Chapter 2: The Crew

Brzzt…

[Avalon, the last megalopolis on Gaia to survive the Collapse, is comprised of three levels, which explains not only its architecture but its socio-economic hierarchy as well.

"Who's got the bones, then?"

"Bratling!"

"Be nice. I got 'em right here."

"So roll already."

"Four. Rhys."

"Yeah."

brzztt…kkrrrikkkk…

[First tier is, understandably, at the top and located 5,000 meters from sea level. It is an intricate web of aerial highways twining through towering spires that sway slightly in the harsh winds of that altitude. Housed in these glass and plasticrene Valhallas are the members of the First Families: founders, leaders and controllers of Avalon. They are the last of the purestrain Empaths and these self-styled glitterati make the policies, administer justice and act as beneficent guardians of all. They are also known as aristos.

"Seven, thank god. Here, Liam."

"Nine. Not on me today! Kazuhiro?"

"Very funny. Give them to Brek. I'm sure he'd like a try."

"Sure, I'm game. Ha! Twelve! Beat that!"

"It's not that kind of game, Brek."

"Smartass. You roll, then."

"I don't think that's such a good idea…"

"Urusai, kisama! Gimme those bones, Brek!"

brzzt…kkkrrik…

[Cloaked in a sterile world and in a blind belief of their own importance, most First tiers – or Firsters – do not realize that the almost feudal society they have erected is causing discontent and dissension among those below. History is forever doomed to repeat itself because people never take the time to learn. First tier's Enclave Advocate is Giancarlo de Medici.

"Kazuhiro, the tally still on?"

"As far as I know."

"And what he just said – that's pretty damned impolite, isn't it?"

"Our mother would wash his mouth out with soap if she could, Buddha bless her."

"Then we're at thirty and counting."

[Second tier is located exactly 500 meters beneath First tier's last bastion. Not as pristine or as manicured as its neighbors above, Second tier is nevertheless privy to certain amenities due to the service it provides. It is the heart of Avalon because this is where the Academy resides.

brzzt…krrrk…

"Are we playing here or just jawing?"

"Roll, Kazuya!"

"Yabai! Three."

"MWAHAHAHAHAHA!"

[During the immediate years succeeding the Collapse, martial law was the only chance for survival. Many Firsters commissioned talented – if not purestrain – individuals to protect them from mutants and, as the case always is during times of upheaval, from each other.

"Seven. To the left. That's you, Kazuya."

[The Academy was created by the First Families to be a training center for their private armies. Eventually, as stability was regained and a truce among the Families was forged, the Academy's function evolved into one less militaristic.

"Three. Drink, Kazuya."

[Today, it boasts 150 guilds. Students can specialize in myriad disciplines, from archeology to neuro-enhancement. In the Academy, democracy is encouraged and tier prejudice is not tolerated. However, it is still extremely difficult for Third Tiers to enter its hallowed halls. One has to be petitioned by an aristo to get in. That, or procure certain favors for the proper people. Nuada D'Argent is the Academy president and Second tier's Enclave Advocate.

"Three. Drink, Kazuya."

[Third tier is located at sea level and some of it is actually underwater. This gives Third tier a distinctly memorable aroma. It is made up of the remnants of eras past and therefore has the look of an old woman trying on new finery.

brrtt…zrrt…kkrrch…

[Flashing neoware and old-fashioned paper billboards vie for tourist attention. Concrete buildings are outfitted with the latest tech screens but still retain old-world plumbing. It is just as likely to hitch a ride on an automobile as it is to hop on a hover.

"Three. Drink..."

"Shimatta! I know, already!"

[Third tier is more commonly known as the City.

krrkkk…zzshh…

[Third tier denizens are as diverse and contradictory as their surroundings. One can rub elbows with fallen aristos as well as cutthroat pirates in the same bar. That dashing young buck could perhaps be a slave runner in disguise.

"Heyla, three! Gods, Kazuya, it's you again."

[There are many stories ripe for the plucking in the City but they will remain untold because the City prides itself in its anonymity. Here, one can hide from a cuckolded husband, the law, or one's past with none the wiser.

