Re: THIS PROGRAM HAS BEEN CANCELED [S!1][ROUND TWO: ETA CARINA]
05-30-2012, 05:04 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Sanzh.
Kriok stared at the cocktail in front of her.
An examination of its chemical composition proved inadequate at determining what it was-- a miasma of exotic organic molecules were dissolved in the beverage, all of which were unidentifiable. She dipped a clawed finger into the glass, stirring the drink. A rainbow of hues hummed from the liquid, changing in pitch with every stir-- the concoction was reminiscent of the living sensory scramble seated next to her.
"You should try it. It's got Yaelja's nectar mixed in-- well, not hers, but her species. I ordered it just for you, thought it might take the edge off things." Maria encouraged. Yaelja sheepishly blushed a trumpet fanfare at the mention of the drink's ingredients. The pair expectantly waited for the avian to drink.
The avian glanced back at the pair, gauging their reactions. Cracking her beak open, she poured some of the iridescent fluid down her open gullet. New displays on her visual interface lit up, notifying her that the mechanical scrubbers of her digestive tract had safely neutralized the chemical mixture. Kriok craned her neck to stare at Maria and Yaelja, angling her head downward in a reproachful stare.
Maria slumped in disappointment. "Apparently you're supposed to 'become the ocean' if you drink that, whatever that means. Although I guess it didn't work. Mm, maybe later?"
For a moment, there was a lull in the conversation. Maria silently waited. Kriok picked at a platter of assorted fruit, occasionally scrutinizing a piece before shredding it along the sides of her beak. After a hesitant cough, the receptionist began.
"You, uh, you said you were feeling confined?"
She apprehensively reached an arm out to comfort Kriok, only for the avian to adjust in her seat. The nerrin's tail feathers rustled, sweeping from side to side; her clawed feet tightened around the legs of the chair.
Kriok nodded. "The inter-dimensional transit mechanism is offline. Until it returns, I cannot leave--" Kriok waved her fabricator arm, indicating the entirety of Eta Carina "--this. I no doubt expect that there are other redundant layers designed to prevent movement."
Yaelja said something-- a brilliant topaz, clarifying that, while Eta Carina was not nestled within a pocket dimension, there was little travel out towards the distant reaches past the nebula.
Maria leaned forward. "You don't-- you don't really think the battle is still going, do you?"
Kriok warbled in disagreement. "No other explanation exists. No doubt the authority responsible for our supposed rescue could have isolated us, kept us on an indefinite stasis-- any one of many measures. No reason exists to have relocated us together. No readily accessible escape exists, isolating us here. No explanation exists for any motivations other than prolonging the battle."
"Don't you think you're taking this a bit too seriously?"
Kriok briefly glared at Maria, before turning her attention to the condition of her belongings-- chief among them, the kinetic accelerator. Hooked fingers pried at bits of its machinery-- securing cables, flicking at battery clamps, checking the superconductor coils, ensuring the device was intact and operational.
A hollow tap resounded on her metal shoulder, interrupting her work. Kriok angled around-- a robot, shrouded in layers of obscuring robes, held out a folded note in deferential politeness. She grabbed it, flicking it open and scanning it over, memorizing every detail.
Kriok looked around once more.
The messenger had vanished. Her cybernetic eyes danced over the note a second time, even though she had saved every letter, every phrase. Algorithms shredded through the information, processing it in search of an alternate meaning. The synthetic fibers accompanying her muscles twitched. Releasing her grip from the stool, Kriok left the bar, politely excusing herself from Maria and Yaelja. At a quick, nervous pace, she entered a nearby restroom.
---
"Yeah, I think there is potential here."
Montcorbier stroked his chin. His eyes rolled across the page one last time, before he grabbed its folder. His hand raced across the table, selecting several more dossiers. As he gathered his belongings, he casually addressed his backer. "Alright, Blocky, I think I know how I'll get you your heist. I'll be around, in the meantime I have a few calls to make. I'll let you know when you need to roll the cameras, just let me, ah, do my thing."
