Case file D4823/TWR, Carmilla D'Morenta

Angelina walked towards her desk, a crystal glass of whiskey in one hand and a thick folder in the other. Kicking off her boots she sank down into her chair and opened up a drawer, picking up a smal bottle and a bag of pills. For the most part her addition to Purple Haze, the street name for the mixture of Blue Pill and Frentix was kept between her dealer and Dr Leannder. Pulling out a small mortar she slipped in a couple of blues and ground them down, then added them and a small vial of frentix to the crystal glass. As the effects took hold she opened the folder and pulled out a datacrystal which she slotted into the viewer on her desk. Her eyes flittered over to the door and noticed the red locked light was on. The willowy voice of Dr Leannder filled the air as she closed her eyes and listened.


(Sounds of Dr Leannder shuffling papers and accessing records)
Case file D4823/TWR, Carmilla D'Morenta, White Rabbits. Psychological profile session report. (Pause followed by swift exhale) Given all that Carmilla has been through I have to say she is in remarkable condition. There are still some triggers that exist which can set her off, but the same could be said for all of my patients. The time she spent on the Khanid Agricultural colony on Tegheon V as a slave I have barely touched upon, though I can see there are various events that happened which I will have to delve deeper into. The escape of her father and sister, the systematic slaughter of villages who helped them escape, and the personal abuse she suffered at the hands of the Overseer are second to the Blood Raider slave raid.

When we talk about her time with the Blood Raiders it is like I am speaking to another person. As a side note I have to warn of any further attempts to remove the tattoos on her body. The organo-metallic tattoos are heavily impregnated with nanites of such an advanced degree that I simply cannot understand why they are using them just for tattoos. It may be that we really don't understand how vile and twisted they are. The medical applications alone for these nanites are staggering. (Pause followed by swift exhale) But then I guess that just makes their potential use even more horrific.

The six years she spent with the Blood Raiders, two on various ships depending on her owner, and four years in Serpentis Prime have been remarkable, as the usual life expectancy of slaves is, I understand, between three weeks and two years.

Although I am loathe to admit it, my own research amongst my Sansha contacts indicate that Carmilla's father was in actuallity working for a high ranking Blood Raider smuggler. I have yet to confirm these details, but it does seem that her ability to stay alive was in part due to his influence on the smuggler Galicia Tavrook. (Pause followed by swift exhale) Galicia Tavrook is, according to Guristas Intelligence, the alias for the Caldari concert Pianist Gashia Tamshrooc and the instigator for the most twisted of all punishments inflicted on their slaves.

There is a piece of music known simply as the Symphony of Pain. On it's own it is a marvel of the art that can be wrought on a piano by a skilled musician, a deeply haunting and moving melody. However there is no known sheet music for this piece. The torture that can be inflicted upon whoever is made to play this piece goes beyond anything I have heard. Each key on the piano is connected to a female slave and when the piece starts low levels of electricity are delivered to a slave when the wrong key is pressed. From what Carmilla has told me when Galicia plays he plays perfect, no missed keys. However (pause) when slaves are forced to play the piece they must go by memory of the original, which they only hear once. Unless they are attached to the piano. I could not get any information from Carmilla about how long it took to master the piece, or how much she suffered....

Oh god, this is the piece she played for me..... I'm sorry I can't continue..... (sound of breaking glass and curses before recording ends)

Session Report Ended, Case file D4823/TWR.

Memories

Rorsins, back of beyond even as far as low sec goes. A few drifters and lone miners inhabit the belts and the stations. Little of worth happens here, even the local stations are seen as provincial, half empty warehouses in space. The asteroid belts are the same, eternally circling the star, tumbling through space gracefully and silently. For the most part it looks like no one has been here for many years, if ever.