"Three. Sorry, Kazuya. You gotta drink."

"K'so! Lemme see the dice. They're the loaded ones, aren't they?'

[Anything can be had in the City: a new plaything, a new deviancy, a new life. It's all there…for a price.

"Does it matter? I rolled a three. That means take the shot, aho!"

"Who you callin' aho, baka yaro?""

[And, even though they are scorned and condemned by the upper echelons…

"Oh, no, there he goes. Watch the drinks, gentlemen. His swings go wild after four shots."

"Can't you stop him, Hiro? He's your brother."

[…City dwellers savor the irony of the slumming aristos or the wide-eyed Second tiers who grace their pot-holed asphalt streets every single night.

"Ah, he's young. A couple knocks on the noggin won't kill him. Makes him humble, in fact. 'Sides, maybe it'll sober him up."

"You're an evil, evil man, Kazuhiro."

"Whoops. Watch your glass, Brek!"

[Third tier has its own brand of justice.

"Argh! Make him stop bleeding!"

"Dammit, Kazuya! That's my favorite shirt!"

"Hiro, do something!"

"Why?"

"Why not? You're his brother."

"So we've established."

"You're also the damned medic. Isn't there some sort of caduceus code or something you have to uphold?"

"Ah, you would have to go there. Fine. C'mere, sib. Lemme look at that…"

"Hands off, yaro!"

"Thirty-one now."

"I'm so gonna be a rich man at the end of the day."

[Therefore, its Enclave Advocate is Loki Swift, Thieves Guild master.

chrrrr…zrttt…krrkkk…kkrrkkk…

[end of History sequence

Gunner Lao pulled the 'trodes from his port and closed his eyes. Although the datastream had been amusing in its florid exposition and lapses into editorializing, it was more information than he had planned to upload. But once he'd started the sequence, it proved too absorbing to stop. Granted, the static on a second generation 'stream wasn't all that pleasant, and concentrating was even less pleasant when surrounded by hooligans with nothing to do. Still, it had been a good history reminder, and any information was good to have, especially in these uncertain times.

Gunner was about to attempt to access the Papal datastream, which would require more attention on his part since security at that level was crazy scary, when his 'trode was savagely pulled from his port by one of the brawling crewmen who flailed past him, tried to catch his balance, overcompensated, and went tumbling ass over end, arm snagging the wire that connected Gunner to the console. The man let out a yelp, more startled than hurt, and was immediately surrounded by a concerned pack.

"Hey, you okay, Gunn?"

"Oh, man. Gomen. I didn't mean…"

"Dammit, Rhys, don't throw down if you can't control yourself."

"You pushed me!"

"Well, if Kazuya hadn't started…"

"Gunner, man, you alright? Want I should take a look at your port?"

"Oi!"

The outraged yowl effectively ended the solicitous yammering. From his semi-prone position on the floor, Kazuya Hasukawa glared at the men, obviously the worst for wear after the good-natured scuffle. A purpling bruise was already blossoming on his left cheek and his right eye was puffing shut. He angrily swiped at the trickle of blood from a cut lip, brushed aside his older brother's half-hearted attempt to dab at his scrapes, and shook his shock of red hair from his eyes.

"I'm bleeding here, you sadsacks, and all Gunner's gone and done is get himself unplugged. Remind me not to save your asses the next time lobsterbacks get on our tail."

"Peace, otouto," Kazuhiro Hasukawa hauled his brother to his feet not ungently and gave him a slap on the back. "No harm, no foul, ne?"

"Easy for you to say," Kazuya spat out a tooth in disgust and swayed slightly from the aftereffects of the thrashing and six consecutive shots of questionable sake.

"Yeah, no kidding. It's gonna cost creds to get all this blood out of my shirt," Rhys complained loudly, which earned him derisive hoots from the others and a middle finger from the bleeder himself.

"You pansy!" Liam mocked, shoving Rhys's shoulder.

"Shut up, one-eye!"

