Shadows of Zeon Quest: Aphelion #3

>Mariner Main Line, Car #7
>Outside Tithon City, Mars
>January 14, UC0090

You are Carrina Marseille O'Hara, a powerful Newtype serving as a Captain and mobile suit pilot in the recently-formed Colony Transit Fleet, and you're a bit out of your element.

The half-terraformed bottom of the Mariner valleys rushes by outside the windows as the cold Martian night closes in around your train car, which is devoid of any passengers but the six unnamed assailants who have blocked the doors at both ends. Their weapons are drawn, though you and your fellow Newtype officer Rossweisse managed to draw yours and position yourselves first to take the best possible advantage in this situation.

In here there's no magnetic array to simulate the effects of gravity, and so your body feels lighter by around two-thirds. But after a decade of space combat you're keenly aware of what even most spacenoids take for granted: momentum. And despite the smoothness of the ride there are still moments where this train bumps and sways along its tracks.

You've adopted a low stance at the center-line of the train car, which minimizes any jostling to give you the best possible shooting position. You really want the first shot to count, if it ends up coming to that, and this also gives you the option to move left or right once the bullets really start flying. Combined with your inhuman reflexes and the slight precognitive abilities most Newtypes develop after exposure to combat, this position gives you and your partner the best possible chance to survive this encounter. You keep your eye on one set of three gunmen in your direction, while behind you Rossweisse faces the other three.
>1/4

That said you're still far more comfortable with mobile suit combat than with this sort of situation, particularly in freefall where controlling remote weapons is easier. Many would-be pilots in the early days of the One Year War in which you served were fine soldiers, who absolutely could not keep up with the dizzying maneuvers and relentless pace of mobile suit combat in space. While it was true that Zeon won a series of crushing victories against the Federation forces at the time, it was also true that for any particular pilot candidate the role was almost a suicide detail.

That style of combat is better to your mind, though: the freedom of it, the raw power behind your seat, the way you can let your instincts take the wheel entirely leaving your conscious mind free to devise counters to every move your foe makes. And unlike getting into close-quarters fights with terrorists, you've never lost an eye doing it.

Not a fun memory.

The gunman you presume to be the leader of the group clears his throat.

“So, how do you propose we resolve this situation?” he asks. His voice is even and controlled, and you can tell that it's not strictly speaking a front. He may be much more composed than the rest of his little six-man crew, but it's not the confident kind of “composed”: more like he's resigned himself.

“We don't,” you tell him, putting special emphasis on the appropriate point of contention between you. “You come up with a solution we don't hate and we don't put a bullet in your forehead.”

“You know, El-Tee,” one of the other gunmen mutters in a still-audible voice. “We could just ice these two crazy bitches and go while we have the chance.”
>2/4

The Lieutenant, as is apparently his rank, sighs as his eyes leave the sight line for the first time during this entire episode.

“What the SHIT!?” he demands in an agitated falsetto. “Didn't you just see what happened? They were drawing their sidearms AS I gave you the signal! These are actual fucking Newtypes here!”

“We've handled Newtypes before...”

“Listen, kid,” the Lieutenant interrupts. “There's a whole lot of people out there who are technically Newtypes, but most of them don't matter. They can't move ships with their brains or dodge bullets and shit. If the reports we got were right these two are the real fucking deal... war veterans who've wasted better fighters than your sorry ass'll ever see.”

The second gunman momentarily forgets that he's supposed to be terrified of you and rounds on his commander. “Well, I'm sorry for thinking so highly of us, Lieutenant. But if they're such badasses why should we take the fucking risk?”

“Are you seeing what we're seeing?” you whisper to Rossweisse.

“No, but I'm hearing it,” she replies in a low voice, gaze clearly still fixed on her own targets.

“Hard not to.”

“I'll tell you what happens if you decide to pull that trigger,” the Lieutenant explains angrily, gesturing at you. “That one with the eyepatch feels that you've decided to be a dumbass and shoots me in the head. By the time you pull the trigger I'm dead and both of them have moved. Maybe we get lucky and hit one, but most likely we get wasted and we fail our mission.”

“So keep your murderboner in your pants and your stupid mouth SHUT.”

“... yes, sir.”
>3/4

“Now,” the Lieutenant sighs, turning his full attention back to the matter at hand. Damn. “Where were we... ah, right. You said something about us proposing a solution?”

“We remember that, yes,” you nod. “So if you're quite done?”

