B conquered by some margin.
Continued...
***
Travelling Music / a gleaming vista
The searing wind whips across your face, as the buggy races across the rocky landscape. Your duster is earning its keep, this day.
'S-so, what's your name?' Kindra shouts in your general direction. In the end, you had spared her life. For a moment, you even felt guilty, having actually considered executing the girl over such a trifling offense. Nonetheless, your annoyance was growing more and more pronounced. This was the third inane question she had posed in the last ten minutes. Her eyes, hidden behind oversized goggles as they were, revealed nothing. You cannot tell if she is actually this stupid, or is merely feigning it to distract you. Something about her, however, makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up quite tall. That was never a positive sign, in your experience.
'You may call me Innocent.'
She turns again to you again, her hair flailing. 'Is t-that really your name?'
'It is what you may call me.' As you give this answer, your eyes stay on the 'road'. Or the lack thereof, rather, seemingly stretching into forever before you. 'Are you certain we are heading in the right direction?'
'Yes, Mr. "Innocent", I t-t-told you. Th-this is the w-way to Iris. It's t-the only settlement in a t-thousand miles.' Her stutter almost seems to be getting worse.
'I believe you, Kindra.' A long moment passes. 'Are you in pain?'
She looks at you for a moment. 'Oh. No, it's f-fine. I wish you hadn't b-broken it, t-though.' You say nothing. She does not bother suggesting that you loosen the bonds holding her hands together. Trust was at a premium, in this fledgling convergence of interests.
'Mr, are you s-sure you don't wanna' t-trade for that weapon? Or the D-d-pad? I c-could hook you up with some p-people who could give you a good price. A g-great price. I'd only ask for a s-small commission.'
Despite yourself, you laugh. The idea that you would give up your needler in this situation was exactly that; laughable. For money, no less. Kindra simply looks at you. Perhaps she is bewildered by the reaction.
'Where do you c-come from, Mr.?'
Your voice grows colder. 'Somewhere else. Kindra, kindly stop asking questions. I have had a... difficult day.' You jump in your seat slightly, as the buggy goes over yet another loose rock. Grudgingly, you concede that it is a robust vehicle. Built for the terrain and arid conditions. You wonder how it ended up on a penal colony. There were no wardens, here. No guards. You had half expected to find nothing but rotting bodies and a few miserable shanty towns on this orb of red earth and harrowing wind. And
him.
'Y-your day will get b-better, Mr. Iris is close. Real c-close.'
***
Naturally, it is to be another three hours before you are finally afforded a glimpse of what passes for 'civilization' on Redsea. As you approach the town, you realise that your initial assessment of the situation was not entirely accurate. Iris seems to be a full-blown mining facility. A roughly circular and totally enclosed metallic dome, it is an oasis amidst the sands and the rock. A decrepit, rusting oasis - but an oasis nonetheless. Kindra awkwardly waves at you to slow down, as you near the main gate. You do so almost instinctively. There is activity up ahead. The gate rises, slowly, and two figures walk out from the darkness. Your eyes focus in on the rifles slung over their shoulders. Primitive, yes, but reasonably dangerous.
Where did these convicts get real weapons?
You grasp the needler, still hidden under the flaps of your duster. The natives un-sling their rifles and warily move toward your buggy.
'Kindra, is that you? Are you 'right?' the older one on the left shouts out. His greying beard betrays his age, even from a distance.
'I'm f-fine, Lucky. Just f-fine. This is Innocent. He's h-here to see Elias.'
The man on the right speaks out, his voice thin and highly pitched. 'Is he armed?' Kendra looks at you. 'Y-yes. But he's here to t-trade.' You fail to grasp the significance of that qualifier. Leaning in, she whispers, 'M-Mr., you should untie me, n-now. They might not like seeing me tied up.' You comply immediately and wordlessly, as the two men continue to close the distance between them and the buggy. They stop a few metres away, considering you in detail. Their fingers hang over rusting triggers. You estimate that you could likely kill both before they could even take aim. These are not trained men.
'Alright, go on.' You are unceremoniously waved through the gate. The men continue to eye you, as your buggy trundles past, and into Iris.
