Private The Catalyst Protocol: Reclamation

[Liin "Tera" Terallo]

The terminal within my private laboratory hums quietly beneath my hands with the cold metal almost soothing to my skin. It is a strange occurance of how everything seems amplified now that I have become a part of my experiments. But it is not an unpleasant side effect. Not like some of the others are.

I should not be doing this. Every instinct in me calls for me to stay quiet and stay hidden. But instincts do not refill catalyst tubes or synth-bonding agents. They do not fix the isotope regulators slowly starving my system of power. My supplies are running low. Lower than I am comfortable admitting.

Most of what I need; the rare compounds, the modified genomes, the isotope fragments, they are out there waiting in caches I placed across the Mid Rim. Makeb is one of them. It is one of the last real drops that I can still reach.

If only I could go there myself. But I cannot. Not when I am being hunted. Not when even a whisper of my name draws too much heat.

So I open a secure line; something old, something underground, something used by people who know how to keep their heads down. Smuggler frequencies. Black-channel threads. I keep the message short, just enough to sound like a job and not a cry for help.

---

Looking for a captain with a fast ship and no questions.
Retrieval job on Makeb. Dead-drop coordinates provided on contact.
High payout. No politics. No drama.
Just clean work for someone who knows how to disappear.

---

I hesitate for only a second before sending it through. "I just need someone who does not care who I am.”

The encryption locks into place. The signal fires off into the dark. Now all that I can do is wait. And hope the right kind of person answers.

Tag: Kaelen Varrin

 

[Kaelen Varrin]

Wasn't much to do on a night like this, so Kaelen sat in a slum-bar somewhere off the grid on the Outer Rim, leafing through back-nets and frequencies left behind by his grandfather. The man seemed to have a handle or comm-line to anything that thumbed it's nose and the Stih, Imperials, or authority in general. Most of it was often dormant, or chatter. But on occasion, a job would float through.

With a grin, Kaelen keys up the 'wave, and sends a singular worded response.

"Ok."

It wasn't flowery, it had no post-script, and it fit the man perfectly. And so, as it bounced through relays and old beacons, he waited, and whistled tunelessly, idly swirling a plastic pair of chopsticks around some instant noodles that had long since gone cold and overly-soggy. If nothing came of it, he'd just go pick a fight with one of the idiot rodians down at the end of the bar flashing their paycheck from a spice run.

Though he didn't know it, he had inherited the Sedaire snark from his grandfather, and he could often make friends or enemies with just a well timed grin.

Liin "Tera" Terallo

 

[Liin "Tera" Terallo]

Well that did not take long for a response to get through. It was short. Very short. A little wave of sorts followed by just one word. How curious indeed. But it is not as though I am familiar with these kinds of communications.

Still I respond back in kind:

I seek a package retrieval on Makeb. Are you familiar with the planet?

Not many are familiar with the gravitational anomolies. At least not until it is too late as they try to pilot their ships into the atmosphere. The electrical storms that flourish in the upper atmosphere are a hazard to many unseasoned pilots. And even the seasoned ones.

I suppose that the only way to find out about how good this one can be is whether or not they can be successful in this task.

Tag: Kaelen Varrin