The gunman smirks. “See, our de facto leader heard two something-special Newtypes were here visiting the Queen. He's curious. Wanted us to either bring you to him so he could have a little chat, or failing that. for us to put a bullet in your brains. So here we are.”

“You interested, or are we gonna have a bad time?”

So it's the rebel group Mineva told you about. That was fast... they must have more sources of information than you or she counted on. Maybe even spies within Mineva's own government: in fact, it almost seems a certainty that someone at the meeting you crashed is secretly supplying information. The only question is how willing you are to tag along, and whether you really want to go through the trouble of “cooperating” long enough to learn more about the situation.

Maybe you can help, or maybe you can't. Right now there's just not enough information. Rossweisse, of course, will follow your lead.

>You'll hear them out. Maybe an impartial mediator is all that's really needed here.
>You'll treat this as a chance to gather information, figure out how to best end the rebel movement.
>Fuck what they have to say, you just want them to take you to their leader so you can kick some ass.
>No sale. Say hi to the Devil for us when you see him.
>Other?

>>No sale. Say hi to the Devil for us when you see him.
We have prior plan, stick to plan.
Say no to forced date to married woman with children.

So... how's life?

I'll leave the vote open a bit longer than usual so that actions aren't being dictated by one player. I've seen slow starts, but this is really unusual.

>You'll hear them out. Maybe an impartial mediator is all that's really needed here.

Go to a unsecured terminal, we can talk to their leader through that.

It's past midnight here.
I need to sleep soon, need to wake up in the morning.

I'm on mobile data, and my IP was banned. Took a while to reset it.

Fair play.
Huh. So I guess we're spread out even further than I thought in here. Something new every day.

I'll give things an extra 5-10 minutes, since we're slowly grinding into motion here. If things remain slow I may have to extend each voting period to 20 minutes.

I'm here, reading, gimme a minute

>I'm on mobile data, and my IP was banned. Took a while to reset it.
Shared IP address?
Use proxy like TOR or softether proxy user

>>No sale. Say hi to the Devil for us when you see him.
Tor is outright banned here, as are most proxies.

It's fixed now. Mobile networks assign you a random IP, and sometimes it can be one Veeky Forums banned.

>Tor is outright banned here, as are most proxies.
Huh... I usually use proxy when in office. Country based?

Range based.

>3d10, dc 6 for shooting shit up

Rolled 9, 2, 8 = 19 (3d10)

Possible, not sure. What I have is really old info.
Here you go, KoH

Rolled 4, 8, 5 = 17 (3d10)

BRRT

Rolled 5, 7, 3 = 15 (3d10)

Pretty good.
>writing

Whee, I helped. Also, for the record (I can't remember if I mentioned this on Twitter or not) the thread limit per IP address on /qst/ seems to be 3, not two.
(Inb4 ree >/qst/)

You put a round into the Lieutenant's forehead, a dull thump barely drowning out the sound of the shot penetrating his skull. He's dead before he hits the floor, and you're already moving by the time his stunned compatriots can begin to fire back. Rounds blow little dime-sized holes through the seatbacks and shatter the windows as those of you who are still alive in this car exchange fire. Two more precisely-aimed shots kill your last two targets: one fired while you're in motion and the other severing the last shooter's spine as you fire through a seatback to where you know he must still be standing.

The bloodbath ends in seconds. But as you turn to speak to Rossweisse, you feel it: the lone survivor's sense of smug satisfaction that he's taking you with him.

The pin slides across the floor and under a row of bullet-riddled seats, and a grenade rolls from the now-dead man's hand and towards your feet...

You're glad now that you “cheated”, and that none of this actually comes to pass. That's an ability you've gained through years of experience and a gradual honing of your powerful Newtype abilities: for a brief instant you were able to heighten your precognitive senses to see the outcome of pulling the trigger, and in this case you learned that if you just started shooting the second man Rossweisse hit would have dropped but not been killed.

And so you don't allow it to happen that way.

“Hey, Rossweisse?” you ask, briefly lowering your weapon and turning to speak with her over your shoulder.

Before anything else can happen you take aim at the man who's been quietly fingering the grenade in his pocket and shoot him through the head, killing him instantly. Now when your partner takes her own shot she hits a second target, and you separate in a hail of submachinegun fire from the Lieutenant you didn't shoot.
>1/2

“Have it your way!” he shouts over the racket as his subordinates panic. Controlled shots from your side rapidly clear out the car in much the same way you saw before, but instead of ending in an unexpected grenade blast you come up to find the Lieutenant fleeing back into the next car.