***
The inside is dank and poorly lit. A few figures can be made out, here and there, in the darkness. They are watching you. You are wary of activating night vision mode, as your eyes would take on a green hue - this does not seem a good idea, all things considered. You settle for your standard, far above average dark vision, instead. Farther away, the clanging sounds of industry can be heard. This mining operation may very well still be active. Something certainly is, anyway. Soon, Kindra points out an appropriate parking spot, and you disembark. She motions to you and leads the way forward through a maze of winding corridors. Though apprehensive, you nonetheless follow closely.
***
Eventually, you find yourself in a well constructed hall of some sort. More guards can be seen. They all wear some kind of weapon - though few seem to have the chemical rifles of the guards at the entrance of the complex. They watch you closely, and you watch them back. Colorful, intricate graffiti marks the walls all around you. Mentally, you concentrate on mapping out your route, in case you have to make an inopportune exit. Suddenly, a bald man interjects himself between you and Kindra, forcing you to stop mid-stride. He stands at least six foot four inches tall. More brawny than muscular, you nonetheless imagine him to be quite intimidating to his fellows. His stare is murderous, as he looks down at you, swaying threateningly from side to side. The needler stays firmly against your hip. If it comes down to it, your plan is to strike his throat and solar plexus, in that order. Though he is much bigger and heavier than you, there is little chance that can muster more power and raw strength. The whole issue becomes academic a moment later, as the brawler stumbles forward with a sickening thud, landing on his face.
'Have some decorum, Rodriq.' A voice rings out. It belongs to a middle aged man with a nasty smirk and strange scarring on his cheeks. Kindra stands by his side. A vicious baton extends from his right hand. His eyes are exceedingly blue. He smiles at you.
'Don't mind the lout. Welcome to my humble abode, sir. You have already met Kindra, who works for me. My name is Elias. I am the proprietor of this fine facility. I hear you bring a most fortunate trading opportunity to my door.' Before you can answer, he is already sitting on an ornate chair - or a throne?
'Perhaps. I am here for information and reliable means of transport.'
'And what is your name, seeker of information and locomotion?' Elias' smile continues to be unpleasant.
'Innocent,' you answer.
'Innocent of what? Are you the only real innocent on Redsea? No matter. I know you have a needler and a D-pad on your person. Very valuable items. Locomotion is not a serious problem. What is the information you seek?'
You cannot help but to shuffle in place, nervously. 'I am looking for someone. An individual who often goes by the name "Rivera". Have you heard such a name?'
Elias' steely blue eyes reveal nothing. 'Not at all. Most who come to Redsea lose their names along the way. Few, indeed, are fortunate to retain a last name. Those convicted of the worst crimes even have their memories wiped by our Confed "benefactors". It is a sad, sad story.' His voice is tainted by a characteristic drawl. 'Do you have any further information on this person?'
You consider your answer carefully. 'He is of average height and build. His skin has been known to change tone, though it was quite dark a few years ago. He keeps his head shaven, and there is a very particular tattoo at the base of his skull.'
'... No, nothing. Unless he, too, came down like a shooting star, though, I can at least point you in the right direction. And get you where that direction leads.'
Your gaze is even. 'And what will this cost me?'
Elias laughs heartily. 'Oh, just the needler and the D-pad.'
You do not hesitate. 'Unacceptable.'
'Maybe so, but consider your choices. Redsea is not a hospitable place. And for all the things you may have, what you haven't is a clue. My men barter their labour in exchange for food, shelter, slaves and drugs. If you want any of that in Iris - let alone the things you seek - then you must offer something in return. That is Trade. That is Law.'
You cannot help grimacing. Law, indeed.
Do you... give up your needler and data pad? In the end, they are conveniences. You will kill Him by any means necessary - no one said it had to be neat. The important thing is to get to him, as quickly as possible, and Elias affords you that opportunity.
OR
Do you... try to negotiate, without giving up your items? Surely, this Elias will accept a substitute. In the end, an exchange of services might be more palatable. Besides, you trust this individual only as far as you can throw him. Maybe less than that.
OR
Do you... wring your hands of this person? Maybe someone else in Iris can help. And, if not, you can always commandeer a buggy, a hostage and hope for the best. Or something like that. You do not need Iris or its contrivances. The best laid plans of mice and men...
Space western? Looking forward to it!
