Contract #5: Marcus Bell: Enemy of the State!

[GM Nick]

The Nissan Hound stops to refuel in Port Hueneme. There, surrounded by gunships and combat drones, Max exchanges a flattened pack of cigarettes and a wad of soiled Ameribucks with a pockmarked engineer for a bit of discretion. Comrades in tobacco. Contraband gasoline fills the helicopter's innards while the team wrinkles their noses at the infusion of salt water, rocket fuel, and rust.

A ravaged-yet-still-resplendent scene of Cal Free State rolls by underneath, like a drunken tri-D in fast forward mode. At one point, a group of children chase the elongated shadow of the Hound from their slums all the way to a border fence. Their tiny faces press against the chain-link, gazes lost in dreams of the 'copter's destination and what lies beyond their own unfortunate circumstance.

Eureka is desolate--deserted. Tyros, Sinjin and Val resort to siphoning fuel from a derelict 797 on a tarmac waist-high in weeds. A cavalcade of tracer fire lights up the sky near the hound as they're leaving. Not even close. Someone is howling at the moon.

It's all business in Portland. Max presents papers with a gleaming smile, idly imagining the microscopic pheromones he'd had tailored as they drift of their own accord. Right into the nostril of airport security. Yes, sir. No, sir. Thank you, sir. Robot-perfect asphalt. Reinforced walls with mounted auto-turrets. The team waits on the fueling pad for a jumbo vector to taxi past them. The Renraku logo on the side gives Firestarter the shivers.

And then, as the sun is rising again; Seattle. The first visible landmark is the renovated space needle, an unintended phallus. The city is a kingdom of futuristic skyscrapers, all competing to pierce the poisoned sky. It's a thousand robot hands plunging from the haunted earth, all testaments to commerce and conflict and obsession and greed. Past Seattle proper are the bento boxes of burbclaves or suburban city-states. The commuter traffic are veins of color, sometimes lost against the even-now bright glow of holographic billboards, but always, always present.

Seattle transforms at this point, as if someone dropped a giant invisible sushi knife on the city and separated the flesh from the guts and unedibles. The Barrens is an unfathomably long stretch of shanty towns, scrapyards, buildings clearly painted by schizophrenics and strip malls. A few brave townships huddle together here and there, giant fences around their boundaries to keep out the bad guys. The hound's proximity sensor chirps a couple times, but it's just gangers taking potshots at the 'copter from the roof of an abandoned office building. Whatever second-hand firearm they're using falls several hundred meters shy of being any kind of threat.

Finally, the city gives up its abhorrent intrusion on the land, and the outliers of the Seattle's limits begin to disappear. Doc banks the helicopter, taking it toward the wide open wasteland.

Firestarter headquarters is within sight for only a few seconds before the team deems that there is something afoot. A caravan of vehicles is parked both outside and within the courtyard confines of the former-UCAS depot that they call home, all bearing the olive-drab that is the universal color for military. A pair of juggernaut combat drop-ships flank the convoy. The Hound's radar is going absolutely nuts, screaming to anyone who will listen about the hundreds of weapons below and how they could possibly be used to drop the 'copter out of the sky.

The members of Firestarter exchange bewildered, heat-stroked glances with one another. An unspoken thought passes between all present simultaneously. Something big is happening and it's going to change the company forever.

[John]

A thousand thoughts race through the elf's head all at once. His first thought is that BioDrive is somehow onto them and their arrangement with Jeffe. Max quickly dismisses this idea, as there's simply no way that the biotech firm could be aware of their double-cross so early on. Who, then? Shia? Renraku? It all looks too military to be the forward team of any security force from from the private sector. The colors drains from Max's face as he quickly comes to the only military entanglements the group has ever faced. 'Bell.'

Max sits in his seat in a state of agitated anxiety as the helicopter banks for another pass of the facility. Finally able to break his eyes from the intruders in their compound, Max looks at Doc and sees the recognition of their straights in the medical wizard's eyes. Grimly, Max mutters,

"This is gonna get ugly, amigo."

[Drew Buddy]

Adams keeps his hand steady on the controls, and continues to ease the hound into the airspace above the compound.

"Well it certainly ain't getting any prettier," he replies, scanning the small army below. His finger rests near the trigger of the twin miniguns.

He looks over with a condemned man's grin and asks, "Well, shall we have a little chat?"

He flips the comm switch,

< This is FRSR 1 Light to the unidentified military force below. Please identify... And explain just what the frag you're doing in our home. >

[GM Nick]

A radio transmission crackles over the primary channel.