You have to dive to avoid a wild burst fired over his shoulder, the suitcase he'd hidden his weapon having been abandoned in the firefight. A coward, perhaps... but admittedly one with a good sense for when he's lost a battle.

>Go after him yourself?
>Move forward, call in the incident and get the local police here.
>Secure the car and ride it out to the station. Work from there, but trust no one else.
>Other?

>>Go after him yourself?
Hell, why not
also
>“Have it your way!”
Fucking jingle's stuck in my head now, thank you, KoH.

Apparently one of my Twitter followers is some kind of mod-whisperer. I mentioned it, he offered to talk to moderation about it, and I told him whatever and went to sleep. Next morning the change had already been made. Coincidence maybe, and absolutely not enough to say causation, but seriously. What.

That's all I'll say on the matter here, just thought I'd share a weird story about it. Moving on.

>>Move forward, call in the incident and get the local police here.
We have prior plan.
G'night King, user

>Other?
Let him go, but ask Alice to track his movements, hopefully back to his leader.

That's me.

On the one hand I want you to teach me your secrets. On the other hand how would I even handle that kind of power? It's the true measure of a man.

Obviously you'd use it to shitpost without a care in the world

...maybe.

>calling it in a few minutes in case we get a straggler or two

>Go after him yourself?
>in case we get a straggler or two
that you did.

This guy's not going anywhere in any hurry. If bailing out into the roaring, five hundred mile-an-hour winds outside the train didn't kill him, wandering around unexposed in the cold Martian night would probably finish him off.

“Let's move up to the cockpit,” you suggest, “make a report and link up to Alice.”

“I've got you,” Rossweisse tells you, aiming from her light cover back down the aisle. “Go.”

Once you get the door open you return the favor, keeping one sharp eye on the situation as she evacuates the car and taps your shoulder. You then join her in Car 6, where the Maritan civilians are predictably panicked to see two gun-toting women in uniform working their way through the car. They've heard the racked you caused, and steer well clear of you. In Car 3, the eating car, you have to push your way past a conductor and two servers...

>dice+3d10, DC 5

... well shit, I went for the slight compromise before I saw this. Apologies.

Rolled 8, 6, 10 = 24 (3d10)

... fairly conclusive. And I considered retconning, since things have been so slow people MAY not have noticed anyway, but the vote split was 2 for go after him and 2 for some variation of "contact someone".

So this time I'm sticking to it. Figured I should share my reasoning at least.

Rolled 9, 8, 1 = 18 (3d10)

don't worry about it, this is fine.

Rolled 5, 7, 7 = 19 (3d10)

It's fine, i was a bit late anyways,

One of them panics when she sees you, and pulls a concealed revolver from her uniform.

Too slow. She's rewarded for her efforts by two suppressed rounds to the chest, dropping her to the floor before she gets the chance to shoot.

Her fellow server takes a step back. “Renee? What the hell was that?”

“We take it you're not supposed to bring concealed weapons to work?” you ask him, rolling “Renee” over onto her side and rolling up her sleeve to reveal a Titans infantry badge tattooed onto her shoulder. It's as you sort of expected, but confirmation is good to have anyway. The one-time elite of a repressive military and political order of Old Earth, Titans were supposed to be extinct as an organization. But this tattoo has to have been “touched-up” in the last few years: the inking looks as vibrant as your own Zeon tattoo did the day you got it, so long ago. The difference is that yours has long since faded.

The server shakes his head. “It's illegal to carry a concealed weapon at all Mariner District... is that...”

“It's enlightening,” you interrupt, gesturing for Rossweisse to accompany you on your way forward. “It explains how the others got past security. They knew someone in the crew.”

“I'll stay here,” Rossweisse offers as you enter the front car, watching the doors to the rear cards carefully to ensure that nobody tries to interrupt.

You knock on the door to the cockpit and demand in the loudest voice you can muster. “Colony Transit Fleet, Captain Carrina O'Hara! Open this damn door, we need your radio now!”

The hatch pops, and a rather spry-looking older man of distantly Asian descent greets you, his brow sweaty from nervousness.

“Ma'am, what's the situation in the rear cars?” he demands.

>Lots of dead insurgents. We need your phone.
>No time to explain, just let us use the phone.
>Call in the report, have the police waiting in Tithon.
Also,
>Keep this train moving
>Stop the train

>Lots of dead insurgents. We need your phone.
>Stop the train

>Lots of dead insurgents. We need your phone.

