Clink. Clink. Clink.
A gentle noise in the darkness, a smokey room. On a desk, several dozen gleaming blue cards had been stacked, their crstalline surfaces gleaming under the lamplight.
"Four hundred eighteen thousand credits... each. As promised." Said a voice, a woman's - low and sultry, full of a tempered confidence.
"Enough for the Reflectors... and of course, to tie up any loose ends, yes?"
There was a gentle grumbling in the room, murmured discontent swirling like sharks as uncertainty clashed head on with greed. The deal had been worked out far in advance - this, they all knew, but it was quite a bit different when certain destruction was bearing down upon you.
"Hmph. Fat lot of good it's going to do us if the Lamalice tear this place apart, like L5."
She couldn't help but give a smirk, unseen in the gloom. Traitor had a terse, penetrative ring to it, one that instantly made the head turn. Small wonder that they would seek to avoid being painted with it at any cost... a weakness that was easily massaged away by talented fingers.
"My benefactor isn't going to let that happen." She replied, reassuringly. "Our partnership... Will never need come to light."
Gradually, the murmurs began to die down. At length, a gloved hand reached out and gripped one of the cards on the table.
"For your sake..." Said a faceless, terse voice; "You'd best be right."
Viper-like, it retracted into the darkness - and there was the sound of hurried footfalls. More followed threats - murmured threats or expressions of gratitude multiplying in her ears, until every card had disappeared from the table. Sometimes, conducting business face to face was still the best way to ensure that everything went exactly as it needed to.
There was a whisper in her ear, and she leaned back, slender eyebrows creasing in concern. A long-nailed finger was raised, waving away the newcomer, and she turned back to the assembled group with a smooth, corporate smile.
"Gentlemen, we'll have to continue this conversation later..."
OE 102
January 19th
4 Cluster Space
Clyburn Colony Shipyard
All across L4, the populace of the Colonies was either rising up in defiance of certain destruction, falling into complete disarray, or quietly waiting for the inevitable apocalypse... Except, of course, for the Clyburn Colony, the latest of its kind. Little more than a skeleton with several lobe-like habitats carved out along its shape, the Colony's exterior was pockmarked with holes, and decorated with tethered, now silent construction equipment and ships. Construction of the new branch had been kept in political limbo, as representatives from the Directory sought to have the funds reallocated towards their own home districts - leaving the already dramatically overpopulated Colonies as they were.
What had once been seen as a marker of hope, of better things to come... Had become only the latest of symbols of oppression, and the residents status as second-class citizens in their own nation. All that dwelt on Clyburn now were space pirates...
...Or, so it was said.
The soldiers of Shadow Mirror, perhaps knowing better than most where to place a keen and sensitive ear, would have perhaps been aware of the Colony's other, lesser known function - one unfathomable to not only the heads of the Directory, but the very thing of their paranoid, propaganda-ridden fever dreams.
The Shipyard - heart, soul, and lifeline of any space Colony to the outside world, was dimly lit - even as the Lamalice descended elsewhere on L4, here, it seemed that some figures had congregated for an unusual meeting...
One that was about to receive an unexpected interruption.
A gentle noise in the darkness, a smokey room. On a desk, several dozen gleaming blue cards had been stacked, their crstalline surfaces gleaming under the lamplight.
"Four hundred eighteen thousand credits... each. As promised." Said a voice, a woman's - low and sultry, full of a tempered confidence.
"Enough for the Reflectors... and of course, to tie up any loose ends, yes?"
There was a gentle grumbling in the room, murmured discontent swirling like sharks as uncertainty clashed head on with greed. The deal had been worked out far in advance - this, they all knew, but it was quite a bit different when certain destruction was bearing down upon you.
"Hmph. Fat lot of good it's going to do us if the Lamalice tear this place apart, like L5."
She couldn't help but give a smirk, unseen in the gloom. Traitor had a terse, penetrative ring to it, one that instantly made the head turn. Small wonder that they would seek to avoid being painted with it at any cost... a weakness that was easily massaged away by talented fingers.
"My benefactor isn't going to let that happen." She replied, reassuringly. "Our partnership... Will never need come to light."
Gradually, the murmurs began to die down. At length, a gloved hand reached out and gripped one of the cards on the table.
"For your sake..." Said a faceless, terse voice; "You'd best be right."
Viper-like, it retracted into the darkness - and there was the sound of hurried footfalls. More followed threats - murmured threats or expressions of gratitude multiplying in her ears, until every card had disappeared from the table. Sometimes, conducting business face to face was still the best way to ensure that everything went exactly as it needed to.
There was a whisper in her ear, and she leaned back, slender eyebrows creasing in concern. A long-nailed finger was raised, waving away the newcomer, and she turned back to the assembled group with a smooth, corporate smile.
"Gentlemen, we'll have to continue this conversation later..."
OE 102
January 19th
4 Cluster Space
Clyburn Colony Shipyard
All across L4, the populace of the Colonies was either rising up in defiance of certain destruction, falling into complete disarray, or quietly waiting for the inevitable apocalypse... Except, of course, for the Clyburn Colony, the latest of its kind. Little more than a skeleton with several lobe-like habitats carved out along its shape, the Colony's exterior was pockmarked with holes, and decorated with tethered, now silent construction equipment and ships. Construction of the new branch had been kept in political limbo, as representatives from the Directory sought to have the funds reallocated towards their own home districts - leaving the already dramatically overpopulated Colonies as they were.
What had once been seen as a marker of hope, of better things to come... Had become only the latest of symbols of oppression, and the residents status as second-class citizens in their own nation. All that dwelt on Clyburn now were space pirates...
...Or, so it was said.
The soldiers of Shadow Mirror, perhaps knowing better than most where to place a keen and sensitive ear, would have perhaps been aware of the Colony's other, lesser known function - one unfathomable to not only the heads of the Directory, but the very thing of their paranoid, propaganda-ridden fever dreams.
The Shipyard - heart, soul, and lifeline of any space Colony to the outside world, was dimly lit - even as the Lamalice descended elsewhere on L4, here, it seemed that some figures had congregated for an unusual meeting...
One that was about to receive an unexpected interruption.
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