Malign Contingency II

[Edcrab]

Prologue​

The “gate” was just a U-shaped metal antenna, but there wasn’t really a better word for it. Electricity crackled between the machine’s prongs- it looked quite primitive to the uninformed observer, but Hanes was anything but uninformed.

"Phasing complete.” She shuddered slightly, then went straight to work. “We've arrived in an... uh... arboreal, EN-4 area."

"I'd say scrubland."

"Correction: immediate surroundings are EN-6, maybe some EN-4 in denser pockets. Atmosphere is breathable-"

"We'd be dead otherwise."

"Yeah, that might have been an obvious one. Intranet signal not present, no tachyon-dispersal-"

"No huge advanced civilisations round the corner then?" Griggs grinned.

"Not unless they've found a way to communicate without the intranet," Hanes flashed him a brief smile and continued to scan the area with her wrist computer. "No toxins, no dangerous radiation- not even much background, that's pretty rare- no life signs-"

"No fun," Griggs muttered, noisily adjusting his photon rifle. Behind them, the phase beacon- their prototype transit gate- still hummed with excess energy.

Hanes rolled her eyes at him. "If the gate had dropped fifty Xenians into your lap, you'd still have complained."

"Sir?" The voice- querulous but quite audible- drifted across the stunted trees. “You might want to look at this!”

Hanes sedately made her way over, but Griggs positively sprinted across the grass, probably hoping to encounter a bullsquid or the odd mind parasite.

“It’s a campsite,” Griggs said unnecessarily.

Hanes waved her comp over the debris, not understanding. A patch of scorched earth where there’d been a fire, a crumpled, mud-caked canvas tent…

“What’s this?” Griggs bent down to pick something up. “Maintenance Association gear? Thought they hadn’t been before us?”

It was against all established practise, but Griggs was waving his find around in his bare hands. A quick scan confirmed that it was harmless, however, so Hanes let it pass. His fellow soldiers were carefully edging away from him: no doubt they were expecting it to explode or grow legs.

“They haven’t,” she said slowly, “we’re the first expedition.” She took the box off Griggs- it was a fairly plain orange container, but there was an encircled lambda on it, clearly the cause of the corporal’s consternation.

“This world’s completely unmapped,” a nearby surveyor agreed. “The MA wouldn’t just drop down and wander off without declaring it.”

“But that’s one of the MA symbols,” Griggs pointed out again, tapping the metal meaningfully. “I’m certain they’ve got a lambda shift.”

“It’s not as if they ever trademarked it,” Hanes said dismissively, trying to see if there was any way to open it. “There could be dozens of exploration corps out there with their own lambda shift. You can’t patent a damn letter.”

“And, more importantly,” the surveyor continued knowledgably, “this planet must be outside of the trade routes- no intranet signal, remember? So we must be here because the SHARD’s little phase gate locked onto-”

“Sir!”

“Bah, now what?” Griggs frowned. “Don’t you people have a communicator?”

“You really want to see this one, sir!”

They left the clearing and pushed their way through the mounds of rough bracken. And, sure enough, looming over them despite the height of the cliff they stood upon…

“What is that?” Hanes breathed.

“Looks vaguely Uclasion,” one of the other surveyors hazarded. “Maybe another vault?”

“It’s a code 3,” Griggs said grimly.

Hanes turned to him. “A what?”

“It’s a Combine Citadel.”

 

[Useful Dave]

Nice..To me it seems this is later in the Future?, Years after the First?

 

[Tollbooth Willie]

Very nice.

 

[Edcrab]

Heheh, thanks All will (possibly) be revealed shortly with tonight's instalment

 

[Edcrab]

In typical MC style the readers are not going to be sure what's going on at first: we'll be kept in the dark just as much as Quarir is. Here's the first part of Chapter 1!

Frost Peak​

Quarir Nalore slapped his own face and groaned. “I knew it. Knew it.”

“Sorry?”

“Nothing,” Quarir said cheerfully, “just remembering something.”

The supervisor walked away, seeking to find a higher-up to deal with this bizarre Inspector. She risked a backward glance: he was there, grinning at her, managing to make a 2,000 cred thermal suit look like sackcloth. She hurried off.

When the officer was out of earshot, Nuri leant towards Nalore’s ear. “What do you mean, you ‘knew it’?”

“This is a phase research facility,” he explained quietly.

“Oh.” Nuri nodded knowingly.

“Exactly.” He sighed. “This is, or is going to be, our Black Mesa equivalent. I’d put money on it.” Quarir stared out the airlock’s window, watching the swirling snows. “Either that or ol’ Maintonon wanted us to have a skiing holiday.”

“That is certainly doubtful,” Pyotr croaked.

Nuri didn’t bother commenting on the Vortigaunt’s immunity towards Nalore’s weak wit. “So why was she willing to tell you?”

“It’s well publicised,” Quarir continued, “the Doms have a lot of investors throwing money at this place. Phase development is a damn big market, and this isn’t exactly classified research: everyone does it back home.” Quarir remembered where he was. “Uh, I mean here.”

Nuri noted how Quarir still refused to refer to himself as “Domarian”. It was always “the Doms” or “them”. “She kept calling you ‘Inspector’ though…”

Quarir broke into another of his grins. “That’s because I am.” He held up his hand: something clicked inside his wrist computer, and the image of a golden cogwheel suspended itself in the air a few inches from his palm. “You’re looking at First Inspector Quarir Nalore of the Maintenance Association.”

Nuri squinted at the holographic emblem. “You forged it…?”

“Hell no! Why does everything I do have to be faked or illegal or downright immoral, huh?” Quarir frowned. “Maintonon made me into one. Easiest way to get me clearance for this place- surprise inspection.”

“That is a classic method of gaining entry,” Pyotr nodded.

“Heard nothing from the cybernetic compu-bastard himself, mind,” Quarir mused. “Not sure why…”

“Clearly there is concern that this facility would be capable of intercepting the transmissions.” Pyotr stated matter-of-factly. “That would cause a great disturbance.”

Nuri lowered her voice. “How are you explaining Pyotr?” she asked Nalore carefully.

“I said he’s the ambassador for a new strain of mutants they found on… well, some made up planet.” Quarir shrugged. “I forget what I said.”

“We have not,” said Pyotr, who possessed very keen hearing. “You told the female that we are Thingtorins, the natives of Whatthe Prime. We shall endeavour to recall that information to maintain a consistent story.”

Nuri gave Quarir a look. “I wouldn’t bother, Pyotr.”

---​

“He doesn’t look like an Inspector.”

“Well, that’s part of the job description.”

“I think he’s a fake.”

The camera zoomed onto the man’s face.

“It’s impossible to fake those credentials.”

“We said it was impossible to phaseshift, and now everyone does it daily. No, I think they’re not what they seem to be. More than they say they are.”

The camera briefly passed over the female and the Unknown Carbon-Based Species.