< Solid copy, FRSR 1 Light. This is Bulldog 2. Just your friendly neighborhood UCAS platoon checking in for a social call. Major Clark has some official business. You're clear to land your bird. How copy? >

[John]

Max is clearly unconvinced, and says,

"Nothing like a social call from the goonsquad. I don't like it-- friendly chats tend to stay friendlier when not conducted with men in tanks who've broken into your home."

[Drew Buddy]

Adams nods,

"On the other hand, this could be our biggest client yet. Getting brownie points with the largest military force in the region would be a nice balance against all the enemies we've collected."

He flips the transmit switch back on,

< Bulldog 2, FRSR 1 Light copies. See you on the dirt. >

The hound dips low over the ground, the landing skids buzzing a meter above the fence line and military vehicles. The rotor wash kicks up dust and the bits of trash that encroach on any land that happens to be near Seattle. At the last minute, Doc pulls back on the lever and twists his wrist, and the helicopter leans back and flares the rotor blades, bringing the vehicle to a stop before setting down.

"Just had to remind him who owns this place," he says with a grin as the engine spools down.

[John]

Max gives Doc a slight smile and turns his attention to the military vehicles, looking at them warily. Without wasting any time, Max unlatches the safety harness in the co-pilot's seat and pulls the door open by its lever. The cool, damp air of Seattle greets him well as it washes over his desert-dry skin. Max takes a cigarette from his pack, thinking that he has to cut down as he does, and calls out to the occupants of the ATVs,

"Alright, so who wants a beer?"

[Stephen]

A thimble's worth of tension drains out of Val's muscles when it becomes clear that the goons don't intend to gun them down on the spot, but there's still plenty of residual as the chopper sets down in the yard. Creeping through the anxiety is a mounting annoyance at the facility's human and automated security setup. FRSR should not have flown into this potential drekstorm surprised. What the frag do we pay those guards for, anyhow? Val would never expect them to repel a force such as this themselves, but radio silence on the matter is nigh inexcusable. I swear, if they're not bound and gagged somewhere I'll truss them up like fraggin' hogs myself. Val makes a mental note to look into coding an automated early warning system into the security infrastructure.

Val unbuckles himself from his jump seat and hops from the chopper into the maelstrom of dust created by the Hound's decelerating rotor blades. His gaze sweeps over the soldiers, the convoy of ground vehicles, and the drop-ships, all bristling with enough firepower to raze this corner of Seattle faster than Val could take a shit. Some social call. Guess this Major Clark isn't one for subtle messages.

After the last few days, Val was so looking forward to nothing more than having a drink or three, having a few laughs with (or more likely at) Kato, and sleeping for a fraggin' week. He draws in a breath as the beginnings of a weary sigh, and coughs violently when his throat fills with dust. Good start to whatever the hell this is all about. Fan-fragging-tastic.

He saunters out of the rotor wash toward the waiting convoy.

[GM Nick]

A young female human in fatigues quickly approaches the chopper, the only clear sign of her gender is a blonde ponytail peeking out from beneath her helmet. She studies the team for a second from behind a polarized combat visor. Her salutations include a hasty salute.

"Private First Class Kowalski, sirs. I'm to escort you to Major Clark."

She takes a hurried, almost embarrassed look over her shoulder.

"Sorry about all this."

[John]

Max hesitates a moment and gives Kowalski a once-over. After the moment passes, he says,

"So that's a no on the beer, huh? And where's the Major at the moment? What if we don't feel like dropping everything to go meet somebody who felt it appropriate to break into our facility to get our attention?"

[GM Nick]

Kowalski hooks her thumbs in her tactical vest and tilts her head.

"You'll want to hear what the Major has to say. I'm not privy to the information, but I'm sure he has a very good reason for intruding. Oh, and by the way, your bartender let us in."

[Stephen]

Val grimaces. Kato. Just lets a platoon of armed soldiers through the gate without a word. I bet he offered 'em dinner from our stores and a nap in my bunk too.

Val jerks his head in the direction of PFC Kowalski. "Lead on, then. The sooner this is over with, the sooner I can get some fragging sleep," he mutters. Fat chance of that, 'mano, he corrects, and chuckles to himself darkly.

[GM Nick]

The young private leads the team through a throng of UCAS troops, many of whom cast curious but respectful glances at the mercenaries. Standing at the base of a drop-ship is a well-built mulatto human male in BDUs, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. A dash of gray creeps into the military buzz-cut on his head, interrupted at the left temple by a faint scar. He appears to be speaking with Kato, who is nodding and sucking heroically on what could be considered a burning filter.

Clark turns his head as the team approaches.

"Thank you, Private. Dismissed."

He extends a hand to Max; recognizing the elf immediately as the spokesman for the team.

"Gentlemen. First I must apologize for the intrusion. I would not had it been without good reason."

