Prologue: A Deadly Proposal

Room 302 

This room is simple, yet elegant. The walls are wood-panelled and painted in white. The carpet is a royal blue, with gold accents. Along one wall are two double beds, each with royal blue and gold bedding. On another wall is a desk, with a mirror over it and a data port. The third wall is taken up by huge windows looking out onto the sea, with a table and some comfortable chairs in front of it.

Ace raps sharply on the door with a bandaged hand, not seeming to care that she was banging her already sore knuckles. Her other hand is deep in the pocket of her longcoat as she stands in plain view of the peephole in the door.


 * Ace
 * Tall for an Ungstiri, an inch or two shy of six feet, but the way she carries herself gives the impression of even greater height. She is rather broad shouldered, and, though lean of build, very well muscled. She is dressed in clothes that look as if they've been cut to fit her, her white shirt blousy at the sleeves and open at the throat, revealing a heart shaped locket suspended on a chain of liquid silver. The shirt is neatly tucked into loose fitting pants of midnight black, an ebony belt bound through the loops with a simple silver buckle holding it closed. The pants, in turn, vanish into leather boots, dull black and soft, that reach two thirds of the way up her calf. Over it all she wears a grey longcoat made of a supple tanned hide that flows with every move, each step she takes a gentle swirl of mist and fog. The only splash of color comes from the small but elegant diamond and sapphire ring she wears on her left hand.


 * Close at hand she carries an energy pistol that is slung to hang about mid-way down her thigh, a narrow strap binding the bottom of the holster to her leg just above her knee. At her other hip, a nightstick hangs through a leather loop at her belt, her fingertips often brushing against it's grip. Her hair hangs straight down to the small of her back, a curtain of raven black tresses that softly shines in the ambient light. The jagged scar that once marred forehead and the burn scars down the side of her face and neck are now miraculously gone without a trace, leaving a rather beautiful, ebony-eyed woman in their wake.

Jack isn't in plainsight, but one can't say he isn't noticeable as he's just behind the Ungstiri, and dressed in a poor match for her somber clothing. Naturally, he's picked an eyesore of a uniform. Bright, tropical shirt complete with leaf designs, worn over a plain white tee, and khaki shorts.


 * Wiendrbac
 * Standing at nearly 6'1", with a willowly build, this man's age is hard to determine, but a guess would put the number somewhere between his late twenties and early thirties, constant excercise keeping his runner physique from billowing out into pudgy discontent. From his shaved, light brown stubble covering his head, to the laugh lines flanking his hazel eyes and the frown burrows etched in his forehead, to the straight nose set over a pair of thin, expressive lips, this man is not what one would call handsome. Not that he's hideous either, just average.


 * His current attire suggest both protection and comfort, a gray turtleneck padded by some kind of personal armor, worn with slightly threadbare cargo pants, hem hanging over heavy workboots, a chain running from his back pocket to a belt loop. His ever-present bomber jacket is worn unzipped, sleeves just long enough to dangle over hands clad in utilitarian gloves, knuckled for extra impact, sporting a few more interesting cuts and slashes in the material. Dangling between the opened portions of his coat is a dull-red rock, wrapped up in leather straps and dangling from a chain.

Heavy, hollow footsteps thunk-thunk-thunk their way up to the door at an unhurried pace, then come to a halt. One moment of silence. Two. Then with a click, the electronic lock slides to green, and the portal slowly opens to reveal a reptiloid of obvious middle-age. He bobs his snout in silent greeting to the Faux's captain, politely motioning her inside with one talon, and briefly rakes his gaze around the hallway. His eyes land momentarily on Jack, but the La Terran is either dismissed as a beachgoing tourist... or perhaps silently filed away. Either way, the Grimlahdi doesn't question his presence there.


 * Kierska
 * This creature is six feet of blue-green scales spread over a broad, muscular frame, not counting his long, thick tail, which stretches an additional four and a half feet at his flank. Deep brown eyes are tucked beneath a firm, flexible eyeridge flecked with a smattering of agespots that match those scattered randomly about his weathered hide. A line of thin spikes begins atop his head and travels in a neat row down to the base of his spine -- Mother Nature's mohawk.


 * He is dressed in a fitted white shirt and a pocketed vest. Though his pants are obviously tailored to tuck neatly into a pair of utility boots, he is barefoot. At a glance, no weapons can be seen on his person.