“She’s not even a serumite. And that thing… if that used to be human, I’m a Desz. It’s scratch built. A gene modulant if ever I saw one.”

“Perhaps you’re right…”

“Of course I’m right. They’re trying to sabotage us.”

“So you think that we…?”

“Yes. I think we should push the date forward. We should send the next squad to Delta 33 tomorrow.”

---​

“That thing’s watching us.”

“What thing?” Nalore sniffed.

“That camera… circle… thing.” Nuri pointed at it. “Whatever it is.”

Quarir glanced at it. “The Security scanner? Wouldn’t surprise me. Suspicious bastards, the Doms.”

The scanner was a small dome protruding from the room’s corner, crowned with a single spherical lens. It occasionally slid from side to side to follow their motions, much to Nuri’s consternation. “I don’t like it.”

“We do not care for it either,” Pyotr rumbled.

“Yeah, I think we’ve waited enough.” Quarir struck a suave pose and adjusted his coat. In the process he dislodged a deposit of snow which had, unbeknownst to him, built up under his lapel. “Let’s go.”

“But she told us to wait here…”

“We’re not even past the first checkpoint. I say we go to reception and talk to people. I know what’s going on- they’re doing panicky last-minute scans of us to see who we are. I assume Maintonon’s got everything covered,” Nalore added quietly, “because otherwise we’ll have some explaining to do.”

“We should really wait here then,” Nuri repeated, regretting her early impatience.

“You want to stand here for another thirty minutes?”

Nuri slowly turned, peering over her shoulder. The Security scanner casually tracked even this small movement.

“No,” she said firmly. “Lead on, Inspector.”

 

[Edcrab]

Hmm, chapters feel a little short, I might have to remedy that. Anyway, here's part two of the first chapter:




The checkpoint was just a big desk opposite a rather intimidating array of heavy-duty scanners. Over the counter there was a row of the half-globe Security cameras, but Quarir recognised the telltale lines of hatchways around them: concealing an extendable turret array which would shred potential hostiles in seconds should the various devices consider any of them to be a threat.

He didn’t mention this, of course- Nuri already looked wary of the intranet analysing units, and he wouldn’t want to give the smug bastard behind the desk any kind of satisfaction.

“Won’t be long,” said the smug bastard behind the desk.

“Right,” Quarir muttered. Smug bastard, he thought.

Although the door to the actual checkpoint had opened easily enough, the colossal blast door between the exterior airlock and the core of the Frost Peak facility refused to budge, instead using a recording to tell the trio, in no uncertain terms, that their Security passes had to be progressed first.

“Are you actually scanning us or just chasing our details up on the database?” Nuri snapped, nervousness over their new surroundings lost amidst her typical Earthbound pique.

“A bit of both,” the receptionist assured her.

After a few minutes he went away, to be replaced by a female equivalent with the same identikit uniform. Quarir barely noticed.

“Well, your passports check out. But for future reference, we’d expect to be given a bit more notice before your arrival. As dictated in MA action guideline number-”

“Yeah, that was a mistake on our part,” Quarir said smoothly. “My pilot was paranoid, thought the snow here would clog his thrusters up. Decided to drop us off instead of requesting permission.”

“Uh,” the woman began, “we’d still have expected-”

“Expected a surprise inspection? No, I don’t think you should have.”

“Um, of course.”

Quarir grinned. He’d been at the end of Domarian bureaucracy before: but now their huge procedural arsenal was on his side.

“All done,” said the woman. “We hope your stay here is-”

“Yep, great, thank you, terrific.” Quarir speed-walked towards the airlock, which ponderously clanked open.

“Welcome to Frost Peak,” said a brassy computerised voice. “At the forefront of research.”

“Wait,” the receptionist called out, “you should really stay at the lobby until Supervisor Clienmur comes to-”

“Don’t worry, official procedure, MA article thirteen thirty seven, paragraph A.” Quarir quickened his pace.

Behind him, the receptionist brought up the relevant article on her computer. She wondered what the presence of unregistered domesticated animals had to do with the inspection: perhaps it had something to do with his one-eyed assistant.

“This place is huge,” Nuri goggled.

“Yeah,” Quarir admitted, “it is pretty big.”

“Black Mesa was bigger,” Pyotr murmured.

The lobby was gargantuan. Five of the checkpoint blast doors led to a colossal chamber full of elaborate stairways and elevator columns, with several manned query desks strewn between them. Dozens of people were coming and going: but Quarir noticed how none of them were heading towards the exterior doors. Most of the staff here, it seemed, worked on site. Interesting…

“Can I help you?”

Quarir swore under his breath. He’d drifted too close to one of the desks, and the attendant had pounced on him. He was tempted to run away, but he’d have to ride it out.

“No,” he attempted, “I’m just examining the facility on my own terms.”

“If you like,” the man began with depressing eagerness, “we can arrange a guide for-”

“That won’t be necessary, but thank you.” Quarir hurriedly dragged Nuri and Pyotr off, seeking refuge near a towering pot plant. “Okay,” he began, “maybe this place is a little busier than I thought.”

“You don’t say,” Nuri sniffed, pushing a leaf out of her face.

“But we need to keep a low profile,” Quarir continued, “at least until ‘Ton gets hold of us: I mean, it doesn’t take a genius to realise that we stick out like-”

“You there, sir!”

They looked up. “What?”

“Not you,” the woman told Quarir disdainfully. “I’m referring to the Genetically Different gentleman here.”

“Are you making a reference to us?” Pyotr asked.

“’Us’? How quaint! But yes, sir, I am,” she considered more sombrely. “I’m a representative of the Gene Modulant Equality Commision-”

“Oh, god no,” Quarir squeaked, “it’s the GMEC. I’d rather face the beffing Combine!”

Not understanding, but recognising an insult when she heard one, the representative ignored Nalore. “Here,” she pressed some documents into Pyotr’s hand, “read up on this when your… employer is absent. Geneticism is so rife in this organisation, it’s disgusting…”

Shaking her head in disbelief, the woman stalked off- a charity missile in a garish pink uniform.

“Is that going to happen a lot?” Nuri asked, once the harridan had vanished.

“We found her conduct most irritating,” said Pyotr. “We had the urge to point out that we are not of her limited gene pool, but we suppressed it-”

“The esteemed First Inspector Nalore, I presume? Please accompany me to see Supervisor Clienmur.”

“Uh, sorry, but no,” Quarir frowned. “We were going to look around… our… selves…” he trailed off abruptly.

“That will not be possible,” rumbled the ten-foot Security droid. “Please accompany me to see Supervisor Clienmur.”

“Ah, a bipedal Uclasion Relic,” Pyotr nodded. “We have not encountered one for decades.”

“And I have not encountered a Vortigaunt for centuries. Please accompany me to see Supervisor Clienmur,” it repeated. “I should point out that you have no choice in the matter.”

