A Tentative Trial

[Bishop Morse]

Bellforge
July 10, 2517 - Beaumonde
2:11 P.M Local Time
8:16 A.M A.S.T

Longstreet

Daylight poured on to Beaumonde much like it did any other world. The large star which all of the worlds in Kalidasa revolved around reached its light onto the exposed portions of the planet, lighting up their surface. Whether it was rocky, grassy, oceanic, or another type of terrain, nothing was hidden from the ‘black turtle’ that was the star. Of course some light show through at times from other relatively close proto-stars, but those shown more at night, and didn’t effect really anything on Beaumonde other then a reminder of close trading partners. The worlds commerce and industry was everything, and the Alliance was far from having control over even half of it. During the war they managed to get out to Beaumonde, and indeed they still had a presence on the planet, however it was far from enough to say that it was wholly theirs. The only thing that really changed after the war was people would get bothered by the Alliance, but fundamentally not much was different. The people of Beaumonde were avid proof of this, and for the most part, no one even noticed the Alliance being around. It was somewhat similar to Persephone, though it had fewer people, and it was much farther from the central planets, which made it impossible to keep it completely in line.

Longstreets compound was exemplary of this fact. It was a strong representative of Beaumonde’s spirit. Ironically Longstreet was not from Beaumonde, but that did not change what his enterprise represented. Dozens of workers, keeping the facility working, keeping things organized and ready to ship when they needed to be, keeping the operation going. This was the every day on the compound, and though many of them were also criminals, that didn’t matter. The world was a very different place after the war had ended. People would claim to be above others, but a great many people had suffered, and done things that they were not proud of. Food shortages and opportunities for survival at the expense of others made things far too tempting. Such memories were often blocked by many, but that didn’t mean they went away. The definition of a ‘good person’ was different in everyone’s mind, but it often only reflected their own personal biases to make them seem like they were in the right. But all too often that wasn’t the case. In spite of that, people still did what they could to find redemption, or did what they had to in order to just keep living their lives. 

Longstreet did not find himself to necessarily be a good man, be he also didn’t find it hard to live with himself. He built what was necessary for him to survive, and in so doing many others were able to survive as well. Had they won the war perhaps things might have been different, but he didn’t suspect as such. No doubt many of his Alliance counter parts held the same mindset he did. But while Longstreet was not a good man, he wasn’t much of a monster. He did employ many people, giving them work after the war. While many of his less then legal enterprises were still at the expense of some, it still was often done for the benefit of a larger group. Stealing of excavation robots to sell to miners on the rim for a much lower price, while still making a profit, still helped them none the less. Removal of dead beat outlaws that did not pay back debts, while not considered an act of kindness on his part, still did keep them from harming more people. As far as Longstreet was concerned much of this was unrelated and didn’t matter, but for others it meant more. Longstreet was merely concerned with ensure that system continued to run. That was the way he had been before the war, during it, and it was how he was now. 

In his office Longstreet was rearranging some items on his schedule. He was a rather busy person, and that was the way he liked it. He had various meetings with people and had also to make time to oversee various projects, as well as certain functions he was invited to or expected to attend to keep up appearances. As a result he kept in mind everything that he had to do. None of it was set in stone, and being on time was a relative point to Longstreet. He understood that things came up, and being right on time didn’t matter. But having a general idea of when something would happen was important. He stopped moving the data on the screens in front of him. Bringing up a new item on the screen he set out a call through the intercom.”Mr. O’Terra.” he said, sending the transmission towards the ship that was docked in the ”Could you join me in my office please.” Longstreet’s image was that which it normally was. He kept his coat on inside as it made him feel more comfortable inside. He was seated at his desk and brought his hands together, putting his fingers together while he waited for the reply.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus had been on the bridge when Longstreet called over on the comms. He'd been double checking flight data and transmission relays, sussing if anything looked odd or backwards or just plain slow. He came to the conclusion that he was NOT trained in the ways of communication beyond "Search, Dial, Answer, Hang Up." Maybe Hawkeye or Ilana could look it over later, he left a stickynote on the comm panel for one of them to "Clear up the Junk" in the computers.

He clicked on the message and received it with a nod, replying. "On my way, Sir." He stood up and grabbed his old worn brown coat from the back of the pilot's seat. He was wearing a grey and green button up shirt, with sturdy jeans and a black belt. His shoes were more comfortable trainers, as opposed to the usual gritty boots he wore.

He had his pistol at his side, as a precaution. But at this point he felt rather comfortable in Longstreet's compound. It felt a little like the old salvage bases he worked at in his early part during the war. Even more like the actual salvage and smuggling yard he worked for as an apprentice before that.