[John]

Max's barely-concealed-hostility abates gradually as he senses none from their guests, but the elf hasn't lived through this much drek by trusting so quickly. Remaining suspicious, Max proceeds cautiously into the conversation by nodding respectfully to the military officer, before turning a playful but agitated glance to Kato, and saying,

"Friends of yours, Kato?"

The elf grins with a mix of incredulity and annoyance, before returning his attention to Clark,

"Alright, Major-- as you can no doubt assume-- you have our attention. What is it that we can do for you?" Max gestures to Kato with a slight movement of his head, and finishes, "I'm sure you're not here for the sakebombs."

[GM Nick]

"I'll get straight down to business. Six months ago, several employees of this company were involved in a situation in Alaska. It was a painstaking effort, but our intelligence managed to glean your identities from various accounts we were given by defectors. I'm not here to enforce jurisdictional edicts or border law--I don't care about that. The boys back at the CIC believe that your group had something to do with the press controversy surrounding former UCAS Colonel Marcus Bell. I told them that if it's true, they should give you a medal."

[John]

Max nods, and perhaps foolhardily offers,

"I'm the one who dropped the audio tapes in the mail."

[GM Nick]

"We figured as much. You'll never hear it from up the flagpole, but we owe you a debt of gratitude. Bell was a ticking time bomb and it's a damn good thing that we got rid of him when we did. Just how much do you know about Marcus Bell?"

[John]

Max hesitates, but suspects that there's little about the situation that UCAS doesn't already know, so continues,

"We've bumped into him on a couple of occasions. There was the situation in Alaska which I don't think we need to discuss. The entire world knows what we know about that. We brushed shoulders with him again aboard the Mitsuhama Space Station disaster several months ago, which I'm sure your people heard about. He was to perfect a form of nano machines that allowed him to control the actions of the machines' host bodies to the end of creating an army for himself and being able to steer the course of global politics. He's a humble man, with humble aspirations."

[GM Nick]

Clark's face registers a mix of intrigue and alarm.

"I wasn't aware of that. But, it doesn't surprise me. Bell is calculating, clever, and most of all, driven beyond reason. He enlisted with the corps. at age eighteen. Did two tours in Stalingrad, earning himself a purple heart and a silver star. He re-enlisted and did another tour in the free state before being re-assigned to SPECOPS. He was pulled out of the field after a bad call in Nicaragua--one involving collateral damage. It was too late to stop his upward momentum. Less than a year after his transfer, he assumed the rank of Colonel. After the business in Alaska, he was found guilty of treason in a court-martial. Because of his service record, his sentence was reduced to a life under house arrest. A third of his brigade went AWOL. Four days later, a resistance group--undoubtedly made up of his former soldiers--stormed his residence and killed the guards, extracting Bell in the process."

[John]

Max shakes his head, and says,

"Good call on the house-arrest, fellas. That's quite a few pegs down from its customary sentence as a capital offense."

[GM Nick]

Clark makes a scoffing sound.

"A firing squad would have been too lenient. The UCAS loves it's war heroes, though. This much we do know about Bell: After his escape, he spent some time gathering those forces still loyal to him. He formed a splinter cell that calls itself Legion. We're still not sure what their ultimate agenda is. Bell moved West and brokered a tentative alliance with the Tir, where he stayed for sometime. We're not sure where he is presently, but one thing is for certain. There is significant Legion activity in the Yukon."

[John]

Max looks quizzically at Doc and then back to Clark, and says,

"Doc's the one here with a service record, Major, but even to a civilian this sounds like a distinctly military problem. How do you factor us in?"

[GM Nick]

Clark jerks his head and the soldiers in the immediate vicinity disperse.

"Bell is amassing a private army. He's got connections and resources that would make a dictator salivate. This situation needs to be nipped in the bud and the reports from the Yukon are our only solid lead. Tensions between the Salish-Shidhe council and the UCAS are extremely high, in lieu of the upcoming election. The council is worried that the conservative front-runner won't maintain trade negotiations. At their demand, the UCAS is withdrawing all troops from the council's jurisdiction. Understandably, they don't want an occupying military force in their borders if the political situation goes south. The brass won't let me go to the Yukon. Tensions are too high, it might look like a power play."

[John]

Max nods, understanding now, and says,

"So you send in a civilian, semi-legal paramilitary entity to do the dirty work that there's no political elbow room for you to perform yourself." Max pauses and pulls yet another cigarette from his pack. 'Only two left,' the elf laments, as he offers one to Clark as a show of good will. Lighting his own, the elf continues, "I can't imagine you expect us to go in and single-handedly remove Bell from play, so what do you have in mind?"

[GM Nick]

Clark shakes his head at the proffered cigarette.