 

[knut]

Not read it yet but hazzah and stuff for a new MC! Will read it later tonight as I've ran out of books to read before I go to bed so I'm resulting to internet fanfictions.

 

[jondy]

New MC! ****ing kickass.

 

[DeusExMachina]

HOLY SHIT. A sequel?! I love you!

 

[Sloth]

/me cries!

Yay, and not yay.
Love to see MC, but you have drawn me in with C-351 and ML:UC...!
And i'd be greedy to want all three...

Good luck anyway...

 

[Darkwolf]

I GO AWAY FIR A COUPLE OF DAYS AND UT CONTINUES?!?!??!?!?! I SHOULD GO AWAY SOME MORE!!!! Hoorah for Edcrab!

Edit: Read and loved! THANK YOU!!! keep it up!

 

[Sulkdodds]

Geneticism. Hahahah.

 

[knut]

That was awwwesome. Can't wait for more. Plus, your sig. has reminded me of your C-351 fanfic which I got half way through before going on holiday. Woooozah.

 

[Edcrab]

I'm glad to see you're happy with MC's return! Hope you all enjoy it, I've got a lot of expectations to live up to now...

Chapter 2: Supervisory Duties​

“Hmm. So Clienmur sent his mech to get them. Why?”

“Perhaps he’s in on it…”

“No, the old fool is naive, certainly, but not corrupt. He must really think this impostor is an Inspector.”

The camera zoomed in on the lumbering machine as it led the newcomers towards an ornate doorway, which happened to lead to one of the exterior transports: a high-speed elevator that hugged the rear wall, granting the passengers a somewhat pointless view of the planet’s bland snowscape.

“He must be a very proficient hacker to change these records. They look flawless…”

“Nothing in this organisation is impenetrable. He might have inside help.”

“It could be Clienmur after all, then.”

“Hmm. You might well be right.”

A siren sounded, and the two observers instantly forgot about the Security displays.

“Another attack?”

“Damn! Dispatch a few drones: Nalore would get suspicious if he saw soldiers on the move. And turn that alarm off!”

---​

“What was that alarm?” Quarir asked.

“I do not know,” said the mech.

Quarir left it at that: when a ten ton robot tells you something, you let it fly.

The transporter quickly raced up the glass-walled passage. As they sped towards the top of the Frost Peak tower, Nuri strained to have a look at the rest of the facility: but the blizzard outside had intensified to the point that she could see little more than white oblivion flitting over ground-hugging concrete structures.

“Your assistant seems very interested in our layout,” the droid said flatly.

“She has an interest in architecture,” Quarir lied hurriedly, “and the storm was too dense for us to see anything from our ship.”

“Hmm,” said the mech. It was a very brief exclamation, more like a deep beep than a word.

Flushing, Nuri quickly acted as if the window-wall held no interest for her. She did, however, attempt to eye the robot up- it was very easy to tell why Quarir had been so obsessed with these things. It took little imagination to picture their giant guide smashing aside a wall like paper, and restraining a grown man between its thumb and forefinger.

It was vaguely humanoid, insofar as it had two legs and two arms: but the torso was a blocky lump of metal- sporting a single eye instead of a head- and the legs were squat and elephantine. The “guard” looked more like a walking tank, as Nalore would have repeatedly pointed out, had he not felt so uneasy in its presence.

Movement caught her eye: something far bigger than a squall of snowflakes. They’d been black, for a start. “What were they?”

“A routine patrol of reconnaissance drones,” the mech told her.

“We find it interesting that a municipal resource has so much in the way of security,” Pyotr replied with similar aplomb.

“We have a job to do, and so we do it properly.”

“Indeed. But we find that to be no kind of answer.”

“And we find that to be no kind of question.”

Quarir looked from the mech to the Vortigaunt. If the two of them chose to enter a staring contest, he wouldn’t have been remotely surprised if they’d simultaneously combusted.

“We have arrived,” the mech announced, as if it was taking extra efforts to sound cold.

The arched door opened, revealing a rather grand suite. The mech turned its bulk around and lurched into the room, shaking the red-carpeted floor like a percussion instrument.

Although the Domarians let many different cultures into their society, the “command” levels of their civilisation tended towards minimalism, so Quarir was quite shocked to find that Clienmur’s office floor was like a luxury penthouse.

“Wait here.” The mech moved towards a staircase with a gilded handrail: Nuri winced with every step it took, expecting the whole setup to collapse under its weight.

“So who’s this Clienmur?” she asked Quarir.

“How the hell should I know?”

“Sorry,” Nuri was taken aback. “It’s just that you’re always going on about someone or other from ‘back home’-”

“Yeah, sorry,” Quarir deflated, “I’m just a little on edge. I spent a year on the run from big lumps like that.” He tried to peer up towards the upper floor. “Uh, you don’t suppose it heard that, do you?”

“Undoubtedly,” said Pyotr. “The Uclasion Relics are in possession of highly honed senses.”

“What would you know about them?” Quarir snapped.

Nuri turned to the Vort too. “Yes, how do you know all this stuff?”

“As we have taken pains to point out,” Pyotr began patiently, “we are each the sums of all Vortigaunt experience and knowledge. The sagacity of millions and the wisdom of aeons rests on our shoulders.”

Quarir was quiet for a moment. “Good,” he ventured, “but that doesn’t explain how you know about ancient robot bastards.”

“Oh, Dunamis is definitely ancient,” said a voice, “but I wouldn’t say he was a bastard, as such. Just a little tetchy.”

“Hah,” said the deep, more familiar tones of the machine.

Quarir jumped.

“Did I startle you?” said the man. “Sorry, I keep doing that. I’m a very soft walker. I’m Supervisor Clienmur- and you’ll be Quarir Nalore, yes?”

“Uh, yes,” Quarir hazarded. He shook Clienmur’s hand when he offered it: he looked about three-hundred, maybe four-hundred, but he had a grip like… well, someone very young and very strong.

Clienmur noticed Nalore’s interest. “Implants- I forget my own strength.” He felt Quarir’s own hand, as if it was an antique novelty found at a market. “Got some yourself, I see- then again, that’s standard Enforcer practise nowadays, isn’t it?”

Quarir blinked. “Um-”

“You’re not an Inspector, not if you were phaseshifted here.” Clienmur smiled. “I detected a power surge, but I certainly didn’t detect a ship. Neither did you, did you Dunamis?”

“No,” rumbled Dunamis, as he stomped down the stairs. “Not on any frequency, and I have a six mile range.”

“An Enforcer then, am I right?” Clienmur nodded. “It’s good to see Maintonon taking some action on this issue.”

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, well spotted.”

“I apologise if I appeared to be abrupt during our earlier encounter,” Dunamis began. “However, the lobby and the elevators are extensively monitored by our Security department. I could not dispense relevant information without informing our overzealous personnel.”

“Quite understandable,” Pyotr accepted the apology graciously. “We note that you are an Independent. We are most intrigued.”

