It had only been a few days since the quiet stranger dropped the card off at Dr. Ignatius's humble shop. On the reverse of the card were directions to this place, the compound of the 'Canyon Crows,' with a time and date and contact information for meeting a 'Michael' at the gate. From what the good doctor could piece together, the Canyon Crows are a small salvage operation funded by one 'Jimmy the Hen,' the abbreviated name found on the card the doctor received. Having arrived early, the doctor has little to do but wait at the gate. After all, the four autocannons set at the right angles of the fence line suggest the owners frown on unauthorized visitors.
For Iasho, it has been rather longer since he recieved his invitation. For one, the offer the young man recieved was open ended; there was no meeting date provided, just an offer that, should he ever come to Foundation City and the Undermarket, he should stop by the Canyon Crow compound and see the man -- Michael -- about work.
The doctor's waiting is interupted by the rumble of an approaching land vehicle. At first the noise is barely a hum above the traffic of aircraft in the air, but as the vehicle nears it becomes increasingly clear its headed this way. When the motorbike turns the corner, the headlight pierces the shadows cast by the setting sun, and by the looming edifice of Foundation City proper high above. It seems the good doctor is not alone.
The lanky reptilian steps back to give the vehicles more room, the lenses of his goggles refocusing as he tries to keep them in sight.
The bike wheels lock up as the breaks clamp on the discs. It slides in sideways, kicking up a cloud of dust and small rocks as it skids to a halt before the gate. The coyote then nonchalantly flicks some debris from his shoulder, then undoes the bandana wrapped over his nose and mouth (presumably to keep the dust down. "You one of Michael's guys?" he barks at the lizard as he wipes the day's grime from the well-work 'blast' goggles he's wearing.
"Zat remains to be zeen," the iguana hisses, and brushes dust from his white lab-coat. "I am Dr. Ignatius," he then says, offering a cybernetic hand.
"Iasho," the coyote grunts and pushes up the goggles, then pulls them off and glares at them. "Half the muck on the road acts like glue, gonna have to soak these," he grumbles, then stuffs them into his jacket pocket. Finally the coyote grasps the offered cybernetic hand, leaving a smear of bike-chain grease when he releases a moment later. "A doctor, eh? Of what?"
Overhead, the roar of machines in transit can be heard. Several winged mecha glide in formation, their details masked by the shadow cast by the lip of Foundation City proper. The three humanoid flying vehicles soon vanish in to the city above. Lifting off from a distant airstrip, a rotor-drive aircraft takes to the sky, its blade-noise a low thup-thup-thup, crowded out by the endless noise of airfield district business.
After rummaging through his paper-filled pockets to retrieve the card he was given, Iggy says, "First aid, upgradez and enhancements." He finally finds the card he was given, and shows it the coyote. "Were you given one of these alzo?" he asks.
"Sort of. Michael gave me one ... not sure how long ago, really. Too many gallons of beer and a few too many tumbles since then to remember the exact day, you know?" Iasho laughs as he leans forward, resting his elbows on the bike handlebars. "I just showed up some desert punks at race 'bout, uh, well a ways from here. Week drive through the unfriendlies. Not fast going, but far enough."
"I have a body shop here in town," Iggy notes, returning the card to a different pocket from where he found it. "Desert, eh? Harsh on electronics. Got any implants?"
"Well, aren't you a nosy one," Iasho remarks and rolls his jaw. "Yeah, I have a few. Splice in the back of my skull for system interfaces an' a mount system for a decent power system when I find need of such things. Doesn' make my back pretty with the jack and anchor points, but eh. Living in the wastes isn't for someone who wants t' be pretty."
"Mmm, good to know," the cyber-doc notes, grinning. Iasho can see that the man's cyber-goggles have their own tiny little windshield wipers.
Amidst the rumble of aircraft both incoming and outgoing, one noise begins to overtake them, building with time. In the distance, the bulky shape of a large VTOL can be seen rapidly approaching the area. While hardly uncommon for the district, its destination is revealed by the sudden lighting of a number of rotating red warning lights at one of the warehouse-like buildings beyond the gate. The grind of machinery can be heard from the same building, followed by several thunks.
"Eh, don't be getting any ideas, now, I don't get naked for just anyone. Especially doctors," Iasho barks as a laugh. He watches the VTOL craft pass over before remarking, "Seems Michael gots a bit o' money, doesn't it?"
"Bet you there is a black cat with green eyes piloting that," Iggy says.
"Given those glasses? Not taking that bet. Didn't fall off the turnip truck, doc," Iasho remarks.
"Turnips are slippery things, yes?" the doctor asks distractedly, since he's more focused on the building.
The thunks seem to have been locking mechanisims, for the roof of the warehouse soon splits open. Several spotlights blink in to life from within, one flickering, apparently in need of repair. The large VTOL's engines shift, the blue-white thrust of the dual mounts edging downward as the aircraft slows to a halt over the now-open warehouse. Illuminated by the spotlights, the vehicle can be seen to have an elongated cockpit with two pilots. Emblazed on the side of the main body is the image of a bird swooping in to what looks like a ditch or ravive, holding something in its talons. The word "Bluebird" is painted nearby. Slowly the VTOL eases in to the hangar, out of sight.
"Depends on where they've been," Iasho notes, head tilted. "Fancy. Engine is a bit off; slight whine in the turbine. Probably running slightly rich on fuel, not getting complete burn, that. Probably just one of the injection sensors starting to wear out."
"Crows and Bluebirds?" Ignatius asks. "Very tasty mascots. You are a mechanic, perhaps, Mr. Iasho?"
