Tigeran Consulate Information Database
Entry: Central7
The Central7 is a grouping of human settlements which form the core of their political and economic framework, which as a group formed the GovPlex Protocol which runs the human Colonial Government, the leader of which is the elected emissary for the majority of the human race to the Federation Council.
As the name infers, the Central7 are the seven largest (and largely the first) human settlements, being: Sol, Orion, Andromeda, Isis, Paris, Gliese, and Arturis. Sol is generally accepted as the leading economy of the human race, both in economic scale and as the home planet of the human race.
Warning: Humans outside of the Colonial Government, settlements referred to largely as the Sprawl (see Entry: Sprawl), do not respond to the Central7 and have a separate delegate to the Federation Council. Tred lightly in human interactions involving this political division, as it is sensitive to certain individuals.
Peppermint White Ninja boards a small transport elevator headed for a private ship, docked near the end of the tallest spindle of Selba Station. His ship to the station arrived about thirty minutes ago, he was sure to book his entry and exit as close together as possible, needing to make sure that he was looking like he didn’t want to be tailed. Apocalypse is standing directly behind him; she’s wearing a thick wool dress, a grey wig and has a thin mask covering her face, giving her the illusion of wrinkles. Pepper has his hair rolled tightly to his head under a turban, and he is wearing a very tight tunic that is common amongst Islamic technocrats. They are attempting to pull off an aging couple headed to the Sprawl for illegal medical procedures. Germlining their clone bodies to be more handsome, or tall, or with like raptor heads instead of human ones. Doesn’t really matter.
“Stay close okay? I don’t want you getting lost in the crowd.” Pepper mutters to his wife in a low voice, working his best accent to stay in character.
“Of course, beloved.” Apocalypse coos, but with an old woman voice. Easier for robots to pull off espionage, as switching accents and voices is just a control-function away. Pepper is kind of grossed out, old people aren’t exactly common anymore. They kind of smell like death, and Pepper sadly knows that smell better than most. Besides, Pepper had grown fond of Sunshine, and isn’t so keen on seeing her acting so far out of character. Feels like he’s dishonoring her memory, even if she isn’t dead or anything.
They hit a concourse leading to the docking terminals, it’s at almost zero gravity, so there are elaborate rung and moving rung systems, dragging people up the spindle until they get to their docking number (you log it in with eButler), then the rung sort of gets grabbed by another and you dangle your way over to the gate. There are seats with belted chairs and some without, for the zero gee experienced. Pepper and Apocalypse pick the belted seats, and Pepper busies himself with hooking his wife in. They have about ten minutes until their flight departs, and he isn’t sure if a glorified sex robot can be trusted to behave herself inertia-wise for that long. Her programming keeps her obedient, but she tends to do anything Pepper asks in a more sexually charged manner than he would expect from a normal person. Instead of just following him, she follows very close, and runs her hands up and down his back whilst doing so. Instead of just shutting the fuck up like he’s asked, she starts purring and moaning intermittently.
Pepper sits a seat away from her and surveys the area. A long tube of metal, with pseudo-windows showing video of all the ships docking and time-lines for departure or arrival. Lots of people floating about, drinking out of plastic bags and eating bite-sized snacks. Pepper picked a busy flight to Colanaman, an agrarian world about three jumps from Selba in the Sprawl. He figured that seemed like a logical enough place to hide out and wait for shit to cool down, plus if he actually ends up being forced to go there, he’s never been before so it will be entertaining. Except the whole fight Baby Doll Judah Stardust to the death part.
“Your wife is quite beautiful.” A man leans over from the seat next to him, speaking in a soft whisper. He looks to be about seventy, so either a purist or someone who’s a bit overdue for the renewal process. He’s air-typing with his hands slightly above his lap, handling some business or other.
“Yeah? Thanks. We’ve been married for sixteen years, now it’s off to renew ourselves and our vows.”
“To a sex robot?” The man looks quizzically at Pepper.
“I—what?” Pepper feigns confusion, looking to his wife for comfort. Apocalypse tosses her hair and gives him a big wrinkly grin. Fuck, if a rando can pick up on it… Stardust better not be here, or she’ll have him pegged as well. Pepper can barely breathe, but he tries to just act very confused.
“You don’t have to lie to me, sir. Takes all kinds, takes all kinds. But if you don’t want people to know, maybe you could deactivate her P-function in public?” He sort of leans in, like he’s giving his old friend some useful advice about fixing his hover or something. Pepper looks around, and then leans in as well.
“How do I do that?
“Simple. Say ‘P-off.’ Firmly, and directly into her ear.”
“Thank you, kind sir.”
“Think nothing of it.” And with that, the man loses interest and takes to watching some sense program or another. Pepper turns Apocalypse’s sex drive off, and suddenly she’s acting a lot more like the woman Pepper had crash through his front window. So, bitchy then. It takes him about two jumps to wish for the horny one back, and he spent most of jump one sleeping.
Sunshine Apocalypse is startled awake by a blaring noise in both actual and virtual senses. A loud horn is going off about every three seconds or so. Followed very closely by a blink of the lights from very bright to the normal tonality. Virtually, her audio set up is feeding her a loud horn as well, and added to that someone screaming obscenities. There isn’t a name attached to the feed, so she cannot tell who it is. A woman’s voice, not her own, which tends to infer the other woman on the ship. Assuming all the crew members were in the war room she saw in the World.