“Sorry about the ‘bastard’, too,” Quarir swallowed. “I’m just a coarse type.”

Dunamis’s eye rose up and down, a gesture possibly intended as a bow. “Do not concern yourself, Nalore. And Pyotr is quite correct. I am not shackled by the datalink: I am sapient and autonomous. I serve Maintonon’s cause for the greater good.”

“Of course he’s just a mass-produced lump as far as my men are concerned.” Clienmur chuckled. “But who are we without secrets, hmm?” Something began beeping, and Clienmur rolled his eyes skyward. “Not again. Excuse us, would you? We shan’t be long.”

Both man and machine departed, leaving Quarir looking suitably stunned.

“He thinks we’re Enforcers,” he gaped.

“We are, by any definition,” Pyotr informed him. “We are now servants of the Uclasion Artefact. The rank is inconsequential.”

“Are you happy working for this computer then?” Nuri asked- she’d felt quite unnecessary during the exchange.

“We are, yes.”

Quarir nodded. “So you’re still part of that Vortnet thing then?”

“Vortessence. Yes. Mere transdimensional travel cannot sever our ties. We are honoured to aid an entity as famous as the Artefact.”

“Speak for yourself,” Quarir muttered.

“I’m still coming to terms with it.” Nuri shrugged.

Nalore realised something. “Hmm. Are you still psychically active?”

Pyotr considered this. “If by that, do you mean can we sense our surroundings: yes, to a limited degree.”

“And what do you lot see, then?”

“Snow. Mountains. Snowy mountains.”

Quarir sighed. “That’s a big help, Pyotr.”

“And… angry humans. Firing weapons.”

“Wait, what?”

Pyotr paused. “They are furious. They seek… they seek something of great import. We cannot see what they desire. But they seek it. Their goals are beacons across space...”

“Ah,” said Clienmur. “Now I see why Maintonon felt the need to send a gene modulant.”

---​

“They just took down one of the drones!”

“Then take them down. Put the drones in attack formation! Maximum aggression!”

---​

“Now we… have lost them,” Pyotr sounded uncertain. “We have lost their threads.”

“A telepathic mutant- of course.” Clienmur trotted down the steps. “You’ll be invaluable. Please, if you need anything, clarity chemicals, neuro stimulants, feel free to-”

“Such aides will not be necessary,” Pyotr told him coldly. “We have merely lost contact.”

“Of course, of course,” Clienmur said hurriedly, “I meant no disrespect.” He approached Quarir. “Are you psionically adept?”

“Hell no!”

“Quarir is distinctly lacking in the mind department,” Nuri explained.

“Look,” Quarir pretended he hadn’t heard the jibe, “what attacks? Who are they?”

Clienmur made an expansive gesture. “Your guess is as good as mine! They’ve been attacking us for four months: but of course you already know this.”

“Of course,” Nuri responded with forced cheerfulness. “It’s not like we’d be sent here blind, is it?”

The same beeping split the air, and Clienmur groaned. “I can see this is going to be a habit. Dunamis will be along shortly- he’ll take you to your quarters. I’ll try and be in touch- but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to give me a call. I’m on transmission line 1.”

Clienmur ran back up the steps with surprising speed, passing Dunamis in his haste.

The mech approached them as his employer vanished upstairs. “This will not leave the room,” Dunamis said, “but I assume that Maintonon has not informed you of the situation. That is his usual practise.”

Quarir nodded glumly. “You’re right.”

“I suspected as much.” The droid swivelled towards Pyotr. “Please do not be offended by Clienmur’s belief that you are a gene modulant. Explaining your Xenian origin would only confuse matters.”

“We do not take offence,” Pyotr assured the mech. “Just as you must masquerade as some unintelligent drone, we shall pose as a human mutation.”

Dunamis “nodded” with his eye housing again. “A wise comparison.” He stepped back aboard the elevator, and the others followed.

“So what is going on?” Nuri asked insistently, as the door closed behind them. “Your boss seems to think we know more than he does!”

“We genuinely do not know. The attackers began assaulting our surveyor drones without provocation, approximately one hundred days before now. They do not appear to be natives of this world. They are human, but their genetic profiles- on the rare occasions our drones manage to scan them- do not match any of our records. They are a mystery.”

“You must know something!” Quarir said exasperatedly. “Religious extremists? WAL? The chaos factions? NeoCongs?”

Nuri replayed that statement, but still didn’t recognise a single reference. “The what…?”

“Bunch of anti-Domarian types,” Quarir flapped a hand irritably. “Legion-hating idiots, basically. If you ask me, it’ll be one of them.”

“It could be WAL,” Dunamis admitted, “but other extremists would be likely to make their grievances known. A phase research facility has never come under fire before. Compared to past projects, phaseshifting is a non-controversial field.”

“If they knew of the risks, they would be less apathetic,” Pyotr announced gravely.

“We have taken precautions. Our methods are very unlikely to attract the Combine’s attention: and, of course, your little stunt with the Arcadimaarians on Earth distracted them.” The lift drew to a halt, and the door opened. “This is your floor. You are housed in rooms 1-3, first block on the right.”

They stepped out, but Quarir looked aghast. “You know about that? About what I- I mean, about what we did on Earth?”

Dunamis stared right back at him. “I know much about you, Quarir Nalore.” The door began to close, and the mech’s lone eye narrowed. “I spent a year chasing you, after all.”

 

[Steel.Inferno]

Woot for sequels

Great job so far Edcrab, I especially like how Pyotr finally has a match

 

[Sulkdodds]

“I spent a year chasing you, after all.”

Ah, that sed.

 

[Darkwolf]

lol, g-g-g-g-gooood work!

How the hell do you pump these things out so fast? lol!

 

[Bob_Marley]

Wow man, Just wow.

 

[Sloth]

WOO! I'm happy to have my 'Crab fix

Keep it going, but i know you will...

 

[Edcrab]

Hmm, this one took longer to flesh out than I thought: so here's the first half, since I'm not so sure about the end of this chapter at the moment. Still, happy to be appreciated

Chapter 3: Portent​

Nuri scowled. “Oh for the… grow up, Quarir!”

“Grow up? Grow up? I’ve just been threatened by the giant mechanical bastard I spent a year- get that, four-hundred and eight solid days- running from!”

“Dunamis did not threaten you directly,” Pyotr disagreed. “The Relic was merely remarking on your past encounters.”

Quarir performed an agitated, on-the-spot tap-dance routine while going “urgh!”, then retreated to the bathroom. A moment later he re-emerged, realising there wasn’t anything he could do from the hygiene facility. “I should’ve known!” He vanished into the bedroom, performing another “urgh!”.

“Quarir,” Nuri tried to be patient, “the mech didn’t threaten you. It was an… odd comment to make, but, like Pyotr said, he was just-”

Quarir popped his head round the corner. “Why bring it up then? Huh? Sounds to me like it still harbours a grudge-”

“Probably because he knew how you’d react when you found out. If you hadn’t found out from him…” Nuri shrugged. “Well, you’d have probably ran off screaming and thrown yourself down the stairs.”