"I dabble," Iasho remarks noncommittally.
Not long after the aircraft has set down, the grind of machinery begins again as the roof begins to close. With a loud clunk, the roof comes together, followed by the clang of the locks resetting themselves. The red warning lights go dark, and within several seconds, a door on the side of the building opens. Two figures emerge, one gesturing with a hand at the gate where Igantius and Iasho now stand. After a brief moment of what might be discussion between the two, the two split up. The pointer begins walking close, while the other, after leaning in towards the first, heads towards a windowed, antennaed building further in.
"This does not seem related to Mr. The Hen's nightclub business," Iggy notes.
Iasho kicks down the bike stand down and lets the heavy machine lean on it as he finally swings his leg over and steps off. "Nightclubs? That would explain the use of a nudie magazine as a notepad," he chuckles. "Can understand why he'd want a flesh-hack to make wimmens with big ... tracts of land, but not the interest in a desert racer."
"Salvage!" Iggy suggests, his eyes lighting up. Well, his goggle glinting anyway, and something in the hump on his back gurgling.
The lone figure steadily approaches the gate at a quick walking pace. Soon, he's close enough to be illuminated by the gate lights: a canine man in what might be his mid-thirties, dressed in combat armor displaying the same symbol as on the VTOL, minus the word "Bluebird." Iasho recognizes the man immediately as the one who gave him the job offer, and even Ignatius can see this is Michael; after all, it's written right there on his armor. "Hey," he calls out in a good-natured sounding greeting, "sorry for the delay, damn Hawks decided to do a inspection and what are you going to say to a squad of Avis scouts?"
"Man, take a beano before you go out in public," Iasho hisses at the Doctor as Michael approaches, "Better hope we're down wind!" As the man draws closer, he waves. "Ey, no big deal. Just spent a week traversing the wastes, so a few more minutes doesn't make much of a difference," he says, "Quite an operation you have here."
"Greetings, Mr. Michael," Ignatius says, and holds out his diagnostic hand. "I am Dr. Ignatius."
The man behind the gate consults a clipboard he pulls from underneath his arm. "I recognize you; Iasho, right? Decided to take me up on the offer then? And you," he glances at the doctor a moment, then frowns. "Hunter? Why on Terra would ... " He shakes his head and looks up, "Well no matter, sorry Hubter had to be your first introduction to us. Anyway, I'm supposed to be meeting you, doc, but Iasho being here is a surprise. 'Course that makes it easy, we can do this all at once. As the name tag says, I'm Michael, head salvager -- I work for Jimmy."
"Oh, are you looking for salvaged heads?" the cyberdoc asks. "I have an old H-17 that I was going to refurbish.."
"Yeah, you were you watching the races back ... well not that it matters," Iasho comments, "Figured it was worth following up. Gotta beat what I make off bets now. Too many people have gotten wind of, well, my customizations to my runner. Can't fake being the long shot anymore." The coyote grins almost impishly. "So, you're a salvage operation? What specifically do you go after?"
"I'll explain everything in a moment. First, lets get you inside. Talking to prospective employees past a gate doesn't sit well with me. Neil!" The canine salvager looks up and waves to one of the autocannons mounted on the fencing corner nearest the gate, "Hey Neil! Open'er up!" In seconds, the gate begins to withdraw, allowing Iasho and the Doctor inside. "Come on, we'll discuss this in the HQ building, maybe have a drink."
"Can I get one with an umbrella in it?" Iggy asks as he trundles along.
Iasho kicks the bike stand up and rolls the bike along with him. He'll drop the stand and leave it once they head inside a building. "So, you get to fly one of those birds?" he asks as they walk.
"Maybe a the Crowbar," Michael replies, "but Jimmy doesn't send us the best stuff -- I think its his way of getting us to spend our money at his place on off hours." The man laughs, then turns and begins walking towards the same building the other figure headed to. "And that's right Iasho. Like I said, we're a salvage operation, a kind of side business for Jimmy. We take the contracts he gets us, or do our own work. Mostly its small, high value targets. We get in, we get the items, and we get out."
"And no questions asked?" the coyote jokes.
"Hmmm, so would you say this is high-risk salvage?" Iggy asks.
"Not much law out there. It's first come, first server. A lot of our contracts come from the big boys -- the Houses -- like Avis and Fenris, and they're the law around here. They don't care how we do it, as long as we get it done," Michael explains. He glances back at the Doctor and grins. "It's all high risk, right? But you could say that. We're not salvage trains, with a hundred armed men and an armored land convoy, we're a few people with fast aircraft and good information. We prefer to avoid trouble, but I won't say it never happens."
"Fast iz good," Iggy replies, bobbing his head.
"There isn't an aircraft made that can outrun a rocket, though. Good armor still matters," Iasho quips and shrugs. "And high risk, doc? Living is high risk. Every breath you take could kill you. Some hundred pound mutant goose could fall out of the sky and squish you. So, from my view, going after salvage is no more dangerous."
The reptile pauses at that, and asks Iasho, "How big are the drumsticks on a 100 lb. goose?"
"I think you've had one too many to drink already," Iasho comments to the lizard.
"It sure is. Those land crawlers might be big and well armed, but those me are out there for weeks, sometimes months, loading every scrap and bit of metal and tech they get. Steady, low paying, boring work. We may not be as safe, but you won't lack in action or pay with us," Michael tells Ignatius. He chuckles at the comment about the rocket, and nods. "The VTOL have their own defences and we're all good pilots, enough for your average bandit scum, mutant, ir tribal nutjob, at least. Anyway, speaking of the VTOLs, there's three right now. You saw Bluebird, that one I think Jimmy won in a bet, and was our first. The other two are Ghost Lady, piloted by White Melissa and Cloud Dog, and Strata, piloted by Hunter and his robot. Bluebird's the heavy lifter, Ghost Lady is a gunship, and Strata is fast and furious."