Familiar, gritted, scabbed and scarred, but free.

He covered the distance between ship and office in only a few minutes, going through security before heading up to Longstreet's office. He knocked politely on the door and waited a second before turning the knob. He entered and closed the door behind him.

Longstreet looked much the same as he ever did; at his desk, papers and work spread out around him. "Good afternoon, Sir." He said, with a casual smile. He was starting to like Longstreet after a few meetings. The man played clear and straight with them; that was always something that he had an appreciation for, even with people who wanted to kill him.

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet


Shifting in his large chair in order to get a pen like data wand that was on the right side of his desk, Longstreet tapped on a set of smart papers that were on his desk. Longstreet hadn’t always done so much as that, but he found that doing many of these forms to be a rather relaxing sort of exercise. He could easily hire someone to do it for it, and he did have some that did clerical work. But often he found it was easier to keep track of his own business, and things were generally done right when he was the one that was doing them. There was also some risks of unreliable and untrustworthy people having information passed in front of them that he didn’t want. And it wasn’t only the under the table portions, that he likely wouldn’t have anyone do as is. He did run a legitimate business, and he did have competitors. When working in the long and difficult game of business it was important that you maintain all of your advantages so that one day you can deliver the finishing blow to put your opponents out of work. Longstreet had managed to accomplish this before, but he had yet to have it happen to him. Perhaps it was because he was able to stay a step ahead of everyone. But Longstreet was not an arrogant person, nor much of a show off. It was all about making sure that things were just done right, and he was good at seeing such things through. For that reason he did most of his own clerical work, because that was just one more thing that kept him in the know and on top of things.

When the knock on the door came, Longstreet was writing something on the smart paper beneath him. His eye brows moved up as did his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. He said nothing because the door was so thick and well built that it was difficult to get his message across without shouting. If it was someone who was going to present a problem, then Longstreet would have already known about it by then, and if they’d still managed through, he was his own last line of defense. But if there was a battle he would lose his life in, then that wouldn’t matter much, since in the end of it he would be dead. Though he’d do what he could to avoid such an outcome, but it none the less crossed his mind a time or two.

This however was not someone who was here to present an issue. It was the person he called on. He looked as far as Longstreet could tell the same as he always did. Finishing one page by signing his name at the bottom, he moved it over to the side of the desk where a group of them were. The desk was by no means cluttered, but it had a number of items on it. Longstreet kept things very well organized and made sure that if something was moved, it was put in its proper place by days end. ”Good Afternoon to you Mr. O’Terra” Longstreet said greeting him. He did not smile, that was something he had to hear something funny to do, or have a greater cause. Most of the time he just stuck to a very flat expression, which was almost to say he was thinking deeply about the topic at hand. Longstreet did have a sense of humor and was a sour sort, but he liked to keep things somewhat formal in his dealings, at least at the start. ”Have a seat, please.” Longstreet said holding his hand forward to the chairs which he had had Marcus sit upon before. Longstreet stood up and walked over towards the wall at his right where the bar was. He reached it in a matter of moments. The carpet beneath them made his foot steps almost completely unheard. ”Morse tells me that you accepted his proposition quite well.”Longstreet commented on the events of the day before. ”Baltving?” Longstreet asked holding up an empty glass, offering Marcus a drink. Baltving was an alcoholic drink not anymore hard to keep down then whiskey or scotch, and it was commonly brewed on several worlds in the Red Sun system. Its flavor, which was a cherry powdered cinnamon was what gave it its appeal, rather then a hard standard alcoholic drink.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus found his greeting returned and appreciated the response. A voice inside the back of his head said 'Captian O'Terra', but his own voice kept quiet on that. The man seemed to be in the middle of something, but he was running a business so that was to be expected. Marcus, himself, was often in his room looking over printouts of the ship and what was what. Food stores, the water filters, atmosphere levels.

Running a business must be a hell of a lot more, in that regards.

He sat down with a nod. Longstreet affirmed the matter of Morse, and Marcus smiled. "Well, it's a smart offer. Two good men, gear. Plus they know your system, so that works out for me." Longstreet offered him a drink but he held up a hand. "No, but thank you." He wasn't going to be drinking if he was doing business. 

He smiled though, grateful for the offer. Things might be going well for him. At least from Longstreet's prospective.