Blockbuster bobbed the incandescent cloud approximating his head, standing aside to let Montcorbier leave. Throwing open the door, Montcorbier strode out of the studio's office and into the brilliant Eta Carina night. He had been awash between its sandy shores and glamorous highrises for many years during his career, but only now did he once again feel attuned to its prestige, its decadence. As he walked, he felt himself slipping back into the ebb and current of the strip; every step brought him closer to its rhythmic pulse. The distant lights of once-plundered casinos illuminated the sky-- Montcorbier could trace out which ones had been particularly lucrative heists. He made a sly grin. This heist would be one to remember, one to put alongside the greatest capers Eta Carina had been graced with. With one last jaunty step, the master thief hopped into the back of a requisitioned armored van.
A canopy of monitors decorated one end, enough to give him somewhere to work away from Blockbuster's obsessive attention. An assortment of other equipment lined the walls-- not the specialist tools that would be necessary, but enough to get started. He pulled his smoking jacket off, settling in front of the array of screens. At the press of a button, several flicked on. He pulled a keyboard forward, sending out a handful of messages to what remained of his network of contacts in Eta Carina. Having set that in motion, he turned his attention to another monitor-- one displaying a familiar face. A warm smile stretched across the thief's face as he spoke.
"It's been a while, Tick. You ready for one last heist?"
Montcorbier's broadcast surged outward, forcing itself out past the snarling, tempestuous void surrounding Eta Carina and into a nearby pocket dimension. Communication arrays snatched at the signal, collecting it from its journey; milliseconds-long automated processes immediately set to work-- removing errors, filing away at encryption, piping the message to its recipient. Information traveled along lengths of cable, reaching a mind-impulse unit and translating itself into a series of neurotransmitters-- crossing from technology to biology, circuits to synaptic gaps.
Reaching back, Tick's hand pulled at the cables feeding into his cranium. His other hand twitched, as though typing at an immaterial keyboard; his eyes reflexively flitted back and forth with the constant communication between his mind and the banks of computers assembled behind him. He subconsciously paused several of the operations, straightening himself out to maintain a veneer of presentability for Montcorbier. His skin blotchy and wrinkled, his muscles atrophied-- the human supercomputer was a distant opposite from the sharp, aristocratic appearance of the gentleman-thief. He focused on the camera Montcorbier would see through, and spoke.
"Expected you had never fully given up. Anticipated an eventual return to crime, lifestyle far too glamorous to abandon." Tick's voice, despite its raspy tenor, was quick and frenetic.
Montcorbier raised a hand. "It's only this one heist, Tick-- and I assure you, as much I would love to return to that old life, we both know I'm well past my prime."
Tick's finger flitted back and forth, scanning an invisible database. "Transmitting this message from Eta Carina, intend to go all out." There was a brief pause, as neurons synchronized with the cycling of processors. "Committing a heist there tantamount to suicide, ninety-seven point three percent chance of failure. No cross-dimensional escape available with sub-entanglement failure, all casinos maintaining latest security protocols. Possibility of successful operation mini--"
"It won't be like last time, Tick." The thief interrupted. "We'll be able to assemble our own team, and I already have a few leads."
Tick chuckled. "Could have assembled any sort of team, would have participated. Aware of my propensity for beating probabilities. Challenge such as this impossible to refuse."
A smile cracked across Montcorbier's face. "I knew I could count on you, Tick. As it stands, I already have something that will require your, ah, technical expertise. There's someone here on the Eta Carina strip I need to talk to. I've sent her a message, but I think I'll have to talk to her before she'll be willing to help us, let alone meet me in person. That's where you come in."
A new packet of information sifted its way from the computer banks into Tick's cerebral network. Rolling through the pages of new intelligence-- his eyes restlessly squirmed, his hands trembled with the imperfect communication between flesh and machine. He finally re-adopted a modicum of normality.
"I can arrange this."