“Who the fuck is screaming?!” Sunshine screams herself. No one answers her, and she buckles herself out of her chair. It seems like there are an infinite number of buckles and snaps, where there wasn’t nearly this many before. The ship is still in freefall, so she knows they haven’t docked anywhere. Her eButler isn’t picking up ansible, so they must be outside of even an asteroid colony’s influence. This means that whatever the hell blinking blinding white light means, it’s not a landing issue or a docking issue, but something that can happen either during or between LTR. Sunshine takes a second to get used to not being sedated, and floats out of her cabin.
The main corridor isn’t any more seizure friendly, and she cannot see anyone else milling about. The octagonal motif of the ship makes the bright lights draw awkward lines all over the place. The external monitors are showing a lot of red ex’s where there used to be green rings. Sunshine is positive that that isn’t correct. She never really asked where anyone else was staying, so she hasn’t a clue where to pick for other officers or whatever, which leads to her randomly opening doors all down the hall. First couple are storage setups, deep thin rooms with lockers inside and lashed down equipment. Door three has a crew member. A dead one.
“Fuck. Space mutiny.” Sunshine mutters, backing out of the big nose woman’s room. She has a snapped neck. Well, the screaming must be a eS on loop or something, because Sunshine remembers only one female on board besides herself. Icer should be around here somewhere, so she continues walking down the hall. Mostly, as there is no real purpose in hiding if the ship is under attack, they’ll either find her or vent her into space or something. May as well see your death coming… Sunshine curses gently to herself as she opens another door, breathing in sharply expecting a gun in her face. All she gets is another closet filled with canisters of some important gas or another.
“Icer? What the hell is going
on?” Sunshine attempts an eS, figuring that the server on the ship would probably still connect them all together, regardless of their ansible connection. The feed on the screamer is still looping fine, so whatever the hell is happening, comm. should be on still.
“Fuck. This is… fuck.” Is all she can say as she opens the next door. Icer is dead as well, sliced almost clean in half, gore and blood everywhere. A man is in the room with him, a very tall man in a black spacesuit with his helmet still fastened.
“Well, someone finally decided to wake up.” He says through a speaker over his throat. The suit is all reflective and smooth, with lots of ribbing and nodules and hooks for gadgets. His helmet is a featureless reflection, barring the small gunmetal speaker at the throat.
“If you are going to kill me, could you just be sure to leave my face intact.” She sort of says and sort of vomits into a conveniently placed vomiting station by the door to Icer’s room. The man laughs as Sunshine vomits up her lunch, her dinner, probably a small portion of her digestive tract. Her body rejects her current situation as much as her caloric intake allows.
“Wanted alive.”
“You’re a hunter?”
“Of course.”
“Do you work with Stardust?”
“I wish, but-“
“You all work alone. I remember that. Did you honestly have to kill these people?” Sunshine sort of sits on the ground, blood is floating around the room in blobs and rivulets. Bits of Icer’s internal organs are floating lazily into the walls, his personal affects. She hadn’t noticed. She slides herself around the corner of the room’s door, as to avoid anything colliding with her.
“Kill everyone, unless the job says otherwise.” He says with literally no emotion, not even sarcasm. Nothing. Sunshine heaves a bit, but nothing comes out.
“Rule of the Hunt… Fuck.” Sunshine puts her head on her forearms, which are crossed over her knees.
“Calm down, he’ll be discovered and refreshed before you know it.”
“In deep space?”
“Every barge has a location it is expected at. They’ll look along the normal routes for them. It’ll take a week or two for them to realize that I hijacked the ship and took it with me. Station will probably send word to the Federalis in the area. Won’t take more than two months for all of these kids to be live and well again.”
“Huh…” Sunshine sort of moans. Knowing that he is right, but also knowing that without severe memory restructuring, they won’t be coming back normal in anyone’s concept of the word. Memory wipes are notoriously unreliable, particularly for serious trauma related deaths. Most families choose to avoid revival in any but natural cause or sickness related deaths, which are usually so uncommon as to be considered practically abolished.
“So where are you taking me then? I never even asked who took the hit out on me…” She begins again, after some moments pass in silence.
“Orii Chi Chi. I don’t know who put the hit on you, but they asked that you be taken to the tallest building in the colony.”
“The pirate colony, fantastic.”
“It’s best if you go back to your room and rest. I’ll have us at the station in about two hours.”
“Right.” Sunshine mutters, she sort of staggers back to her room. She grasps at rungs like a woman possessed, but pulls herself forward with almost no force. The hunter doesn’t follow her, he finds another room and straps in. The ship’s lights stop blinking, and the horns cease, but for whatever reason, all Sunshine can hear is the loop of that woman screaming. Over and over in her head, she is not sure if it is still being broadcast, but she takes to analyzing her yell. Louder at the beginning and end, it warbles lower in the first ten seconds, and then rises in octave at the climax. It’s breathy and wet, a gasp as it starts, the creaking of lack of oxygen at the very very end. That way, Sunshine passes the time to Orii.