On the bridge of a battered prowler wearing the markings of a Gistii Courier Carmilla D'morenta looked at her sensor screen. There were no ships within range, and according to the comms, the few people in the local area were quiet. She waited a few more minutes, scanning constantly before she was happy there really was no one in the area.
"Send the signal."
The comms officer turned a dial to a frequency and pressed a button. Ahead of them a hole appeared in the side of a large asteroid, two lights blinked quickly and the prowler decloaked and made it's way to the docking bay. Two sebiestor females flanked by guards walked down the docking ramp and into an ill lit and dusty hanger. They looked around for a moment then one of them pulled out a datapad and tapped a few keys. With a powerful flash lights popped on around the walls and a slow whine began as the air circulation system powered up slowly.
"Give it a few minutes and everything should start working."
"I guess no one has been here for a while?"
Carmilla bent over and picked up a discarded jacket bearing the Pale Riders logo. She folded it up and placed it on a nearby table.
"A lot of old memories here, Seraphim, a lot of good times.... and some bad ones."
"Appropriate place then..."

The sign above the double doors indicated the name of the place they walked into. The Spaced Mongoose. Although it was dusty, the musty smell of the hanger had gone as the air recirculated, the lights were bright and automatic systems were changing out the water of the pool.
"I'll have to bring some of my crew down to clean this place out properly," she said walking behind the bar,"I'm hoping the bar is still stocked."
"Don't forget...."
"I know, how about quafe ultra...."
Seraphim smiled and took the two cans offered.
"That'll be fine."
"You'll have to excuse the mess, I don't think anyones been here for a few years. I thought Ang might have turned up...."
She blew some dust off the statuette on the table causing Sera to sneeze loudly.
"We used to come here all the time in the old days.
Sera popped the top of her quaffe and took a deep swig.
"What happened?"
"Corp split up and went seperate ways the regulars found new bars or just stopped drinking. Mind you, some of them go to Angelina's place, but it gets a bit crowded at times."
She looked over at Sera and sat down.
"Certainly not a good place for a quiet chat."
Seraphim hesitated slightly then nodded and smiled.
"I guess... we both have pasts that have left scars....."
She sat on the edge of the table and wiggled a bit.
"Um... Its easier to show than tell....."
The two Sebiestors looked at each other, memories were coming flooding back thick and fast for both of them. The exploits of past Masters and Mistresses came out, tears were shed as tales were told, tales that had them both crying and laughing, both revelling in their survival above and beyond the odds that had felled others.

Digging up the Past - I

“Every planet has a story, and it is our job to unravel that story and to tell the universe”. Once, a long time ago those words filled her with inspiration. Exploring planets lost for millenia or more, digging up the past, even treasure hunting for those lost artifacts. Back then she saw herself standing over the tombs of forgotten Emperors holding radiant crowns and everyone cheering her name. Reality was often somewhat different. Reality, as they say, bites. And for Shimmoa Masikiro, Archaeologist prime for the University of Khanid Succession, reality would very soon reveal itself.

“As archaeologists we deal only with facts.” Facts she mused, after three weeks she couldn't even remember the name of the planet they were on. Only the cold. The cold sapped the strength, chilled to the bone and beyond. Even in the heated quarters of the station, especially when the sun went down all you thought about was the cold. Luckily the computers liked the cold and the young caldari technicians who were experimenting with cold synapse memory storage for the bio-computers were doing wonders, if of somewhat dubious legality.

“Shimmoa, the satelite is due in one minute, standing by for uplink.”

The grey haired com-tech was buried behind a stack of power cores with the telemetry data and the dig site screens. Static filled the screens until the last power cable was connected, one by one the screens cleared their static and he checked them all. The last one was still showing static, the lastest camera at the dig site. He cursed and turned a few dials, tapped a few screens then pressed a button. Somewhere in the distance a low throb began pulsing.

“Uplink in five... four... three.... two....” He ended the count with a deft click of his fingers and turned back to the screens.

Shimmoa's fingers flew across the keyboard and began a grid by grid search of the area. She waited a few minutes then scanned again. Nothing.

“Casey, it's not working. Crank up the juice.”

