nexus_sages | (no subject)

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Kazuhira Miller has made himself at home at a cozy Nexus seating group. He pores over a spread of newspapers and magazines covering a plethora of universes and alternate Earth timelines. To one side, a text book on theoretical physics is opened to a chapter on string theory and a cup of black coffee has formed a puckered ring over Donald Trump's leering face on an issue of Time Magazine.

He lays his current paper flat on the adjacent coffee table, leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and loosely clasp his palms. "What's the strangest news you've ever heard? Or, if you'd rather: what world event would you say has affected you the most?"

Miller's head turns and points to a four-inch stack of glossy flyers. He sighs. "And ... while we're at it, when did newspapers become seventy-percent ads?"

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*She looks the patch over when he draws attention to it. She had a feeling, and this confirms it: he's pretty much the last kind of person she'd want to see getting their hands on a PINpoint. Dimensional and temporal travel in the hands of someone running a mercenary company--it's too good a strategic advantage to pass up, inserting personnel anywhere, anywhen, making every supply line a single portal in length, backstopping cover identities by actually going back in time and filing the appropriate paperwork on the proper machines. Who wouldn't use an advantage like that?*

I'm a bounty hunter. Fully licensed in the Galactic Federation and several adjacent jurisdictions, threat class G. Rated for search-and-destroy, live capture, retrieval, delivery, escort, and recon.

*She taps her wrist, and a hologram projects from the back of her hand, a cloud of information the future looks on as equivalent to a driver's license.*

Kaz whistles, impressed by her credentials. "You'll have to give me your number. For purely professional reasons, of course. I'm always looking to expand our network of contacts."

He extends a hand. "By the way, the name's Kazuhira Miller. 'Kaz' for short."

You think you can afford me?

*Her smile is wry as she reaches past the extended hand to clasp the forearm behind it. Maybe handshakes are a little different in space.*

Samus Aran. Samus for short, Hunter Aran if we're being professional.

Miller laughs. "We're still scraping the guano and barnacles off of our second-hand offshore plant. So ... not right now, unless you're offering any steep discounts."

He tenses instinctively when she clasps his wrist, ready to counter whatever CQC maneuver she might be trying to pull. When nothing comes of this, he relaxes and belatedly returns the gesture.

"A pleasure, Hunter Aran."

*She notices him tense, and can't resist a chuckle.*

Likewise, Mr. Miller. Nervous?

*The gesture done, she withdraws her hand.*

Mm, I do take on the occasional project for more ephemeral reasons than money.

"I'm not afraid to admit I get tense around powerful women," he retorts, emboldened by the laughter.

"I like to think we're not completely lacking a moral compass, if that's any consolation. The primary goal of the MSF is not to become the exclusive tool of any particular country or ideology; to pick and choose clients at our discretion. It's not all about grubbing money."

He inhales a hissing breath. "Even though, at the moment, we are a little desperate for venture capital ...

"That said, let me know if you ever want to take on a charity case, haha."

You can relax. I couldn't hurt you if I wanted to.

*A hand slides behind her neck, seemingly to adjust her hair, but comes back holding something small and pistol-ish. It's leveled at Miller in less time than it takes to tell, and she squeezes off three shots of crackling energy, dead-center...*

*...which, of course, dissipate harmlessly against him, leaving no more sign of their passing than a slight smell of ozone. And as quick as the weapon is drawn, it's spun in the palm of a hand lifted away from him and into a gesture of almost-surrender, fingers open, thumb curled around the stock of the weapon.*

Nothing can, unless you consciously allow it--or attack first. You're quite safe from me.

*She sits back, slowly, taking care to present body language that seems at ease, rather than preparing a follow-up strike. Her lips twitch upward in a hint of a smile as she carries the conversation onward, as though she hadn't just done something shocking.*

I'm glad to hear it. I find ethics especially precious among the professionally violent. And as charity cases go, well... I'm willing to go farther for a friend than for a job.

*Unspoken is that he's heard already how far she'll go for a job.*

All of this happens far too fast for Miller to do anything more than throw up his arms reflexively. After the shots are fired and the AV field does its work, he reluctantly lowers them. He smiles wryly.

"Let's see ..." Miller begins counting on his fingers. "In the past 48 hours, I've been punched, almost set on fire, and now shot at. I think I'm getting the hang of this anti-violence thing."

He leans around, looking for wherever that pistol disappeared to. "What the hell kind of weapon was that, anyway?"

*Her answering smile is just as wry.*

My, you are popular.

*The weapon is still in view, held in a very clearly not-ready-for-combat manner until he's relaxed. Once he has, she flips it around to a proper grip again with an alacrity that might make the earlier gesture of placation seem dubious.*

Flex-yield multi-function light stunner. Set well below lethal, right now, just in case.

"Ha! I know! Everyone wants a piece of me! Back in my home world, a guy beat me within an inch of my life and now I'm his second in command."

Kaz reaches out to touch the weapon, stopping short to give Samus a look that says may I?

"Fancy! Didn't look like solid rounds. Some kind of electric pulse?"

That's an interesting employee retention program.

*She notes his stopping short, and inquiring look, and reverses her grip on it to relinquish it.*

Electrical pulse on a braided magnetic carrier beam. I think most Earths have some light electrical weapons contemporary to your era?

*Worth noting is that the gun goes dark when it leaves Samus' hand.*

"Hey, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em." Kaz takes the weapon and turns it over gingerly before testing the grip. As clear as it is that the gun is inactive and the anti-violence field is a thing, he still keeps it trained downwards.

"A NASA engineer recently developed what he called a TASER; it fires electrodes connected by wire. Not the most elegant design." He laughs. It's actually embarrassing compared to this beauty of a gun.