"I take it you already know what, when and where to find what you are contracted for then, Mr. Michael?" Iggy asks.
"Do they often go out alone or as a strike pack on the salvage missions?" Iasho asks, "They sould like they were selected to be complimentary."
Soon the trio are well within the compound, illuminated by the occasional building mounted motion-sensing light. Ahead, in a minute's walk, the antenna bedecked operation building comes in to view. Michael answers as he walks, "We usually do. Sometimes it's just a suspicion, theirs or ours, that an item might be there. Sometimes it isn't just an item, but data, or a structure. In the case of larger items like vehicles, we relay what we find, secure the area if need be -- if it's even possible -- and let the contract giver handle the rest. And you migth wonder, why can't the Houses do this themselves, right? Well there's many reasons, but the simplest is: this way is more subtle for them." He then nods to Iasho. "We rarely use all three vehicles on the same mission, but sometimes we do. Usually it's one, or at most, two. We pick the pilot and vehicle best suited to the job and send them, typically keeping another in reserve. Oh, and sometimes we do special jobs outside of salvaging -- Hunter acts as a
... runner a lot, for example."
"Mr. Green Eyes?" Iggy asks.
"Or if you say, hire a mechanic, you might be able to get some of those old vehicles up and running and get them out of there, right?" Iasho asks. "Helps you from having to worry about securing an area if you can just move it."
"You get it, kid," Michael tells Iasho. "You're beginning to see why we're hiring." He grins, and steps forward as the party reaches the armored door of the HQ building. A flag flying the same symbol reoccuring symbol whafts lazily above a retinal and hand scanner, which Michael quickly sees too. After a tinny "SCAN ACCEPTED -- WELCOME MICHAEL" the door slides open. Michael waves the two newcomers inside, and says, "And yeah, Green Eyes. Hunter is, well, lets just say he's not a man of conversation. I'll do full introductions inside."
"Perhaps he would be interested in a voice synthesizer," Iggy mutters to himself.
"How long have you worked as a salvager?" Iasho asks Michael as they step through the door. Once inside, he finally pulls off his dusty gloves and stuffs those into a pocket.
Michael laughs again, shaking his head. "Oh he can talk, it's just getting him to talk is more trouble than it's worth. Hunter likes to keep to himself. Jimmy says the man's trustworthy, and I trust Jimmy. Beyond that, I know Hunter is a great pilot -- maybe the best we have -- but he's as friendly as ice and doesn't try and hide it." After following the two inside, Michael tells Iasho, "Several years. Originally it was just me working for Jimmy, who I met at the Crowbar. Then we just sort of expanded as the years went by, with Jimmy grabbing people with potential."
Iggy's crest rises a bit at the notion that his 'potential' has finally been recognized. At least.. he doesn't think it's been recognized before. Not officially.
"I would ask you if you've felt it was worthwhile ... but I think that's already answered given you're still here," Iasho comments as he looks around a bit. "So, what is Jimmy like?"
Michael hits the light swicthes by the door, illuminating the first floor, which had remained only dimly lit by security lighting. The first floor of the operations building is spacious and designed to handle the down time needs of the salvage crews.Most of the room is given over to a lounge area, with a variety of leather couches and tables, a few surrouning a holographic projector. Farther in, a kitchen counter cuts the rear cooking area from the lounge area, with the stairwell wall and lifting barrier to the cooking area bookending the divider. A row of mismatched stools wait infront of the kitchen counter, undoubtedly leftovers from the Crowbar.
With the room lit, Michael proceeds towards the kitchen area, likely after the drinks he promised. "Jimmy's an interetsing guy. He seems friendly, maybe even harmless, but that's far from the truth. The man's clever, with a kind of business charisma he likes to hide when he's not using it. And, the guy's got connections all over."
Iasho takes the free moment to poke the Doctor's gurgling hump with a finger. "So, if yer a doc, who works on you? I doubt you work on yourself," he comments.
"I do!" Iggy says proudly, and with only a minor mouth twitch. "I have the latest autodoc software and tools. Which is why I am always looking to supplement my income."
"Okay, so you're more disturbing than I thought," Iasho notes as he repeatedly wipes off his hand after touching it.
Michael makes his way in to the back, grabbing a few bottles and glasses from their containers and sliding them on to the kitchen counter. "One of the perks of working for Jimmy is that he knows where to get cheap alcohol, just don't drink when you're on duty, whatever White Melissa says -- that woman can drink three men under." He pops open a bottle and begins pouring, waving the two newcomers to take a seat. "Now, I think you two have been introduced already, but have a seat and I'll give you a proper run down of who we are, then what we want of you. After that, ask away."
The doctor takes one of the bar stools, and curls his mechanical tail around it. It's unlikely he'll fall off if he gets sloshed that way.
Iasho sits on a stool, spins, and on a pass, grabs the bottle. He grips the cap, twists, and removes it, then sniffs. "Heh, not too old yet. Cheap it may be, but its not spoiled," he comments, then downs a gulp straight from the bottle.