Pyotr paused for a moment of calculation. “Yes,” he eventually decided, “that would be proportionately accurate. If Quarir Nalore reacts like this to a direct confession, he would likely attempt self-homicide if he heard the news from another source.”

Quarir voice drifted towards them as if coming from a great distance: the living suites must have been even bigger than they’d first appeared. “It still sounded like a threat to me!”

“The Relics do not threaten,” Pyotr reiterated. “They act. If Dunamis wished to unmake you, you would have already been unmade.”

Nuri swallowed. “Uh, Pyotr, I don’t think Quarir wants to hear that…”

“It is a purely logical conclusion,” the Vort continued unabashed. “Dunamis served the Artefact when he was pursuing you. Now you, like the Relic, serve the Artefact. Even if your position if disapproved of, you would not be brought to harm.”

No reply. Not even another “urgh!”.

“The past is a realm that no will can penetrate and no machine can breach. What is done cannot be undone. But an intelligence as old as civilisation does not harbour such petty grudges.”

Silence for a moment. Then Quarir emerged, muttering “I’m going for a walk.”

Nuri stood back as he blundered towards the door. “What, outside?”

“No, around the facility. I’m not that dumb. I might be a while.”

He moved so quickly that he almost walked into the automatic door as it was opening: and then he burst back into the corridor and vanished.

Nuri sighed. “I wish he’d just think for one minute. How does he think I feel? This isn’t even my planet… it isn’t even my dimension!”

“We have not laid eyes on the Refuge for a great period of time,” Pyotr nodded glumly.

Nuri winced. “Sorry, Pyotr. I forgot that the Vortigaunts have it even worse.”

“We do not dwell on the fact. We have often moved from plane to plane to avoid the Combine’s wrath.” Pyotr glanced at the door. “Regrettably the Quarir Nalore’s problem lies not with dimensional transit, but fear of past misdeeds. He must learn to forget.”

“What did he do, anyway?”

“We are not certain. But boundaries change at all times. Indeed, we fought against your kind at first, propelled by the Nihilanth’s paranoia and our own terror. Ties were severed on all sides. But we do not regret.”

Nuri paused. “You don’t?”

“Necessity bypasses ethics. The Freeman knew this. He was judgement incarnated in a carbon package. He fought his own species as well as our own, but though we shall never forget his actions, we shall not hate him for them: just as humanity does not loathe him for severing dozens of human warriors, we do not resent the decisions made in the infinitely brief choices of survival.”

“Well that’s very… uh… wise…”

“Thus Dunamis, put simply, will not care for the Quarir Nalore’s past. He was captured. He was redeemed. They now serve the same power.”

Nuri couldn’t think of a response for this, so she just nodded. She stared outside the window, as if seeking inspiration, but the blizzard showed no sign of abating. “Do you think we’ll get home any time soon… or ever…?”

“That, Nuri Daekkler, would depend on the definition of ‘home’.”

---​

“Hmm. It appears he’s demonstrating counter-intelligence training.”

“He is?”

The camera moved again.

“Undoubtedly. Look at him: he’s left the room. He must’ve known we were trying to monitor them as a group.”

“So do you think they’re the ones behind the interference?”

“Who else would try shielding their bedrooms? Clienmur doesn’t have the brains. He’s got no ability when it comes to cybernetics.” They observed the display for a moment more. “No,” came the decision, “they knew that we were trying to view them, so they’re scrambling the camera signals in the residence block.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” The camera shifted, following Nalore’s movement. “We’ll have to keep an eye on this one. He’s better at this than I thought.”

 

[Darkwolf]

cool, its gone PHYCOLOGICAL !!!

anyway, i though it looked wierd all this time but according to Word:

Artefact is spelt Artifact Unless 'ton is so special he has a different spelling for his description!

also edit 'Sounds to me like it stall harbours a grudge-'

lol two mistakes in one post :O how could you!

 

[Edcrab]

Oops, you're right about "stall", but "Artefact" is actually an old variant spelling of "Artifact" (which I thought was appropriate for something that was Maintonon's age)

Anyway, who needs Word? You're a stellar spellcheck!

 

[Darkwolf]

Oops, you're right about "stall", but "Artefact" is actually an old variant spelling of "Artifact" (which I thought was appropriate for something that was Maintonon's age)

Anyway, who needs Word? You're a stellar spellcheck!

lol, word was open when I read that particular segment. but kk!

 

[Edcrab]

Right, last part of the chapter: hopefully this is a bit less heavy on spelling mistakes




Eventually Quarir realised he was heading deeper into the residence block rather than leaving it: so he performed an abrupt about turn and headed back towards the elevator.

He found it- although he had a nagging suspicion it was different to the one they’d arrived in- and walked inside.

Not only am I running blind again, he thought despairingly, but I’m in the same building as a killer robot Enforcer. Not a Security mech… an Enforcer mech. It’s not part of the network, it’s independent, it doesn’t have any damn programming to stop it rending me limb from limb…

The lift still hadn’t moved. Nalore stood there for another ten seconds, wondering if he’d simply stepped into a suspiciously lift-like storeroom…

“Destination?” said a voice.

Quarir jumped. “Oh… uh, the lobby. Please.”

An appropriately positive beep emerged from the elevator’s speakers, and it began its descent.

So Dunamis must be able to communicate with these systems through transmissions, Quarir realised, because if he’d talked to the lift I’m damn sure I’d have heard it…

There was a flash behind him, through the snow-swamped window. Quarir turned, thinking he’d imagined it, but after a minute it appeared again: a brief glow flashing over the white hills. Too dull to be lightning, too bright to be a star…

The lift stopped and a technician boarded. Quarir spun round- while trying to look casual- and hurried onto the floor.

Forget the mech: the light was hauntingly familiar. Reservations or no, he still had a job to do, still had an investigation to front.

The numerous staircases and corridors were clustered with dynamic bulletin boards and vidsigns, but he didn’t see what he was looking for. Nalore, against his better judgement, went up to one of the people manning the reception desks.

“Can I help you?” they said automatically.

Quarir half wondered if these guys were androids- they never seemed to vary their approaches. “I hope so. Have you got an observation floor here?”

“Ah… what do you intend to observe? We have several monitoring facilities and-”

“Sorry,” Quarir thought carefully, “I just wanted to see the view from up here. Nothing technical.”

She relaxed. “Oh, yes. We have a designated unit on floor eighteen, sector C: just take the blue-clearance staircase and then the third transporter on the right.”

Quarir nodded. “Got you. Thanks.”

---
​

“He’s a canny one, that’s for sure.”

“He is?”

“Look at him.” The display zoomed in even more. “He gets directions, and then ignores them. He’s trying to throw us off the trail- he must know it’s impossible for us to monitor every sector simultaneously. He’s actively trying to mislead us.”

