Someone Else’s Terms (part 1)
The massive battlecruiser finally slid back into its hangar after its return voyage. The magnetic clamps engaged to hold it in place and prevent it from accidentally crushing any of the small maintenance drones that now swarmed over it for inspection and fueling. A gantry lifted out the piloting capsule through a small recess and hauled it to a disembarkation chamber for the captain to exit with at least a small bit of dignity.
Casiella hated this part: gasping for air as her lungs switched back to oxygen from the ambiotic fluid of the pod gave her a brief sensation of drowning. She knew, of course, that she wouldn’t drown and that the systems always worked. But something deep in the reptilian hindbrain just refused to learn the lesson. She didn’t enjoy the sensation of entering the pod and swallowing the fluid, either. Leaving the pod, though, felt much worse because it came accompanied by the disengaging of the neural connection to her ship.
Moments before, she could navigate among the stars as easily as any other human might turn their heads. She could see millions of kilometers to focus on a specific object. With the same effort usually required to gesture with a hand, she could sweep away enemies (or competitors, which amounted to the same thing) via volleys of missiles. Her drones acted to accomplish her whims. That structure there? Demolish it? She just needed to want it to happen, and it did. Back on her own two feet, in her “meatspace body,” all those advantages went away.
But flesh has its own advantages.
She quickly ducked into the nearby shower to rinse off the remaining fluid and don a dry jumpsuit. A light above the door turned green and one of her senior staff assistants entered: a Krusual woman whose splotchy facial birthmarks made her an outcast in most of Minmatar society.
Casiella addressed her assistant while the cosmetibots attended to her hair. “That part of the plan went well, Jorunn. The RSS agent seemed very pleased.”
Jorunn focused on her datapad for a moment before speaking. “Yes, the intel dataflows have already engaged. Nearly all their agents have requested your attention. I suppose those Angel Diamond tags went over well.”
Before responding, Casiella selected a facial tattoo type for the night and the cosmetibots went to work. “He didn’t even ask where I’d got them. I think he just assumed I’d gone out and found them myself. Enough ISK can get you anything, though.”
“These days, that’s true enough. The Republic has warmed to you somewhat since you returned from Syndicate space. By now, they’ve chosen to overlook some of the work we did out there.”
The hint of a cruel smile curled across Casiella’s lips. “So much the better for them. The RSS knows the value of a good informant when it finds one, and they’d rather have me working for them than against them.” Now that the cosmetibots finished their tasks and buzzed rapidly back into their receptacles, she stood and looked up at Jorunn, waiting for the inevitable.
“You’ll have a tough time balancing the internal factions, though. Outwardly, of course, they’ll have nothing for praise for you now that you’ve joined the Tribal Liberation Force, but internally they will prefer that you work with them.” Jorunn turned around the datapad and presented a few dossiers before explaining that her employer would need to choose an agent or two.
Casiella pondered for a few moments before tapping a thin finger against her chin. “So you just assumed I’d go right for contract work rather than patrolling or ‘plex security?”
This time, Jorunn smiled cruelly in an echo of her employer’s expression a few moments ago. “You wanted that starbase in high-security space. I told you that the TLF would put you on the fast track to it, and agent contracts will get you there fastest.”
“Fine, then.” The petite Sebiestor sighed. “But let’s get this done quickly. I’ve better things to do than fight this war on someone else’s terms.”
