Recipie for disaster

Titanium ore. Always with the titanium ore. You'd think it'd be easy to get titanium but NOOO! Everyone and their cousin needs the bloody stuff. So now I'm here, on this lone rock of scavengers and outlaws, trying to barter, BARTER, for the titanium I need for my latest project. Can't do without, have to have it. But the merchants are being finiky now, driving prices way to high for it. Have to pay it though, have to. Otherwise the new mass driver I'm building just won't work. Maybe aluminum alloy? No, too soft, has to be titanium.

Alex was standing in the middle of what could only be called a bazaar, with merchants of all locations selling off the scavenge and refuse of the latest war. Right now he was having a rather heated argument with some french sounding person over what barium ingots were worth and how much titanium he could get for it. All in all, rather exhausting, but such is the price for progress!

Scavengers. Salvagers. Honest frekkin traders. That was what they called themselves, but as Katrina stood upon the edge of the bazaar, surveying its occupants with cold, narrowed eyes, she knew what they truly were.

Vultures.

The materials they were so desperately trying to hawk were stained with the blood of good men and women, victims of the civil war that had engulfed both Earth and the Fleet, but what did they care? There was money to be made, and the siren song of profit was ever sweeter than the dull monotone of compassion for these pathetic scumbags. Gods, but she hated them. And, at the moment, she hated Reinhardt too, for sending her out to this honourless pit. Oh, she knew that the Expedition needed information, up to date news on what was happening on Earth and the colonies, and she even accepted that this was the best place to get it.

But why did it have to be her that got it?

Why couldn't it have been one of the intel ops? Or one of the Interceptor pilots? Those testosterone overloaded idiots would have fit in perfectly with the spacers currently wandering about the bazaar. But no, it had to be her. Had to be someone the Admiral could trust. Besides, the old man had added with a dangerous twinkle in his eyes, it might do her good to see a little more of what humanity had to offer.

"Why the hell would I want to see what this lot can offer?" she muttered irritably to herself, though all the same she forced herself to unclench her fists and take a stiff, reluctant step out of the makeshift hanger bay and into the bustle of the scavenger's bazaar. Whether she liked it or not, she did, after all, have a job to do.

FINALLY! The trade goods have been bartered and the they were on their way. Now he could get back to work on his revolutionary mass driver! It'll sink the current 'railguns' the military uses now into the bloody ground! HAHA! He couldn't wait to see the looks on their faces! In fact, he saw the look on the face of one such military bastard now! She looks just how I want them, pissed and rejected. Wait a minute, this is neutral territory.

Hmm, from what I can see of this one, she's definitely military. The pose, the walk, the nice b-32 driver pistol by her side. Likely terran. But what is she doing among these vultures? Are they that desperate? Or... I have to know.

Alex, seemingly out of nowhere, accidentally bumped into Katrina. He took to examining the soldier as he gave a weak excuse for his clumsiness.

It was easy to miss a single soul amidst the chaos of the bazaar, and though Katrina was ever wary of her surroundings and constantly searching the crowds for a glimpse of a threat, it wasn't until just before the old man's shoulder caught hers that her eyes fixed upon him. Still, that would have been enough to step aside, to carefully avoid the collision, if not for one thing; she knew his face and the sight of it, a familiar face in the midst of all these strangers, froze her in place. Until, that is, the force of their collision drove her back a pace.

"Hey," she called, reaching out with one gloved hand as though to forestall the man scurrying on, "Hold on." The gesture wouldn't be enough, of course; if the man wanted to run, he could. Knowing this, Katrina let her other hand fall to the holstered pistol at her hip even as she studied the man's face. She definitely knew him. Or knew his face from somewhere. But where?

"Do I... know you?" she asked quizzically, not quite able to keep the skeptical tone from her voice. This man, whoever he was, wasn't the sort she associated with. There had to be another reason, and she would find out what that reason was.

"Do you know me? That would be quite the feat, as I don't know you haha!" Jovial expressions aside, I saw the faint recognition in those eyes. She wasn't there for me, but she might know who I am. Who I was. Who I could be. Damnit, too many thoughts. I've stalled longer than I should have. With a quick apology and a sudden turn, he made for the door. Until she asked that question. "Do I know... you?"

