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Post by Morse on Aug 23, 2012 1:27:39 GMT -5
Call from Bellforge, Beaumonde to Chainless
October 9, 2517
3:42 P.M Local Time - Muir - (Last Place Docked)
A light blinked on the cortex terminal of the Chainless. The was a signal that was coming from Beaumonde. It was not from an address that the ship had been called from before but the caller had inserted their name "Morse" so that the receiver would know who it was.
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Post by Marcus O'Terra on Aug 23, 2012 21:30:44 GMT -5
Marcus had been napping when the terminal in his room told him the ship was receving a message. Pulling on a jacket and some pants he headed up to the bridge. Wincing at the brisk cold of the deck under his bare feet.
Not the most ideal way to move about a ship, but it woke him him.
He reached the comms, and after a cursory glance at navigation to confirm the were still on course, sat down. He saw Morse's name flash and immediately wondered if the call was meant for Ray.
That'd be silly. Ray'd probably already set up a way to forward Morse's calls straight to his own room.
So this was likely one of the two favors being called in.
"Debts come due." Marcus exhaled, then hit the accept key.
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Post by Morse on Aug 24, 2012 2:27:00 GMT -5
The image of Morse appeared on the screen. He was wearing his usual black coats, visible leather jacket underneath, and black shirt. Everything visibly seemed to be in place. Behind him however there was the image of a street. People were walking around behind him, and a vehicle would pass by every other second. It was evident that he was using a public cortex terminal to make the call. The time shown 1:15 P.M, which the sunlight concurred with, and the call was coming from the city of Bellforge on Beaumonde.
There was a difference in Morse’s usual expression in dealing with Marcus. As opposed to the usual snide superior showing that he usually held, he had a much darker, more serious expression on his face. This was not usual for him beyond a joke, which this evidently wasn’t.
He was looking to his right and his jaw was slightly ajar, almost with a look of disgust. When the sound of the connection came through he looked at the screen to see the image of Marcus in front of him.
Morse didn’t make a typical attack on the way Marcus looked, or his position, or history, or length of time it took to pick up, or anything of that nature. He just said his name, ”Marcus.” quickly. His left hand rested on the terminal, and he faced it straight, his expression still unchanged. ”I got some bad, serious shit, news.” Morse spat, with an evident concern which bordered on dread.
”Longstreet’s dead.” Morse gave the revelation without using the mock title of ‘Colonel’ with it to ensure that there was no mistaking who he was referring to and to emphasize that he was speaking seriously for once.
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Post by Marcus O'Terra on Aug 24, 2012 13:22:26 GMT -5
Marcus saw Morse's face and felt that something was off to begin with. Morse had never so much as spoken to Marcus without something over the young man's head. Some preplanned comment on the debts he owed Morse, or Longstreet, or some fuck up Marcus had made in recent weeks.
This Morse was not that Morse. Marcus kept his mouth shut as the man spoke, and his jaw nearly fused shut as his body clenched at the words he heard. His mind raced. If this was something as simple as a natural death, Morse might look less concerned. From what Marcus knew, Morse was out of the game, so if Longstreet passed on natural it wasn't like he was left twisting in the wind.
Foul play on the other hand, that would make everyone recently associated with Longstreet ill at ease.
"How." Marcus skipped past any denial and straight to questions. "When?" Maybe the more important question was the first, but there was that doubt in his gut. Marcus hadn't known Longstreet for very long, but the man had such an air of professionalism, caution, god-damned competence. He'd hoped to learn from the man; Marcus realized, in hindsight.
Too late now. Marcus's face was all seriousness as he waited for Morse's answer.
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Post by Morse on Aug 25, 2012 0:21:46 GMT -5
The question hadn’t sat very long with Marcus, but Morse already being batted back with questions. They weren’t unusual questions, but they weren’t the first ones hat had gone through Morse’s question. He needed to have the statement repeated before he actually got around to those. Everyone took news like that differently though.
”He was shot.” Morse shot back, the seriousness not moving from his face. ”In his house.” If anything his tense nature seemed to be increasing as the news was working through his own head. ”Sometime last night.”
Morse looked around behind him and back towards the cortex terminal. His was visibly on edge in a way that was very unusual for him. Sort of like he’d felt a major earthquake and knew a much larger one was coming, but no one else knew. It was something he wasn’t used to.
”Some fuckers… I don’t.” Morse started trying to sort out all he’d heard. ”Smashed out his door in the middle of the night and shot him dead.” Most people’s thoughts weren’t very smooth in a situation like that, and it wasn’t evident Morse was no exception, but was doing what he could.
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Post by Marcus O'Terra on Aug 26, 2012 16:46:18 GMT -5
Marcus's stomach rolled when Morse gave the details. This was wrong. On the level of mechanics. Longstreet's estate had been reinforced. He had security: technology and ex-military. The tech was up to date and the men were loyal to a fault. He had contacts, information networks.
Marcus's confusion was spreading over his face, his eyes lost focus and the left side of his face began to squint as he shot a furtive gaze to the sensors. He couldn't tell from where he was sitting, but the Morse's nervousness was suddenly obvious.