"Jimmy's very particular about his acquisitions. One thing about Jimmy, he good at dodging cheats. Sometimes I wonder what a guy like him is even doing here, but, well, none of my business eh?" The canine man grins, then pours himself a glass before continuing. "Alright, Jimmy -- Jimmy the Hen as some call him -- is our boss, and technically the head of ops. He handles contracts, acquisition, and such, but he's not here very often. He prefers to stick around the Crowbar, where he does a lot of his dealing. I'm Michael, I'm the 'head' salvager and in charge when Jimmy isn't here. The woman with me on the Bluebird is Maria, my mate and copilot. She's also our best cook, and handle ops now and then. Lets see ... " Michael takes another swig as he pauses to think.
Iggy pours himself a glass as well, and then extends a wire-like probe from his right forearm to 'taste' it first. Apparently whatever he sees in his goggles is good, because he downs the glass in a rather loud gulp that rattles his dewlap.
Iasho just takes another swig, then eyes the strange doctor. He almost says something, then seems to decide its just not worth it.
Michael eyes the Doctor a moment with a raised brow, then shrugs. "We get a lot of people from all walks of life here," he says, still eyeing the Doctor, "and like I said, Jimmy usually checks them out beforehand. As for the others, there's Neil and Jenny who handle communications, weather, and operation coordination. One or the other are usually here to act as the voice of the compound and relay information. White Melissa is an ex-pirate -- we all know it, so it's no secret -- but she's fine. Cloud Dog is a tribal, and if you can get over that, he's a pretty good guy. Not sure where Melissa found him, but he's got a knack for machines you don't find often with tribals. Hunter's a mystery, I only know Jimmy signed him on. he doens't talk much, just does his job and leaves. His robot is his co-pilot, and maybe there to bolster Hunter's personality. Heh."
"Nothing wrong with tribals. I've known a few," Iasho notes as he sets his bottle down. "Sounds like an odd crew ya got. Fun too."
Iggy licks one his goggles clean in that freaky reptilian way. "Biodiversity in the workplace is very good," he says.
"It could also mean, ze longer vou verk here, de verse it gets," Iasho has to joke. He leans back a bit out of the doctor's eye range, then twirls a finger near his own right ear, then points repeatedly at the lizard, then looked pointedly to Michael.
"Fun. Yeah, I guess they are fun, at that," Michael agrees. "There used to be Henry -- we called him Old Henry -- but the man's moved on. He was our mechanic, but that work's been left to Cloud Dog and the rest of us, which is also why I handed you that card, Iasho." He offers anotehr nod to the Doctor, then leans back and takes a sip. "That's all of us. We're a small group, but, eh, hell, we're some of the best you'll find around Undermarket. What am I missing? Ahh yes, this operations building has three floors, the loung where we are, the third floor operations, and the basement level where we keep our quarters, meeting room, armory, and underground passages to all three VTOL hangars." The man tries to keep a neutral face when Iasho twirls his finger at him, but the corners of his muzzle quirk up just a bit.
"So, is everyone expected to live on base?" Iasho asks as he sits back forward.
"We prefer it," Michael answers, "or at least that you keep in touch 24/7. Sometimes we get jobs that require us to scramble immediately."
"Oh, good. Means I won't have to find a place to squat," Iasho remarks, grinning.
"No infirmary?" the doctor asks.
"Exactly," the canine man answers, grinning. "Hell, sometimes I crash on the couch here." Glancing at the Doctor, Michael answers, "No, which is part of why we wanted you here. You'll be given an extra storage area to convert downstairs, if you want it, for an infirmary. Our previous practice was to use the Iron Heart Hospital here in Undermarket, but Jimmy dislikes making us of them too much. They're a little House, and though I don't know the details, Jimmy has some issue with their operations. With you, we'd have to use them less."
"Don't want another House, even a small one, having access to your crew," Iggy says with a nod. "Especially when you wish to remain independent... and may be doing things that annoy other Houses who were after the same goodies, yes?"
"Will you also have a cage to keep him locked up in at night?" Iasho asks and thumbs towards the doctor. "Doctor Von Gurgle-Lizard here is a wee bit creepy if you ask me. I want to wake up in the same condition I was in when I went to sleep."
"No worries!" Iggy proclaims, and pats Iasho on the shoulder. "You wake up better, or money back!"
"You got it in one," the canine salvagers confirms. "Plus, they're a bit shady, which in the Undermarket is saying something. Still, they're the best non-solo doctors available, especially in the realm of large-scale medical equipment. As far as I'm awae, and I'm no expert, the next step up is a Minor House setup, which we don't have access to." Michael then blinks, glancing at Iasho, "Uh, well, I'm sure he's fine. Jimmy looked in to it. It could be worse." His brows raise, and he adds, "Oh Iasho, since you're new to the City, a word on Houses in general. Jimmy explains them as Great, Minor, and Least, in that order of power. Least Houses are what you'll find around here, the rest are uptown, above us. We just call 'Least' Houses Houses, or call them by their House name. If you want to know more about Foundation City, I have a data disk around here somewhere I can lend you later."
"Right, that'll be useful. I can upload it later into my memory," Iasho agrees and downs the remainder of his bottle. "What about gear, then? re we expected to supply our own or is there standard allotments?"
"Need ports cleaned?" Iggy asks the coyote, as his left arm extends an array of dangerous looking medical and cyber manipulators.
"If you have your own gear, you can use it. If not, we'll supply you from our armory. Speaking of gear, lemme get the issue of the VSR Collar out of the way." Michael puts his drink down, then pulls down the neck of his armored suit until a inch-thick, padded, collar can be seen. A green light blinks every now and then, and there's several connecter ports all across the surface. "This is a VSR Collar -- Vital Statistic Relay collar -- and we all wear them. Now, you may have heard some of these explode his you piss off your boss, but we don't do that. The whole purpose of the collar is to track and monitor your health, to act as a broadcasting unit, and to connect to wrist mounted displays and ear mounted headsets. It's part of our advantage over other, less well equiped groups. We require you wear one at all times, as this is a dangerous business."