Should he say? Should he tell her that he was the one responsible for the state the verse was in? That he made the weapons possible for the colonies burnt? That he was the one who single handedly destroyed the human race? No. I won't impose that upon someone. They might delay me. Plus, lunch is soon.

"Haha, how would you know me? i"m just an old man making his way here. HAHAHAH!" And with that, and ignoring the weapon in her hand, he started moving faster.

Even without the suspicions playing across her mind, the man's behaviour would have been enough to convince Katrina that something was wrong. As it was, his actions served as nothing more than reinforcement for the doubts that had already formed, crystallising them in the Commander's mind as she stepped forward and caught the man's sleeve.

"Hold on," she repeated, staring intently across at the man. She did know him. From... training? A lecture? No, that wasn't it. It was... a briefing. Yes, she realised, that was it. A briefing on the new model mass accelerators that were being mounted on the Battlecruisers. They'd shown a picture of the designer as part of the briefing, and either this man was him or there was some glimmer of truth to the idea that every soul in the system had a doppelganger wandering around.

Yeah, right.

So, then, this was really him. The man behind half of the weapons in the fleet. She'd heard stories about him, rumours that maybe his sanity had been displaced by all of the brain crammed into that head of his. At the time, she'd dismissed them - soldiers always said that sort of thing about eggheads. But, looking at the man before him, Katrina had to admit that maybe, just this time, there'd been a little truth to the tales.

Still, crazy or not, this man was worth more to the fleet than any intel she could gather.

"Doctor Drake," she murmured, purposefully keeping her tone low so that it wouldn't carry to the slime that circulated about them, "You need to come with me."

Doctor Drake. The Scientist. The Engineer. The damnation of humanity. He was that and more. And she knew him. She was damned. As damned as I was. And there was nothing I could do. Damn it. "Doctor Drake, the dragon of the black, the damnation of humanity? Is that what you are calling me?" With a quick reach into his pocket and a press of the button, every communication's device within half a kilometer shorted.

Turning and grabbing the young soldier, he pulled her to the side with more strength than his years would say. "Are you ready for this? Are you ready to plunge yourself into the deep black that is my life? Are you truly ready to  face your end without knowing why? That is what you get when you. Say. My. Name."

There was madness in his eyes. Katrina could see it clearly now, and even as the doctor reached for his pocket she was drawing her pistol from its holster. Too slow; even as the cold metal of the accelerator pistol cleared the leather casing, Drake was stabbing his finger at something, and Katrina winced as the microbead in her ear, her link to the shuttle she'd flown in on, squealed and went dead.

"Son of a bitch!" she exclaimed, her ears ringing from the sudden noise. But before she could do anything but swear, Drake grabbed at her again, dragging her close with a strength that belied his wiry frame. His expression was manic, and Katrina half expected to see flecks of foam at the corners of his mouth as he ranted at her. Yet if intimidating her was his hope, he was to be sorely disappointed for Katrina was no two-bit drug dealer trying for a shakedown; she was an officer of the fleet, a soldier who had fought through the worst of what Earth had to offer.

"I'm not in the mood for games, Doctor," she hissed, barely managing to prevent herself from emphasising her point with a none too subtle jab at his stomach with her now draw sidearm, "For your own safety, you will come with me. Now."

Alex leaned back and smiled, shaking his head. "I would love to come with you, however, there is a slight problem. This little beasty," He pulls out the device used to short all the communications. "Is a bit intrusive, and unless I missed my mark, you're not the only one who might like to talk to me. I'm fairly popular nowadays. Ah, there they are." Just as he said this, several people in the crowd pulled weapons and started to advance.

"My dear, if you want to have that talk, I suggest we make haste. Too many locals want my autograph, haha!" And with that he ducked into the crowd, literally dancing through as if it were just a game.

Understandably distracted by the sudden interest the armed fringers in the crowd were taking in her quarry, Katrina was slow to follow when the doctor suddenly rabbited, darting through the crowd like a rodent trying to escape a predator. Which, in a way, he was. But follow she did, snarling a curse even as she set off at a sprint, pistol still clasped tightly in her hand.

For some reason, she was starting to get the impression that holstering it would be a bad idea.

"Stupid bloody scientists," she growled as she ducked and weaved through the bewildered and aggravated onlookers that Drake had left in the wake of his panicked departure, "Always bloody trouble." From behind, the sound of pursuit could be heard, the shouts and protestations suggesting that the fringers weren't being quite as careful of bystanders as she'd been, and Katrina pushed herself a little harder, booted feet pounding against the metal deckplates.