---​

Where the hell am I? thought Quarir. He was thoroughly lost.

The blue-clearance staircase had been a meandering odyssey of steps, and the sheer volume of signs and monitors had baffled him. He wasn’t sure if he’d turned off too soon or too late, because the stairs had led to a multi-floored hub of balconies and walkways, each labelled with incomprehensible technobabble.

Whether through luck or design, he eventually found himself at another elevator. According to a nearby sign, it was an “Express Transporter to Observation Facility (Sector C)”. He gratefully hauled his weight onboard.

This time it didn’t ask for a destination, instead speeding off the moment Nalore stood inside. This transporter moved horizontally alongside the outside edge of the facility, emphasising just how much ground Frost Peak covered: the bleak landscape scrolled past endlessly.

Quarir tried to see where the tram was headed, but the curve of the main facility obscured his view. It was only when the transporter began to slow to a crawl- pulling into a cavernous bay that was amidst a web of similar transports- that Quarir saw the facility.

It was mostly dark concrete and thrice-reinforced glass- but it definitely looked big enough for his purposes. It was second only to the main tower in height, but it had the added bonus of being far less suspicious a destination than a return to Clienmur’s quarters. It was also far closer to the point where he’d seen the flashes of light…

To Quarir’s intense relief, there were no checkpoints. Undoubtedly the upper levels were filled with expensive monitoring apparatus and would thus be guarded on all fronts- but this floor held little more than gigantic windows, and the Security presence seemed non-existent.

Hoping he hadn’t missed his chance, Nalore bounded up the stairs and seized a spot in the very centre of the vast, transparent pane.

And he saw snow. Lots of it. But his eyes gradually adjusted to the sight- or the blizzard weakened slightly, he wasn’t sure- and he made out concrete landing pads and a fat metal railtransporter line. Hulking black quadruped mechs stomped around, clutching huge crates in their crab-like manipulator pincers.

Ignoring the majestic vista of icy mountains on the horizon, Quarir squinted at the white knolls clustering around the loading bay. And saw nothing. They were just lumps of white-painted earth.

Then he saw it again: a burst of light. There was a small noise- and it must have been loud to be audible at this distance and through a blizzard- and sparks poured off the nearest quad loader. Several more followed- the mech produced more sparks, but didn’t react, as it appeared intact.

Something screeched by, all shiny and sleek: recon drones. Within seconds they had homed in on a particular hill: emerging from a dive full of blinding red plasma and flying permafrost, they left a sizeable crater in their wake.

But Quarir had expected that. Nodding glumly, he took off, practically running back to the transporter, acutely aware of the trio of armoured Security guards coming his way.

Neatly avoiding a confrontation, his tram sped off back towards the lobby.

Quarir had recognised the light- muzzle flashes from projectile weapons. Not photonics, not fusion dispersers, not pulse rifles: but combustibles, launching bullets through primitive but effective means.

And Earth was the only society he could think of that still used them.

 

[knut]

Excellent stuff. I love this facility place. More, more!

 

[Darkwolf]

ooooooooooooooo.... suspense/mystery!

Damn you Holmes! Damn you...

 

[Bob_Marley]

Fantastic. Most amusing, especially the observers.

 

[Sloth]

Awesome, the suspense is lifting!

 

[knut]

We need our daily dose of MC! *Twitch*

 

[Edcrab]

Sorry, been a bit busy: hoped to have a full chapter to put up, but I've only got a short work in progress snippet :| ... dang it all to heck!

Chapter 4: Resist!​

Nuri didn’t know what an ion scanner was. However- despite living under Combine rationing schemes for over a decade- she knew what a shower was.

Her room’s hygenie cubicle seemed to be a pointlessly compact Domarian invention combining most bathroom functions (and a few bizarre inclusions like the ion cleanser) but she realised it had a shower function when she spotted a faucet. She relished the cascade of hot water: the Combine had never let the oppressed masses worry too much about their sanitary conditions, and so despite everything on her plate she desperately wanted to get in touch with some sort of luxury. Pyotr had retired to his own room to sleep or meditate or do whatever the hell Vortigaunts did, but she just wanted a shower that wasn’t going to be interrupted by Striders or ravening headcrab zombies.

And yet she hadn’t been that dirty. She’d fled persecution for months, fighting wherever possible, and that tended to make a woman accumulate grime- but when she’d found herself falling into the snow of Frost Peak beside a bemused Vortigaunt, she’d been… well… clean. And her clothes had been subtly different- they’d been less frayed, for a start- and the hems were less visible.

So just as Quarir had materialised in an inexplicably spotless businessman’s getup, she’d arrived in what was, more or less, a Resistance uniform. It just lacked the filth, the Kevlar and the lambda markers: and instead of the broken wristwatch she’d scavenged from a bin, she’d sported one of those odd computers every Domarian seemed to own.

Nuri grabbed a towel and dried off. No doubt the all-in-one cubicle could’ve done the job for her, but knowing Domarian technology it was just as likely to vaporise her if she dared try the advanced controls. Indeed, her newly acquired wrist computer seemed to think Quarir was the only person in the building- she been savvy enough to try it, but his had been the only contact detailed on her list: none of the other icons or buttons seemed to work.

She smiled. Domarian technology. The products of an advanced alien society: and yet she’d taken it in her stride, because compared to the Combine, the Domarians were quite laughable. Quarir, despite his edginess about his nationality, positively glowed with pride regarding their inventions: but everything they’d done the Combine had done before.

Including, she knew, phase travel. Whatever name you gave it, that was teleportation- and as far as she was concerned, it led to nothing but trouble. The events of Black Mesa had entered the Resistance’s repertoire of lore- varying from tales of human greatness to inspire their members, to the story of their eventual downfall- but the core issue had been whether the Combine would have ever, ever found mankind amidst the million dimensions of reality if the Lambda facility hadn’t stumbled across the Borderworld.

Nuri had the answer to that: no. She, like so many others, traced the Combine occupation back to the fateful day of the Black Mesa Resonance Cascade. That’s what throbbed in her skull when she dared think of home- if Frost Peak was going to be the Domarian version of that atrocious mistake, she wanted to stop it. Not just to stab the Combine in their metaphorical iron fist, but because, in the Domarians, she saw what mankind could have been.

But without the weirdness, of course.

---​

The tramline was a signal dead zone, which surprised Quarir at first- but then he remembered the long-lasting Domarian fight against terrorism. Planting an intranet hotspot in a public transport station was just begging for a remote bomb.

The transmission could wait, but he desperately wanted to get hold of Nuri. It was big news: there were Earthmen on… uh… whatever the hell this planet was called. It occurred to Nalore that no one had bothered to ask Clienmur or his staff.

Earth. That low-tech rock orbiting some middle-aged star in a backwater dimension. How would they get anyone onto a Domarian planet? Why would they even try? What’s more, why would they attack the surveyors?