"I need someone who knows Bell, understands his way of thinking. Moreover, Bell could still have supporters in our ranks. I would be surprised if he didn't have a mole or two. It goes without saying that I need contractors I can disavow at any time. We don't believe that Bell is hiding in the Yukon facility, but there's no doubt that it has connections to Legion."

[Drew Buddy]

Adams nods and crosses his arms,

"Makes sense, the rank and file are already poisoned against taking any action against Bell. The defections and sabotage would kill any mission before it began."

He levels his gaze on Clark,

"So, if Bell isn't going to be there, what are you expecting us to do? Is this an assault or a scouting mission?"

[GM Nick]

"The first step is getting there. The word inaccessible seems grossly understated. Aside from being in a very rocky, very remote part of the Yukon, the general area is at the center of a political perfect storm. Both the Salish-Shidhe council and Athabaskan Council believe it to be on their land. Furthermore, Algonkian-Manitou forces have been seen there, no doubt sending a message that they won't tolerate border disputes in their neck of the woods. Airspace is contested, but assume all three parties will fire on uninvited aircraft."

Clark folds his arms.

"I can't tell you what to expect. Constant blizzards and satellite congestion have prevented us from getting a clear picture of the facility. Given that this is Legion, I would imagine it's on par with a military installation. The true objective of this mission is to seize any and all evidence linking this compound with other Legion activity but most importantly, with Bell."

[John]

Max drags off his cigarette, and offers some dissent,

"It sounds like this is more a matter of getting in and out quietly to me, and if you've done any checking on us at all you'll probably know that that's not really our strong suit. The world around us tends to burn like a pile of kindling soaked in jet fuel."

[GM Nick]

"It's not that you need to get in quietly, it's that you need to get in, period. Given the type of facility it is and who is likely to be guarding it, I would recommend discretion. We can't risk the political repercussions that would follow if someone from our side was caught trying to penetrate that location."

[Stephen]

Exhausted but intrigued, Val stifles a yawn with some effort before speaking up.

"Well we've got a better chance of getting in and getting out than a full UCAS platoon. Maybe even without setting the world ablaze, so long as a certain elf keeps his matchbook in his pocket." Val gives Max a sideways grin. "The major's got the right of it. We've pulled some successful subtlety in the past. Sure the drek hits the fan eventually, but so long as we're ready for it when it does, let it come."

[John]

The elf looks at Val and back to Clark before dropping his gaze to the ground. "Well," Max begins, "I guess it's lucky that we have an invisible troll and an all but invisible ork as part of our forward team." Max rubs the back of his neck and closes his eyes as he firmly massages out the residual tension from the Mojave as new tension redoubles it. He can't help but think of how badly he needs a shower, but even worse how badly he needs the nuyen. 'Not even time for my new bullet wounds to heal before I get in line for new new ones,' he thinks as he questions just how far off the deep end and into the drek he's letting himself fall. Rolling his head on his shoulders, he opens his eyes back up and makes contact with Clark's. "Alright," he continues, "what can you tell us about the facility in greater detail? And what more intel can you give us on Legion? I'm assuming that you have maps of the region-- we'll need you to give any data you have-- any at all-- to our decker. If we're going to do what you're suggesting, we need to have access to all of the resources you have."

[GM Nick]

[ Inside FRSR HQ ]

Major Clark points a small black wedge at the wall and a 3D topographical hologram springs to life. The periphery is marked by jagged polygons, representing the steep canyon walls that surround the facility.

"The suspected Legion facility is located 30 kilometers west of Calgary, in an area known as Devil's Canyon. The canyon runs through the borders of all three nations. Automated air defense, inclement weather and a lack of suitable landing terrain make approach by air an impossibility. Your best bet--"

Clark runs his finger through the hologram, tracing a dark line at the basin of the canyon.

"--is this road, here. The only intel we have on the road is that it's washboard, although presumably Legion uses it to transport supplies, so it has to be somewhat passable. The road runs from Salish-Shidhe territory, curves around 12 kilometers through Algonkian-Manitou territory, and then into the disputed region."

[John]

"What's the likelihood of getting permission to cross their borders by ground transport?"

[GM Nick]

"Getting across the Algonkian-Manitou border is going to be difficult. The border crossing at Calgary is heavily guarded. You need a tribal visa to get in, and most of the equipment you're likely to take with you is strictly illegal out there. You may want to rustle any underworld connections you have, see if there are any coyotes running people across."

[John]

Max nods, noting that sussing out such contacts seems a job well suited for a tag-team between himself and Val, and redirects,

"What can you tell us about Legion? How many men can we expect to run up against? You said they have facilities spread all across the land, so perhaps the on-hand force will be manageable? A day at the office for us tends to be about twenty to thirty men-- if we're expecting targets in excess of fifty we could be in for a rocky landing."