She had to get Drake first. Had to. And if she couldn't get him out to the fleet safely...

... well, perhaps best just to say that things might end badly.

"Soldiers, always with the soldiers. Stomping and shooting and making people late for lunch." Twisting and darting back and forth Drake grabbed a few bits and pieces from the kiosks that lined the street, pulling a small screwdriver from his pocket. "No bloody sense of humor that one! Huh, all orders and stiff backs. Mmphf." After a few minutes of dissembling and recombobulating he ducked into the back of a street kitchen, the owners already gone. Setting the device he was working on down, he grabbed what looked like grilled pork and a pot. Sticking the pot on his head and the pork in his mouth, he set upon finishing his work.

After a minute of work, he noticed the good soldier running down the street, pistol in hand. Shaking his head, he grabbed a butter knife and tossed it at Katrina, trying to get her attention. "Mm! Over here, and put this on!" He grabbed another pot and held it out as he adjusted something on his device.

It was amazing, in a way, what the scavengers had managed to do. They'd taken the hulk of a ship, a derelict from the battle, and turned it into a city amongst the stars. No, Katrina corrected herself, ducking into a kitchen that had been set aside by means of a wall made from an interceptor's wing, Definitely not a city. A slum, and one born from the graves of good men and women.

Well, probably good men and women. She had no way of knowing if this ship had been one of those which had remained loyal to the Expedition, or one of those which had turned traitor. But even if it had been the latter, she couldn't imagine that every single soul aboard had been a traitor. Some of them had to have been honest, honourable souls that'd just had the misfortune to be assigned to the wrong ship.

Still, the ingenuity of the scavengers was impressive, in a twisted kind of way. It made her want to congratulate whoever was responsible, just before she punched them in the jaw.

However, it seemed as though she would have little more time to consider such things, for even as she skidded into the kitchen beyond the severed wing she caught a glimpse of the demented Doctor Drake fiddling with some cobbled together device. "Over here," he cried, tossing a butter knife at her, "and put this on."

A pot, much like the one the doctor wore on his own head for some bizarre reason, was proffered with that last comment, but Katrina waived it aside. "What the hell're you doing?" she snapped, glancing back for a glimpse of their pursuers, "Keep moving. We can circle around and head back toward the docking bays."

"Mmph, docking bays, yes! They'll likely have that, mphf, covered already." After making an effort to swallow the last bit of meat in his mouth, He made a last adjustment to his device, then pocketed his screwdriver. "But I know what they came in on. Didn't think much of it at first, but I remember a cargo freighter while passing through the bays. Had a few weapons on it, likely for defense against pirates or so they'd have you think. But the power couplers are 15 percent too big for the weapon it looks to be, and the converter is in the wrong place! Only 5 weapons with a configuration like that exist, 4 are military, one is in my lab."

He stood up and grabbed another cut of "pork" while hurrying out the door. "Come on, or we'll be late for the fun!"

Drake was annoying her now. Acting like this was all a game, or some great little joke which only he understood. And that talk of rare weapons? Ridiculous - didn't he know that the best weapons in the system were aboard the Expedition ships. Unless, the eggheads on Luna or the suits over at Sol-Tec had come up with anything better, of course, but Katrina couldn't see that being likely. After all, when was the last time one of them had come up with something that was actually useful?

"Enough, Doctor," she snapped, leveling her pistol at his retreating form, "No more running, no more games. Give me a straight explanation of what the hell you're talking about."

The menace of an unspoken threat hung heavily over her words as she made her demand. Yet there was no hesitation there, and her aim remained steady as her cold and determined eyes remained fixed entirely upon the scientist. She didn't want to kill him, but she would if he didn't comply; he was too much of a threat to be allowed to remain outside of the Expedition.

Drake stopped at the unmistakable click the pistol. He lowered his head and smiled. "Fine. No more running. No more games." With that, he smacked the pot down over his ears as he pressed a button on the device he was carrying. There was a low thumping sound as a sonic pulse emitted from it. Anyone with unprotected ears would suddenly feel intense nausea, dizziness, weakness, and loss of balance.