---
Within the confines of the restroom, the roar of the casino floor had been reduced down to a quiet din-- the clicks and whirrs of gambling were almost unnoticeable; the raucous conversations between aspiring socialites dulled to a murmur. Kriok stared at herself in the mirror, looking at the insecurities reflecting back at her. Worries surrounding the battle, the dangers of Eta Carina-- uncertainty had gripped her. Even the limited trust she had placed in Maria was called into question-- the avian had never met the managers of The Traveler's Rest; they were an inscrutable enigma with an utterly unknown course of action. All these thoughts rattled throughout her facsimile neurons, only stopped by a subroutine's reminder of her purpose here.
She glanced at the note again. It stated-- in no uncertain terms-- that someone was willing to help her escape, and that further information would be available anywhere away from the crowds.
The ruffled feathers, fidgety posture, the constant, meticulous scanning-- as much as the avian attempted to straighten herself out, her agitation was plainly evident. An inquisition of subroutines stressed the faulty reasoning in her decision to investigate the letter. A processor cycle noted that the missive made it explicitly manifest that someone on Eta Carina knew about her-- where she was, her motivations, no doubt other facets. The notion of placing trust in someone with such leverage over her was antithetical. Kriok tugged at her artificial limb, nervously trying to reconcile her paranoia with the hope that someone was willing to help her.
A universe away, neural machinery worked its way through layers of digital security. Twitching with each successive hack, the biological computer finally broke through-- and entered a peripheral section of Kriok's interface.
Kriok's vision sputtered-- layers of networks paused, then restarted and begun functioning once again. The avian tensed with the interruption, wondering what had prompted this glitch. After a brief lull, her embedded communication interface opened up. Super-imposed over her regular vision was a new optical feed, that of an elegant, confident human. An audial feed soon followed.
"Hello, Kriok." Montcorbier began, his tone collected and assured.
Whirling around, Kriok's hand seized her re-purposed mining implement, aiming it around the unoccupied room. Whatever was left her vision was jumbled-- scanning information scrawled across, alongside alerts and warnings. "How are you contacting me?" Kriok irately chittered, trying to veil her outright hostility.
"I, ah, had the help of a friend. I'm afraid this was the only way I could talk to you. You see, I want to make a job offer for you."
Kriok pushed the door to a vacant stall open, then immediately moved to the next to confirm that the restroom was unoccupied. She quickly retorted back to Montcorbier. "Yes, and I have had several groups clamoring for my attention or wishing for me to follow lockstep with their plan. How are you any different?"
The thief smiled in an expression of calculated warmth. "What makes me different is what I can offer you. Your freedom."
"I-- I see." Taken aback by forthright answer, Kriok paused, faltering over her precise, logical diction. Part of her-- the same part that decided to follow up the note-- wanted to take his brazen assurance and believe it, believe that someone was willing to assist her. More circumspect faculties, however, quickly reasserted themselves, pushing aside sanguinity in favor of paranoid cynicism. Subroutines vivisected his speech, finding faults and inquiries with every syllable. Kriok placed little confidence in anyone else, and this individual was no different.
"And how, exactly, can I trust your claim?" She demanded.
"You can't, but unless you think you can leave without my help, you'll have to--"
A indignant clack of the avian's beak interrupted Montcorbier. "You are presuming I am incapable of escaping on my own. What prevents me from merely waiting for inter-dimensional travel to become available once again?"
"Well, you could certainly try. I doubt you'd get that far."
Composed, unhesitating-- the thief allowed himself the luxury of a sly grin as he leaned back, slipping into his element. "Eta Carina isn't a place you easily leave, Kriok, surely you've noticed that. I mean, let's assume travel resumes. After that, let's, ah, pretend your passport is in order. You do have your papers, right?"
Kriok's foot scraped against sanitized tile as she uncomfortably shifted; she was burdened with the realization that navigating Eta Carina's bureaucracy would be next-to-impossible.
"Ah, I see. Shall I continue?"
Montcorbier took Kriok's silence as an indication to do so. "Now, let's assume you can pay for your ticket out; the fare can get quite, ah, exorbitant. Eta Carina's not the easiest place to leave. Far too many come here to become wealthy and fail entirely-- it's all too easy to accrue a lifetime's worth of gambling debts and find a return ticket impossible to afford. You no doubt didn't notice the debtors but they are, ah, everywhere. Eta Carina is an insidious trap, I'm afraid-- quite easy to enter, rather difficult to leave for all but the most affluent."