>Stop the train

>Lots of dead insurgents. We need your phone.
>Stop the train

>Lots of dead insurgents. We need your phone.

Also, contact Alice. I hope the failed op has sent ripples through their network, hopefully we can get one step ahead of them.

Yeah, we need to get our holographic AI Idol in on this.

I mean granted, she's not holographic when she's on Mars. The infrastructure isn't there.

well then Mars is a shit and needs to step up its game.

Holographic AI Idols are the right of all sentient beings! Just ask Sharon Apple

>writing
Also in case any of the seven of you were wondering, the camo pattern here is this image but pixellated.

Just a fun detail for while you wait, I guess.

“We may have killed a lot of insurgents back there,” you admit to his obvious shock. “It'll take some cleaning up still. Stop the train please, and let us borrow your comm system.”

“Stop the train?” he sputters. “But... I... why would you want to stop it?”

“Because one of them fled to the back of the train,” you explain, tapping on the communications panel in the cramped train cockpit. “ALICE, you with us?”

After a moment, the distant AI responds cheerfully. “Of course, ma'am.”

“Please hijack the nearest satellite to our present location and give us an overhead of this train once it stops,” you order. “Watch for a tall man, maybe six foot two with dark brown hair and a peacoat. He may or may not also be armed with a submachine gun, old EFF manufacture, stripped of its stock and most of its furniture.”

You turn and gesture to the driver. “Wait for our signal to stop the train. ALICE, please also put in an emergency call to the police department in Tithon.”

“Roger!”

After a few minutes, ALICE informs you that the satellite is overhead and watching your progress. You tap the driver's shoulder to alert him that you're springing your plan into motion.

“Do it.”

>3d10, DC 6
>Due to ALICE's expertise, 4 rolls will be considered

Rolled 1, 8, 1 = 10 (3d10)

Rolling

Rolled 6, 8, 6 = 20 (3d10)

Roll'in

Rolled 2, 6, 1 = 9 (3d10)

good job user

Oh yeah, that counts as a critical in this system.

>WE SEE EEEVERYTHIIING
>writing

The train's interior lights flicker briefly as the driver applies the breaks a little too quickly, and the whole thing grinds to a halt. Sirens begin to ring in the cars behind you, and the feeling aboard the train is one of general panic as an announcement comes on telling the passengers to remain seated.

“The number ten car's door reads a fault,” the co-driver reports as a light winks on in front of him. “Could be a false alarm though.”

“That's our man” you assure him. “ALICE? What do your cameras see?”

“Mars has some top notch surveillance equipment in orbit,” she reports through the cockpit's speakers. “Higher resolution than any of our probes, though not by all that much. I can see one individual... no, make that two. Close proximity. There! That was a muzzle flash, he's hammering the windows.”

“That's for compliance,” you tell the drivers. “Shower frightened people with glass and hope they won't try anything ill-conceived to stop you.”

“I see something approaching,” ALICE informs you. “High speed. Very difficult to track.”

“Can you identify it?”

“It seems to be...” she mutters, the vocal equivalent to what you must assume is furrowing her brow in concentration. “A hovertruck? Yes, it's a hovertruck with low-reflective paint.”

“That's his escape plan,” you declare. “ALICE, keep track of that vehicle after the bastard gets into it. See where he goes then report to us once you have the location.”

>We're going to raid the shit out of it.
>We'll call in the Martian military forces to sort it out, and head to Tithon's archives.
>We're going to clear a raid with Mineva.
>We'll try and launch a joint raid.
>Other?

>We're going to raid the shit out of it.

>We're going to clear a raid with Mineva.

>We're going to clear a raid with Mineva.
>We'll try and launch a joint raid.

Get the Mars forces to act as a distraction while we go in, get Intel and possibly a new 'friend' then leave the rest to them.

Throwing in with this.

Is that the official flag of the Mars Resistance or whatever we're calling it?

It was actually an accident, but it's "official" in that now it's officially part of my mental image.

>will get to writing in a minute or two

“So what are you going to do?” ALICE asks.

“Get approval from Mineva to raid whatever hole he bolts to,” you announce calmly, “and deal with him and his organization in the language they seem to speak best. Perhaps coordinate with the local military to do so.”

You turn to face the driver once more. “Ramp us back up to speed, the cops will be waiting for us when we reach Tithon station.”