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet


Exhaling a short breathe from his nose, Longstreet set the empty glass in his hand down on the bar and picked up a bottle. It was somewhat oval in shape, and you couldn’t see inside, as it had a black exterior. It had mandarin symbols written across it 最佳周边, stating the slogan of the company that made this particular sort of Baltving. “Best Around” was somewhat appropriate for it, since it was high quality, but there were others that made better. This had just been easily acquired, and quality with a drink like this was rather relative. It all pretty much tasted the same, and it tasted good. That was why Longstreet had opted for having it. He enjoyed things that had a certain amount of flavor to them. And Baltving had a very interesting flavor. Longstreet poured the drink into his glass, and out from the bottle came a burgundy colored liquid. He filled the glass up to about half way and stopped. He set the bottle down, and lifted up the glass. 

Marcus words about Morse’s offer. Those were right about the same thoughts that he had. When Morse had originally conceived the notion of getting rid of his ship, Longstreet had some minor concerns. However he did not own that ship, it was not his decision one way or another. He didn’t think that he was going to wind up losing as valuable an asset as Morse was in such a situation, but he had wondered at the time what he was going to do instead. When he noted Marcus was needed back at Beaumonde that was when he had the idea come into his head. Longstreet wasn’t opposed to it, and thought that it may be useful to merge the two strong assets together. He didn’t know Marcus too well, but he had quickly proven that he was fairly good at what he did. Whether it was luck, skill, or a bit of both meant nothing to him. And of course he had a group of people with him that had all just been compound workers for Longstreet. He hadn’t seen much in them beyond what they had been doing there, but perhaps he had been wrong. But he didn’t desperately need to go looking for such people actively so he wasn’t terribly bothered that he had missed it. 

”That’s good to hear.” Longstreet said regarding Marcus words about the deal. He stepped forward towards the center of his office. It was a large room, as far as offices went, and was very well furnished. He came towards the center. He adjusted where one of the chairs was, as it was at an angle that he found awkward. He liked to keep things orderly. ”As you can imagine, I didn’t call you here specifically to facilitate your latest vessel additions.” Longstreet held the drink level between his stomach and chest as he made his way back behind his desk. ”I once again require your help with something, and with the Logan no longer being an option, you’re the best one available.” Longstreet recognized it diminished Marcus’ role somewhat, but he spoke in realistic terms. ”And I’d be willing to make quite an offer for your services.” Longstreet continued. ”If you’re interested of course.” Longstreet finished still standing behind his desk, and taking a short sip from the glass in his hand.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus watched as Longstreet poured himself a drink from the opaque bottle, he preferred to know what he was drinking before it touched his glass. He didn't distrust Longstreet. He couldn't gauge if the man was displeased he had refused the drink; but it didn't seem so.

Longstreet received his opinion with nary a complaint. Honestly this was best for everyone involved. A stronger and more tempered crew would make jobs easier. He couldn't think of a reason why it would be a problem. The fate of the Logan was a nibbling comment in his brain. He'd very much like to know what it was that inspired Morse to do away with the thing. 

Maybe he'd learn someday, hell maybe Morse would just tell him. That'd be a nice bit of courtesy; but not a strictly needed one.

Longstreet moved around the room, and adjusting one of the chairs slightly, he clarified that there was more to this meeting that an acknowledgement of the new bearing of things. There was a job in store. Marcus could only smile a little. Not too hopeful, but thankful for it. 

"Little reason not to be." He didn't feel it needed to be repeated that his crew was bigger now. "Seeing as we've gotten along so well so far, I'm interesting. What's the job?"

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet


Recognizing that Marcus had somewhat of an interest in what he was offering, Longstreet brought his hand down to touch his desk with two of his fingers. It was somewhat like he was holding himself steady with them, but normally one would do that with more then just those two fingers. But that was something that Longstreet would do from time to time. He had thought about how to describe what was needed to be done, but generally he would describe things in his serious business like manner. Longstreet at his core was a man of business, and that was probably why he was still successful after the war, where many of his colleagues had crawled into the bottle and kicked themselves out into the black. Ironically, though they had lost, Longstreet was not the least bit bitter about losing the war. He could hardly notice a thing that was different from the time before and the time after, at least for him. The best way he found to live was just by going about it in the way that he always had. Others may not have been as fortunate as him, but that didn’t matter. He believed that it was up to the person to make the best of their situations and take every opportunity presented. If they chose not to, then there was no room for complaints.

Longstreet moved a bit more center of the desk. As he did he brought his hand forward towards one of the screens that was on the desk. He moved a few things with his finger and it gave slight whipping and electrical tones as he did, which was normal. Typically Longstreet kept those things off as he found them annoying. But he hadn’t been working with the console too much that day and hadn’t remembered to shut them off. He’d get around to it later if he remembered. For that moment however, he continued to work. He took only a few seconds to find what he was looking for. He finally tapped a button.