A moment passed-- Montcorbier withdrew a cigar and a lighter, taking a moment to smoke while his pronouncement sank into the recursive programs of Kriok's consciousness. A thin haze of smoke floated from his mouth, lazily drifting upwards with his beguiling words.
"Of course, even having made these generous concessions, you still aren't home. Finding your universe amongst a truly infinite number is quite difficult. This is to say nothing of the dangers for a green such as yourself-- even with your proper level of suspicion. Not every dimension frowns upon crime as Eta Carina does."
Kriok's cybernetic eyes tightened in an approximation of an irate glare. "This is--"
"--I am offering you a chance to circumvent all of these dangers, Kriok. You have a, ah, unique sets of skills that I am in need of. I have the capacity to ensure you're returned home." Montcorbier's voice took on an intimidating certainty, buried underneath its calm, aristocratic tone. "We both know you have no other option, Kriok. You can choose to wait for an escape that will never come, or you can take my offer. If you wish to leave Eta Carina, find me. The Resplendent Palace. Ask for Montcorbier."
The broadcast abruptly ended-- the flood of alerts faded, the scanning information died down to a baseline registry. Outside of the dull, background hum of automated processes, Kriok was once again left to herself. Her own thoughts and subroutines reasserted themselves, trying to piece together the exchange she had just had. Part of her wanted to flatly reject Montcorbier's proposal. He had her name, her motivations, the capacity to provide her utmost desire; an errant nerve-cycle markedly noted that someone with such leverage could not be relied upon.
And yet, with every impulse of neural circuitry came acceptance of the futility in refusing his proposition. Kriok had no alternative. She was talented, but lacked the acclimation necessary to survive in the turbulent climate of Eta Carina, something the thief could provide. Kriok adjusted her external implants once more-- the heat-sinks, the cumbersome reactor mounted on her back, the cables feeding to and from the fabricator apparatus. The prospect of escape, now that it was almost tangible, amplified her tensions and made the most minor of mechanical fluctuations causes for alarm.
Near-silence reigned in the restroom for several minutes more. Kriok strummed her taloned fingers against her fabricator's metal casing. Accepting Montcorbier's offer was the most logical course, yet more cautious faculties still queried and advised.
After another minute, the avian decided. She left the restroom-- unsurprisingly, both Maria and Yaelja were patiently waiting outside.
"Is-- is everything alright, Kriok? You were in there for a while, Yaelja and I were kind of worried." Maria began, her sympathy genuine.
"I am fine. I have something I will need to take care of, however, and I am not sure when I will return." Moving between the receptionist and the sensory jumble, the avian left-- rapidly advancing across the casino floor, until she was out of sight.
Maria frowned. Cold, dispassionate, logical-- as much as Kriok was all of these, the receptionist still cared for her. The impression of the bandages wrapped around the avian remained fixated in her mind; it was no doubt the handiwork of the battle. The thought of leaving Kriok alone once more, abandoning her to some fate only that only circumstance could save her from-- Maria refused to tolerate such an idea. She tapped Yaelja on the shoulder.
"I need you to follow her, as best you can. I-- I don't want her to get hurt. I can't let that happen, not again."
Yaelja nodded curtly, before going off on her own in cautious pursuit of the cybernetic alien.
---
"Neglected specific detail. Discovery of said detail likely to be, er, problematic."
Montcorbier swiveled in his seat, reorienting to face his hacker. Another cloud of cigar smoke drifted throughout the van. He tilted his head quizzically in response to Tick's remark. "And what would that be, exactly?"
"Eventual use of operation as entertainment. Subject objected to similar scenario, high probability of similar reaction in new instance." Tick's hand exhibited its usual spasmodic twitching-- yet it was purposeful, as neurons fired one after another in the dissection of electronic security.
"And we both know that she'll never discover that, now, don't we?" Montcorbier chuckled.