Head buzzing with questions, Quarir stepped off the transporter…

…and into the arms of Dunamis.

 

[Sulkdodds]

DAMN YOU!

I do like the idea of 'oh god...Black Mesa. It's happening all over again...' if that is indeed where this is headed. Yet I doubt it. :shh:

 

[Bob_Marley]

nice, very nice... we will continue to observe with growing interest...

 

[Steel.Inferno]

Must... have... update...

MC and the other big FF are the only reasons I even registered here... need moreeeee

 

[Edcrab]

Oops, I'd forgotten about the thread I've been working on chapter 5 and it had completely skipped my mind that I hadn't put the last half of four up on the site yet... sit tight, I'll get the next instalment up eventually :imu:





“Pyotr?”

The door opened. “Yes, Nuri Daekkler?”

“Sorry to bother you,” she began, “but it’s just that Quarir’s been gone for a while, and I can’t contact him on this damn computer…” She waved the wrist-worn device gloomily.

“So you suggest we search for Quarir Nalore?”

“Well…”

“In an edifice that we are unfamiliar with?”

“I just-”

“Populated by the minions of a possibly hostile regime?”

“Suppose that- what?” Nuri squinted at the Vort. “Since when were the Domarians hostile?”

“You misunderstand the Domarian position, Nuri Daekkler.” Pyotr leant forward, hands clasped in a thoughtful pose. “The Domarians are not one nation. What we see as one society is, in truth, many different cultures. We merely label them Domarian for our convenience.”

“Oh. You meant the people that run this place- private industry, or whatever.”

“Precisely, Nuri Daekkler. We suggest that you wait for Quarir Nalore’s return.”

Nuri glanced down the deserted corridor and frowned. “Even though he’s probably moping around in a sulk?”

“Especially because Quarir Nalore is moping around in a sulk. That would be agitating to us.”

---​

Dunamis, like all Uclasion mechs and the Domarian designs inspired by them, wasn’t a dainty type. Despite being defensive in their purpose- at least obstensibly- Security Enforcement Drones were quite capable of pulling a main battle tank in half.

Which is why Quarir thought he was about to die when the mech lifted him off his feet and strode away. It could have crumpled him up like wastepaper, cracking his bones as if they were glass.

“Stop shivering,” Dunamis rumbled. “If I wanted you dead, Nalore, I would have blown your car up on Monrhein.”

Quarir froze. Not that he was doing much pinned under the robot’s arm, but had he been standing he would have fallen backwards like a felled oak. “That was you too?!”

“You were not that important to Maintonon, Nalore. Did you think he dispatched fresh squadrons after you every day? We were merely tracking you.”

“Hah, it took you a while!”

“Yes. That is because we had to take you in alive for the sake of Domarian justice. Otherwise I would have gladly vaporised you from a great distance.”

Quarir lapsed into silence, which seemed to suit his mechanised captor just fine.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked eventually, feeling oddly calm about his predicament. He wasn’t too crazy about being plugged into the thing’s metal armpit, of course.

“To someplace safe. Now return to being silent. You were more manageable.”

Quarir went quiet, but Dunamis didn’t: from his proximity to the mech’s torso, Nalore had the unenviable opportunity to listen to every clank and hum from deep within its armoured shell.

“We have arrived.”

Quarir landed heavily, but instantly stood up again, brushing himself down in an effort to hide his injured dignity. “So what the hell is going on?”

“This facility, Nalore, is a drone storage bay. It is surrounded on all sides by suppression units.”

“Why?”

“The suppression units limit the damage that a malfunctioning drone could inflict. If they approached such a unit, their energy reserves would deplete rapidly.”

“No,” Quarir snapped, “I mean why did you drag me here?”

“Because this is the most secure location within Frost Peak. Monitoring apparatus cannot penetrate the suppression fields.”

“Oh yeah? How come you can then?”

“Because I am the product of a species that is sixteen factors more advanced than yours, you uppity little charlatan. I merely experience a sensation akin to a headache.”

“Still didn’t answer my question,” Nalore muttered, his face flushing. This bastard was like a small version of Maintonon: although at least the Supercomputer couldn’t pick him up and toss him around like a toy…

“It is simple, Nalore. You have confirmed that the guerrillas are from Earth. That information cannot be spread.”

“Why’s that?”

“Nalore, your society does not even know that Maintonon is its ruler. How would you explain the existence of Earth and the Combine to them?”

“Oh. I see you’re point.”

“Yes. You must not inform Clienmur of this news. You may continue your investigation- verifying why these humans attack our mechs, as a priority- but none must learn of this.”

“What about Nuri and Pyotr…?”

“Excepting your friends,” Dunamis amended. “I have taken the liberty of sabotaging the intranet scanners in your dormitory sector. You can safely converse within the walls of your residence.”

Quarir nodded. “Yeah, I got the feeling I was being watched.”

“That is because Frost Peak’s security is at an unprecedented high. The authorities here intend to send a surveyor squadron through a phase portal within sixty hours.”

“About that- am I the only one who sees the problem with this crap? You start dimension hopping, you throw energy signatures about which scream ‘yo, look at us! We got resources!’ at the Combine’s sensors…”

“We have been using varieties of phaseshifting for almost ten thousand years without reprisal, Nalore.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed. Earth’s fate was tragic, but their Xen Relay technology must be markedly different to Domarian phase devices.”

“Well… why would Maintonon send me here if the Combine’s not involved? Answer that one.”

“While they pale compared to the Combine, the appearance of Earthmen on a Domarian world is hardly commonplace, Nalore.”

Quarir snapped his fingers. “What’s the name of this planet anyway? I meant to ask…”

“Frost Peak,” Dunamis said simply. “This facility is the only settlement on the world’s surface. The planet and its lone complex are collectively referred to as Frost Peak.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Some final words of warning, Nalore…”

“What?”

“The Security presence here is not as informed as I am. Their heads of department are convinced that you are a spy. Tread lightly.”

“Heh! Tread lightly… not like you can do that,” Quarir chuckled, “you know, what with you being a ten ton lump...”

Dunamis stepped onto a portion of floor, which began rising into the air: evidently it was the mechanism which had taken him to the depot. “Just for that,” the robot said, “I will not send this elevator back for you. You can take the ladder. It is only twenty stories.”

---​

“Why would the mech take him down to the depot?”

“Why anything? This man is suspicious, to say the least.”

“He saw the combat outside. I told you we should have shuttered the observation windows-”

“That would have made little difference. If he has enough skill to tamper with the sensors within his bedroom, he could hack into the external cameras, and watch from a distance. Whatever we do- whatever we have done- he finds a way around it.”

“So what do we do?”

“I’ve told you. We send the squad early.”

“Tomorrow? At this rate, Nalore would have already-”

“No. Start charging the device- they leave for Delta 33 tonight.”

