Chapter I - Sword and Shield

[IamLEAM1983]

Frank hopped into the crook of her arm, which would have looked cute if he didn't look like a bloated hand-puppet covered in scraggly hair that was too coarse to ever be combed or shaped into anything conclusive.

The back lot was a simple fenced-in expanse of some ten by six feet, sham warnings about guard dogs or automated defense systems being affixed to the wires facing outside. The ground wasn't much more than cracked soil, dead or dying grass, oil stains and the faint glowing rivulets of leaking plasma cells. Earth authorities tended to freak out about this – some transeuranic weaponry produced non-energetic plasma as a byproduct and the end result was fairly infectious – but any Drifter would know enough to simply de-louse his or her boots with a pressure nozzle after a day at the junkyard. Little by little, practical safety tips were being introduced to Earth natives who came into possession of advanced tech, and you could find a few dozen YouTube videos on why carrying minute quantities of non-blood-based plasma in your veins wouldn't necessarily kill you.

Okay – so you'd maybe glow a bit or turn into some sort of walking disease and radiation vector – but you'd otherwise be fine!

The units Frank had referred to were about the size of a fridge – Warden designs and blueprints re-interpreted by the distant descendants of their inmates and prisoners. Still, a keen Grayskin would have spotted one or two elements lifted from another design of theirs – suggesting that on Paradise, even ideas weren't sacred.

Still held aloft by Tam, Frank reached out to one of the units' controls and punched in some sort of code, old Paradise graffiti-slash-glyphs lighting up in a numerical sequence they'd probably be the only two people to understand in a rather wide radius around the pawn shop. With a hiss, the drive opened up and liberated a thick plume of biting, cooled gas that deposited beads of perspiration on the Blueskin's epidermis, hot and cold intermingling as they are wont to do. Frank, on the other hand, tried not to show how he'd recoiled deeper into Tam's arm, closer to her armpit. Cold could be dangerous to his vital gases, so they'd be better off waiting for the drive's inner components to cool down.

As was suggested by the name, and in such a way as to make any Doctor Who fan salivate in anticipation – the inside of the drive was much, much larger than what the fridge-sized object should have allowed. In there waited more shelves and more disparate bits of tech, essentially multiplying the shop's available floor space while not taking more real-estate than your average row of four or five porta-potties.

“Gang leaders and mobster dignitaries use these for all sorts of purposes,” Brenner explained. “Extra storage, panic rooms, luxurious and palatial escape pods, portable office spaces or reasonably movable hotel rooms... I've tried to put them on sale legitimately, but the local arcane community just – babbled something about how I was tampering with the laws of physics and maybe pissing off something from Outside that could reach In or – I don't know. Some other witch-y gobbledygook like that. I've used these for years and I still haven't seen anything like cosmic horrors or fabled Warden survivors,” he said, scoffing in amusement at the end.

“The point is, this is where all the leery stuff goes. The drives you'd better leave to pros or the fuel injection manifolds that were creatively obtained from top-of-the-line orbital skiffs from back home. Nothing illegal, like I said – but absolutely not stuff you'd sell to the first rube looking to assemble his first personal robotic assistant.”

He then seemed to remember something. “Speaking of – we service implants, here. We don't sell them. Same with AI subroutines, if anyone asks. I can jailbreak someone's Information Agent or their search engine crawler; get it to look for porn or cracked software or hacking essentials, whatever – but I'm not allowed to code anything custom. We also can't carry commercial models, either.”

He looked up to her. “You'll see weirdos come in with all sorts of disgusting fetishes, because of that. If Joe Somebody wants his Google to look like Betty Boop, we can do that. If he wants his Betty Boop to give a little extra by interfacing with his nervous system implants – kindly tell him to go take a long walk off a short cliff, da?”

[Weirdlet]

"I can work with that. I have a distinct lack of talent with even meatball surgery, much less neuro-splicing. If you need a medical student, you'll have to look elsewhere," Tam said. "Can hammer together an engine for you in decent time, though."

[IamLEAM1983]

“Good, good!” nodded the Pilus. “That's exactly what I need : able hands that can take all of what you've seen and put a thing of beauty together with them! Er – that and reach into grossly mistreated mechanical babies in dire need of some tender love and care without necessarily thinking of closing around the offending neophyte's windpipe...”

He grimaced. “I know, I know – Earth needs a few decades longer before plasma and ion tech becomes second-nature to the locals; but it's just so infuriating, sometimes, to be stuck in the sidelines, being one of the shrill little voices trying to speed several industry sectors along... Abandon fossil fuels, we're all saying, you can generate nearly endless supplies of energy with hydrogen and oxygen, or reconvert old fuel cells into air and water!

But does their automobile industry listen?”

Brenner eyed his new assistant with a wry and sarcastic smile. “Profits, eh? Profits, profits, profits. They'll come crawling to us once they'll have choked themselves in greenhouse gases, they will!”

[Weirdlet]

"Hell, they *could* profit hard and fast if they switched up, but it's like they got so much invested in the old industry, they can't change if they wanted to. Stagnant. Let it all fall to pieces, someone'll be there to pick them up in the aftermath," Tam murmured, shrugging with her un-occupied shoulder. "Now- what hours are you looking for? What days?"

[IamLEAM1983]

The rubbery salesman shrugged. “I'm flexible. I know how hard things can be in this economy. Corporations are clamping down on services, the cost of living is going up, taxes aren't dropping and I haven't taken myself out to eat for at least two months – so I wouldn't be surprised if you told me you'll still look for a sideline. In fact, I've got a few other people I could recommend.”

That same vaguely oily smile. “Let's start with Mondays through Thursdays, nine to three. I'd recommend old Bob's down in Sheffield for easy shot for double the profits for someone with your skills – and I would have referred you to Dennis Wyndham, but something tells me that jewelery isn't your forte. At least – not the kind that doesn't come with serrated or sharp edges.”