“If we put too much in we may burn out the relays. We're still not sure how old they are.”

“Crank it Casey! This is my call!” She swore under her breath.

“An excavation is like an operation, our dig site is the patient, haste will kill him.Always, always be patient.” As the fusion generator was ramped up to fifty percent power, the heavy duty lines that snaked away from the mobile into the dig site pulsed with power. They lead into burnished golden wall with a ragged hole burned into the side and disappeared inside. At the screens they watched as the next scan appeared and they held their breath. Her hand slammed the rescan button and the image that was faint appeared again, larger, more discerning. She licked her lips and grabbed the pendant hanging from her neck and kissed it.

“Casey, more power and break out the suits. We are going down to the digsite.”

“Shim, I want in to that as much as you do, but it's fifty below out there, there is a storm coming and one of the camera's is still out.”

She hit rescan and watched the image burn into the screen. At the highest resolution she could see what it was, knew what it was, could make out the subtle details that made it one of the most dangerous ships in the universe. The only question was why was it here, and what caused it to crash.

“Casey, I love you, but you are too cautious.”

“Hey, I'm just telling it like it is. You know the Professor would say the same thing.”

“Casey, “she kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear,”The Professor never found an perfectly preserved Imperial class Apocalypse buried under a hundred feet of ice. Get your coat.”

Turning away from the screens she grabbed her suit and began to climb inside.

“Everything is buried for a reason. How well is another matter.” Outside the wind was howling, but the sky was clear. A static discharge off to the far right illuminated the jagged ruins of the old city. The other teams were working there, the conditions were safer and at least they had the old starport and their landed transports. Pulling back her goggles she looked upat the stars.

“How magnificent, “she mused, tears already in here eyes from the whipped up snow. Casey was moving on ahead of her and dissapeared into the dig, she could see the warning lights on the elevator they had installed. It would take a few minutes so she looked back up at the stars. How long since her Professor had filled her head full of passion and desire to seek out the old. Archaeology, her new relgion, her science. Her life. She watched a shooting star fall and wondered what else was out there, what she would find next. A static burst over the com-net brought her around and she looked over at the elevator pad and walked towards it.

“Casey, you okay?” Silence. She got to the elevator and stopped. There, on the edge of the frame was a red smear that was not there an hour ago. She touched the tip of her glove to it and rubbed it between her fingers. Blood.

“Casey?”

“Naturally, there will be those who do not want you to unveil the past for reasons they don't want you to know.” She called again, checking the frequencies they used and got nothing, only static. A chill ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Turning she ran as fast as she could though the snow towards the camp. When did it start snowing? Fat flakes were whipping past now and she could see the edge of the storm coming. It was a big one. She kicked open the door to the main lab and called to the other scientists. No reply.

“Tsuko? Ishima?”

Running through the lab she came to the station with the scan and noticed it had been turned off. Quickly she flicked it back on and hit rescan. Once more the bulk of the ship was now present, but as more power had flowed into it's power relays more things were becoming apparent. There was another structure below the ship. Another ship. A chill struck her and she looked around, a door to the rear of the station was open.

“Tsuko? What's going on? Ishima? Stop playing around, Casey could be in trouble.”

She tried the com-net again, it was quiet, static, uncommonly loud static. Her drawer opened and she went to pull out the weapon that was there, that was always there. That was now gone. Fear heightened her senses and she backed away to the door. There, on the wall, the panic button that alerted the main camp. Ripping off her glove she tapped in the code and activated the signal. Then, as an afterthought she downloaded a copy of the data into a mem-wafer and transferred it to the satellite launcher. A few moments of reprogramming and she launched the tiny satellite into space on a very, very strange orbit.

“Occasionally there will be things that Science just does not understand. So I am told.” She looked around and sighed. Anyone else would have sealed the station and holed up waiting for help. Scientists, archaeologists are supposed to be logical. Supposed to be. Casey however was another matter, and because of that she pulled her suit up and went out into the now blinding snow storm and headed to the dig site.