"Can I get the medical feed from those?" Iggy asks, sounding excited.
"I clean my own ports, thanks," Iasho says as he scoots a bit further away from the doctor. HE looks like he's about to say more, then just stares at the collar. "You expect me to wear that?" he asks. "Er. Can it be removed?"
"Does it come in green?" is Iggy's next question.
"Yes, they report the general medical status of all Canyon Crow salvagers, although you'll only have the keys to connect to a few, and their range is limited to about five miles. They can be removed with the proper electronic key, or even cut off, but of course damaging them causes they to begin broadcasting an emergency signal. The point is, they protect you in case of kidnapping, alley beatings, emergencies, etc., and let us locate you if we need to pick you up immediately. I know, it's a sacrifice of some privacy, but I've worn one for two years and I never had a problem. You get used to it," explains Michael.
"If it helps any, they're standard issue to Great House soliders," adds the canine salvager.
"Yes, well ... I'll have to think about it," Iasho comments, "I don't like the idea of someone being able to spy on my all the time. For example, I mean ... that thing will broadcast when you're visiting a lady. I can just hear the jokes from that ... comments about stamina, and on, and on."
"That could be useful information," Iggy points out. "And I am sure Mr. Michael can tell you how to disable reporting during such moments."
"Yes, well, you also probably don't have to worry about that anyway," Iasho mutters to himself.
Michael laughs at that, then taps his collar with a nail. "Look, I've been with Maria almost as long as I've worn this, and she wears one too. No one cares, trust me. We all have our own lives, and aren't going to watch each other every hour of every day. We only take notice when the alarm sounds," the man assures Iasho. "We just can't afford to hunt around for people when we need them, or to broadcast on open channels. Besides, you'll be glad for them if you're ever shot in the back, because we'll be there."
"Nothing's more comforting than being wounded and having the Ghost Lady roar overhead, most people give up on you and run for it when faced with several racks of missiles and an autocannon mount," adds Michael.
"I should note that if I am shot in the back, there may be an explosion or release of dangerous chemicals," Iggy notes, and then makes another gulping-swig that makes the skin hanging from his throat jiggle.
"Who fits those things and what do they ... plug into," Iasho asks, "They can't be surface only and be able to relay that much information."
Michael almost laughs, but pauses, apparently realizing the Doctor may not be joking. "The VTOL carry ABC suits, just in case." To Iasho, he says, "Actually they are surface -- they're very advanced pieces of hardware. Usually I fit them, and Jimmy relays the details. Normally, they're very hard to come by, since you need to either have a direct dealer in a Great House -- and they're loathe to hand out any of their toys -- or steal one from a dead House solider. The latter is a very, very bad idea."
"So, they are Great House tech, and someone lost a great deal of money to Jimmy at some time?" Iggy guesses.
"You fit them? Please tell me you don't then ask us to call you master all the time?" Iasho says and laughs.
"You might be overestimating their ability, they provide general vital statistics, like heart monitoring, they won't tell you if you have cancer in your leg," Michael explains further. He glances at Ignatius and shrugs. "I have no idea how Jimmy got them. The man has connections, and treds where I wouldn't dare. I don't know how he manages it, but I trust him enough not to ask." He then grins at Iasho, "What, don't want to be my slave? Hey don't look at me like that, this isn't like that. They are what I said they are, I'll even let you look at one later."
Zahnrad says, "Pausing is fine."
"Who will be performing the surgery?" Iggy asks. "I should like to observer the procedure, in case.. well, in case."
"You have a peculiar fascination with cutting people up," Iasho mutters towards Ignatius.
Michael shakes his head, "No surgery, they just fit snuggly around the neck and inflate slightly to maintain sensor-pressure. Once on and configured, they lock, and they're extremely durable -- I'm sure you can think of why that is." The man takes another sip ofhis drink, and eyes the cup. "We should wash these more."
"Eh, a little dirt never hurt anyone. You probably swallow more bugs in your sleep than drink gunk encrusted on cups," Iasho comments with an amused grin. "And you say those things inflate? Have they ever choked anyone to death or popped off their heads?"
"Handy; built-in tourniquet to prevent blood loss in case of decapitation," Iggy comments.
The canine man blinks. "I hope not -- if they have, I've never heard of i-" As the man is about to finish his sentence, a bizz, bizz noise eminates from around his neck region. He holds up jis free hand, forestalling any further questions. "Incoming transmition," he explains. Pushing his sleave up, a wristed mounted display becomes visible, which he lights up and checks. "Looks like Jimmy's got something for us. How about we head downstairs to the meeting room, and we can take care of the collars and the info at the same time?"
"Is there a fireman's pole we can use?" the iguana asks, as his goggles make a whirring sound.
"Never can be too careful. I've seen a torque wrench explode violently before and send the ratchet head through the user's shoulder," Iasho notes as he sets down his glass and slides out of his chair. "And sure, might as well head down. I've come to realize it can't be any weirder that the hunch over here." The coyote thumbs towards Ignatius.
"I am not weird," Iggy claims. "Now, my cousin Igor is weird. His hunch is natural, too. Very handsome; he is popular with the ladies."
"He also apparently drinks a lot," Iasho adds as an aside to Michael.
Michael stares at Ignatius for a long moment before he stands up. "All right, follow me."
