(Untitled)

[the_measurers]

Last year, Geldeheim City had glittered for them, cold and translucent like a collection of great icecubes. This time, it was as if someone had taken a hammer to those icecubes. Many buildings still stood, but some were bisected, shattered by beams of power, or perpetually burning with magefire. Some of the city's ubiqutuous flat 3d projection

Comments

Re: [The Men In The High Castle]

[barefootbg]

A new holiday. A job for the Missionaria Protectiva if ever there was one. As the closest thing to the Missionaria that exists in this unfamiliar universe, the Bene Gesserit Order should offer its expertise to the Geldeheim leadership.

It so happens that Mother Superior Murbella has never specialized in anything remotely related to the Missionaria, and would be far better suited to kicking people in the head.

Screw the new holiday. Murbella's going to bring the fight to the Fay'lia. If when she's finished up it turns out the council still hasn't figured out what kinds of wintergifts to give, and what kind of mythological figure should be credited with the giving, then Murbella will see about tapping Other Memory for some relatively unproblematic alternatives. She does know what not to suggest.

"Introductions?" Time to lay everything out on the table before the group sees action. "I'm Murbella. I've had extensive training in unarmed combat. I'm also capable of inducing sexual thralldom in susceptible males of the human species. Whether this would work on the Fay'lia, we'll likely have no time to test. As a negotiator, my skills incline toward force and duress. Have we got any fast talkers among our number here?"

[standaloneshell]

Motoko wasn't strictly given to outlining her full skillset for the benefit of strangers, let alone dubiously loyal newcomers, but a bare minimum of operational capabilities would always by necessity be made known. She was packing a rifle of impressive size- it was almost as tall as she was, a precision instrument of precision death. Disassembled and packed up it would fix into something the size of a duffel bag and weighed more than two-hundred kilograms, but first it would need to be cleaned. She was in the final stages of that process now- and damn the hippies and their sabotage. This was a rebellion, not a sit-in. Killing would eventually be a necessity, and the hidden scope of an assassin was often the least of all evils.

Still, though it didn't look it, looked for all the world like she was preparing to leave on her own, backup or no, she was listening. Motoko knew intimately Sheeana's ability in combat, and it was good to know that this woman was not significantly different in training and skill, at least so far as this particular briefing ran.

"I'm Major Kusanagi. I've specialized in infiltration and special ops. If there are no objections, I'd like to treat this operation as a simple clean up. The revolution is all but complete here. If we want to gain the advantage, we need to take the tower and its resources, not let them hamstring the tech or take it with them."

There are three kinds of leaders, those who pursue power, those who have it thrust upon them, and those that in time of crisis step into the role- if only to keep it out of another's hands.

[barefootbg]

Kusanagi's speed to take the lead amuses the Mother Commander, who hasn't shared her Chapterhouse title for a reason. "We've a fast talker after all," murmurs Murbella, loudly enough to be overheard, "if not the sort I had in mind." More crisply: "Major, what objections might you have expected?"

[standaloneshell]

"You're new here, aren't you," Said in that familiar tone of all in-groups; noob, learn your place, "Take a look at the demographics in the volunteer population and tell me that there's no possibility that someone isn't going to suggest we simply talk to them."

And if you don't like her being in charge, Murbella, then how about you come over here and say it to her face. Motoko's not a stranger to challenges for power, but right now isn't the time. She's having none of it.

[barefootbg]

Aggression! Murbella's eyes dance. It's as though she's caught a scent she especially favors.

What amuses her is the clear alpha-wolf bristle, the automatic assumption that she, Murbella, will want to take charge of the operation. What gave her that impression? "Major." She smiles. It's an oddly soft expression on the hard oval face, an effect of the lips she was bred for. "Objections without substance deserve no consideration." Think I defer to you, if it eases our path. But know this: I'll not regurgitate my kill for you!

[standaloneshell]

When she had worked in Section Nine, Motoko had made no bones about expressing her near-constant annoyance at imperfections in management style. The ferocity of her animosity kept underlings on their toes- even veterans. But as luck would have it her experiences with Sheeana had led Motoko to a different approach, at least when someone turned glowing blue sclera on her.

Petit perception functioned in that it allowed those that had mastered it the skill to interpret miniscule movements in face and body, to determine intention or truth. For the Major this function was replaced with software, but another benefit of her cyborg nature was that she could, if she liked, become absolutely still in both face and body. Yes, Murbella was beautiful and tempting, but coming from a world where anyone with money could be physically perfect the effect was muted; a clash between the art of genetics and the sculpted plastic perfection of a machine-operated assembly line.

She stared out of a doll's face at Murbella, considering behind her perfect mask the dishonesty of her word and tone, and then looked away as if uninterested.

Well, it would have to do. If she became a problem then there would come repercussions. Time to go to work- peace might be the end goal of this job, but nothing said that this little pocket of Fay'lia had to be a part of that.

[1standonly]

A tall, thin man on the transport, wearing a peaked cap, and very dark clothes overlaid with a red sash speaks up.

"We fething kill them, in the name of the Emperor. While I'm a political officer, there's too much at risk here for anything other than a hard hand."