And yet, despite their assurances and the smiles exchanged, both men knew that detail did not sit right with them.
Kriok stared at the cocktail in front of her.
An examination of its chemical composition proved inadequate at determining what it was-- a miasma of exotic organic molecules were dissolved in the beverage, all of which were unidentifiable. She dipped a clawed finger into the glass, stirring the drink. A rainbow of hues hummed from the liquid, changing in pitch with every stir-- the concoction was reminiscent of the living sensory scramble seated next to her.
"You should try it. It's got Yaelja's nectar mixed in-- well, not hers, but her species. I ordered it just for you, thought it might take the edge off things." Maria encouraged. Yaelja sheepishly blushed a trumpet fanfare at the mention of the drink's ingredients. The pair expectantly waited for the avian to drink.
The avian glanced back at the pair, gauging their reactions. Cracking her beak open, she poured some of the iridescent fluid down her open gullet. New displays on her visual interface lit up, notifying her that the mechanical scrubbers of her digestive tract had safely neutralized the chemical mixture. Kriok craned her neck to stare at Maria and Yaelja, angling her head downward in a reproachful stare.
Maria slumped in disappointment. "Apparently you're supposed to 'become the ocean' if you drink that, whatever that means. Although I guess it didn't work. Mm, maybe later?"
For a moment, there was a lull in the conversation. Maria silently waited. Kriok picked at a platter of assorted fruit, occasionally scrutinizing a piece before shredding it along the sides of her beak. After a hesitant cough, the receptionist began.
"You, uh, you said you were feeling confined?"
She apprehensively reached an arm out to comfort Kriok, only for the avian to adjust in her seat. The nerrin's tail feathers rustled, sweeping from side to side; her clawed feet tightened around the legs of the chair.
Kriok nodded. "The inter-dimensional transit mechanism is offline. Until it returns, I cannot leave--" Kriok waved her fabricator arm, indicating the entirety of Eta Carina "--this. I no doubt expect that there are other redundant layers designed to prevent movement."
Yaelja said something-- a brilliant topaz, clarifying that, while Eta Carina was not nestled within a pocket dimension, there was little travel out towards the distant reaches past the nebula.
Maria leaned forward. "You don't-- you don't really think the battle is still going, do you?"
Kriok warbled in disagreement. "No other explanation exists. No doubt the authority responsible for our supposed rescue could have isolated us, kept us on an indefinite stasis-- any one of many measures. No reason exists to have relocated us together. No readily accessible escape exists, isolating us here. No explanation exists for any motivations other than prolonging the battle."
"Don't you think you're taking this a bit too seriously?"
Kriok briefly glared at Maria, before turning her attention to the condition of her belongings-- chief among them, the kinetic accelerator. Hooked fingers pried at bits of its machinery-- securing cables, flicking at battery clamps, checking the superconductor coils, ensuring the device was intact and operational.
A hollow tap resounded on her metal shoulder, interrupting her work. Kriok angled around-- a robot, shrouded in layers of obscuring robes, held out a folded note in deferential politeness. She grabbed it, flicking it open and scanning it over, memorizing every detail.
Kriok looked around once more.
The messenger had vanished. Her cybernetic eyes danced over the note a second time, even though she had saved every letter, every phrase. Algorithms shredded through the information, processing it in search of an alternate meaning. The synthetic fibers accompanying her muscles twitched. Releasing her grip from the stool, Kriok left the bar, politely excusing herself from Maria and Yaelja. At a quick, nervous pace, she entered a nearby restroom.
---
"Yeah, I think there is potential here."
Montcorbier stroked his chin. His eyes rolled across the page one last time, before he grabbed its folder. His hand raced across the table, selecting several more dossiers. As he gathered his belongings, he casually addressed his backer. "Alright, Blocky, I think I know how I'll get you your heist. I'll be around, in the meantime I have a few calls to make. I'll let you know when you need to roll the cameras, just let me, ah, do my thing."