Seeing as Tam wasn't dumb and as she'd already been let in on the Deal, he didn't mind giving her more information. “He sells mundane weaponry and a few arcane artifacts for the local Don. Normally only deals with the rodent's hoodlums and his pickpockets – but a word from me could get you what you'd need out on the bad streets.”

[TennyoCeres84]

"I've never really been fond of diesel fumes, buy I can't complain. the city has really strived to make most technologies as environmentally-friendly as possible. I still think steam is where it's at, but most people would disagree with me. People are more in of a rush than they used to be. Anyway, how have you been, Mr. Drake?" she asked, continuing to trim where she it was needed.

[IamLEAM1983]

Aidan grimaced a bit. “Fine, thanks. Well, mostly. I'm just glad people aren't glaring at me as much as they used to, but I'd really wish my Clank of a boss would put in some time, you know?

Otherwise I've got a couple months off or so before college starts, so that's good. But, uh, my father's kind of pressuring me into applying at Griffin Sec. I'm getting tired of this being a trigger for arguments at home, so I figure I'll just email Nigel sometime this week.”

He was silent for a few moments. “You heard anything about the recent artifact thefts? They've linked a couple jobs up in Providence and down in New York to the Biggs clan, but the investigation's stalling. As far as anyone knows, Weasel Biggs never called for those thefts – and he's actually worried about it, enough for a guy who works for the 65'ers gang to end up in traction. Police are saying he's not fond of seriously disciplining his men or his underbosses, so that's a first. Dad bets the entire Commission's ticked off, right about now.”

[Karl the Mad]

For a while, Katherine just drove, her mind a vague whirl as shit was processed and sorted. In time she aimed her Mercedes in the direction of Central Precinct, knowing that to get an audience with Percy one had to make the right moves. Aldergard had mentioned Mab; bringing her up would bring attention fast, and though she usually preferred to work with more subtlety she got the idea this was a time for cutting to the heart of things.

She soon pulled up, parking in the visitors' lot, locking the car down and walking on in. Most of the desk sergeants knew her, and she waved at the current one without stopping; he just waved back and went back to his business.

The lawyer reached one of the corner offices, knocking on the open door and stepping inside. "Hi, I'm Katherine Starr and I need to speak with Sir Evergloam," she said to the woman inside. "It's, it's about The Tree, and Mab." This last was spoken carefully, in a low voice; one didn't invoke that kind of name casually, after all.

[Weirdlet]

"Heh- not fine jewelry, certainly."

She refrained from fiddling with her earrings, currently set low to amplify ambient sound only a little for her ears. The internal workings were her own handiwork, while the outer casing was simple wood. Precious stuff back on Paradise- here it was just quirky, hippie, or 'vintage'.

"I like your terms, and I like this place so far. I think we got a Deal."

[IamLEAM1983]

Brenner beamed, the expression managing to both look sympathetic and wholly disreputable. “Wonderful! Now, today's a slow day, so I wouldn't mind if you figured you'd wait until Monday before starting. If you're interested in adding a few hours to your punch card, though, I've got diesel-to-plasma conversion kits that need a once-over. I'm not sure the Japanese thought to include all the fastening bolts and the injector clamps. You might have to dig around here,” he explained, gesturing at the compression units, “to find a few spare ones.”

He shrugged. “Or, well – off on your merry way you go, and I'll see you next week.”

* * *

The Viscount's secretary had all the makings of a cop – just in case – safe for the uniform or badge. If anything, Katherine might notice strange silvery highlights in the woman's platinum blonde hair, as well as how uniquely textured her irises seemed to be – like blue roses waiting for the right moment to bloom. Her features were fine but set in an obviously professional stance, her dagger-shaped earrings perhaps indicated that Faerie's eldritch workings had bestowed a few enchanted weapons to her... In any case, that wasn't anything she'd see based on one quick once-over.

She gave Starr a steady look as she talked, her expression only slightly changing once Mab was mentioned. The nature of that change wasn't clear, however. It didn't feel like shock, it self as though she were taking stock of Katherine's presented information. Still, after a second or two, she reached for her desk's phone and pressed a key on the side.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir. I've Katherine Starr on the line,” she said, her accent being curiously English. “She's right here, sir, and requesting an audience regarding Mab.”

The secretary barely hesitated. “Mister Griffin wishes to speak with you in regards to Gavin Drake's security plans for this evening, sir. You have no outstanding 10 A.M.s for today.”

Another pause. “Ten minutes, sir? Through your Gate. Yes, I see. Yes, I'll tell her. Do you need me to – no? Alright then, sir.”

She hung up. “Sir Evergloam will see you, miss Starr, but he requests that you wait ten minutes before entering the door which is right behind me,” she explained, pointing. “the barrier between worlds is agitated as of late, and time dilation may be a bit of a concern between Earth and Faerie for the next few days. Entering too early could cost you your entire day up here – or perhaps the entire week.”

As the barrier between worlds was elastic, it wasn't unusual for meetings to turn into the person requesting for one being forced to travel to Evergloam. Whenever something ominous stirred Hope's doppelganger, time seemed to pay the price on some level. Throughout all of Humanity's history had there been stories about men and women passing through to the “spirit realm” or some other appellation for only a few moments, only to retun home hours, days or sometimes weeks later. No devices or applications of modern technology could mitigate this occasional discrepancy, but practice tended to acquaint travellers with the very sliding scale of jet lag's supernatural cousin. Katherine could rest easy in knowing that if she was being asked to wait for ten minutes, she had every reason to trust the secretary's assessment.

Better that then to come back home to find that she'd missed something important.