"It's not exactly the same as this puppy, but there's plenty of speculative work being done with concentrated electromagnetic waves, lasers, sonic waves... Given the zeal of the arms industry, I wager we'll have some viable directed energy weapons in no time. Not nearly this compact or nuanced, though." He offers the gun back, grip first.

Pragmatic, to a point.

*She notices the good gun-handling habits, and silently approves.*

Taser, that's the one. It's a fair start.

*Receiving her weapon, she tucks it away behind the nape of her neck again.*

To be fair, this has a few development cycles on your taser. You'll get there, I have no doubt. Most of the Earths I've seen have some directed thermal weapons for crowd control by the turn of the millennium. So, something to look forward to.

"Kinda grim, isn't it? Looking forward to new weapons development?" He chuckles humorlessly. "Then again, it does make the job a lot easier. Less collateral damage, in theory."

His hands no longer occupied, he returns an arm to the back of the couch. He adjusts his shades and looks at the milling Nexus travelers. "So with your bounty hunting ... have you broadened your client pool to these alternate universes? No doubt you could clean up in a less advanced world, kick up your feet and retire early. Take up the equivalent of golf in future-space?"

Your Earth's just getting to the stages where nonlethal options start becoming as viable as lethal ones. That's something to look forward to.

*She follows his gaze, watching the travelers for a moment. His question gets a sniff.*

I've done some hunting in other Facets, usually for friends. If I wanted to get rich and retire, I'd drop the professional violence and make a fortune on interdimensional commodity trade. Break open expired heat sinks and sell the diamonds, use that to buy up things rare in my Facet and bring them home. But I've got other reasons for hunting.

"Huh. Good point. I hadn't considered the commodities angle. Now there's some endless possibilities." He hums thoughtfully and files that one away for future reference. He might have to draw up a proposal for that.

"So what drives the hunting, dare I ask? Love, honor, revenge ...?" He says the last part playfully, like the tagline for a shitty novel.

Be careful about accidentally importing or exporting microbes. Good way to start a pandemic.

*Among those endless possibilities, it's important to watch out for the bad ones.*

Revenge is close. I hunt because the people who killed my family still exist. People like them still exist. If someone doesn't fix that, more people like me will exist, and no one else should have to go through that.

"Another good point..." He frowns, his entrepreneurial enthusiasm wanes ever so slightly.

"So you're trying to end the vicious cycle? A noble goal, if a little on the lofty side. Who's to say your efforts won't, you know, inspire new vendettas? Those people you're after probably have family themselves, right? Family who might hunt you down in turn?"

*She'd like to gently put the brakes on that enthusiasm of his before he starts to think of importing technology and ruling the world or sitting on a pile of patents and enough licensing fees to buy it. Just in case those are ideas he might have. Her tone cools, though, as she answers his question; something cold and terrible uncoils within her, peeking out through her eyes in an expression gone hard.*

Their organization encompasses their entire species. They have some debtors and customers among the criminal elements, but no true allies. Anyone who would mourn their loss is welcome to make their presence known.

Oh, those gears were already beginning to turn. He's a businessman after all.

"So we're not talking about humans at this point?" Kaz watches his tongue after the earlier racist comment, but Samus' change in demeanor makes him think she wouldn't mind a little xenophobia in this case. "Not driven by the same ethics, honor, et cetera?"

"For all I know, humans have cornered the market on vengeance."

*Perhaps, but now that she's said something, she'll feel partly responsible if he wrecks his world or universe by getting careless, and she'll feel the need to step in and try to fix it. Nobody wants that. For now, though, she'll relax, tucking that deadly part of herself away again.*

Not human, no. The Galactic Federation simply terms them Space Pirates--they've so enthusiastically taken to the act that they've become the definitive article. Their ethos is galactic hegemony and dominance, by any means available.

*Even for the pirates, though, she won't tolerate xenophobia--there are so many better reasons to hate them that crude tribal "they're-not-us"ism betrays a disappointing lack of imagination.*

Oh, don't worry, humans aren't the most vengeful species out there.

"Do they even have the resources to overthrow a galaxy? Even by future standards, that has to spread a force awfully goddamn thin, right? And communicating orders across that distance? How does that even work?" So many questions!

Kaz taps his temple. "I mean, my brain's still set to think in terms of a single planet, so this is utterly insane to me."

They don't, thankfully, but their idea of sufficiency is taking from others, so since sufficient resources exist in the galaxy to inhabit essentially all of it, they could eventually, conceivably succeed. Long-range communication is less of a problem than you'd think--various FTL comm networks span portions of the galaxy already, it's just a matter of the technology existing and the infrastructure being in place.

*She nods understandingly.*

The logistics of it are daunting. The Galactic Federation is the largest hegemony in the galaxy, and it still doesn't claim anywhere near the whole thing.

"So you've dedicated your life wiping these pirates out? Is that where the world-destroying tactics come into play? I can't imagine anything less would phase an enemy that large."

His mouth twists into a grimace. "Still, seems downright sisyphean. Retribution really drives us to keep pushing those boulders, huh?"

I have, it is, and it does.

*There's a fierce satisfaction in those last two words. The Space Pirates are the terror of the spaceways, an army of fear that strikes where and when it likes. Faced with armies, their answer is slogans of superiority and heavy firepower. The moment she enters a theater of engagement, all their bravado turns to shrieking panic. It's delicious.*

One of the tales I was raised on was of a Warrior who pushed a glacier into the sea with his hands, mostly through determination. I wouldn't be surprised if Sisyphus finished with that rock someday--and on that day, I wouldn't want to be whoever put it in front of him.