At the center of the desk there appeared a holographic image. It was of an object in a display case. The object was a small firearm that looked about the same as a number of other weapons that were still seen commonly, at least in terms of classification. The image was flawless and held up at the center of the desk hovering at what was likely actual size. It almost seemed like you could reach out and touch it. Longstreet moved to the side of his desk so that he could be seen. The holographic image remained right at the center of his desk. ”Do you know what this is?” Longstreet asked, not having any expectation that Marcus would.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus watched intently as Longstreet moved through his motions, and drew up a hologram image of some kind of gun. The hologram caught him by surprise. It was fancy tech, and not exactly cheap. At least by Marcus's standards. He'd take a nice table tablet if it came to big planning. 

Another thing he might add to his wish list.... but neither here nor now.

Longstreet asked and Marcus just shrugged. "A funky looking gun." He thought about it for a second. "Probably really old if it's in a display case."He pointed at the cube outline. This might be a simple job. But if it was something Morse was going to be called on specifically. 

It might be a might trickier.

Less so, seeing as how Morse was still going to be part of the job.

Marcus smiled as he waited for Longstreet to respond, and fill in the blanks.

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet


Longstreet nodded at some of Marcus’ assumptions. He was right about it being very old. He had not anticipated Marcus knowing what it was, as far as certain items went, this one was not the most well known. ”You are correct, that this is very old.” Longstreet said in regards to the weapon itself. It had a model design similar to that of various weapons that were still manufactured, but there were certain things like its curves, and no real visible elements of electronic firing mechanism any other modern form of such a thing. Most modern weapons like it had an over under barrel, but this one only had one, which did stand out. 

Coming forward towards the desk to look at it again, Longstreet continued. ”This is one of the original designed Derigner pistols. Not the first by any means, but one that was brought over none the less.” Longstreet mentioned. ”This item is best known as ’The King Killer’.” Longstreet mentioned. Even that name wasn’t widely known, as it didn’t have the most remarkable concepts about it. ”As you might have guessed, this item came over on the colony ships.” Longstreet said referring to the idea that this item came from Earth-That-Was. Many relics from there were very valuable, some even priceless. As far as Longstreet was concerned, this one did not quite meet that criteria, though as he understood it, it had an interesting history of its own. ”It’s called the ‘King Killer’, as it was used three times to kill various men of prominence. None of them were real monarchs, but the tragedies are what give it the name.” Having utilized the old appropriate variation of tragedy in that someone fell from power, Longstreet took a sip. Not everyone always understood him, though he spoke very plainly.

”The weapon itself went missing during the war, and completely disappeared.” Longstreet continued. ”There was so little trace of it, that it was mostly forgotten, as it was likely destroyed, buried under some rubble, or a cheap souvenir for someone walking off the battlefield.”Longstreet said. He stopped to take a sip from his glass while he let that information sink in with Marcus. It was quite a lot to bombard someone with a history lesson like that, but he needed Marcus grasp the concept of what it was they were dealing with.  

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus's eyes started to widen. At first glance he wondered if the thing was just a replica, or a recreation, maybe some art piece in the shape of something like what Longstreet was talking about. But something from Earth-that-was, and if his knowledge was worth anything from a good few centuries before man was even walking on his own moon.

This thing would be worth more than Marcus was like to make in his whole life. Longstreet was going on about how the thing was apparently lost during the war. Plenty of collectors had met unfortunate fates during the war, from both sides. Their collections up for grabs.

It made Marcus think of the collection held by the man he'd robbed only a short while ago.

Longstreet sipped at his drink, and Marcus took it as his cue to speak. "But given that we're having this conversation; I imagine you've gotten some information about it's whereabouts. Even in a general sense."

A treasure hunt. An Earth-That-Was Artifact TREASURE HUNT.

The crippled inner child that dwelt within Marcus was almost as giddy as it had been since he watched Burt's die.

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet


”Correct.” Longstreet responded towards Marcus assumption. This was something that he was leading Marcus towards, but he’d figured it out. That was one thing that made Marcus somewhat more valuable then many, the fact that he wasn’t rim trash. All too often you’d find types that travelled around looking absolutely nothing more then to screw over other people for the most minimum amount of advancement. A lot of the time they operated with groups of people that could hardly speak a civilized language, and more chose to meld their slang into their own tongue. This was something that Longstreet didn’t mind, but he also didn’t enjoy working with these types. The trouble was that there were so many that were fitting one of those two profiles. Typically he found war fighters that volunteered to be the closest for what he was looking for. And if they’d spent time trying to fight for their cause, as well as actually believing in it, that helped just as much. There were a lot that had just wound up going crazy, or became just vicious bullies looking to keep hold of their little slice of what they were standing on. 