The trip downstairs is a short one. After taking the stairwell down, Michael explaining that up leads to mission control on the way and that Neil was probably busy with numbers there, the three enter enter the basement hall. It's a short walk left of the landing to the meeting room, seperated from the hall and its poor lighting by double doors. Michael opens the door and gestures Igantius and Iasho inside, adding, "Personell quarters are down the other way, and the underground path to the hangars."
"I assume there is plenty of sound insulation so hangar noise doesn't intrude into quarters? Jet turbines generate a terrible whine; particularly at 3am," Iasho comments as he stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets.
"I can fix your ears so you can turn them off," Ignatius offers.
"No," Iasho says.
"The whole facility is reinforced, especially the underground. We didn't build any of this actually; Jimmy bought the area and we fixed it up with local help. But, a lot of this was already here, discovered after the ruins were cleared away," explains the Canyon Crow captain.
"Ah, old bunker?" Iggy asks, looking over the walls and rubbing his dewlap.
"Ah, that explains it then. It's a pre-war bunker," Iasho says with a small nod. "Hopefully none of th e structure suffers from metal fatigue or stress fractures then. Shouldn't unless it was bombed a lot back then or there were some nasty earthquakes."
"Pre-war? Maybe. Who knows? I'm no scholar, but the city was built on the ruins of another. It'd be another ruin to explore, if the Trade Council hadn't decided to build Foundation City atop it. Anyway, c'mon inside. Take any seat you want," says Michael.
"So.. we are in the Foundation of Foundation, hehehehe?" Iggy says. He has a strange laugh, unless it was a stutter.
Iasho considers following Michael inside but instead waits for Ignatius to walk in first. He's not quite sure he wants to turn his back on that one.
Michael heads on inside, hitting the lights as he enters. The overhead flickers slowly in to life, while the low light of several displays -- apparently already on -- are drowned out by the dull white light.
Iggy enters and finds a chair he can actually sit in. "Very bright," he comments.
"Fancy," Iasho comments as he looks around the room of mismatched furniture and old maps. "I like the pinups," he adds with a grin as he finds a chair and flops into it. The chair creaks as he leans back and crosses his legs.
The canine captain heads for a large, tapped up leather chair and drops down in to it. "We use it to see who's hungover," he explains, half-seriously. "Feel free to buy your own chair and add pinups." He grins a bit as well, then leans across the table and begins punching buttons and hitting switches. Seconds later, a humanoid figure flickers in to holographic life ...
A human male torso, black haired and blue eyed, hovers over the meeting table and regards the captain with a smile. "Hello, Michael. And this must be Dr. Ignatius," he turns and nods to Igantius -- he must be able to percieve the entire room rather than just one direction. " ... but I don't recognize the young man." and here he nods to Iasho. "Another new recruit? Didn't you mention a young man a few weeks ago, Michael?" A pause, and the hologram clears its throat. "Excuse me; welcome to the Canyon Crow compound. I'm Jimmy."
"It is very nice, Jimmy," Iggy replies, grinning as only a reptile can (which is to say, without really moving his lips).
Iasho salutes the hologram. "Glad to be here. Your agent, Michael has been giving us the tour. I have have to say I'm impressed ... he hasn't run screaming yet. He must be one wasteland hardened guy," the coyote jokes.
The image of Jimmy suddenly begins flickering rapidly, which makes the hologram frown in a put upon way, as if the man behind it were quite used to this. Michael quickly sits up and whacks the side of the machine, causing the image to stabalize. "Michael only runs screaming when I ask him to go to Uptown or when Julia is on the warpath," Jimmy says, causing Muchael to cough. "Anyway, welcome aboard. I'll be your boss, though Michael and the otehrs tend to handle the day-to-day. And, if you're not too overwhelmed, I have a mission."
Iggy rubs his hands together in anticipation. "Verrry interested in mission," he says.
"Oh, not at all, Michael was about to put those strange dog collars on us and teach us the proper inflection to use when saying 'Master'," Iasho jokes as he leans forward now. "Or to be more serious about it, sure, I'm interested."
"I'm up for a mission," Michael says in a too-cheery way,
"You don't get a choice in the matter, Michael," Jimmy replies in mock-dmissive manner, which makes Michael grin. Jimmy then listens to Iasho, and laughs softly. "I'm not sure what you've heard about me, but we're not like that. I'll forward the codes for collar, ah ... " The image looks down, a greenish light illuminating its face as Jimmy seems to review something on his own wrist display, "5 and 7. Anyway," he looks up again, "One of our sources claim a fishing fleet vessel located an off-shore ruin that, to my knowledge, is untouched."
"Submerged?" Iggy asks.
"Old manufacturing platform?" Iasho asks curiously. "Floating or fixed position?
"Surfaced, though not untouched by sea storms," Jimmy answers. "Here's a image I managed to obtain from the source." The projected man moves his arms, and suddenly the image splits, so that Jimmy is to one side and the picture is displayed beside him. A shadowy tower juts out of the fog. Closer inspection reveals the tower is tilting slightly, and, from small specs of black at its base, is connected by some sort of platform. "I don't know what it is. Fishing fleets rarely get this far north, or out to sea for that matter. I don't need to tell you how dangerous deep-sea voyages are. This vessel was pushed off course by a freak storm, hence the data."
"That's a significant tilt. I'm not sure how stable that building is. Without even knowing what is there, is it financially worth it to even go look?" Iasho asks.
"Very interesting," Iggy notes. "We go on plane or boat?"
"We'd be sending the Blue Bird, which is the most stable of the VTOLs, to approach the tower and determine if it's safe to land, if there's anything worth landing for, and so on. Given the structure's damage, it may be safer to drop a team and have the Blue Bird wait on standby. Normally I'd approach this more carefully, but the structure is clearly damaged and weather predictions from central and the magi suggest the area should be calm for the next several hours," Jimmy explains. "Fortune favors the bold, as I read once."