"My one eye can out drink, out run, out fight and pretty much outdo anything you and your two aristo eyes can even begin to think of, boke!"

The name calling and posturing took on the cadence of a well-worn argument, signaling an end to any further fisticuffs. Gunner grunted as the men righted overturned chairs, swept broken glass surreptitiously under the table with scuffed boots, and generally got everything back in order. It was a testament either to Mitsu's leadership or Gunner's own presence as second-in-command that the crew of the smuggler ship Moirai needed no further disciplining than what they imposed upon themselves. Still, for all their self-marshaling ways, Gunner was silently thankful that the hour was late – or early, depending on whose perspective it was – and that the bar was relatively empty of any curious onlookers who may have taken note of their ruckus. They were in the City, sure, but it just wouldn't do for smugglers to keep anything else but a low profile if they wanted to remain unfettered and unencumbered by the taxmen, let alone the local law.

He was about to resume 'streaming, deftly reaffixing his electrode to the base of his skull, when Gunner felt an insistent tug on his sleeve. He peered down and met Trout's silent, frowning gaze. The two stared at each other for long, trenchant moments before Gunner surrendered. He leaned back and barked over his shoulder,

"Oi, Kazuya!"

"Hai?"

"Your young un needs something."

"She's not mine!"

"Whatever. Deal with it, okay?"

Kazuya rolled his eyes and limped over to the two with obvious reluctance. But when he finally got down on his haunches, hands on his knees, to meet her at eye level, his expression was sincerely gentle. "Oi, bozu, what's the matter?"

The eight-year-old kept silent – no surprise as she hadn't spoken a word since the crew had acquired her a year ago – but her scowl remained intact. She tried the stare down but Kazuya was impervious, which had made him the de facto guardian of the little girl, much to the youth's chagrin.

"You hungry?"

Trout blinked.

"Gotta pee?"

Trout's eyes narrowed.

"You tired?"

The indentation between Trout's brows grew more pronounced as she managed to glower with even more ferocity than before, if that was even possible. Kazuya could have sworn that the girl knew thirty different ways to communicate with her eyebrows alone, and somehow, through some gods bedamned fate, Kazuya was the only one able to decipher her grimaces. But athough he made a big stink about the whole thing, if he was truly honest with himself he'd admit that he was secretly pleased to be the only one in the crew Trout deigned to connect with.

Now, though, Kazuya just wasn't in the mood to play decoder to her mystery moods. Not a lightweight under normal circumstances, Kazuya was still the weakest stomach in the crew, something they loved to exploit, especially when they made berth planetside and tired of whores and gaming. Being three-man for two consecutive days while they waited for Mitsu to make contact with Benito and complete their job was taking its toll on his system. Impatiently, he ran a hand through his hair, rocked back on his heels, and let out an exasperated sigh. "What then?"

Trout stared at him for three solid seconds then deliberately shifted her gaze to Gunner. She pointedly fixated on the pilot's 'trode, then on the tattoo on his left wrist, then back on the 'trode again. Gunner self-consciously drew his sleeves down but not before Kazuya had followed the baffling message and put two and two together.

"Oh. Hai. I get it. Lemme ask him, k?" He patted her on the head then turned to a bemused Gunner. "She wants to know if you've heard from the captain yet."

"No, actually, now that you mention it, I haven't had a ping from him in a couple hours," Gunner said thoughtfully. "Want I should try now?"

"You really want to do that?" Brek leaned forward on his overlong arms and joined the conversation.

"Yeah, knowing the cap'n, he's prolly in the middle of business right now, and I'm not talkin' the smugglin' kind either," Rigo leered.

Rhys snorted inelegantly. "Hetchi."

"Shaddup, kizoku!"

"Maybe you should try anyway, Gunn, just to be sure," Kazuhiro insinuated his lanky body diplomatically between the two hotheads and redirected the conversation to safer waters. The bar was starting fill up again, the predawn lull being replaced by the next wave of twenty-four hour carousers, and Kazuhiro knew well the smuggler code of discretion above all else.