Rossweisse is sitting quietly outside the cockpit when you finally rejoin her, and you seat yourself directly across from her. “So we take it you heard some of that?'

“All of it,” Rossweisse nods. “It appears we are now involved. But what of the informant who leaked news of our arrival?”

“That coward did say something about reading a report on us,” you frown. “It must have happened very soon after we arranged to meet Mineva. ALICE will track him down, for now we simply need to ready ourselves.”

“Right.”

It takes another half hour for the high-speed line to reach Tithon station, and there's quite a fuss when it finally does. Police have the entire row of platforms cordoned off and have erected low barriers to funnel passengers off the train and into protective custody: likely to be interviewed. Already a team is boarding Car #7 to see your handiwork first-hand, and outside the platform area you can see a massive crowd of relatives and what you can only assume to be media gathered. What a pain in the ass.

>Sneak off the train in disguise?
>Just follow the other passengers and avoid attention?
>Approach the police cordon and demand to be let through?
>Approach the police and give a statement?
>Other?

>>Just follow the other passengers and avoid attention?

>Just follow the other passengers and avoid attention?

>>Approach the police and give a statement?

Five more minutes, let's see if we can't get a third voter out of the deal. Always feels weird going with less than that.

And is it just me, or has participation in quests in general gone down recently? Both on Veeky Forums and in the established quests that have moved over?

... literally, while I was writing.

Still. I said a few more minutes, so I'll chill for a few more minutes.

>Just follow the other passengers and avoid attention?

>>Just follow the other passengers and avoid attention?

>Sneak off the train in disguise?

Okay, cool. I'll get back to work.
>3d10, DC 6
>you are being observed

Rolled 10, 10, 3 = 23 (3d10)

sneeki breeki

Rolled 4, 1, 5 = 10 (3d10)

Rolled 10, 5, 7 = 22 (3d10)

Rolled 4, 1, 5 = 10 (3d10)

[UURRAAAHHS] stealthily

>writing

Oh man, I didn't even notice my alarm go off. I guess that's the last time I'll try to take a nap before questing time.

You quietly move your pistol's holster around your waist to your left side and move much closer to Rossweisse, ensuring little chance that a casual glance will betray its presence there. A nod is all it takes to confirm the plan: say nothing, move quietly, and avoid raising any commotion that would draw attention.

In the general panic and the haste to get out and away from the scene many of the other passengers aren't looking around for the faces of two of the shooters from before, so despite so many having caught a brief glance of you it's relatively simple to find a group to blend in with: several rather large gentlemen who seem like they must be part of a sports team judging by the size of their bags. When this group is separated out so that the local cops here in Tithon can check their bags for explosives or weapons, you pass the overworked police manning the checkpoint and slip out without much trouble.

“That worked better than we could have hoped,” you mutter, fixing your holster once it's obvious that you're clear.

Rossweisse overs a tired smile. “Still nerve-wracking.”

“Let's get back to the ship.”

It's not until you finally reach the entrance to the military terminal at the Tithon Spaceport that you spot a small problem with this plan: many of the officers here know the difference between your outfits and those of any Martian service. You're clear outsiders, trying to get past a group who can tell at a glance that you're outsiders... many of whom may have already heard about the incident on the train.

This could be a little bit trickier.
>Continue sneaking?
>Report to the dockmaster's office to coordinate your plans?
>Find a way to call your marines for an escort?
>Find the highest ranking officer in the O-Club and address him/her?
>Other?

>Find the highest ranking officer in the O-Club and address him/her?

>>Find the highest ranking officer in the O-Club and address him/her?

>>Continue sneaking?
>>Other?
Give our ship a heads up first.

Giving our ship a heads up is also something I think we should do.

“Let's see who we can find in here,” you suggest, nodding subtly in the direction of the Officers' Club. “Maybe meet a potential military liaison.”

“No drinking,” Rossweisse insists.

“Buzzkill.”

The interior of the Officers' Club greets you with a certain degree of 1980's camp: like a scene ripped from an old movie about fighter pilots or something. In fact, not even the on-base watering hole in Miramar is like that anymore, making this place a real throwback. You wonder if that place is still standing now that the EFF has largely fallen apart.

Next to the bar stands an older officer, built like a brick barn and about as wide in the shoulders. On said shoulders are the piping and insignia that denote senior Naval command: a fellow Captain if your studies on the Martian armed services is still accurate.

