ISIS
I lived in Black Rise for about a year and a half. Good market opportunities in the neighbourhood, decent industry facilities and my own labs at the POS. On another hand the food sucked, there were no shoes on the market, there was no art, no culture and the people, other than a few close friends, were mostly cold and distant.
All in all it was nice, until I found my boyfriend had two other girls on the side and a baby son -at the very least- about whom he had not really been planning of telling me. After delivering the literary equivalent to a swift kick in the balls and cc:ing all Corp, I had moved back to the Federation.
tl;dr, one could say that did not end well.
There is no place like home. No, seriously, there is no such place. Every time it feels like I am settling somewhere, something pops up and there we go again, moving somewhere else. Auvergne, at least, was a place I knew. I had lived here years ago when C. and I were together, and I had naturalised. Anyway, Auvergne of sparkling wine fame, Auvergne of its capital city, Clermont, and the shopping district. Auvergne of high fashion and of prêt-à-porter. Auvergne of...
"Your passport, please?"
Right. Auvergne of my passport. I stopped daydreaming and fumbled with my Neocom, starting the connection that proved I was who I said I was, and that I was allowed beyond the dominion of capsuleers, through migrations and into everyday planet life.
"Port of origin?"
"Jita."
I waited while the immigration officer looked at his screen, my thoughts wandering elsewhere. I looked with envy at the faster Diplo/VIP line -that would have been me, years ago. You know what they say, right? People make money in Dodixie, spend it in Caille and brag about it in Auvergne. I so longed for the social scene. I wondered which friends were reachable from here. Lost in thought, I almost did not notice as two guards, heavy set but not heavily armed, flanked me just as my egonics stopped and my neocom went dark. The immigration officer looked back at me.
"Mademoiselle Delorois, an interview is necessary. These two gentlemen will escort you, please follow their direction."
That's when I noticed the weapons. Not drawn, but hands deliberately on grips.
Something was not right.
--
"So once more, what made you become a fighter with the Caldari Sate?"
"Actually, I have never fought for the Caldari State. I told the others already."
I had spent the last few hours in a freaking shoebox. A grey room, a gray table between us, three gray chairs that were mildly uncomfortable. Mildly, like Khanid water torture.
He checked his notes. "But you declared you support for them. This pip in your bio - the rank of Protectorate Ensign in the Caldari State. How would you explain that?"
"I used to be Director for a State affiliated mercenary corporation," I answered for the umpteenth time.
"Ah, corporation politics. The question is, did you join this corporation before or after it engaged in factional warfare against the Federation? And did you know it would, beforehand?"
"I can see why you are worried. I became a Director long before the CEO of my corporation decided we should join the State," I said, technically telling the truth. And then I lied with the same straight face, "I had no say in fighting the Federation."
Is this whole thing ever going to go away? This, too, is your fault J."Did you at any point engage in combat with Federation forces or Federal Defense Union affiliates?" he asked.
"I did not. I spent that time flying a stealth transport." That, at least, was true.
"You know, mademoiselle Delorois... may I call you Catherine?"
I nodded. "Catherine, this is almost good enough to clear it," the man said more matter-of-factly than exasperated. "Your story is consistent, you were in the employ of a corporation in the State Protectorate, and there are no records of you shooting a single shot in this war. It sounds as if you did
nothing."I was hoping,
hoping this was the guy in charge and that he was asking me the very same questions for the very last time. Unlike the others, that had come in pairs, this one was alone and the badge on his shoulder read 'Federal Administration - L4'.
Please let him the boss."Almost. Market records, however, they tell us a different story, no?"
Oh? New question. "So I sold ammo," I shrugged, "a girl has to make a living."
"You do realise that you sold exclusively to State customers. The very ordnance they then shot at our forces. In a Federal Court, that could be construed as aiding and abetting enemies of the Federation."
Doh, is that not the way faction warfare works? "I sold where I was able to dock. I tried Nennamaila once but was shot at by the FDU before I could even approach. You could check on that."
"Yes, yes, we will..." Something told me they already had. He looked at me and narrowed his eyes. After an awkward half-minute of silence he relaxed and whispered into his comms. He then smiled "Catherine, I sincerely hope you understand we do this for your own protection, as well as that of every citizen of this Federation."
The door hissed open and I saw someone standing there. If it was my next 'interviewer' she was early, could she not see I was still busy with this one? Then I recognized her, in spite of her now white-dyed hair, and I grinned ear to ear.
The man went on. "Your activities in the State were out of the ordinary and they generate a great deal of interest, but we are satisfied they are not illegal. I apologize for this necessary inconvenience and, while you are free to go, we expect that you will keep us fully..."
I was already at the door, hugging my friend.
--
I had not talked to
Amerique in some time, ever since she tried to get me to spy for her corp and I had refused. How the world turns.
"Your boss? FIO? Was
that Lalo?
Your Lalo?" I asked, incredulous, "he is as charming as a bag of bricks."
"Seriously Quin," she smirked as she walked briskly with me, "are
you going to criticize
me for
my choice of boyfriend?"
I had forgotten how Amerique needed so little catching up. If she was good back in UC, in FIO she was gossip on crack. She walked me back to immigration and handed me over to an L2 Federal Administration guy, curtly instructing him. "Accompany her in the diplomatic line, move straight through customs and make sure she is out in National without hassle. Without hassle."
"Yes ma'am," the agent replied and turned around, as Amerique made a hand sign to her ear and mouthed the words 'you. call. me.'
And I would! We would get together and catch up and, in the meanwhile, she would report back to bag-o-bricks and set things up so I could be used by FIO; I would of course try and use them. I missed that kind of subtle quid-pro-quo.
Moments later I was at the Diplo/VIP line (yay!) with the guy waiting by me. He asked timidly, "you are Quintrala, right? The Queen?" I was already rolling my eyes at more questions, when I recognised my racing nickname. I smiled and nodded. "Everybody misses the racing scene - I was a Scuderia fan, you know, as some of the guys back there. Would you mind terribly if I take a holo with you?"
It was good to be back.
--
Is she OK?
She is.
Was she not annoyed at least?
Annoyed she was, she called you names.
Good. Call the press and please keep an eye on her, feed her negatives if necessary. Now for tonight, there is this new place called the Isis, down in deck five. What do you think?
Isis, mother and wife, nature and magic, goddess of slaves, sinners and artisans. Sounds good, I like it!
Excellent, I will pick you up at eight. Dismissed.
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Topic: ISIS (Read 1773 times)