Voices. Words float in and out of hearing.
Leverage … assignment … Keeper … go to coordinates … Mantellian conflict … Intelligence … infiltrate the … cartel … low pitched thumping sounds, like a head banging against a wall, or the bass of cannon fire … perhaps…
High pitched ringing. It slowly fades, leaving an ache.
“Call me Dice.” A room dusts into view. It is dark and upside down.
“Dice. You a gambler?” Machine parts, droid brains, sniper barrels litter a table. The table is inverted, resting on the ceiling. An old human sits at a computer, drinking caf.
“No. Not really. It’s my name.”
He shrugs. “Appropriate.” The lights flicker, go out. He curses and there’s the sound of the tapping of keys. They come back on. The room fades to black and white, flickering right side up, then upside down again.
“Slug hole,” he grunts, but looks her up and down appraisingly. His face fuzzes. It’s the beard. Maybe. The walls are dripping blood, but the room smells clean.
“Never seen anyone pull apart a relay that fast. How long you been in cybernetics?”
“A few years.”
“Few years my hide, that was the work of an expert.” He looks at her. His eyes turn solid black a moment, then revert to light gray.
The blue woman nods. “I’m good at what I do.”
He leans forward, chair screeching like a dying man. “Give me a month, and I can teach you some really… useful skills, in the art of medical cybernetics and warfare. You could go far.” Smoke falls from the ceiling, shrouding the table. Neither of them notices. She tilts her head, considering.
“Whatever I can do for the cartel.” He leans back, satisfied. Blood trickles from his ear.
“Aye. You’ll go far indeed.”
Leverage … assignment … Keeper … go to coordinates … Mantellian conflict … Intelligence … infiltrate the … cartel … low pitched thumping sounds, like a head banging against a wall, or the bass of cannon fire … perhaps…
High pitched ringing. It slowly fades, leaving an ache.
“Call me Dice.” A room dusts into view. It is dark and upside down.
“Dice. You a gambler?” Machine parts, droid brains, sniper barrels litter a table. The table is inverted, resting on the ceiling. An old human sits at a computer, drinking caf.
“No. Not really. It’s my name.”
He shrugs. “Appropriate.” The lights flicker, go out. He curses and there’s the sound of the tapping of keys. They come back on. The room fades to black and white, flickering right side up, then upside down again.
“Slug hole,” he grunts, but looks her up and down appraisingly. His face fuzzes. It’s the beard. Maybe. The walls are dripping blood, but the room smells clean.
“Never seen anyone pull apart a relay that fast. How long you been in cybernetics?”
“A few years.”
“Few years my hide, that was the work of an expert.” He looks at her. His eyes turn solid black a moment, then revert to light gray.
The blue woman nods. “I’m good at what I do.”
He leans forward, chair screeching like a dying man. “Give me a month, and I can teach you some really… useful skills, in the art of medical cybernetics and warfare. You could go far.” Smoke falls from the ceiling, shrouding the table. Neither of them notices. She tilts her head, considering.
“Whatever I can do for the cartel.” He leans back, satisfied. Blood trickles from his ear.
“Aye. You’ll go far indeed.”