You join him at the bar.

“Coffee,” you order, disgust tinging your voice. “We're on duty, so no booze.”

“Tragic,” the Captain next to you chuckles.

Rossweisse raises her hand to get the bartender's attention. “Grape juice, please.”

“I thought you were both getting coffee?” the barman asks, suddenly quite unsure of himself. “She said we, right?”

“Yes,” Rossweisse nods. “Grape juice, please.”

“But... I thought...”

Rossweisse shakes her head, gesturing to the fridge where a bottle of fancy white grape juice is plainly visible.

“So you two are those Captains from the CTF?” the Captain asks after sipping at what smells like imported Japanese whiskey. “The ones all the scuttlebutt's talking about?”

>Yes. And we'd like a hand getting through to our ship, if you don't mind.
>Yes, and we have a proposal if you've got a ship, Captain.
>Other?

ALSO,
>Tell the whole story?
>Edited version (how much?)
>No storytime?

>Yes, and we have a proposal if you've got a ship, Captain.

>Tell the whole story?

No, most of the quests have had their usual amount of readers. I was asleep when you started, sorry to say.


Also hey /k/ripple, could you tell the mods /qst/ is retarded?

>Yes. And we'd like a hand getting through to our ship, if you don't mind.
>Edited version (how much?)
Eh, use newtype powers to sense his reaction and edit story as needed.

>Yes. And we'd like a hand getting through to our ship, if you don't mind.
>Edited version (how much?)
As much as I would like to not hand out info since there's very little that we know on how deep the resistance has influence in Mars, a bit of context is required to gain some trust.

For now, leave out the suspicion that someone within Mineva's council has some connection or contact. Also on the fence on whether the affiliation of one of the sympathizers should be left out. Maybe some of the officers here are old enough to actually be part of the former Titans.

In with this
I'm not going to stick my foot into that mess, sorry.

Eh, no big. It's just been a rough week on every front, and ending that week with a slow start was a little more jarring than it might have been. It also coincided with a kind of lower-end-of-normal turnout in SSQ.

As for the mods... kinda feels like pissing into a sea of piss at this point to even complain anymore. So I'm kinda over it myself. What happens happens.

>It also coincided with a kind of lower-end-of-normal turnout in SSQ.

Seemed normal to me, the quest I run had it's usual numbers and so did pokemon.

Cool. Little bit of positivity there.

That the gobble pokemon quest? It's usually up when I'm asleep over here, so I missed a LOT of threads.
I won't ask what you run because there's generally a point to being anonymous

>writing

Yeah it's Gobble's, it had the usual amount despite starting late.

To be fair, I was running on fumes during the SSQ thread.

that's a nice ball, man. you should have drawn two of them!

Just testing out the tegaki feature. I didn't even realize it's a thing here.

You sigh, considering briefly how much you actually want to reveal just now.

“Well, Captain, to tell the truth we need a hand getting back through to our ship,” you begin cautiously. You're not the only one who's silently gauging his emotional responses: Rosswiesse's doing it to as well. “After the incident, we thought it best to avoid any unnecessary confrontations or delays.”

“Must've been some serious shit then,” he grumbled. “Used to be I could just curse at those “damn dirty Zeeks”, but these rebels are mostly Feddies like me... just cut from a different cloth.”

“We know,” you chuckle, playing along with the Captain's trip down memory lane for now. “We used to be a “damn dirty Zeek”, once upon a time... TWO, actually.”

“I'm aware of that,” he sighs, draining the last of his glass. “I know your face, Captain O'Hara. I've watched the news and read the papers. We command officers have a lot of time on our hands these days.”

“So are you going to help us?” you ask.

He ponders the question briefly, then nods. “Why the hell not. But first tell me one thing.”

“What's that?”

He leans closer. “So what did those punks really want with you, do you think?”

You sense, aside from the scent of whiskey, one predominant thing: concern. Not like the concern of a guilty man, or like a suppressed fear, but of a man who's trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together and isn't liking what he's seeing.

“Kill or capture,” you explain, sipping your coffee. “As for why they'd want to capture us, either to deny Lady Mineva our support or to gain it through extortion is our guess.”

“And would you support the Queen?” he asks in the same low voice. “If she asked for your assistance, which it always struck me she's not the type to do, would you kill the enemy that's trying to destroy all the progress we've made here?

>Yes.
>No.
>We'd want to, but we're supposed to be neutral parties. Complicated.

>>Yes.