Blockbuster bobbed the incandescent cloud approximating his head, standing aside to let Montcorbier leave. Throwing open the door, Montcorbier strode out of the studio's office and into the brilliant Eta Carina night. He had been awash between its sandy shores and glamorous highrises for many years during his career, but only now did he once again feel attuned to its prestige, its decadence. As he walked, he felt himself slipping back into the ebb and current of the strip; every step brought him closer to its rhythmic pulse. The distant lights of once-plundered casinos illuminated the sky-- Montcorbier could trace out which ones had been particularly lucrative heists. He made a sly grin. This heist would be one to remember, one to put alongside the greatest capers Eta Carina had been graced with. With one last jaunty step, the master thief hopped into the back of a requisitioned armored van.
A canopy of monitors decorated one end, enough to give him somewhere to work away from Blockbuster's obsessive attention. An assortment of other equipment lined the walls-- not the specialist tools that would be necessary, but enough to get started. He pulled his smoking jacket off, settling in front of the array of screens. At the press of a button, several flicked on. He pulled a keyboard forward, sending out a handful of messages to what remained of his network of contacts in Eta Carina. Having set that in motion, he turned his attention to another monitor-- one displaying a familiar face. A warm smile stretched across the thief's face as he spoke.
"It's been a while, Tick. You ready for one last heist?"
Montcorbier's broadcast surged outward, forcing itself out past the snarling, tempestuous void surrounding Eta Carina and into a nearby pocket dimension. Communication arrays snatched at the signal, collecting it from its journey; milliseconds-long automated processes immediately set to work-- removing errors, filing away at encryption, piping the message to its recipient. Information traveled along lengths of cable, reaching a mind-impulse unit and translating itself into a series of neurotransmitters-- crossing from technology to biology, circuits to synaptic gaps.
Reaching back, Tick's hand pulled at the cables feeding into his cranium. His other hand twitched, as though typing at an immaterial keyboard; his eyes reflexively flitted back and forth with the constant communication between his mind and the banks of computers assembled behind him. He subconsciously paused several of the operations, straightening himself out to maintain a veneer of presentability for Montcorbier. His skin blotchy and wrinkled, his muscles atrophied-- the human supercomputer was a distant opposite from the sharp, aristocratic appearance of the gentleman-thief. He focused on the camera Montcorbier would see through, and spoke.
"Expected you had never fully given up. Anticipated an eventual return to crime, lifestyle far too glamorous to abandon." Tick's voice, despite its raspy tenor, was quick and frenetic.
Montcorbier raised a hand. "It's only this one heist, Tick-- and I assure you, as much I would love to return to that old life, we both know I'm well past my prime."
Tick's finger flitted back and forth, scanning an invisible database. "Transmitting this message from Eta Carina, intend to go all out." There was a brief pause, as neurons synchronized with the cycling of processors. "Committing a heist there tantamount to suicide, ninety-seven point three percent chance of failure. No cross-dimensional escape available with sub-entanglement failure, all casinos maintaining latest security protocols. Possibility of successful operation mini--"
"It won't be like last time, Tick." The thief interrupted. "We'll be able to assemble our own team, and I already have a few leads."
Tick chuckled. "Could have assembled any sort of team, would have participated. Aware of my propensity for beating probabilities. Challenge such as this impossible to refuse."
A smile cracked across Montcorbier's face. "I knew I could count on you, Tick. As it stands, I already have something that will require your, ah, technical expertise. There's someone here on the Eta Carina strip I need to talk to. I've sent her a message, but I think I'll have to talk to her before she'll be willing to help us, let alone meet me in person. That's where you come in."
A new packet of information sifted its way from the computer banks into Tick's cerebral network. Rolling through the pages of new intelligence-- his eyes restlessly squirmed, his hands trembled with the imperfect communication between flesh and machine. He finally re-adopted a modicum of normality.
"I can arrange this."