Walking back over towards the screen he made activate the original hologram, Longstreet reached forward. As he moved through the image of the pistol that was already there, it began to distort slightly, in an attempt to keep displaying the image, even though the space that was doing it was completely obstructed. He tapped on the console and brought up two other images. They caused the original image that was the pistol to reduce in size, to allow them all to be the same size. He placed his hand on each of them in the air, and moved them over. As he did, the images followed where his hands went. The pistol was still there, and was now at the right. The center image was a very recognizable item. It was a planet. It was dark and hostile looking. It somewhat looked like a new planet that had not been tera formed. In fact, this was the very recognizable image of the planetShadow. For those that had been old enough to have seen what happened on news reports live, they didn’t quickly forget what had caused it. The world was completely lifeless and the war had been the cause. Most specifically, the Alliance had been the cause. The third image, which now rested on the left, was of a spacecraft. Though it looked small, the craft was easily a large cargo vessel, which would probably dwarf many other ships.

 Now with these images available Longstreet continued. ”I’ve come across data, which has given what may amount, to the exact whereabouts of this item.” Longstreet said. He stood between the image of the ship and the image of Shadow. ”During the war, the Homesteading VesselGuiding Light was making its way towards Meadow. It was carrying a large number of settlers, and their supplies. However it was secretly transporting this item as well, and kept aboard in safety to slip it straight through the Independents lines.” Longstreet was pointing at the space vessel as he explained the situation. ”It never made it, and it was presumed that the vessel was destroyed before it arrived. But recently some of my associates have come across signature of the very same vessel, and it appears to have in fact crash landed on Shadow.” Longstreet turned the image of the dead world till he brought up a certain position, which he pointed at. ”Here.” Longstreet remained behind the images as he continued. ”Preliminary reports suggest that the vessel is very much in tact, as should be its cargo. While smugglers or other scavengers may well have discovered this ship before, the item was hidden very well, and not even any of the crew knew it was there.” Longstreet said then lifting his glass up once again. ”I want you to go out with the information we’ve acquired, and recover it.”Longstreet finished. He did not take a drink this time, but kept it level.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus's willingness and forward thought seemed to please Longstreet, at the very least the man wasn't patronizing him. He was constantly having to look a step ahead, but still he tripped up. Quite a bit. As Longstreet moved through his images, Marcus winced as the slightly obscured hologram offended his eyes. Sort of like when looking at an unfocused video. Your eyes try to adjust but it doesn't make things any better. 

When the image of Shadow appeared, Marcus was glad he wasn't holding a drink. The planet had been one of the things that had affirmed his belief that the Alliance was full of crap and not to be trusted. It'd been what had driven him to stay in the fight after the Militia recovery ship he'd served on had been shot down.

The planet was a monument to the Alliance's sins.

"Well, that certainly complicates things." He never got a straight answer on 'how bad' Shadow had become. Some said the atmosphere was stripped away, others said the whole rock was radioactive. A few even spun tails of creatures, once men and women, warped by some crazy Alliance voodoo virus that was unleashed then covered up by the orbital assault. 

That was just crazy though. There's reavers out there, sure. But nobody made them that way.

People can turn dead rocks into living worlds, and they can take that life away. Turning people into monsters would be cake next to that. Pinched his nose.

Longstreet continued, regarding the ship and it's cargo. "I'm not familiar with that make of ship... full blue prints would be nice... But where is the cargo? Bridge wouldn't make sense, cargo bay, again; no. So... "He looked the thing over. Where would you had a piece of metal smaller than your fist that was worth more than half the rim?

"This thing had to be secure enough to survive the trip. So there's a hope the thing hasn't rusted into dust by now. Right?" 

Shadow wasn't something he'd expected, but as long as they had working spacesuits they would be fine. Probably.

