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6/8/2025, 2:45:12 PM
“I make no secret of my hate of the Savis Empire, none of us in the Red Hand do. But you are one of the few that know the why, and maybe you’ve got an inkling as to just how deep this hate of my runs.”
Your finger taps nervously on the bicep of your folded arms. “Enough to know you may just want this intel to be true.”
“You’ve hit the nail on the head there, Snake Eyes. Yeah, if it helps me kill slavers I may -want- this intel to be true. But I’ve been killing slavers for a long, long time. Void, you were probably still a child yourself when I was doing this as a free man for the Earth Republics. I didn’t stop when they put chains on me either, but I did have to get a hell of a lot smarter about it.”
Alexander Hail was a greying, or rather grey, old man. You doubt someone his age could have been indiscriminately murderising local slavemasters like a Vinehound in a kindergarten and lived long unless he played it smart. Or had help.
“Sometimes mean bastards at the top of the slaver food chain make enemies other than the ones under their whips. And sometimes those enemies wouldn’t mind handing the knife to someone like me if it meant their rival might find it in their back soon enough. As they say, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ ”
“So we’re not talking about an idealistic turncoat then.”
“I don’t like them, but I do owe them. So I won’t say more.” Hail turns back to the mud map, leaning forward with his hands on the desk. “I don’t trust the intel because I trust the source. I trust the intel because I know that their people have access to this information but, more importantly, source thinks they know what I’m planning on doing with that intel.”
“Like what?” That sounded like a slip on Hail’s part. This source didn't just have a line on some actionable intel, this source had people. Resources.
“Stretch out the conflict even further, humiliate some Legionary commander or other, embarrass those conducting the Imperial campaign even further.” Hail has that grinning skull look of his, deathly grim and not a little unnerving. “But they have no idea what they’ve given me.”
[2/6]
Your finger taps nervously on the bicep of your folded arms. “Enough to know you may just want this intel to be true.”
“You’ve hit the nail on the head there, Snake Eyes. Yeah, if it helps me kill slavers I may -want- this intel to be true. But I’ve been killing slavers for a long, long time. Void, you were probably still a child yourself when I was doing this as a free man for the Earth Republics. I didn’t stop when they put chains on me either, but I did have to get a hell of a lot smarter about it.”
Alexander Hail was a greying, or rather grey, old man. You doubt someone his age could have been indiscriminately murderising local slavemasters like a Vinehound in a kindergarten and lived long unless he played it smart. Or had help.
“Sometimes mean bastards at the top of the slaver food chain make enemies other than the ones under their whips. And sometimes those enemies wouldn’t mind handing the knife to someone like me if it meant their rival might find it in their back soon enough. As they say, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ ”
“So we’re not talking about an idealistic turncoat then.”
“I don’t like them, but I do owe them. So I won’t say more.” Hail turns back to the mud map, leaning forward with his hands on the desk. “I don’t trust the intel because I trust the source. I trust the intel because I know that their people have access to this information but, more importantly, source thinks they know what I’m planning on doing with that intel.”
“Like what?” That sounded like a slip on Hail’s part. This source didn't just have a line on some actionable intel, this source had people. Resources.
“Stretch out the conflict even further, humiliate some Legionary commander or other, embarrass those conducting the Imperial campaign even further.” Hail has that grinning skull look of his, deathly grim and not a little unnerving. “But they have no idea what they’ve given me.”
[2/6]
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