---
Within the confines of the restroom, the roar of the casino floor had been reduced down to a quiet din-- the clicks and whirrs of gambling were almost unnoticeable; the raucous conversations between aspiring socialites dulled to a murmur. Kriok stared at herself in the mirror, looking at the insecurities reflecting back at her. Worries surrounding the battle, the dangers of Eta Carina-- uncertainty had gripped her. Even the limited trust she had placed in Maria was called into question-- the avian had never met the managers of The Traveler's Rest; they were an inscrutable enigma with an utterly unknown course of action. All these thoughts rattled throughout her facsimile neurons, only stopped by a subroutine's reminder of her purpose here.
She glanced at the note again. It stated-- in no uncertain terms-- that someone was willing to help her escape, and that further information would be available anywhere away from the crowds.
The ruffled feathers, fidgety posture, the constant, meticulous scanning-- as much as the avian attempted to straighten herself out, her agitation was plainly evident. An inquisition of subroutines stressed the faulty reasoning in her decision to investigate the letter. A processor cycle noted that the missive made it explicitly manifest that someone on Eta Carina knew about her-- where she was, her motivations, no doubt other facets. The notion of placing trust in someone with such leverage over her was antithetical. Kriok tugged at her artificial limb, nervously trying to reconcile her paranoia with the hope that someone was willing to help her.
A universe away, neural machinery worked its way through layers of digital security. Twitching with each successive hack, the biological computer finally broke through-- and entered a peripheral section of Kriok's interface.
Kriok's vision sputtered-- layers of networks paused, then restarted and begun functioning once again. The avian tensed with the interruption, wondering what had prompted this glitch. After a brief lull, her embedded communication interface opened up. Super-imposed over her regular vision was a new optical feed, that of an elegant, confident human. An audial feed soon followed.
"Hello, Kriok." Montcorbier began, his tone collected and assured.
Whirling around, Kriok's hand seized her re-purposed mining implement, aiming it around the unoccupied room. Whatever was left her vision was jumbled-- scanning information scrawled across, alongside alerts and warnings. "How are you contacting me?" Kriok irately chittered, trying to veil her outright hostility.
"I, ah, had the help of a friend. I'm afraid this was the only way I could talk to you. You see, I want to make a job offer for you."
Kriok pushed the door to a vacant stall open, then immediately moved to the next to confirm that the restroom was unoccupied. She quickly retorted back to Montcorbier. "Yes, and I have had several groups clamoring for my attention or wishing for me to follow lockstep with their plan. How are you any different?"
The thief smiled in an expression of calculated warmth. "What makes me different is what I can offer you. Your freedom."
"I-- I see." Taken aback by forthright answer, Kriok paused, faltering over her precise, logical diction. Part of her-- the same part that decided to follow up the note-- wanted to take his brazen assurance and believe it, believe that someone was willing to assist her. More circumspect faculties, however, quickly reasserted themselves, pushing aside sanguinity in favor of paranoid cynicism. Subroutines vivisected his speech, finding faults and inquiries with every syllable. Kriok placed little confidence in anyone else, and this individual was no different.
"And how, exactly, can I trust your claim?" She demanded.
"You can't, but unless you think you can leave without my help, you'll have to--"
A indignant clack of the avian's beak interrupted Montcorbier. "You are presuming I am incapable of escaping on my own. What prevents me from merely waiting for inter-dimensional travel to become available once again?"
"Well, you could certainly try. I doubt you'd get that far."
Composed, unhesitating-- the thief allowed himself the luxury of a sly grin as he leaned back, slipping into his element. "Eta Carina isn't a place you easily leave, Kriok, surely you've noticed that. I mean, let's assume travel resumes. After that, let's, ah, pretend your passport is in order. You do have your papers, right?"
Kriok's foot scraped against sanitized tile as she uncomfortably shifted; she was burdened with the realization that navigating Eta Carina's bureaucracy would be next-to-impossible.
"Ah, I see. Shall I continue?"
Montcorbier took Kriok's silence as an indication to do so. "Now, let's assume you can pay for your ticket out; the fare can get quite, ah, exorbitant. Eta Carina's not the easiest place to leave. Far too many come here to become wealthy and fail entirely-- it's all too easy to accrue a lifetime's worth of gambling debts and find a return ticket impossible to afford. You no doubt didn't notice the debtors but they are, ah, everywhere. Eta Carina is an insidious trap, I'm afraid-- quite easy to enter, rather difficult to leave for all but the most affluent."