"So do undertakers," Iasho adds, grinning, "But what the heck, sounds fun. I just hope it doesn't have any functioning automated defences!"
"Maybe is famous lost tower of Pizza?" Iggy suggests.
"I really hope there is enough time for that one to sober up," Iasho mutters.
"So do I. Keep on your toes, I'd hate to lose people I've barely met. Because I- ... " Jimmy gives Igantius the same look Michael did earlier, " ... Ahem, because I feel bad about pushing this so early, why don't you come by The Crow Bar after the mission and have drinks, on me? You too Michael. Bring Julia." Here, Michael wags.
"Does she have any sisters?" Iasho feels compelled to ask Michael.
"No, and don't get any idea Iasho," Micahel says with a grin. He then stands up and holds a hand up. "I'll grab the collars from teh armoury, go ahead and chat up Jimmy. He just sits around anyway." Jimmy eyes Michael as the canine departs, then his holographic head turns a smile to Iashi and Igantius. "If you have any questions, I'd be happy to answer them. Despite what Michael claims, I do more than sit around."
"Powerful men have presence, and that is best projected by sitting on something," Iggy notes. "We cannot see what you are sitting on, though."
Iasho resists a comment and instead just grins. "I don't mean this as rude, but, ah, do you always hire the really weird ones?" he finally asks and nods his head towards Ignatius. "I'm not sure I feel comfortable trusting my safety to someone who sounds like they've spent far too much time sniffing paint..."
"Hah, shows what you know," Iggy says, and waves a metal-clad forearm. "This sensor here? See this? It tells me when paint is dry, see, so no reason to sniff. That is archaic."
"My point proven," Iasho says.
Jimmy laughs lightly at the question, and shakes his head. "I hire individuals based on a number of factors, from ability to motivating factors. The doctor is unusual, certainly, but I looked in to his results and they're some of the best you'll find outside pay-clinics and Uptown. Just consider him, ah ... colorful." The man smiles winningly. "I'm sure he's just fine, and we Undermarketers have to make do wuth the best parts available, even if they are a bit tarnished."
Iggy begins examining his exposed cybernetics for signs of tarnish. "Someday, gold plate," he mutters.
"Colorful," Jimmy reasserts.
"And bent, deformed, warped, twisted..." Iasho adds to that. "Though I am being serious here. Thing you learn on the track is that when everything is going on around you at split-second speeds, you have to have people you can trust watching your back, you know? I guess this mission will tell me whether or not he's got enough screws left in his head to work out under stress."
"I'm sure you'll trust him more once he's tended your wounds. He'll just be another member of our unusual familiy," says the Hen. "As it is, I'm confident of his skills. And, that reminds me. Assuming you havn't brought your own equipment, we'll outfit you, and tailor what you have brought to carry our symbol. In addition you'll be able to chose quarters, and I believe the Dr. we'll have an extra room for a clinic."
"I am right here you know," the reptile says to Iasho, and even waves a hand into his field of view. "I have many friends and people who owe me ... things."
At the mention of 'clinic', Iggy's goggles light up (literally, with a ring of LEDs). "Yessss! Clinic! Who do I have to kill? Or un-kill? I'm getting close to success on that!"
"Well, congratulations for having some accounts you can call in," Iasho says to the reptile and remains grinning. At the reptiles latest outburst, though, he just groans and rubs his forehead.
"Life support helmet is nearly ready for field test!" Iggy claims. "Just have to work out exact amount of coolant to chill victim's brain. Very important!"
"See? He's ready to begin right away. I appreciate dedicated employees," says Jimmy. A pause, in which Jimmy steeples his fingers, and he says, "What am I missing? You'll have access to The Crow Bar via your collar-IDs, as well. I assume Michael has told you about the others -- talk to Neil if you have pay or logistics concerns, or else Michael, Julia, or myself. Hunter doesn't talk much; don't worry, he doesn't dislike you. Anyway, if there's no more questions, I'll download the mission data and get back to things here."
"None from me currently. I'm sure I'll have more later, though," Iasho notes.
"It is an honor to work for you, Mr. Jimmy," Iggy says, bowing as best as possible without touching the conference table.
"Thanks, I appreciate it. Come talk to me if you need to, I always have an open ear for my Canyon Crows, and as a bar owner I'm told I have a good ear," says Jimmy. He offers another smile, then his image blinks out, leaving the ominous tower the sole holograph.
Shortly after, Michael re-enters with two-collars, follow by a bespeckled bird man. "Hey. This is Neil, he handles a lot around here." The bird man inclines his head, pushing up his glasses as they slide a bit down his face. "A pleasure, as Michael says, I handle part of our operations here, including mission organization, numbers, inventory and the like." Neil appears to be of the city-pigeon variety of avian humans, dressed like Michael except without the armor, and considerably less dirty.
"Iasho," the coyote greets the avian. He even stands and extends his hand. "I also take it that you remain here or remain on-ship during missions?"
"Dr. Ignatius," the iguana says, and offers his own hand. "What prescription are your lenses, if I may ask?"
"Yes, I handle in-mission operations, such as relaying information. The VTOLs don't possess the same access to data that the command center does, so the position is an important one," explains Neil. At 'the position is an import one' Michael grins, and says, "He means he doesn't have a taste for action and adventure." To this, Neil scoffs, "I seem to recall my directions saving your life on several occasions, Michael." Michael's brows raise, then he shrugs, "Oh, well ... Hey it's true. Did I mention Neil is an invaluable member of the team?" Neil doesn't answer the prescription question -- perhaps Michael warned him about Igantius earlier.