Tossing the now fried device and pot aside, he looked at Katrina. "Scavengers, rather ingenious lot. Like these pots here, made from the metal lining in ship engines, used to muffle the roar. Quite a lucky find." He shook his head and looked outside. "Ah, guests. I'll be right back."

Outside were 4 men in uniforms wielding rifles, all looking quite out of it. Within seconds, Drake was on the nearest one. With a flick of his wrist, a blade snapped out of his shirt and into his hand. The soldier, noticing Drake, tried to level his rifle but was much too slow. Drake slapped it to the side and deftly sank the blade into the soldiers neck, and with a sudden wrench cut short anything the soldier would ever say again.

The second one was an easy drop, what with his back turned to Drake. He gave a nice downward stroke to the spine, then kicked the unlucky bastard to the ground. With a fluid turn, he flicked the blade straight at the third, which firmly planted itself in his skull. The fourth, who had just finished puking looked up to see a blood soaked maniac staring at him with a face devoid of emotion. Drake grabbed the guy by the throat and lifted him off the ground with almost inhuman strength, squeezing his neck. A second later, Drake dropped the man, his throat crushed beyond help.

A few more seconds passed, then emotion returned to his face and he looked at his watch. "Hmm, not good. Need my medicine soon." His face wrinkled with worry at what would happen if it wasn't taken soon.

OOC:
Pushing the limits just a touch with that last bit, don't you think?

IC:
The improvised sonic device was effective, Katrina had to admit that. At least, when her ears stopped ringing she did. Fortunately, it appeared as though Drake had made the mistake of deeming her the smaller threat of the two he faced - understandable, perhaps, given the numbers, but still a mistake. And, like most mistakes, it was one which came with a price.

"Nice trick," Katrina snapped, cold ire evident in her tone as she leveled her pistol once more, "Try it again and I'll end you. In fact, you even move again without me telling you to and I'll make sure you never get the chance again. Got it?"

Her anger palpable, she stepped forward, studying Drake intently. Was he going to try something? Hard to tell. The psychos were always the ones you couldn't predict, and this one surely fit into that category. But if he did, she wouldn't hesitate.

Still, better perhaps not to give him time to think about it. Better to get him focused on something else, and there was one thing Katrina'd be more than happy to have the answer to.

"How about you just step away from the rifles and tell me what the hell is going on?"

OOC: Yeah, I thought that too, even with what I have planned for him >.>

IC: The medicine he took regularly was wearing off, he knew this. He could feel the mania that drove him so much in the past few months fade, being replaced with... he didn't even know what. And he didn't want to find out. "Sorry, my medicine takes it's toll on my... emotions. Suffice it to say that we need to hurry." He looked into Katrina's eyes for a second, then turned around.

"These fine gentlemen are part of the Terran military. They've been searching for me for... oh, since everything went to hell." He kicked one of the bodies. "Now, one does not simply assign a large portion of their forces to hunt down one scientist. At least, not without reason. I want to know why they're hunting me. And why they have a standing capture not kill order on my head." He turned back to Katrina with a smile on his face. "That's why I need to get on their ship. With any luck, I can find a clue as to why they are hunting me. And what they might know." He turned to look down the passageways leading to the docking bays.

"Unfortunately, I'm just a scientist and an engineer. And what good is an engineer...", with an agile sweep, he kicked one of the rifles to the commander, "without a good soldier to hold the line? Especially one who almost single-handedly kept half the military from going rogue?" He paused, then looked at Katrina. "Oops, I'm not supposed to know that, am I?"

Drake was insane, that much was clear to Katrina now. She'd suspected as much for the vast majority of their encounter, thanks to the old man's erratic behaviour, but now, with him plucking fabrications from the air and putting voice to them with utmost sincerity, there could be no doubt.

"Doctor Drake," she murmured, voice softer now - the tone of a woman who felt she was dealing with a ticking time bomb and couldn't quite see the countdown. "I don't know what you've heard. What you've been told-" What you've imagined, a cynical part of her added silently "-but it's wrong. The UEG's gone, Earth doesn't have anything left it can send out to hunt anyone." She deliberately didn't address his second claim - why bother? It was just as wrong, and she had little desire to give anyone even the slightest bit of information on the Expedition.

Besides, there were more important matters to address. "Come with me, Doctor," she offered, though perhaps the pistol she kept trained upon him belied the kindness of her words, "I know people who can help you."