A moment passed-- Montcorbier withdrew a cigar and a lighter, taking a moment to smoke while his pronouncement sank into the recursive programs of Kriok's consciousness. A thin haze of smoke floated from his mouth, lazily drifting upwards with his beguiling words.
"Of course, even having made these generous concessions, you still aren't home. Finding your universe amongst a truly infinite number is quite difficult. This is to say nothing of the dangers for a green such as yourself-- even with your proper level of suspicion. Not every dimension frowns upon crime as Eta Carina does."
Kriok's cybernetic eyes tightened in an approximation of an irate glare. "This is--"
"--I am offering you a chance to circumvent all of these dangers, Kriok. You have a, ah, unique sets of skills that I am in need of. I have the capacity to ensure you're returned home." Montcorbier's voice took on an intimidating certainty, buried underneath its calm, aristocratic tone. "We both know you have no other option, Kriok. You can choose to wait for an escape that will never come, or you can take my offer. If you wish to leave Eta Carina, find me. The Resplendent Palace. Ask for Montcorbier."
The broadcast abruptly ended-- the flood of alerts faded, the scanning information died down to a baseline registry. Outside of the dull, background hum of automated processes, Kriok was once again left to herself. Her own thoughts and subroutines reasserted themselves, trying to piece together the exchange she had just had. Part of her wanted to flatly reject Montcorbier's proposal. He had her name, her motivations, the capacity to provide her utmost desire; an errant nerve-cycle markedly noted that someone with such leverage could not be relied upon.
And yet, with every impulse of neural circuitry came acceptance of the futility in refusing his proposition. Kriok had no alternative. She was talented, but lacked the acclimation necessary to survive in the turbulent climate of Eta Carina, something the thief could provide. Kriok adjusted her external implants once more-- the heat-sinks, the cumbersome reactor mounted on her back, the cables feeding to and from the fabricator apparatus. The prospect of escape, now that it was almost tangible, amplified her tensions and made the most minor of mechanical fluctuations causes for alarm.
Near-silence reigned in the restroom for several minutes more. Kriok strummed her taloned fingers against her fabricator's metal casing. Accepting Montcorbier's offer was the most logical course, yet more cautious faculties still queried and advised.
After another minute, the avian decided. She left the restroom-- unsurprisingly, both Maria and Yaelja were patiently waiting outside.
"Is-- is everything alright, Kriok? You were in there for a while, Yaelja and I were kind of worried." Maria began, her sympathy genuine.
"I am fine. I have something I will need to take care of, however, and I am not sure when I will return." Moving between the receptionist and the sensory jumble, the avian left-- rapidly advancing across the casino floor, until she was out of sight.
Maria frowned. Cold, dispassionate, logical-- as much as Kriok was all of these, the receptionist still cared for her. The impression of the bandages wrapped around the avian remained fixated in her mind; it was no doubt the handiwork of the battle. The thought of leaving Kriok alone once more, abandoning her to some fate only that only circumstance could save her from-- Maria refused to tolerate such an idea. She tapped Yaelja on the shoulder.
"I need you to follow her, as best you can. I-- I don't want her to get hurt. I can't let that happen, not again."
Yaelja nodded curtly, before going off on her own in cautious pursuit of the cybernetic alien.
---
"Neglected specific detail. Discovery of said detail likely to be, er, problematic."
Montcorbier swiveled in his seat, reorienting to face his hacker. Another cloud of cigar smoke drifted throughout the van. He tilted his head quizzically in response to Tick's remark. "And what would that be, exactly?"
"Eventual use of operation as entertainment. Subject objected to similar scenario, high probability of similar reaction in new instance." Tick's hand exhibited its usual spasmodic twitching-- yet it was purposeful, as neurons fired one after another in the dissection of electronic security.
"And we both know that she'll never discover that, now, don't we?" Montcorbier chuckled.
And yet, despite their assurances and the smiles exchanged, both men knew that detail did not sit right with them.