Post by Parker Bomba on Mar 20, 2021 13:47:05 GMT -5
The Floe Spaceport was the central hub for interstellar travel to and from the planet Arcose. Parker had originally planned to find himself a ship, or stow away on a ship, or otherwise find some way off world via that spaceport, but that plan hadn’t gone exactly as he’d hoped. Instead he had ended up face down, ass up in a snowdrift after getting his face pushed in by a giant ape that thought she was an Arcosian. Walking identity crisis aside, Ise Wintergreen had presented him with a much greater obstacle than he had feared. He’d managed to survive that fight, and get himself back on his feet (in a sense), but he couldn’t risk going back to the spaceport. She could be waiting, or even just a contingent of Arcosian law enforcement. Hell, a group of bored schoolchildren could probably bring him down right now.
No, he needed another approach. He’d originally thought that moving through the spaceport would be easy. It was a high traffic area, he thought for sure he could blend in. That clearly had not been the case. In fact, in retrospect, it was the most obvious move he could have made, especially with a very distinct piece of experimental Arcosian technology latched to his wrist. He should have seen his interception coming. Hell, he should have been surprised that there weren’t more people waiting for him when he arrived.
So, as he walked through the icy outskirts of Kuriza city, scarf wrapped around his face for some semblance of disguise, he began to hatch a new plan. One the Arcosians wouldn’t see coming - partially because maybe they thought he was dead, and partially because of the sheer, pristine effrontery of it. He had no room for half measures, no room for error, no room for hesitation. But thankfully, his defeat at the hands of that blind Saiyan woman had bought him something he hadn’t had before - some time. Time to recover, but also time to plan, to do reconnaissance, to put all the little pieces together so he could get it right this time and not end up half-dead in the snow. Again.
He needed to ingratiate himself to the sort of people that wouldn’t snitch, the sort of people who could go unnoticed, and the sort of people that wouldn’t take advantage of his temporary vulnerability while also helping him achieve his goal. On any other world, this might mean getting mixed up with some local criminal activity, or even joining a gang. On Arcose, however, this ended up meaning getting mixed up with low-income workers like janitors and couriers, with the homeless, with other foreign expatriates like himself, here on conditional work visas offered to them as a way out of the labor camps. These were the people falling through the cracks of Arcosian society, unseen and unnoticed, but with surprising amounts of access to both information and physical spaces.
He was taken in by a small camp of homeless that were squatting in an old industrial warehouse that had fallen out of use and into disrepair. They saw his wounds and offered their limited resources to help heal and nourish his weakened body. They told him stories about their time in the city, about where you could get food or blankets, about people who would help those in need. Something that stood out to Parker was that not all of these disenfranchised people were from other species - several of them were Arcosians, but were unfortunate enough to be born with very little power, or even the inability to properly transform. It took some time for Parker to get used to their presence, and even more for him to come anywhere near trusting them.
But it was an Arcosian that gave him his first real lead. A young woman, small for her supposed age and visibly malnourished, came to him in the warehouse one evening to tell him about her sister. Her sister was also born with very little power, but was blessed with an unusually high intellect and a knack for timetables and organization. These traits earned her positions in the logistics and transport sectors, working her way up into new positions over several years. This sister, as it turned out, very recently found herself in a position managing the Arcosian government’s fleet of star cruisers. She would monitor maintenance reports and flight schedules, moving ships in and out of active use for proper repair cycles, and overall ensuring that everything went smoothly. Parker asked if he could meet with this girl’s sister, just to have a conversation.
He met with the Arcosian fleet manager at a small market in a community just outside the city limits. They spoke over some hot local beverage, the name of which he couldn’t pronounce. It was bitter and strong, appropriate for an Arcosian delicacy. She told him that she couldn’t get him a ship directly - she wasn’t willing to risk everything she had worked so hard to achieve for a man she’d just met, even if her sister vouched for him. But she could give him the location of the maintenance bay for ships that were currently out of active duty for repairs, and she could give him the names of a couple of night shift workers that might be able to help him further. She was responsible for overall management, but keeping track of things while in maintenance was some other person’s job. If something went missing from there, it wouldn’t be her problem.
