Log Title: Merchants of Death
Ar-Gent Silverfinger
Characters: Ar-Gent Silverfinger, Kreezy, Sci-Nide
Location: Evil Inc Mars Base- Funway Date: May 23, 2019 TP: Nucleosis TP
Summary: Evil Inc needs some supplies to further its research. Ar-Gent reaches out to an old contact to do business.
As logged by Ar-gent Silverfinger
Log session starting at 20:00:01 on Thursday, 23 May 2019.
The Funway is busy, though mostly it's filled with Junkions. They're buttoning up panels and painting corners, getting everything tidy in preparation for a grand opening to come. But only one mech really knows the timetable, and that mech is AR-GENT SILVERFINGER, superspy and CEO of Evil Inc.
Ar-Gent stands near the doors to the airlock entrance, awaiting a contact. He has an enercig in a long, thin holder, a touch of elegance, and he draws on it slowly, taking his time. No need to rush. The money and opportunities are already on their way.
Funway
This giant combination of hallway and central station has brightly colored lines along its floor and walls that might actually tell someone how to get somewhere if anything were labelled. Moving sidewalks and a small train service provide transportation for impatient travelers or those who merely happen to have shorter legs. The upper half of the vaulted ceiling is transparent, allowing the occupants to look up and see the Martian sky. Several kiosks are dotted across the area, staffed by Junkions that are eager to sell you refreshments, souvenirs, and life insurance.
Sci-Nide looks annoyed that he has been pulled away from the Neucleosis Timmy Testing Trials to be called upon to merely 'consult' on some menial trade argreement.
Approaching from low orbit, the unmistakable design of a Kreezy-model landing ship, all thick armor and obvious rivet panels, starts to guide into position. Surrounding it are a dozen weapons drones, tracking everything that moves, as if expecting an ambush, which is to say standard business for Kreezy. The shuttle's guidance thrusters hiss as they slow the vehicle down right at the landing pad, a brutish if practical elegance to it.
Suddenly the thrusters kick off, and the shuttle just drops twenty feet at an angle, crashing and cracking the landing pad as a reverberation fills the area. The sidehatch opens up, and there's already screaming. "YOU MOPHEADED FOOL! I TOLD YOU 'CLASSY'! 'CLASSY'...HUH WHY AM I EVEN TELLING YOU? YOU DON'T KNOW THE MEANING OF THE WORD."
THe little sidehatch has a stair descend that does not touch the planet's surface. Several large gorilla-men of some sort, wearing sunglasses and suits, start to give a shifty gaze to the area. One of them holds a covered box that he gingerly holds. Another two appear afterwards, one hitting another with some sort of collapsed fan. "YOU LITTLE TWERP! YOU'RE MAKING ME LOOK BAD! YOU'RE RUINING THE BRAND IMAGE I'VE SPENT LIGHTYEARS CULTIVATING."
The one with the fan stops when the shouting finishes.
"I didn't say stop hitting him." And with that the berating motions are resumed, as one gorilla-man gets smacked about lightly by another, for his impudence.
Ar-Gent Silverfinger arches an optic ridge as he notes the arrival of a ship through the transparent ceiling overhead. "Ah, looks like he's here. Timely, timely." He takes out a small whisk broom and dusts himself off briefly with it before it tucking it away. Got to look your best for business.
Sci-Nide turns as the 'entourage' leaves the ship, and peers at the box being held by one of them. He's certain the voice is coming from there and so focuses his superior senses upon it.
The airlock hisses as the large security retinue starts to pile through, broad shouldered gorilla-men on the same scale as Junkions, just start to enter the airlock tunnel. Its an exhaustive process, filled with lots of gas streams and closing doors. Finally, an exorbinant amount of gorilla-men, including the one that's still being berated, enter, complete with the one holding a box. "Alright, let's get this started. Emitter." The one holding the box, hits a small button that displays a cassettecon-tall holoimage of the single molecule hyper elite, Kreezy. A blue cell thing that has an amorphous form, eyes and a mouth. The guard holding the box, adjusts the size of Kreezy until his scale is only a few feet shorter than Ar-Gent. Holo-Kreezy visibly looks behind himself, giving a flat look, until the holo-emitter is rescaled to be just a little taller than Ar-Gent.
As the two sides meet, Kreezy is all smiles and charm. "Ahhh Ar-Gent Silverfinger! You're looking nefarious today. It's been too long. He gives a noticable look around the area. "I like the new construction. Very impersonal, direct. The aesthetic is...." He pauses, "corporate, yet undertones of wrongdoing." He snaps his fingers. One of the guards takes down some notes for him apparently.
Ar-Gent Silverfinger beams at Kreezy's projection. "I do my humble best. This is only one part of what we have planned for Mars- we've put in some timeshares to sell as vacation property to various parties in system. But the other part.." Ar-Gent takes a long draw on his enercig in its holder. "Ahhhh, I will finally get my own palace. A private goal for some time." He puffs out a heart shaped smoke ring before returning his attention to the blue amoeboid. "But come! You're not here to listen to me expositate. Would your gorillas care for a seat, or shall we conduct business standing?"
Sci-Nide eyes the gorilla-men speculatively. "Feh. Anyone can mutate gorillas," he mutters.