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet


As Longstreet had brought up the image of Shadow, he noted Marcus’ reaction. There were a great many people that had been affected, either directly or psychologically by what had been done there. The so named “hot bed” of Independent sentiment was something that the Alliance had opted for cutting out. Longstreet’s thoughts on it at the time weren’t much different then they were at that moment. He understood the magnitude of an entire planet being reduced to nothing but a red zone, but during the war many worlds had similar such issues. They just weren’t hit as bad, and afterwards they were rebuilt. Shadow was there to instill a message. Neither side was really innocent from trying to get a point across in a brutal manner, the Alliance had just done a much better job of it. Even the loss of life hadn’t impacted Longstreet to any great degree, but it was namely because Longstreet had been leading thousands of men to their deaths for years by that point. His decisions, while the majority may have been looked on as ultimately beneficial and well performed, were not always perfect. He didn’t feel a great amount of guilt for it all, and if anything Shadow was a relief in that it was not his decision that had caused such a thing. He couldn’t imagine how the Union commander who had been responsible had taken it, though he’d heard somewhere that someone involved with the decision had committed suicide. He wasn’t sure if that was just a rumor or not, but he understood it well enough. But Shadow served as the strongest reminder imaginable for all people beyond the White Sun that they could not trust the great Alliance, and that was a barrier that would never break.

At the call for details Longstreet elaborated. ”The ship was a Kulumack-Class Large Cargo Transport that was converted for the transport of colonists.” Longstreet explained. ”The item itself was kept inside of one of the cabins.” Longstreet continued. He tapped his console and it showed a skeleton of the vessel. He pointed at a section just in front of the bare middle of the ship. ”It was kept in a wall panel behind a bed here. It is in a clear case that is a completely sterile environment, and it’s made of the same materials you’d find in a museum.” Longstreet mentioned. He knew the weapon was likely still in absolutely flawless condition, though that in itself wasn’t something Longstreet was terribly concerned about. The greater aspect was finding it. 

”This is simply recovery, and if it isn’t there, you leave.” Longstreet pointed out. ”The planet is somewhat known to attract certain predatory persons, and so I’d suggest you not land your ship right on top of it.” Longstreet took another sip from the burgundy colored drink in his hand. ”As of this moment, the people that are aware of this ships location could probably be counted with the fingers on your left hand, and I’m sure that any one of them would love to get their hands on it, if only for the parts.” Longstreet said. ”So don’t draw attention to yourself going in, and don’t give anyone any hints on its whereabouts, at least not until after you’ve left.” Longstreet recognized hat this was a somewhat difficult sort of task, but once they got through the atmosphere it would be fine and easy. As from what he’d generally dealt with Marcus through, he was likely to get a question about payment, but he’d wait to see if that was the case.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus let his displeasure on the memory of Shadow wane. There was business at hand. Longstreet was talking again, expounding on the ship model and where the cargo was. Behind a panel behind a bed? Smart. Not likely anyone was going to rearrange their beds. Specially with so little room.

Longstreet's word of caution gave him a might pause though. If he knew about exactly how few people knew about this. There had to be more than JUST the gun. Maybe some hidden box underneath the damn thing, or a chip inside the gun. That was what his inner cortex-geek was telling him.

Didn't matter. It was a job, and his to finish it.

He stood up and offered a hand to Longstreet. "Right, I'll head out tomorrow morning." No sense leaving on a dime. Get the crew ready and all."Might need to borrow some spacesuits though, if you can spare em." He was already putting a crew together in his mind.

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet


Longstreet paused a moment when he saw the hand extended in front of him. His assumption had been incorrect that Marcus would request information of payment prior to moving out. That however was placed into a stronger point of the hand put out. It was something that used in greeting or to conclude business. This was neither, since Longstreet had not finished. It gave him some concern that Marcus would take it as such, without having any idea what he was doing it for. This wasn’t a paramilitary organization that he was running, and he didn’t like the idea of people going forward with plans when they didn’t know what they were doing it for. It presented greater issues then just loyalty to him. He hadn’t known this man long enough for him to have a blind faith towards him. Given that, it suggested that he could just as easily shift a faith for a greater offer. Longstreet preferred when people had reason to go with method, and not just one or the other. 

Looking at the hand, he moved over towards the console, and shut off the images. The items displayed in the holograms vanished. He brought his focus back up, leaving the extended hand untouched and unrecognized. ”The environmental damage in the area isn’t so terrible that you’ll need protective measures. So long as you aren’t there for a week, and don’t drink any of the water, you’ll be fine.” Longstreet continued on, as though there had been no stop in the conversation. Longstreet remained standing as he took another sip from his glass. There was almost nothing left in his glass, and he set it down on his desk. He wasn’t bound to forget about it, but he’d pick it up when he chose to finish it.