The pilot shrugged noncommittally and swiveled around in his seat. He was already logged in to the system and it was only a matter of diverting the 'stream from data to comm. After several seconds, he frowned and shook his head at the crews enquiring looks. "Nothing."

They were all ready to leave it at that, being used to their captain's frequent bouts of inaccessibility whenever they made it to the City, but Trout was relentless. Her eyes shifted so insistently from Kazuya to Gunner that the former was forced to ask the pilot to try again for fear the girl would pass out from apoplexy. This time, when Gunner still came up negative, the men began to feel a creeping unease.

"You think maybe we should head to Sartre's to – you know – check things out?" Rigo asked, too casually.

"I'll go," Kazuya spoke up. "I could use a walk."

"You?" Kazuhiro chuckled. "You're three sheets to the wind, bro."

"I could go," Liam offered quietly.

"No, we all go," Gunner decided. He detached himself from the console, shoving his electrode into his pocket and fumbling for creds at the same time. "Kazuya, take Trout and get to the Moirai. I'm not saying anything's wrong yet, but just in case…"

"No!" Kazuya's refusal was compounded by Trout's fierce stamping of her right foot. "'All' means 'all', Gunn. We're part of 'all'. We're going too." The two looked mutinous and Gunner sighed.

"Brek…?"

"I'll go to the ship. I have to stow some supplies anyhow. I'll keep my comm on." The mechanic acquiesced graciously enough but his eyes belied the worry that was slowly overcoming them all.

The catman emerged from the cab, tipped the driver, and shrugged deeper into his voluminous cloak. He'd just ditched his inebriated client in a local brothel and was well rid of him. Common sense told him he should just go back to his pride and recover before the next job, but he was too deeply invested in the current situation and he needed to be present when things played out. So, despite gritty eyes and the weary ache in his bones from lack of sleep, he entered the deserted club and made directly for the bar. With the practiced ease of familiarity, Hypno handed him a drink, Sartre sat down next to him, and the three enjoyed a companionable quiet as they waited. They didn't have to wait very long.

"Here dey come. Right on schedule." Sartre grimaced as a boisterous ruckus outside the bar interrupted the silence.

"But without their beloved leader." Charybdis noted a bit too indifferently.

"Ah, so you di'nt miss dat little show earlier?"

"Couldn't help it. R'Ikeda was caterwauling his head off like a virj in a brothel."

"Why you di'nt do anything about it?"

"It's your club."

"You his gokenin."

"That's never been verified."

The club owner and the catman exchanged pithy looks over their drinks then dropped that topic of conversation. It was getting dangerously close to breaking the City's unspoken Code of anonymity and laissez faire. Before the silence grew any more strained, Hypno refilled their glasses with his latest concoction. The bartender smiled easily, his golden reptilian eyes unblinking.

"I can't believe you still let them in, after all the creds they owe you." Hypno addressed his boss.

"Good for business."

"You've got to be joking."

"Nah. See here…they're a bunch of toughs, right? And they do know how to brawl. I figure I keep them around, let 'em slide on a coupla tabs and they come regular, stand around looking scary. Keep the rest of the customers either safe and happy-feelin' or too scared shitless to make a fuss. Know what'm sayin'?"

"It's your world, Sartre. We all just want to live in it."

"Doncha all?"

The diminutive club owner winked at his bartender and right-hand man who, in turn, finished polishing off the last of the shot glasses then looked unenthusiastically to the entrance. The noise increased in volume, and when the door finally swung open, Hypno and Sartre had the fake smiles as befitted their profession firmly in place. Charybdis was expressionless but his catlike ears twitched in anticipation.

"Hoi, Suka! I hope ya gots lots of creds, man. Coz I'm ready to drink this place dry!"

"Aye, red! Git your arse movin'! We haven't got all day!"

"Is Kazuya buying? I guess that'll make up for my shirt…"

"Hiro, whassup wit' yo sib? He so good he gots to walk five steps behind us like some goddamn aristo?"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen! Here speaks the voice of reason."