"I don't pay my employees to /sit/, Silverfinger." As he talks, two of his guards are already at the concession stands, apparently very eager to have anything to eat or drink at all. Kreezy snaps his fingers. One of the guards starts taking notes again. Kreezy pauses, "Not that snap, the /other/ snap." Which ends up being the two guards that fell out of line, start getting slapped about by the others. Current tally: 3 Gorilla-men being disciplined.
Kreezy motions for Ar-Gent to lead on, because of course there's a need to West Wing as they talk. "I've never had much interest in real estate...Beings live far too long for my tastes. Hatred...well, there's something you can always count on to line your pocketbook." He gives a side eye to Sci-Nide. "You're the...bio-engineer? Are you the one that spawned those damned flame-spewing mech-eater plants?" He snorts, "Those things burned down three separate restraining cells...Never seen anything burn down energy barriers before....but enough chatter. I know you can make this trip worth my while, so let's hear it."
Ar-Gent Silverfinger chuckles and walks with Kreezy and his escort. "We've had an opportunity land in our lap, but to make the most of it, we're going to need some supplies. I have various contacts I could ask, of course, but I thought of you right away. If anybody would have access to the highly energetic and dangerous compounds Sci-Nide requires, you would." Ar-Gent leads the group to a little set of chairs and tables by a kiosk that sells smoothies, both for organics and transformers. A small box is already at the table that Ar-gent sits at, and the evil Junkion leader slides it across towards the nearest gorilla. "A little token, since you're here. I know you enjoy the odd libation, and we've created some high proof liquor for the local organic market. A modest endeavor."
There's a pause as Ar-Gent deftly places a fresh enercig in the holder and lights it.
Sci-Nide tinks for a moment at Kreezy's comments. "Are you referring to he Haemanthus I modified with progressive autotransmutaion or the Solanaceae I subjected to chromasome cyberdissociation?"
One of the gorilla guards runs a sensor array over the box, then after a few seconds, allows it to come forward. The top of the first box is removed to reveal a petri dish with a tiny holographic station attached to it. With surprising efficiency, the other box is opened, and tools for microscopic surgery are used to transport the drink to the petri dish by means of cyber syringe. As they work, Kreezy speaks, "I hope you're in the market for weapons runoff. I've got over two dozen toxic chemicals that GEPA is demanding I dispose of safely. I was going to just rebrand them as refreshments, but its hard to find any sapient being who can ingest ionic benzene amalgamates without a high chance of spontaneous melting." He muses over his 'struggles' with corporate life, and examines the tiny drink prepared for him. He responds to Sci-Nide, "The bitey one." As if on cue, one of the guards holds up a picture of the Solanaceae creation, with a pair of legs sticking out of its maw. Kreezy doesn't seem to notice. "I assume you have proper trade. Very well, give me this invoice, we'll go what you have to offer, both living and inanimate." One of the gorilla guards quickly and efficiently draws on a rubber glove with a snap. Kreezy adds, "But nothing living organic." The guard promptly removes the glove, returning to his previous at attention post.
Kreezy pauses, "Of course, you know....I'd be willing to do an even trade..." Kreezy swirls around the offered drink in a teeny cup as he looks slyly over at Ar-Gent and Sci-Nide. "That low-thermal energy beam you made, a few astro years ago, the one you created out of that...'Kloptman Diamond' and that 'Amulet of Yendor'....I've had a buyer hounding me for eighteen astromonths now that he needed some sort of weak phlebonium attack device. I could see that being a perfect trade for these requests of yours and...." Kreezy lifts what might be an eyebrow, "some elements for your palace. I've got a good supply of lanthium bricks, and plasma-trapped yurian lumber...both exceptional flooring. For the distinguished host."
Ar-Gent Silverfinger hmmms. "Weapons runoff? I daresay we could find a use for it." He rubs his chin, thinking. "Let's see.. I believe that particular death ray was installed in the kitchens at the moon base, given its mild effect. Gettable, but it'll take a few days." Ar-Gent pulls out a datapad and offers it to a gorilla. "And here are the items we're particularly looking for. Of most importance is nucleon, of the purest grade available. But also some more plasmesium and chemoril to top up our supplies, if those are available."
Sci-Nide ahs, "Yes, I was particularly fond of that one. Though it should have been easily contained; assuming none of your staff fed it after midnight Earth Eastern Time, as well as keeping it suffieciently watered." The mech nods to Ar-Gent, "As a warming device, if I'm remembering correctly. Though with a few modifications it could be used to boil quite a few sentients from the inside out."
"Plasmesium, eh? That's a high ticket item." Kreezy rubs his hands together, "Tell you what, Since you're such a good supplier of mine, I'll give you all the weapons runoff. Free. Of. Charge." Which is fun, of course, since he was up to his monolecular neck in fines from GEPA. He pauses, "Nucleon?" Kreezy gives the two a skeptical look, "Hah, back before I ran the show, the Decepticons were big into that...I want to say three eons ago." One of the gorillas holds up four fingers to indicate Kreezy is wrong. "We should have some stock in one of our storage planets."
Over on Cittira-23, several silos of material lie opened, radioactive materials spilling out, setting the local wildlife on fire....
Kreezy says, "I think we can do business. Four days then."
Ar-Gent Silverfinger nods. "Done and done. Feel free to linger and enjoy the ambiance here as long as you like."
Sci-Nide turns and walks off deeper into the complex. "I wonder it the next batch of Timmies is ready for testing..."
Log session ending at 21:28:09 on Thursday, 23 May 2019.