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3/27/2025, 1:45:42 PM
>SELECTED – League of Dis
21st Cycle April 2231AD (1 month ago) – Silver City, Perspira – Federation Space
Harman liked this café. They made good coffee here. Synth-caff sure, but close enough to the real thing for him not to mind. Not many legitimate businesses on Perspira employed human staff, let alone was owned and run by a human.
Harman didn’t even mind that the place was most likely a front for one of the Federation’s clandestine agencies. Every staff member, and probably every patron too, was an agent or informer for the Federation’s deep-state. Or maybe he was just paranoid, this line of work could have that affect on you. Perhaps his contact chose this location because it would put him at ease, which was a nice gesture even if it was done with ulterior motives. After all Perspira used to be a human colony of the now extinct Earth Republics, and look how far the Fed smiles and kind gestures had got them there. Now you’d be hard pressed to find a human face in the nice parts of town.
“Heated beverages.” Jask’O’Irim shook his head as he took a nearby seat, a decidedly human affectation for the eight-foot Drax. “Your hops-based inebriations I understand. Them at least are served cold, but this? Korfee? Ugh.”
“It’s an acquired taste, even for humans.” Harman didn’t see the need to point out to his contact that humans weren’t the only race to heat some of their drinks, although he hadn’t met a xenos that had taken to coffee yet. “Not using the translator-device again today?”
“Oh, you noticed? I have been practicing my English.” Jask’O’Irim elocuted with smug self-satisfaction, indicating the Quexi-design tradespeak device at his throat was turned off. “I am have been even reading some human works. ‘Cry havoc, letting slip the dogs to war’.”
“Very good.” It took some effort on Harman’s part to keep the smile on his face calculated rather than genuine. Jask’O’Irim sometimes behaved more like a Quexi scholar than a Drax ex-military agent.
The congenial nature of the Drax contact and his flattering efforts to adopt human mannerisms, language and culture was all entirely targeted of course. Designed to lull their mark into giving away some possible leverage to be stored and used down the line. Harman could not allow himself to forget that. As a semi-retired Pathfinder himself, Harman was the Black Company’s official unofficial contact with their employer, the General, and her official unofficial representative from the Federation deep-state through Jask’O’Irim. Harman and Jask could be friendly, but never friends.
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21st Cycle April 2231AD (1 month ago) – Silver City, Perspira – Federation Space
Harman liked this café. They made good coffee here. Synth-caff sure, but close enough to the real thing for him not to mind. Not many legitimate businesses on Perspira employed human staff, let alone was owned and run by a human.
Harman didn’t even mind that the place was most likely a front for one of the Federation’s clandestine agencies. Every staff member, and probably every patron too, was an agent or informer for the Federation’s deep-state. Or maybe he was just paranoid, this line of work could have that affect on you. Perhaps his contact chose this location because it would put him at ease, which was a nice gesture even if it was done with ulterior motives. After all Perspira used to be a human colony of the now extinct Earth Republics, and look how far the Fed smiles and kind gestures had got them there. Now you’d be hard pressed to find a human face in the nice parts of town.
“Heated beverages.” Jask’O’Irim shook his head as he took a nearby seat, a decidedly human affectation for the eight-foot Drax. “Your hops-based inebriations I understand. Them at least are served cold, but this? Korfee? Ugh.”
“It’s an acquired taste, even for humans.” Harman didn’t see the need to point out to his contact that humans weren’t the only race to heat some of their drinks, although he hadn’t met a xenos that had taken to coffee yet. “Not using the translator-device again today?”
“Oh, you noticed? I have been practicing my English.” Jask’O’Irim elocuted with smug self-satisfaction, indicating the Quexi-design tradespeak device at his throat was turned off. “I am have been even reading some human works. ‘Cry havoc, letting slip the dogs to war’.”
“Very good.” It took some effort on Harman’s part to keep the smile on his face calculated rather than genuine. Jask’O’Irim sometimes behaved more like a Quexi scholar than a Drax ex-military agent.
The congenial nature of the Drax contact and his flattering efforts to adopt human mannerisms, language and culture was all entirely targeted of course. Designed to lull their mark into giving away some possible leverage to be stored and used down the line. Harman could not allow himself to forget that. As a semi-retired Pathfinder himself, Harman was the Black Company’s official unofficial contact with their employer, the General, and her official unofficial representative from the Federation deep-state through Jask’O’Irim. Harman and Jask could be friendly, but never friends.
[1/3]
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