What Gaunt isn't saying, but is fairly clear for those who've been briefed, is the Colonel-Commissar is looking for revenge. He twitches his storm coat briefly, three obvious weapon-bulges beneath them, and his slender face is very, very hard. The eyes are chilly too, as he finally introduces himself.

"I'm Colonel-Commissar Ibram Gaunt, the representative of the Imperium of Man in this place, tasked here by the Inquisition, under the orders of the God-Emperor of Mankind himself."

He pauses, looking at his data-slate. "That being said, if we intend to make a clean sweep of these fellows, we'll need to be careful. The casualties from an engagement with just a few Fay'lia troopers escorting their ambassador on the Feudal World we recently visited were... significant. I lost half my retinue."

He looks to Murbella, then to Motoko. "I'd like to hear some ideas on how to negate their advantage in weapon-tech. Close in, I'd imagine we can probably kill them, but... we'll have to ascertain how to launch a close assault first. Just trying to sneak up with my camo-cloak will probably end disastrously."

[barefootbg]

Murbella appraises the Colonel-Commissar and does not find him wanting.

"Hmmmm. The advantage could be lessened, at the very least, if they were incapacitated prior to engagement. Consider, perhaps, chemical warfare. Of a kind."

She tries to raise Sheeana on the comm.

"Sister. Your worms. Have you a quantity of the Water of Life?"

[worm_dancer]

Sheeana's voice came crackling over the comm unit. "I can have some down to you in a few hours, Mother Superior."

[barefootbg]

"Make it so, Sister. With my thanks," adds Murbella. To Kusanagi, Gaunt, and any others who may be part of this powwow, she explains:

"The Water of Life gives us two options, both powerful. If we wish to incapacitate them without harm, it's within my power to convert the Water of Life into a consciousness-expanding drug. They will cease to behave militantly, as they enter a spice orgy. Provided none of you ingests it, you will not suffer the effects." She pauses. "Untreated, the Water of Life will kill them. That is the other option it affords."

[standaloneshell]

Motoko regarded the exchange without comment, tactical simulations churning through in tandem with the more human assessments of cause and effect.

"Or they'll notice the effects on the first few dozen to ingest it and begin filtering the water," But the water was a point of weakness, one she'd disregarded. Many of the advantages of training she'd had in limitations and urban warfare were negated by the fact that those limitations no longer existed. One could not simply cut power to an entire financial-district building in the capitol city of Japan, after all.

"Cut off their water. In three days they'll either surrender or we'll give them a tainted supply," And that was all the nod she'd give to Murbella.

There was no underground exit, according to intel, no hidden way out and if they could lift from the roof or sneak out through a tunnel, they would have already. The building was a fort, but one with a throat that a relatively small force could wrap its hands around, "Anyone who tries to leave early we can pick off at the door. Remind me, how are you at range?"

[1standonly]

"I'm not a sniper, but I'm a fairly good hand with these." He draws two matte-black pistols with ridiculously fat barrels, and explains, "These are bolt pistols. They fire miniature rockets that have mass-reactive rounds, which explode after penetrating body armor. They are capable of piercing skirt armor on most light armored fighting vehicles. As for what they do to humans, or fleshy xenos-forms, well, the results are dramatic, to say the least." There was a reason bolt pistols were popular among commissars, both for summary executions of shirkers, and for terminating any foes that dare stand against them. It was their expression of brute imperial power, in the form of an utterly deadly .75 caliber pistol.

He reholsters them a moment after explaining them. "The water idea is a good one, either denying it or converting it to a poison that renders them inert, or dead." He considers for a moment, "A prisoner or two, disarmed, mind, would be useful to our cause for both propaganda and intelligence reasons. Perhaps if we acquired one of their heretical kill-rods, we could ascertain the functionality behind it as well."

[worm_dancer]

After you've discussed everything, have a cool, refreshing jug of Water Of Life in your choice of Poison or Orgy Fuel flavors. Mmm mm mm. Also attached is a note for Murbella: Sister-Send my sincerest uroshnor to former senator Wergern: widow's peak, stocky build, salt and pepper hair. There you go, assault team, your trump card: one imprinted loyalist, from last year, who will turn on his masters with the word.

[barefootbg]

Uroshnor. Ahhh-h-h, her Sister has done well. "And thy path shall be made straight," murmurs Murbella.

The former senator would be a loyalist human. No imprinted Fay'lia, but the means to acquiring one.

"The kill-rod I can't promise. The prisoner, I'll acquire," she says to Gaunt. Her eyes glint, her jaw is set. She loves a challenge.

She may have to render a Fay'lia soldier quadriplegic and haul him in slung over her shoulder, mind, if the transmuted Water of Life doesn't affect him the way it would a human; but by the Holy Rock of Dur, she'll bring one back.

[1standonly]

"Do it." Gaunt nods, and says, "I'll have my two remaining troopers move up, along with myself, in case things get fethed up."

[barefootbg]

Murbella nods. She's glad to have competent people involved.

To Motoko, she shoots an interrogative look. "Ready?"