At this remark, a general hoot of good-natured derision ensued but subsided almost immediately. Holding his place as rear guard and dragging his feet slowly, Kazuya could almost imagine his damnable brother placating the others with his perpetually amused smirk. He knew what Gunner had said – act natural, play it cool, don't let on that we're concerned – but did everyone have to be so overzealously annoying? And at his expense, no less. He was pretty sure that had been his brother's doing. He hated his brother.

"As I was saying, my comrades, as the voice of reason in our merry band of misfits and miscreants, it is my duty to prevent dissension amongst the ranks by doing…this!"

Without further warning, Kazuya found himself plucked from the end of the line by a strong grasp to his collar and shoved unceremoniously into the dimly-lit depths of Sartre's club. As his eyes adjusted from outside glare to indoor murk, Kazuya freed himself roughly from his captor and whirled around to face the lanky blond. Kazuhiro placed both hands on his hips and cocked a brow, waiting for the inevitable.

"Have I told you yet today how much I hate you?" Kazuya spat out, completely forgetting the play-acting in the face of his brother's teasing.

"About thirty times. Isn't that right, Rigo?"

"Ah, Kazuhiro, methinks 'tis more like thirty-three."

"And counting, I'm sure. Anyone want to place bets on how many times my little sib can serenade us with his loathing for me?"

"I'll take that bet!"

"Hey, count me in!"

"Right here, pal!"

"What the hell – it's prolly the only way I'll get this shirt cleaned!"

"Well, Suka. Looks like you've got the power to make me a very wealthy man today. Keep it up, sib." Kazuhiro chucked his kid brother under the chin with an affection that only he was privy to. Much as he loved teasing the boy, he truly harbored a deep love for the little brat.

"Not if I can help it, kon'aro!" Kazuya shoved his brother with venom. A collective "oooh!" erupted from the onlookers. Kazuhiro grinned.

"I don't know, fellows. I think that's two. One for insulting me and one for overt show of force. That brings our count up to…how many?"

"Thirty-seven!"

"Rhys, you moron! Rigo just said thirty-three a sec ago. Can't you count? Oh, yeah. You can't. That's why you're just on demo detail, eh?"

"Come closer when you say that, Liam, and I'll take care of that other eye for ya!"

"Bring it on, pansy boy! Let's see what Sirenans are really made of!"

A brief scuffle ensued and Kazuya wisely stepped away from the larger men, making his way to the bar. He didn't want to know the outcome of the tussle, wasn't even interested enough to bet. He'd had enough fighting for the day, thank you very much; his swollen face was proof of this. He was just relieved that the focus was finally off him. Behind him, the redhead could feel his shadow tailing him. He ignored her, hopped onto a stool, hooked both feet on the bottom rung. Then he signaled at Hypno for a round of drinks and wearily reached into his pocket for a handful of creds.

Sartre stayed his hand. "Hold on there, bozu. This one's on the house."

Kazuya frowned. "What's going on, Sartre? You never give freebies so – well – freely. Especially not to us."

"You guys don't know yet, do you?"

"Know what?" Gunner asked grimly. The others dropped the pretense of normalcy and crowded the bar, fearing the worst.

"You wanna tell them or should I?" Sartre cocked his head at the catman who had chosen not to make his presence known initially. Charybdis had an uncanny knack of fading into shadows when he so chose. It was what made him and his kind so successful as assassins.

"Char? Hey, sorry, I didn't see you there! He'la!" Gunner thumped his chest with his fist and Charybdis did the same. The others began muttering greetings of their own but Kazuya, as was his wont, interrupted them.

"Is this news gonna make me hurl? Coz I don't need another ulcer, you know."

He was immediately cuffed on the head by a random hand. The redhead growled but subsided when he saw who had hit him. Next to Mitsu, Gunner was the only other member of their crew who instilled a modicum of respect in the youth.

Charybdis settled on his stool, his cloak pooling around him, and he surveyed the men. He had gotten to know the crew of the Moirai intimately after that little fiasco in the Kuiper Belt two years ago and he knew they would not take the news well. He made bets with himself to see how each would react when he told them.

"They've got Mitsu." The catman announced without preamble.