If someone had hit Longstreet, where he lived, all of them were vulnerable. Anyone on Longstreet's payroll could be a target.
Marcus found it hard to breath and gripped the console. "I... we." His stomach was pitching a fit. He forced himself to exhale and controlled his breathing. Focus. He looked for a center. Facts: Longsteet is a former Independent officer. Morse and I are too, sort of. If someone's hunting Independents, we're both at risk. SHIT.
Marcus's head was in his hands, Morse could probably only see his hair, which was getting a bit unruly at this point. He'd been letting it grow out.
"What do we do?"
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Post by Morse on Aug 26, 2012 17:39:00 GMT -5
When Marcus started to go through the information that Morse had given him, Morse heard a noise behind him. It was the sound of someone behind him. He wasn’t sure who, and that didn’t particularly matter to him. He was on a public cortex terminal that anyone could use. It didn’t matter to him that the line wasn’t secure, he made the call when he could.
“Hey, could you hurry up. I’m…” The man asked. He was a few years older then Morse was, and had an oriental styled garb on. But before he could finish his statement, Morse had turned to look at him angrily. This was enhanced by the fact that Morse had drawn out one of his pistols from beneath his coat.
”Fuck off!” Morse ordered. ”Now!” He knocked the barrel of the weapon against the man’s head and pulled back the hammer on the pistol. He was far from the mood to deal with people like this man. In his current state of mind he probably wouldn’t hesitate to shoot the man right there in the street.
The man back away wide eyed, and hurriedly walked down the street. No one took any notice, as guns were a common sight around Beaumonde.
Morse managed to come back to the screen in time to catch the question. He knew that would come, and part of that was why Morse had called him. ”I’m thinkin’ you should drop what your doin’ and get back here to Beaumonde.” He said putting his pistol back under his coat. ”Not sure where you are, but with the ‘Colonel’ dead things are gonna get pretty twitchy quick, and we’re all gonna have to figure out where things go from here.” Morse’s main concern was with who, if anyone, would take charge. He had only managed a short call from Carl, and he didn’t know what was likely to happen with the rest of the Empire now that the head of it was dead.
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Post by Marcus O'Terra on Aug 27, 2012 21:19:57 GMT -5
Morse yelling at the man didn't surprise Marcus, but the gun got his blood pumping. Is he being attacked? But it was clear that it was just some passerby who pushed Morse a little too much. No shots were fired, so Marcus relaxed back to his previous nervousness.
Morse answered and Marcus nodded. "What we were doing is done." He had a heading again, and it was heading straight into trouble. He thought of a fist fight he'd seen once, where the winning fighter had leaned into each oncoming punch, turning them against the attacker.
That didn't work with bullets, or starships; Marcus didn't like the idea of plowing into trouble that might be looking for him. He'd done it enough times to know it lead to getting shot.
"I was heading to New Canaan." Marcus said, "So it may take us time." Lulah's navigating and Jace's piloting not withstanding, he was heading back the way he came, things were likely to get worse on their way there. "Any advice if things spin into the shit?" He wasn't sure where he'd heard the phrase, somewhere around the scrapyards.
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Post by Morse on Aug 28, 2012 1:42:15 GMT -5
Morse shook his head slightly as he thought about the man that had tried to get him to wrap up his call. He was not in the state of mind to deal with the small people that filled in the blur. Everyone had a specific role to play in the galaxy, but some were small, and others were large. In all likeliness that man had been a civilian all his life, and did all the right things, and was just in a hurry.
Morse however had been a soldier, an officer, a leader of men, and was one of the top rungs of a criminal organization. One that was very prominent and powerful, particularly in the city that they were in. And that put him in a more important place then the man who was apparently in a hurry. If he was a man of action then he would have shot Morse in the back for what he had done, but he didn’t. And with no one dead, it would all just be written as a memory.
Realizing that it would be days, if not weeks, before Marcus arrived, Morse thought he was probably the fortunate one. ”Well then you’re the lucky ones in all this.” He granted, since the circumstances were so serious. ”The next few days are going to be a very serious set, and you’re gonna get here after it’s all figured on.”
On the other hand Morse was stuck there, with everyone else on the planet trying to figure out what to do next. ”I gotta get to the Trading Outpost and see what’s being done so far.” Morse explained. ”Only advice I can give is keep your com active in case somethin’ else comes up.”
Morse was about ready to shut off and he stopped himself, realizing that Marcus probably wouldn’t have a strong grasp on how to handle his people. ”And… don’t get to heavy on the details with yer crew.” Morse suggested. ”Just tell em he’s dead and how, but don’t let em get too deep in speculation.” Morse knew what that sort of talk did, and it led to serious problems. ”Just keep em doin’ what they do, and keep the course this way.”
He then moved back a bit. He was a bit more calmed down, but he still had the serious look about it. ”And pray we land ‘soft’.” Morse spoke in a reference to something he said years ago at the Battle of Serenity Valley. When the Logan was shot down he told Andy the pilot to ‘make it soft’, hoping that the ship could come out alright. This situation in his mind mimicked that circumstance greatly.
Morse then tapped the console, and the call shut off.
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