"It also means he spends less on new clothing and doesn't end up smelling like grease and gunpowder," Iasho comes to the Avian's defense. "A great job if you can get it, really!"
"Do you have special nickname?" Iggy asks. "Watchtower? Big Brother? Eye in Sky? Or just Neil?"
"I see you're a wise man," the avian remarks to Iasho approvingly. At the question of nickname, Michael shakes his head. "We've tried, White called him Glasses until Neil 'accidentally' forgot to order her supplies. After that, we gave up." The edge of Neil's beak quirks up a little.
"Aha, I shall call you Mister Neil then," Iggy claims.
"Never anger the one who controls the supplies," Iasho notes, "One time back in the wastes the owner of the general store was insulted by the mayor. Well, the whole town suddenly discovered what it was like to go without toilet paper. I guess the joke was a rash comment from an ass gives you a rash on the ass..."
"You have toilet paper out there? Huh," Michael considerd aloud. Neil walks past him and takes the collars from his hand, then takes a seat. "Iasho, would you be so kind as to come over here and extend your neck please. Try not to move during calibration, we wouldn't want to get improper base vitals and think you're dying when you're just taking a nap."
"Toilet paper is an essential," Iasho quips as he now walks over to where Neil sits. "My neck only goes so far, though," he comments, then immediately glares at the reptile, noting, "And no, do not ask if you can fix that. You can't." The coyote rolls his eyes and turns back to face Neil, lifts his chin, and holds still.
Neil nods understandingly, then, after putting one collar aside, takes the other and pulls it apart. The device must have a hinge join, because it opens easily. Neil then leans forward and closes the collar loosely around Iasho's neck. "Hold on to it please." The bird reaches to his side pocket and removes a length of cable, which he connects to the back of his neck and to the collar. Lights begin to blink the device, and Neil waves Michael over, who whispers in to his ear, causing Neil to nod. "Close the collar Iasho, and then breath normally."
"I feel silly," Iasho admits as he stands there holding the techno-collar. "We, the condemned, salute you," the coyote jokes as he closes the collar on command with a firm click. And as much as he wants to breathe erratically, common sense kicks in and he actually just breathes normally.
Iggy is mesmerized by the process. Probably. He doesn't move but since his eyes are hidden behind goggles he could very well be asleep.
"No one likes this process, but I will tell you from experince it will keep you alive," Neil says, quite calmly. Once the collar is closed, Neil stares off in to space for a moment as the various lights on the collar blink on and off in a code neither Iasho nor Igantious understand. Finally, all lights go out, and Neil nods. "There. My own uplink with the command center is registering an active VSR Collar registered to Iasho."
"You know, usually I expect a few drinks and maybe a back rub before I let someone put a collar on me," Iasho jokes to Neil. "But I made an exception for you." He grins, then lets Neil unhook the line before he steps away.
Neil, if he finds the joke funny, shows no indication. He simply nods to Iasho and gestures Igantius over. "Your turn, Dr."
As Iasho walks off, Michael pats his shoulder and nods. "Welcome to the team. Don't get too comfortable, we'll be leaving soon. And don't worry about Neil, he's never showed much of a sense of humor, though that doesn't mean he doens't get or appreiate it. The man's smart."
Iggy steps over, and stretches his neck. "Be careful of dorsal ridge and dewlap," he cautions.
"Oh, I'm not offended," Iasho remarks to Michael, "Known people like that; doesn't stop me from joking anyway." The coyote's ears twitch and he leans in to whisper a really bad joke to Michael, "Though, what can you expect from a bird? They can be such a pecker eh?" He even elbows Michael lightly.
"Certainly," says Neil. The procedure is largely the same, though Neil has to reset the process once due to how difficult Igantius's vitals seem to be to find. Once done, neil leans back and disconnected the cord and returns it to his pouch. "We'll supply you with your wrist and ear mounts before ou leave. You'll be able to reach any of us you've met today, and will get all contact codes once you've been with us a bit."
"You should share that with Jimmy, he loves bird jokes," Michael tells Iasho, chuckling a bit.
"What, does he like egging Neil on?" Iasho comments.
Michael grins, then shakes his head. "I'll leave you to figure it out on your own," he offers, mysteriously.
"Mammal humor," Iggy says to Neil with a shake of his head. "Can I get the monitoring feeds for those who will be on this mission?"
"Mmmm. Alright," says Neil. "You'll have access before you leave -- I'll have to clear it with Jimmy and the database, which I'd rather do in command."
"Very good," Iggy says. "Only need it for duration of mission."
"Remember these are a privledge," Neil adds. The bird man stands up, dusting himself off, and nods to Michael. "I'll need to review the data Jimmy send and get this permission done, so I'll take my leave now, captain. We'll speak at liftoff." Neil pauses to give Iasho and Igantius a nod as well, then he heads for the door.
Michael holds out his hands in an expansive gesture as Neil passes, and says, "Well, we'd better get you two prepared. Gear, safety overview, bathroom -- we need it done in half an hour."
"Do we have time to clean our guns?" the doctor asks, sounding perky.
"If it takes me longer than half an hour to use the bathroom, I think I need to see a doctor," Iasho quips as he stretches a bit and unfortunately looks a bit uncomfortable wearing that monitoring device. "Otherwise .. half an hour is plenty of time. Lets do this and not die. Or even get hurt, really." That last bit comes with Iasho giving the reptile a worried look.