Finding the people that the fleet manager had directed him to proved more difficult. He couldn’t just look these people up in a phone book and call them at home. He needed to communicate through third parties, or approach them during off hours in places without a lot of eyes. It wasn’t until he came to the last name on his list, a third shift building maintenance and custodial worker, that he had any real success. He was an old Namekian, living in a rundown apartment. He had few friends, and spent most of his time drinking at home, or sometimes in a bar nearby his work. However, twice a week he would play mahjong with a handful of other expatriates. Word on the street was he was absolutely trash at the game, but couldn’t resist playing anyway.
It just so happened that Old Man Cocklin had taught Parker a few things about mahjong, back in the labor camp. And Parker was itching to play.
It was easy to get a seat at the table for the next game. This wasn’t some exclusive, VIP sort of thing - just a bunch of tradesmen working out their stress and throwing away their money. All it took was the backing of one of his homeless allies, a man who played every now and again, when he could scrounge up enough change to ante in. Parker had found himself with a fair amount of spare coin recently, as his position in the lab had actually paid him in currency rather than company scrip but he hadn’t had much opportunity to actually spend any of it. So, he blew almost every zeni he had making stupid bets and throwing the game in the direction of the old Namekian janitor. Before long, Parker became the new worst player in town, and the Namekian was winning game after game. That night, Parker walked the Namekian back to his apartment, the two of them drunk as skunks and smelling of smoke. Parker took this as his chance to see if this man was his way into the maintenance bay.
A week later, Parker was dressed in a stolen maintenance uniform, waiting outside the emergency exit of the building that would give him access to the maintenance area of the Arcosian government’s starport. The Namekian opened the door and let him in, and the two of them moved quickly through the building - mops in hand, of course. He explained to Parker which of the ships had been there for how long, and which ones he’d learned were there for just minor routine repairs rather than major engine failures or hull breeches. The Namekian led him through corridors and into the open hangar bay, weaving them between security patrols like some kind of master criminal.
“I don’t know where you’re going,” the Namekian said quietly as they approached one of the cruisers that was in working condition and conveniently left open, “But if you ever find yourself in Central City on Earth and need a hand, track down the White Gloves and tell ‘em Guzheng sent you.”
Parker had no idea what the hell the old Namekian was talking about, but he thanked the man and stepped onto the ship with haste. To his surprise, the ship was pretty much set for takeoff, there was even a little hand-written note for how to get her started and get her in the air, with a quick primer on navigation as well. Parker would later wonder who that old janitor actually was, but for now he started the ship and get the hell out of there, making his way for orbit, and the stars, and freedom.
_______
WC 1536
No, he needed another approach. He’d originally thought that moving through the spaceport would be easy. It was a high traffic area, he thought for sure he could blend in. That clearly had not been the case. In fact, in retrospect, it was the most obvious move he could have made, especially with a very distinct piece of experimental Arcosian technology latched to his wrist. He should have seen his interception coming. Hell, he should have been surprised that there weren’t more people waiting for him when he arrived.
So, as he walked through the icy outskirts of Kuriza city, scarf wrapped around his face for some semblance of disguise, he began to hatch a new plan. One the Arcosians wouldn’t see coming - partially because maybe they thought he was dead, and partially because of the sheer, pristine effrontery of it. He had no room for half measures, no room for error, no room for hesitation. But thankfully, his defeat at the hands of that blind Saiyan woman had bought him something he hadn’t had before - some time. Time to recover, but also time to plan, to do reconnaissance, to put all the little pieces together so he could get it right this time and not end up half-dead in the snow. Again.
He needed to ingratiate himself to the sort of people that wouldn’t snitch, the sort of people who could go unnoticed, and the sort of people that wouldn’t take advantage of his temporary vulnerability while also helping him achieve his goal. On any other world, this might mean getting mixed up with some local criminal activity, or even joining a gang. On Arcose, however, this ended up meaning getting mixed up with low-income workers like janitors and couriers, with the homeless, with other foreign expatriates like himself, here on conditional work visas offered to them as a way out of the labor camps. These were the people falling through the cracks of Arcosian society, unseen and unnoticed, but with surprising amounts of access to both information and physical spaces.
