty powerful people keenly interested in this case, y'know. It's why my mother wanted a complete outsider to crack it.
A 3rd Case File:
the Bodyparts Conglomerate
STAMP it:
DISMEMBERED
BACK TO:
A (military) NURSE enters.
The nurse OPENS the big DOORS to:
These are the best Medical Facilities in the whole Sector. You'll be up and walking soon!
At ground level, PATIENTS, kin & NURSES walk around the grass, flowerbeds, benches...
Looking forward to it, Ma'am.
Beyond: (bird's eye view of) extensive PARKS, greenery, teamsports areas (in use), pools/reservoirs, fountains, small yet refined HOUSES (w/ some Imperial FLAGS, some "DEATH from ABOVE" flags), an open-air semi-circular AUDITORIUM, more tall buildings glimpsed in the distance...
Very few vehicles. People (civilians, Uniformed) WALK. A platoon of SOLDIERS jogs by, saluting any OFFICERS they cross.
I haven't earned it.
CAPTION:
12th FLEET HEADQUARTERS
APPROACH another line of TALL BUILDINGS with children playgrounds, BARRACKS, training grounds, etc... before them.
1 last thing...
Thru a window, ENTER:
Yes?
Beyond more classrooms:
Those Hyper-Trackers... they were smaller and much better than anything I've seen before.
After a deep STAIRCASE + (cargo) LIFTS:
Good stuff is harder to find every day... You'll have the chance to see where we got 'em... if you live.
Beyond big BULKDOORS:
There's a border dispute out in the Vanic Sector that could flare out of hand...
A big (snakey) articulated wheeled PLATFORM carries a long BLAST CANNON towards a bare-hull DESTROYER.
Cranes, 100s of WELDERS & PARTS around half a (wireframe-ish) HEAVY BATTLECRUISER (occupying 30% of the whole place?).
... now that a new ViceRoy has been appointed to replace an old Provincial Prefect.
Thru several STURDY WALLS w/ extensive piping:
Lots of movement over there, so near the Barbarians of the Periphery!
More giant PIPES, heat exchangers, reinforced liquid-filled CISTERNS, convoluted GIANT EM-gravitic-Jump engine-y MACHINERY...
INSIDE a fat spiraling PIPE full of creamy-cyan SCINTILLATING fluid, as it gets wider, permeated by lashing FIELDS which IGNITE the flow into HOT PLASMA, blowing it into titanic 'exhaust' NOZZLES until:
EXIT TO:
FADE IN:
EN ROUTE TO
THE OUTER BELT
What do you say?
All ships, in 1s, 2s, & 3s, JUMP/BLINK away!
No comments:
Post a Comment