Chaos erupted.

"Kuso! This is choberiba!"

"Those motherlovin' bastards!"

"Well, we're done for now!"

"Shit, shit, shit!"

"We gotta go bust him out. Right, guys? Right? Huh, guys?"

"Shit, shit, shit!"

"Calm down! Stop yelling! Calm down, minna! I said urusai!" Gunner roared the last and was met with instant obedience.

"Thank you. Now, first thing's first. When did this all go down?" The pilot eyeballed Charybdis who gave up the floor to Sartre.

"Earlier last night. Some suit collared him in the stim room. A woman. Got past me using a holo, too, so I didn't suspect a thing till it all happened. It was so damned fast! There was nothin' I could do." The club owner bowed apologetically.

"We'll talk about that later, Sartre." Gunner cut the proprietor off shortly.

"I think you should know, Gunn, that the woman was a Guardian. Private forces. First tier, if I'm not mistaken," Charybdis offered up this bit of information with an inscrutable look on his face.

The howls that erupted upon this announcement were even louder than the first outburst. Gunner raised his eyebrow at Kazuhiro who promptly took the hint. The two senior crew members grabbed a random man and proceeded to shake them silent, the hapless Kazuya one of the targets once again. After much yowling, order was restored and Gunner addressed the men with grim intent.

"Okay, guys, we've gotta move fast. If they got him last night, that means they haven't had time to send him aboveside yet. The first chute doesn't go active till noon. They'll have kept him in the holding cells in Sector 4. That's where we'll go." Gunner was talking so fast that Kazuya, who was closest to him, could almost imagine the pilot's wetware frying at the speed of the synapses.

The others were not far behind. Already, Rigo was checking the level gauges of his blaster and Rhys was fingering the hilt of his claymore, a feral glint in his eye. Liam's good eye narrowed and he touched his bandolier to affirm the readiness of his deadly knives. Kazuhiro shook his head, askance at the immediate battle-readiness of the crew, but set his face in firm resolve when he realized he couldn't stop them.

"Um, guys?" Kazuya held up a hand hesitantly. "We're gonna fight, aren't we? It's gonna get messy, isn't it? I should stay by the Moirai in case we need a quick getaway."

"Idiot!" Gunner smacked at his head again. "We won't need the ship. We'll need bodies to fling at the Guardians. I guess your skinny ass will do just as well. You're coming with us."

"But…but…"

"It's Mitsu."

With that soft declaration, Kazuya's protests died in his throat. Gunner was right. It was Mitsu. Their captain. And every single one of them owed him their lives. Now was as good a time as any to pay up.

"It's settled. We're off. Sartre, thanks for the info. Char, could you make sure Trout stays away?" The girl in question bared her teeth but made no sound. "And we'd appreciate it if some of your pride could watch our ship. We're in Docking Bay 5. Brek's there already, but he's only one man. I wouldn't ask – don't want to involve you further – but…" Gunner left the sentence hanging. Bushido was between the catman and his captain and was not transferable. but in a case like this, one could always hope.

Charybdis did not disappoint. "I'll do you one better, Gunn. I'll stand guard myself."

"Thank you, Char. A debt is tallied." Gunner held out his left hand, palm up, in formal acknowledgement.

"A debt will be repaid." Charybdis completed the ritual by meeting the pilot's hand with his own paw. "Now go! By the looks of that Guardian last night, he'll be in a hell of a shape when you get him."

"By the way, any clue as to who put the snatch?" Kazuhiro thought to ask even as he followed the crew to the door.

"I don't know. As Sartre said, some woman. Short hair. Had one mean right hook. And the coldest green eyes this side of Avalon." The catman called out.

Kazuhiro froze in his tracks and the others did the same. As one, they all swiveled and stared at Charybdis. Kazuya swallowed audibly. No one spoke for a moment, then Rhys screwed up his courage and asked the question:

"Did she have red hair?"

"Yes. Even wilder than Kazuya's."

A devastating sigh swept the crew.

"The Morrigu."

"Shit, shit, shit!"