Clusterfrag

"Nope, the answer wasn't at the bottom of this one, Kato. Set me up another." The elf slides his beer mug down to the end of the bar toward Kato, who stands cutting limes for the margaritas that some of the security personnel seem to enjoy. The glass creates a hollow, grinding sound as it makes its way toward the former Yakuza currently too intent on his present task to pay heed to the glassware speeding toward him. At the last moment, Kato notices mid-lime that the mug is set to go sailing off the end of the bar and crashing to the floor. The eccentric Japanese man flails wildly as he reacts, thereby sending lime wedges flying wildly through the air. The knife does several somersaults as everything hangs in play and at the mercy of gravity.

A flurry of unintelligible Japanese exclamations and grunts escape as he struggles to reach and wrangle the mug. Kato just manages to get his left hand under the glass, bouncing it back upward and juggling it back and forth before finally getting a firm grip on it with his right. A rain of limes splatter to earth all around him, and the knife chatters harmlessly to the floor behind the bar. Daring not to breath, he stands on the toes of one foot, his other suspended high above the ground with his knee brought to his chest; he is trapped in time like a cartoon character stuck in a frenetic, mid-action freeze frame. Eventually he manages to exhale and slowly break his pose, gingerly resting the mug on the bar with the tips of his fingers and immediately retracting his hands as if to run immediately away. Slowly, he cocks his jaw to the left and turns to glare at Max, who has noticed exactly none of the entire sequence. Kato fumes gently as he takes the mug in his right hand and pours another beer into it from the tap. Max looks at the unreasonably weathered oak of the bar, and asks "Do you suppose we ought to call Guinness for the record on fastest time aging a bar a hundred years?"

Kato sets the beer down in front of Max and the elf nods appreciatively without making eye contact; he is simply too invested in his own thoughts. Max is not overly eager to reacquaint himself with Dimitri. Their relationship-- always tenuous and strictly business-- had ended somewhat abruptly when Max had been accused of running afoul of Dimitri's sister. In point of fact, Max had rejected the Russian babushka's advances, which had spurned her into forcing him onto the outs with his best contact with the Russian crime syndicates. Max and Dimitri had never been friends, but they were well less than friends when last the elf had checked. The whole situation was fragged.

Finally, he slugs back the beer in three mighty gulps and stands. Max goes back to his bunk in the barracks and thumbs in the combination on his footlocker. After several moments' rummaging, he comes across his old Black Book. While Max had never resisted technology in his life-- his increasingly synthetic corporeal form being a perfect testament to that-- he had also never completely trusted it; the elf always kept a backup of his important contacts floating around in the physical world. Thumbing through to old, greasy pages, he comes finally to Dimitri's contact. Max takes a breath and calls out to the channel,

"Dimitri. It's Max Overstreet. I need a favor."

Max knew full-well what needing a favor from a Russian would likely entail, but shuddered at the limitless possibilities that lay in the unknown specifics.

A voice like a stone hammer being dragged across the red square greets Max on the other end of the call.

"Thees better not be who I am thinkink it eez."

Max breathes a heavy sign, and offers a labored response,

"No, it's exactly who you think it is. Can I come meet you? We need to talk."

Dmitri lets out an enormous sigh and Max can swear he smells the vodka.

"What d'you want, Myax?

Max hears the unique sound of a hypoderm inserting its payload into flesh.

"Calgurry, uh? Thayt border ees locked up like Knight Errant weaypons depot. Not easy. You don't want to be gettink mixed up with cartel, eh мальчик?"

Max doesn't have the time for banter,

"I know the situation, Dimitri. Can you help me or not?"

Dmitri chuckles, which sounds like a dry heave.

"Myax, myax. So impaytient. I caynot help you gettink across bordurr, but for the right price, you can buyink friends in Calgurry."

"проклятие! Very wyell. ¥2,500 per pyerson."

Max smiles to himself as kneads the Russian like a wad of wet piroshki dough. Satisfied with himself, Max continues,

"Call who you need to call. We need to leave Seattle within twenty four hours."

Max disconnects the commline, shocked that the call went as easily as it did. With the feelings of relief, however, is also a certain brand of disappointment. The elf has certainly not wanted to have a hard time in dealing with his former contact, but it would seem as though underneath the anxiety there had been a certain anticipation in toeing the waters back into his old life again. Compared to all the bloodhsed and international intrigue, being a private eye seems downright cozy and simple. But the bottom line is that the conversation didn't yield anything of real value to the team-- hiring muscle was not something that seemed very necessary to Max.

Comming out to the team, Max reports in,

<Touched base with an old contact, who can help us arrange additional muscle in Calgary, but not much else. Anybody else having any more luck. Val? Doc?>

Adams blinks and the AR map disappears. He opens up the comm channel,

< Yeah, I heard one side of that conversation. Sorry, wasn't paying too much attention. I have an idea for a plan B, but it involves setting off a, uh, minor border dispute. But if we need it, we should be able to open a tiny gap in the border defenses. Maybe enough to slip through. >

Max smiles at Doc's suggestion, and mulls over some of the information that slipped under his radar when Dimitri mentioned it, but seems of greater potential importance now. A moment later, he opens the commlink back up, and adds,

<Sounds like fun, but let's try to come up with a plan A. He added that Calgary is controlled in part by Russians, but also in part by Chippewa. Anybody know anything about that, or have any means of finding anything out?>

Max mulls over what he's heard about the tribe, trying to recall anything useful.