He was taken in by a small camp of homeless that were squatting in an old industrial warehouse that had fallen out of use and into disrepair. They saw his wounds and offered their limited resources to help heal and nourish his weakened body. They told him stories about their time in the city, about where you could get food or blankets, about people who would help those in need. Something that stood out to Parker was that not all of these disenfranchised people were from other species - several of them were Arcosians, but were unfortunate enough to be born with very little power, or even the inability to properly transform. It took some time for Parker to get used to their presence, and even more for him to come anywhere near trusting them.
But it was an Arcosian that gave him his first real lead. A young woman, small for her supposed age and visibly malnourished, came to him in the warehouse one evening to tell him about her sister. Her sister was also born with very little power, but was blessed with an unusually high intellect and a knack for timetables and organization. These traits earned her positions in the logistics and transport sectors, working her way up into new positions over several years. This sister, as it turned out, very recently found herself in a position managing the Arcosian government’s fleet of star cruisers. She would monitor maintenance reports and flight schedules, moving ships in and out of active use for proper repair cycles, and overall ensuring that everything went smoothly. Parker asked if he could meet with this girl’s sister, just to have a conversation.
He met with the Arcosian fleet manager at a small market in a community just outside the city limits. They spoke over some hot local beverage, the name of which he couldn’t pronounce. It was bitter and strong, appropriate for an Arcosian delicacy. She told him that she couldn’t get him a ship directly - she wasn’t willing to risk everything she had worked so hard to achieve for a man she’d just met, even if her sister vouched for him. But she could give him the location of the maintenance bay for ships that were currently out of active duty for repairs, and she could give him the names of a couple of night shift workers that might be able to help him further. She was responsible for overall management, but keeping track of things while in maintenance was some other person’s job. If something went missing from there, it wouldn’t be her problem.
Finding the people that the fleet manager had directed him to proved more difficult. He couldn’t just look these people up in a phone book and call them at home. He needed to communicate through third parties, or approach them during off hours in places without a lot of eyes. It wasn’t until he came to the last name on his list, a third shift building maintenance and custodial worker, that he had any real success. He was an old Namekian, living in a rundown apartment. He had few friends, and spent most of his time drinking at home, or sometimes in a bar nearby his work. However, twice a week he would play mahjong with a handful of other expatriates. Word on the street was he was absolutely trash at the game, but couldn’t resist playing anyway.
It just so happened that Old Man Cocklin had taught Parker a few things about mahjong, back in the labor camp. And Parker was itching to play.
It was easy to get a seat at the table for the next game. This wasn’t some exclusive, VIP sort of thing - just a bunch of tradesmen working out their stress and throwing away their money. All it took was the backing of one of his homeless allies, a man who played every now and again, when he could scrounge up enough change to ante in. Parker had found himself with a fair amount of spare coin recently, as his position in the lab had actually paid him in currency rather than company scrip but he hadn’t had much opportunity to actually spend any of it. So, he blew almost every zeni he had making stupid bets and throwing the game in the direction of the old Namekian janitor. Before long, Parker became the new worst player in town, and the Namekian was winning game after game. That night, Parker walked the Namekian back to his apartment, the two of them drunk as skunks and smelling of smoke. Parker took this as his chance to see if this man was his way into the maintenance bay.
A week later, Parker was dressed in a stolen maintenance uniform, waiting outside the emergency exit of the building that would give him access to the maintenance area of the Arcosian government’s starport. The Namekian opened the door and let him in, and the two of them moved quickly through the building - mops in hand, of course. He explained to Parker which of the ships had been there for how long, and which ones he’d learned were there for just minor routine repairs rather than major engine failures or hull breeches. The Namekian led him through corridors and into the open hangar bay, weaving them between security patrols like some kind of master criminal.
“I don’t know where you’re going,” the Namekian said quietly as they approached one of the cruisers that was in working condition and conveniently left open, “But if you ever find yourself in Central City on Earth and need a hand, track down the White Gloves and tell ‘em Guzheng sent you.”
Parker had no idea what the hell the old Namekian was talking about, but he thanked the man and stepped onto the ship with haste. To his surprise, the ship was pretty much set for takeoff, there was even a little hand-written note for how to get her started and get her in the air, with a quick primer on navigation as well. Parker would later wonder who that old janitor actually was, but for now he started the ship and get the hell out of there, making his way for orbit, and the stars, and freedom.
_______
WC 1536