Ace steps inside, waiting for the door to close before looking over the sauroid, "Kapitan Ghirslak I presume?" she asks, her eyes strafing the room from behind her mirrored sunglasses.

"Indeed," the creature now identified as Ghirslak replies cordially. "I apologize for the... cryptic summons. It is a pleasure to see you again, Captain Ace."

"Da, not since Nalhom," Ace says, extending her hand, "Am sorry we did not come sooner, but was urgently needed elsewhere. This is Kapitan Jack Wiendrbac of the Artemis...an allied vessel and friend. Jack, this is Kapitan Kierska Ghirslak of the Silver Lining but, more impressively, one of the surviving ships of the Lucky 13."

"Hello." Jack offers, offering a clipped smile, then studies the room's decor. "Sivadians sure know how to make folks feel like royalty."

At first, Kierska seems to swell with pride that he and his vessel are remembered by his one-time commander... but it washes away into concern when Jack is introduced and subsequently steps into the room. "I... greetings and hello, Captain," he offers politely to the human male, a questioning gaze desperately trying to catch Ace's as he meets her handshake.

"Is okay," Ace nods, "He and I, we have worked together before and he can be trusted," she reassures Kierska. "Is not as fine and upstanding as one would think considering his other associations."

"I like being conflicted. It fills the pages of my diary." Jack drolls, holding his position near the door. "Too bad I lost the damn thing."

Satisfied with the kapitan's vote of confidence, Kierska bobs his snout again and finally shuts the door. It locks with a *snick* behind him. Running a hand over his headspikes, he glances between his two guests, advancing further into the room. "Very well then. I suppose you're wondering about the business I spoke of in the letter," the big lizard sighs, taking a seat at a very cluttered table and motioning for the others to join him. "Have either of you heard of the N'skraa Compound?"

"Nyet," Ace shakes her head, "But N'skraa...is Nall word," she says, clearly not happy at the thought.

"Nope, nor was I aware that it was particularly Nallish. Other then the fact that it isn't Terran Standard, and it sounds particularly uninviting." Jack responds readily. "Compound is an interesting title. Is it a military site?"

Kierska nods solemly. "It's a Nall installation beyond the Nexus. Specifically, a refinery. Lumber and ore," he explains. "Hundreds of prisoners there, mostly pee-oh-doubleyas from the Birthright War, from what our operatives gather." He pauses. "I am with the Shadowed Talon, an anti-Parallax movement based out of Grimlahd. Or, well, I was. These days we're more concerned with making sure those bastards don't rise up again." Again, he looks between Ace and Jack. "That's why we are working to disable this compound."

Ace's head bows a bit, hands in her pockets as she falls silent for a few moments, her expression like that of the rock from where she came - cold and unreadable. She finally lifts her head again, her voice quiet, her emotions held in check, "How is it that I can help?"

The La Terran chooses the course of silence, hands likewise sinking into pockets. He finally moves away from the door, heading to the beds, obviously intending on checking out those nice coverlets.

"We need help," the Grimlahdi admits readily, before he himself adopts a more reserved tone for the benefit of the Fauxite. "I... was impressed, Captain, at Nalhom. With your ability in combat. It was an honor to fight alongside you," he tells her. "I could not find much information on you on the infomatrix... but..." -- he hesitates -- "even before I knew parts of your history, I knew you were the *only* choice to lead the mission."

"So you know about Lebal, then," Ace asks, not waiting for the obvious answer. "You wish to shut this place down or is there a more specific agenda involved?"

Jack bends over to run a finger along the coverlets, making an ooing note of approval.

For a moment, the sauroid doesn't say anything, looking at -- or through -- Jack as the man fondles the bedsheets. When he does regard Ace again, he meets the mirrored sunglasses with a level gaze, staring into the eyes of his own reflection. "We wish to disable it. Run the Nall out of there," he confirms. "Make certain as many prisoners as possible are rescued and seen home safely. I cannot offer you any monetary compensation, but there is... something far more valuable to you inside that camp, you see."

"Would not have asked for any," Ace replies, "Can hire allies if we need extra firepower, though." She cocks her head at that last statement, "You mean the people they have enslaved, da?"

Jack eventully loses interest in the bedding, heading to look out the window, staring out into the sea. "Hero work, right? Hot, dirty, rewarding, if not very gracious to the pocket-types."

"You could say that," Kierska answers. "Captain Mika Tachyon is detained there."

This time there was no hesitation, "When do we leave?"