Adams brings the AR display back up. He hides the map, and fires up a data search.

< Seems like we could use some more information about what we'll be dealing with here. Might be good to get a general background. History, customs, language. Calgary doesn't sound like the kind of place that you want to be a tourist in. >

He browses a library of linguasofts and knowsofts, balking at their price.

Okay, let's try something a bit... cheaper.

A considerably more disorganized list of relevant software from a less reputable supplier floods his view. Won't last long, but maybe that new employee can take care of that.

He makes his selections, and starts the download to his commlink.

(( My char sheet will reflect the handful of knowsofts/linguasofts ))

Sweat beading his forehead, Val halts his daily routine in mid-set of sit-ups. He opens his mic up to the comm channel to respond to the chatter.

< I've had some luck, if not quite as much as I'd hoped. Found a guy who seems to have made a name for himself ferreting people across the border regions. Ukrainian gangster, goes by the name of Alexei Joyride. Part of an unsavory lot, but he might be a valuable asset all the same. Haven't contacted him as of yet. Probably best if we do that once we're on the ground. Also, if it turns out we want to doctor up an Ares Roadmaster to mimic one of Legion's supply vans, there's no shortage of rental agencies who could accommodate us. Still no info on whether they use a contractor or employ their own for the task, however. >

Max sits on his bunk with a cigarette in his mouth, reading up on SOP security protocols for UCAS forces that Val gathered for him. Legion being made up of UCAS defectors, it stands to reason that their security procedures would closely mirror those of their former outfit. Content to have gleaned all he will from the text, Max sits up on his bed as its creaky springs groan a protest. Max is about to head for a shower when the transmission and subsequent data link from Val containing the name and comm frequency come through. Max considers the information, and says,

<I'll reach out to Alexei. We'll need to talk to him to get across the border into Calgary, so the sooner we make contact, the better. And we can always do some legwork on the ground to try to track down their suppliers once we're in town.>

Adams comms back to Val,

< Good idea. If we have time to surveil the border, we might even catch one of their supply trucks leaving, and get a look at its tag. Then we could transfer the Rover's morphing licence plate over to our rented Roadmaster. >

Responding to Doc, Max says,

<Right, but those are things we can figure out for certain when we're on the ground and able to assess the situation up there. As of now, it's all purely theoretical for us. Our main goal is getting across the contested border.>

Stroking the stubble that has gathered on his chin over the previous few days' searching, the elf stands and heads to one of the several nigh-empty rooms in the facility, this one being the make-shift comm room for now. Max sits down at the card table on a rickety folding chair and punches the frequency into the video phone, patching the other members in on the audio. The outgoing call beeps as it rings, terminating mid-tone as the connection is made. No voice offers salutation on the other end. The video displays only darkness. Max sits in silence for a moment, seemingly frozen in anticipation. After a heavy moment, the elf begins,

<I'm calling for Alexei. I'm looking to go on a joyride to Calgary.>

(( Per Nick's suggestion, I'm calling in on a video phone so you guys can join me and weigh in. ))

The pixels on the vidscreen shimmer as a man's head comes into focus. He's heavily bearded, wearing a set of arctic goggles and an ushanka. He mutters under his breath and reaches forward to steady the lens.

"Yes, hello? This is Alexei of Joyride Transportation Limited, how can I help you?"

Max looks gravely at the phone and cuts through the drek,

"Four of my colleagues and I need to get across the Algonkian-Manitou, and we'll need to carry items that won't be cleared by customs."

"Oh, sorry buddy, haha. I don't know what you're talking about. I just escort trucks..."

A small message at the bottom corner of the vidscreen indicates that the message is now being encrypted.

"Ok. Algonkian-Manitou is my bread and butter, baby. Alexei will take you. It's not easy going though. The Indians take their border security very seriously. How many people are we talking? What kind of kit?"

Alexei pulls the camera closer.

"Do you have vehicle?"

Max nods,

"We could possibly arrange that, is that necessary? What kind of vehicle is ideal?"

Adams loops into the call,

"We've got an all-terrain vehicle, or a helicopter. What are the bird-dogs in Canada like this time of year?"

Alexei shakes his head.

"Blizzards, patrol drones, anti-aircraft. It is suicide to fly in. You need a fast vehicle. Alexei knows all the least guarded spots. We find a weakness and we hit it."

He slams his palms together.

"Fast and hard."

Max thinks for a moment, and follows,

"So, if I understand you correctly, you're not so much a coyote as a spotter-- you tell us where the best gap is in the border and we essentially hit it ourselves?"

Alexei grins--a frightening image, given his insect-like goggles and bushy beard.

"That's only step one. Crossing the border without being spotted is impossible. I act as diversion. It is not joyride for nothing."

Max's eyes narrow to slits,

"Explain."