The computer bank lit up, and the observer smiled.

“Let’s see the ‘Resistance’ stop that.”

 

[Darkwolf]

WOOOO, lol, dont abandon us again

 

[Bob_Marley]

Wooo Ya! We look foreward to the next installment in the not too distant future...

 

[Agent G-Man]

I see you have returned, Edcrab. Your sequel gets more exciting every chapter! I hope you have some more pictures and drawings and such for the story, I still have trouble visualizing everything in your world of Malign Contingency.

 

[Edcrab]

Urgh, whenever I promise to post something within a certain time period I invariably end up as a liar ;( I hope to get the last half of this chapter finished soon, but after that things might be quiet on the MC front

Anyway, hope you all like it...

Chapter 5: Accept?
​

The thing about the Combine, Kalkis had decided, was that you really couldn’t fight them. It’d be like fighting against the universe.

Not the contents of the universe, which would have been suicidal enough, but the actual, literal universe, that spiral of galaxies. Rising up against reality, chanting inspiring quotes about how you hate matter, and trying to battle the laws of physics. Pointless.

The Combine just was. They’d never actually lost a war- battles, certainly, temporary set backs at the hands of the obstinate- but never a war. If they wanted something, they’d take it. They might lose a world in-between rebellions, but they just bombarded the place with Synth hordes and tunnelled in Citadels until it was under their control again.

It was how things worked: and to Kalkis, accepting that meant the first step to victory.

Not against the Combine, of course- he was a realist. He just meant victory in the unique personal sense of the word that regarded lining his pockets.

Kalkis was an Arcadimaarian, but an outlaw. And that was a remarkable concept- not just to, say, those in the Combine’s ranks, because there was no such thing as a “rogue” state in the Universal Union- but to the galaxy as a whole, because the Arcadimaarians executed traitors on their first act of treason.

The Arcs wanted him dead, and so did the traditional enemies of the Arcadimaarians: i.e., everyone. So Kalkis was on the run from everywhere, and loving it.

It was a good job, then, that this god-forsaken little planet classified as nowhere in every sense of the word. It was shrouded by nebulae and positioned in the remotest place he could imagine- which was saying something, because space was already pretty remote.

But this place was set aside from the other un-surveyed chunks of space stone. He’d brought his “retinue”- that is, his ragtag collection of fellow traitors- along with him to this unnamed, uncharted rock; it had taken him weeks, because the place was impenetrable to phase technology and he’d had to navigate the quadrant with a conventional propulsion drive… but he knew it’d be worth it.

Because the Combine was already there. And if there was something worth having on this world- something that even a transdimensional empire would set out to obtain- then he wanted it for himself.

---​

“We do not mean to be evasive, Nuri Daekkler, but your queries cannot be answered.”

Nuri blinked. “What?”

“We were not entirely factual with Quarir Nalore. Our ties are… strained,” Pyotr struggled to find a suitable word, “we are not capable of real-time communication.”

“So you don’t know what’s going on?” she asked the Vort disbelievingly.

“We only know that the fight has continued in our absence,” Pyotr said stiffly. “Please, do not tax us unduly. Believe that the situation is most unpleasant for us, also. You may be disconnected from the events on Earth, but our very minds are parting…”

“Is that why you keep locking yourself in your room and groaning?”

Pyotr closed the door in her face. She didn’t dwell on that, however, as she felt she’d probably deserved it: whenever Quarir wasn’t around, she seemed to get more Nalorish to compensate, and thusly even a Vort would tire of her antics.

It seemed very, very likely to her that the Combine were involved with Frost Peak. Maybe not twisting the officials around their fingers like they’d purportedly done with that bastard Breen, but still hanging around on the sidelines, ready to force their way through the membranes of reality when the Domarian scientists were stupid enough to open a door for them. If this Maintonon really was fighting against them like the Resistance on Earth, then she’d live with this abrupt relocation.

But uncertainty was a different matter- she’d fought the Combine on Earth for almost a decade, and now she wanted to know what was happening there: what her efforts had contributed to, what her fellow rebels were doing, how the uprising was progressing. How were the evacuees from Vanguard faring? Had Calhoun led the push as he’d intended? And most importantly, had Freeman come back as the Vorts promised?

But since even the resident Vortigaunt (quite probably the only one in a million miles, too) was reluctant to or genuinely incapable of dispensing that knowledge, she felt blind and useless. Especially sitting around, twiddling her thumbs while Quarir went off on a strop-

“What are you doing out here?”

Nuri jumped. “Speak of the devil,” she relaxed, “I was just wondering where you’d-”

“Whatever,” Quarir panted, “we need to get inside.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” he snapped, forcibly directing her back inside his assigned apartment.

She let herself be led inside the room, where Quarir hurriedly closed the door, peering at all the corners suspiciously.

“Care to explain what you’re doing?” Nuri asked after a few minutes of this.

“Just checking that they haven’t added extra sensors while I’ve been out,” Quarir said darkly. He realised his audience was smaller than expected. “Where’s Pyotr?”

“He’s in the other apartment, sleeping or… meditating or…” Nuri trailed off. “I don’t know, actually. Whatever Vorts do.”

Quarir shrugged. “We can talk to him later,” he wheezed, “but I’ve got to tell you this right now-”

“Why are you out of breath?”

“What?” Quarir missed his stroke. “Oh, just had to climb a really big ladder, that’s all.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter! Look,” he started again, “there are Earthmen on this planet: they're the ones behind the attacks!”

“What?” Nuri goggled. “You mean humans?”

“Yeah, they-” Quarir stopped himself. “You do know that we’re human too, right? I think the language barrier is screwing things up again. Translation isn’t perfect-”

“Huh?”

“Our word for human is… uh… human, y’see, and-”

“I meant what do you mean by language barrier?”

“I’m speaking Domarian,” Quarir began slowly, taking a rather patronising approach, “and you’re speaking… whatever beffed up language you Earth-types speak.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. ‘Cept the bionet chips translate it. Didn’t you wonder why you could understand everyone in this place?”

“But I don’t have a bynet chip!”

“Bionet,” Quarir corrected, “Maintonon must have just slipped you one when he teleported you here. It’s standard practise with-”

Nuri shuddered. “You mean that thing has forced a lump of metal into my head…? That’s just-”

“Yeah, it’s intrusive and invasive and lots of other ‘in’ words, but that’s not the damn point! Live with it! There are people from Earth here, and they’re shooting at us- I mean at the Doms!”

“Are you sure you saw that…?”

“Positive! Besides, Dunamis confirmed it for me- he already knew.” Quarir sighed. “Clienmur doesn’t, though. We’ll have to keep that quiet…”

“Well, if the authorities already knew,” Nuri looked confused, “why are we really here?”

Quarir shrugged again. “Obviously we’ve got to stop them.”

 

[Darkwolf]

GAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHAHAHA! :thumbs:

 

[Bob_Marley]

Fantasique!