Longstreet came to sit down in his chair, making no sound as he did. His face shown the same deep thought it always had. As he came down he looked at Marcus directly. ”I would wonder what it is you are looking to get out our arrangement here.” Longstreet mentioned. ”You came here after admirably taking down Nathanial Burts, and here you sit even now.” Longstreet continued. There was obviously some point he was making as he spoke. ”Is it just money?” Longstreet asked. ”It’s an honest question, many come here looking for just that, and I don’t blame anyone for it, as times are hard for many.” Longstreet explained everything exactly how  saw it. ”But what are you here for.” Longstreet spoke as though he wasn’t asking a question, but that was the way many who were in such a place spoke.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus outstretched hand wasn't met with Longstreet's and Marcus felt he'd made his first misstep. Had he been too casual? Longstreet's air of almost paternal assurance had remained. There was that awkward moment when neither of them did anything but look at each other.

Then Marcus withdrew his hand, and Longstreet continued to speak. Apparently Shadow wasn't entirely toxic. That was a good sign. That 'more than a week' thing worried him. Why would that be relevant. 

Then Longstreet posed his question. Marcus inhaled a slight at the question. He'd been hoping to avoid this sort of thing. Honestly money was a good enough answer, but looking at Longstreet; he wondered what the man expected of him. 

"Honestly, sir?" He paused. "Since the end of the war, I've been wandering around. Hitching rides where I could. Working each day without any sense of a course. But now I've got a ship, even a crew. I'm still not ready to set all my own headings. So, seeing as you've kept your own way, since the end of the war; following you seems a fair means to finding my own way of leading."

It was the truest way he could put it.

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet

Longstreet took in Marcus’ answer, and he absorbed every shred of it. Longtreet was good about taking in what people actually thought and believed. Whether it was what they said, or not, Longstreet analyzed the words the people said to find his own meaning of what they were saying. It didn’t matter to Longstreet all that much if what they were saying was what they actually meant, because discerning meaning was something he was good at. From what he was gauging of Marcus however, he was saying it how he saw it. He sounded to be like so many of those unfortunate veterans that were on the losing side that had no viable assets. The Independents hadn’t paid much, and half the time it was in local currencies, a lot of which were worthless now that the war was over. Longstreet had accounts run through more universal finances, so that when the short post war depression hit the Independent Worlds, Longstreet didn’t even notice outside of what he could see and hear. Marcus was clearly not quite in the same bracket as that, but was one of those trying to take what they had known and use it to take him somewhere.

”Private Marcus O’Terra” Longstreet said looking down at the glass on his desk. ”Of the Beylix Air Militias, and 312 infantry. Service 5 years.”Longstreet recited from memory. No one was ever surprised that Longstreet did research on them. Namely it was the heavies that he spent more time on, the regular workers he had looked into as well, though he didn’t take as much of a personal interest in it. Primarily because they weren’t much of a risk, a hazard, or an asset. 

Regardless of all of that, Longstreet did take the answer for what it was. ”Five years would represent a strong devotion to the cause.” Longstreet observed. He looked back up at that moment. ”Do you know why I’m called ‘The Colonel’?” Longstreet asked. There were many that knew, though those that called him that had different reasons for calling him. But those that did, namely understood why he was called that in the first place. Longstreet did not believe Marcus knew that though, as it seemed far more likely that he referred to him as that, simply because everyone else did.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus's eyes went up when he he heard Longstreet list off his service record. Had it been five years? How much of my life did the war suck up... How much of his life did the war give a purpose? He shrugged as Longstreet asked if he felt it was a sign of dedication. Devotion was the word he used.

He thought about it once and realized that, once again, it came back to Burts. "I'd been broken once. Put in a cage like some kind of animal... I guess I saw the Alliance as Burts. Someone looking to put a collar on me." He imagined that somewhere Longstreet had put his past together. And if he didn't before; he would have it now. "That's how I knew Burts, if I didn't tell you before. My father used me as collateral for a debt."He clenched his fists at the memory. "I'd been in chains once; I wouldn't lay down and be bound again. Not without a fight." When the surrender order came through, a lot of soldiers chose to 'Go to Glory', and get themselves killed. Them and anyone nearby getting caught into it.

When Longstreet asked about his moniker, Marcus shrugged. "I imagine you had a part in the war. Maybe it was your Rank, or maybe just what they called you." It was the simplest answer. Marcus was finding that those were usually the right answers.

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet


In spite of Marcus’ extended circumstances for fighting, Longstreet found the argument all too familiar. There were many that were fighting all the way through the war from start to finish, and in general the only ones that didn’t were the ones that got injured or decided to desert. But desertions only happened if they thought they could find something better, which typically they could. Whether or not they could find something that was moral wasn’t really part of the equation. For many, anything was better sitting in a trench waiting for death. Though the first two years hadn’t gone quite as bad as the last two, and 2509 had been more or less a toss up as to who was winning. Regardless of that, Longstreet had left a standing order that deserters caught by his troops, whether they be a part of his unit or not, be placed on the front line. If the Alliance lost the war, they still went home to war profits and the best locations in the entire galaxy. If the Independents lost, they lost their livelihood, way of life, indeed their vary sovereignties. Turning your back on the army was like turning your back on that. He didn’t hold the Alliance to the same standard, if they got some sort of belief in them, then that was their business. And it wasn’t much different for the others that had been like Longstreet.

