| abstract | - Ace stands as the top of the Faux's ramp, hands in the pockets of her longcoat as she waits patiently for the ship's resident pack of canines to finish doing their business. "All your money!" comes a voice. Rather near the Faux, a scene not altogether unusual here in Tomin Kora is taking place. A bandit, gun in hand, is holding up an Ungstiri man who does not seem to even acknowledge his presence. Ace turns her head, raising an eyebrow as she watches the hold up, making no move to intervene. For Ace, this sort of passes for entertainment for the evening. A sound finally escapes the man being held up. "Hmph." With a single fluid and rather speedy motion, he unholsters a weapon of his own and pulls the trigger before the bandit has time to react. The assailant's weapon lands some steps away. "Get lost." Such occurences are, as mentioned, not uncommon in this wild planet and, sadly, most of the time, those moved to such measures are highly unskilled. Much like the man with the bleeding hand who now flees from the Ungstiri who just got the best of him. "Hmph," Barlov states again -- for it is indeed a statement. With that aside, he starts making his way towards the Faux. "Very impressive," Ace says, giving the man a nod, "Usually someone ends up dead or dying." Barlov's weapon is once again holstered by the time he reaches the Faux. "Gospahza," he says coldly, inclining his head ever-so-slightly. "It has been long." "How long has it been?" Ace asks, the corner of her mouth quirking into a hint of a smile, "Do not remember when last our paths crossed." Barlov reaches into one of his coat pockets and brings out a small glass bottle. He opens it up and takes a long swallow from the translucid liquid sloshing inside. "Good vodka. They don't make it like this anymore, except in the Motherworld and deep underground. Hard places to reach when you are no longer welcome there." He takes another swig and then runs a sleeve across his mouth. "Sarcasm does not suit you, Gospahza. At least, I hope that's sarcasm. Forgetting the gift I gave you so easily would offend me." "Was not even certain you were still alive," Ace says, raising an eyebrow, "Have not heard from you since your heroic efforts on behalf of my comrades. What happened?" "You escaped," Barlov replies. A pragmatist to the end. "No doubt you have heard of La Terre." He raises an eyebrow. "So X-23 has something to do with it?" Ace raises an eyebrow, "Have had my suspicions, but have not been able to make the connection. Is it the tall cloaked one? Or the soldiers themselves?" "X-23 is a base of operations, not a group of people, Gospahza. Forget about X-23. The people responsible for this are ****, much like they were once behind the aforementioned base and a great deal of other things. At least, they are to blame for the economical backing of this whole ordeal. As for the cloaked figure you saw, I can only think of one answer. That answer, Gospahza, you will need to find on your own." He takes yet another taste of vodka before he puts the cap back on and replaces it in his pocket. When his hand comes out, there is a piece of paper which he extends to Ace. "These are coordinates." "Is X-23 now Paris Prime?" Ace asks as she reaches for the piece of paper. "Paris Prime is a prison facility," Barlov answers. "Government officials from several worlds go there periodically. If there is anything unusual happening there, we have not managed to uncover it yet. Have no doubt, Gospahza, that we will. For now," he adds, nodding towards Ace's hands, "that is what matters. The **** are keeping an eye on my people. Alone, I managed to come here unnoticed to deliver that to you. They are not keeping tabs on some low smuggling vessel. After all, you are arrush." He snorts. "Or so they like to preach. Go there, Gospahza. I am afraid I cannot tell you what you will find because I do not know, but you are the only people I could think of. Perhaps whatever it is you find there will help solve the situation. This Savant is a very dangerous man. More dangerous, perhaps, that even the **** themselves know." "As always you manage to be both insulting and yet oddly complimentary while at the same time being painfully vague," Ace says, tucking the piece of paper into her inner pocket. "Can you tell me nothing about Savant, then, or his mysterious companion? Was there on La Terre when the shot was fired and it vanished in mid-air yet was not psionically done. Any information you can possibly let slip might be of help." "Any attempt on my part to explain the presence of that cloaked figure would be mere speculation and might force certain bias on your own opinion, which should be clear for whatever it is you encounter at that location. As for Savant, I can tell you that unlike what most people seem to believe, he is indeed from La Terre. He is, in fact, more native than you can imagine. I will tell you one thing, Gospahza. He is very dangerous. I do not believe in destiny. I am a practical man, born and bred of the rocks that saw my birth. I like to think we forge our own paths. Others disagree. Sometimes, there are those who believe both things and force the hand of destiny. That, Gospahza, is a very dangerous game to play. If you choose to believe there is a higher hand leading our way, then you have to acknowledge that higher hand knows best. When those with the wisdom choose to alter the course dictated by that hand, they might be empowering men who were not capable of handling such strength. The **** style themselves observers, yet mere humans are blind to cosmic truth. Find those who are not limited by such mortality." "Think you may be asking for the impossible," Ace says quietly, "But will take my crew and got check these coordinates out. Gather what information we have and who knows? Could be somehow the curtain is pulled down to reveal these higher hands as being no greater than any of us mere mortals after all, da?" Barlov takes his bottle out again. "Gospahza, I choose not to believe in the impossible or the **** have already won over me. If Savant reaches the heights that were meant for another, he may decide it's far too cozy up there to step back down. Za vashe zdarov'ye!" He takes another sip of vodka and turns around, starting off towards a small ship waiting on the far end. "Good luck."
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