But Marcus had been a slave, which did make his experience different. Being almost completely unregulated in the time before and during the war, he recalled many being offered the opportunity to fight for their freedom. This however was not one of those circumstances. ”Your man on Persephone…” Longstreet spoke ”did make mention of your time on board Burts vessel.” Longstreet had found the irony somewhat poetic in who had brought Burts down for him. But he wasn’t concerned too much who had done it, so long as the man formerly under his command was finally shut down in his hellish exploits. The idea that Marcus had been the one to do it in that situation did show a strong aptitude for that  work though, given that Burts had killed bounty hunters before, and most freed slaves did all they could to stay away from their captors. These sorts of qualities didn’t always come very often, and though Marcus was a rather short package, it still showed his capabilities.

Longstreet got his answer from Marcus as to why he thought he was called what he was but some. As he thought, he was piecing it together, but not seeing it fully. Longstreet thought it best to then explain the whole. ”I was a Major General of Independents from 2506 in to 2511.” Longstreet explained. ”I held the rank of Colonel in the Union Army for two decades.” Longstreet didn’t seem sour about his point, but what he was referring to was a somewhat sour subject ”The people that call me by that title are people that knew me as it before, such as the Lieutenant,”Longstreet said referring Carl, who had been his ensign for much of his military career. ”,some elements of Federal society who choose not to recognize my rank for the opposition.” That primarily applied to only people who had come from the central planets. ”And Morse, he does it to mock me.” That portion was true, as Morse had a different political view then Longstreet had. Longstreet had supported unification, but not the invasion of his homeworld, and that was the reason of his resignation. Morse knew it and used it as a sting towards him, as he did with many others. The idea didn’t bother Longstreet much, and he let it go, though he didn’t take it quite the same from others. ”I had a devotion towards my cause, and that’s why I’m referred to by that title.” Longstreet continued. ”It’s not about the money, it’s about the idea. Keep that with yourself as well.” Longstreet didn’t often give out advice very often as he mainly presumed people would figure things out for themselves. He was very strong on a person maintaining degrees of independence, as he did for himself.

As he finished that Longstreet was prepared for his next point. ”While on the subject of money however, the funding for this will not fall in the same of what it has been offered to you previously.” Longstreet said. ”This isn’t a particularly dangerous to any degree as you can imagine. I’m more paying for your time then your pains.” Longstreet recognized that the risk factor for this assignment was next to nothing. All they had to do was not send over the cortex what they were doing, and walk around on a lifeless rock to pick up something they had a map which led right too. So he wasn’t going to be paying him a large chunk of cash for such a thing. ”I’ll hand you one hundred for each head on your ship.” Longstreet offered. ”And, if you come back here with it, and don’t decide to fence the item yourself, I’ll offer you… something potentially more valuable to you personally for it.” Longstreet finished. He didn’t go all the way through it for a reason, as anyone would be able to figure out, but he was wanting it to sink in before he mentioned what it actually was.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus grimaced a bit when Longstreet passively mentioned Dare. He didn't doubt that Dare and Longstreet would have exchanged words on his group, and what the pawn broker had seen of it. Still it was water under a bridge Marcus never got a look at. In short, not a problem worth starting.

When he told Marcus his full status as a Major General though, and his time as a Union Colonel. That struck him hard. Suddenly he felt like he'd been stepping on someone's grave and not having the courtesy to acknowledge it was there.

He swallowed a comment on that though, as Longstreet dealt out some wisdom in his direction. He nodded at it. Trying to sort it somewhere. Not the money or the idea.... kinda like this job. Seeing the world. Seeing the scars left by the Alliance. Seeing it for what it was.

Might do him a bit of good.

When Longstreet started talking money, he nodded a bit. It made sense, the dangers here would be avoided by simply being sensible. When it came to fencing it, and the more mysterious option of handing it over; Marcus only smiled.

"A long lost ship on a deserted planet, an ancient artifact from the Home-world, and vague threats of future work. Sir, what more could I ask for?" The word 'threats' was said in a more joking tone than the word implied, though he did want a starfighter, but how the hell would he use the damn thing? Really.