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Post by Lynn Deanna Payne on Jun 9, 2010 12:40:39 GMT -5
Bambi doesn't take a running a leap. Instead, she more or less tries to climb the side of Mirage to get up into his arms, trying to avoid clicking her feet on anything. She may not be entirely successful, but she's very obviously at least trying to apply his pointers.
She muses quietly, "So you Mirage sort of like detective, too..."
The pretty kind that remembers to shower.
Outside, Mirage may well notice that as soon as the launch pad clears a ship, another ship is queued up to take its place. There is very, very little 'dead time' on the tarmac. Such efficiency is purely motivated by greed, and a few corners are cut on safety, but there aren't any accidents right now.
Much of what is being shipped seems to be guarded by armed squads, suggesting that it is perhaps valuable. Money laundering operations? Send money into Pz-Zazz, let it trickle about, get it shipped back with new serials.
Alcohols, drugs, fuels, and other intoxicants also seem popular products to ship out of Pz-Zazz, to judge by some of the storage tanks.
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Post by Mirage on Jun 9, 2010 23:33:42 GMT -5
Mirage can't help but grin as Bambi tries to put his advice into practice. Once she's settled in his arms again, he dips his head and murmurs next to her helm, "You are a quick study, dear heart."
Rather than cloak immediately, Mirage slips along between the buildings, taking advantage every shadow and empty doorway, every possible concealment. He's not talking, but he is still teaching, if Bambi is paying attention. In areas of too much light, or areas with more traffic, he cloaks them both, of course. He is simply trying to make the point that, while his tech is handy, he is not a Super Spy because he has handy tech. Mirage is a Super Spy because he's good.
After awhile, he says dryly, //Busy place, but nothing out of the ordinary black market goods on the surface.//
He stops next to one of the recently unloaded warehouses, engaging his cloak as he peers around the corner.
//Do you feel up to trying a bit of a solo investigation while I keep watch?//
He is supposed to be training her, after all.
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Post by Lynn Deanna Payne on Jun 10, 2010 10:33:50 GMT -5
This, Bambi thinks, is why living beings fear the dark. Because there could be things in the dark. The dark is the unknown.
But she's having a ball. This is interesting and exciting and nothing horrible has happened to her! Shame about the fellow in the warehouse, but it's not like her job isn't all about digging up dead things, anyway.
//Me Bambi can do it!// she assures, a bit too blithely. //What you want me looking for? Aside from 'anything suspicious'. Me Bambi know that, and frankly, whole planet is suspicious.//
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Post by Mirage on Jun 10, 2010 11:42:06 GMT -5
Mirage smiles down at Bambi, and the smile is a touch sad. //Such enthusiasm, but it isn't always so exciting and dashing a job, you know// he murmurs.
//This warehouse is quite close to the tarmac, and seems to get more than usual use, based on the tracks coming to and fro, the age, and how well it seems to be kept up.//
//Give it a once over, see what the normal cargo stored here might be, make notes of any tracks or scents that stand out, or anything that doesn't fit with a marginally corrupt shipping company.//
//And remember, we're looking for signs of slave trade.//
Mirage then slips into the warehouse and ducks behind a forklift. He tries to set Bambi down.
//I'll be just outside the entrance. If something happens, better that we both not be trapped within.//
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Post by Lynn Deanna Payne on Jun 10, 2010 13:11:40 GMT -5
//Me Bambi find scrubbing pot sherds with toothbrush exciting,// Bambi replies, sounding a bit amused. The universe is just awesome. Why shouldn't everything under the stars and suns, even this, be exciting, too? She's already gone over what she doesn't like more than enough today.
Bambi spends a moment on the floor behind the forklift, just listening, trying to get a gauge for whoever might be left inside. then, when she thinks the coast is clear enough, she makes a break, not running, because running might be noisy, but moving swiftly, for an empty shelving rack and hides there. She sniffs at the rack and looks at its size and wear marks, trying to figure out what it held.
Mirage might notice some warehouses and hangers that look a bit new, outside as he is. Some of those seem to have more security than usual, too.
Oh look, the hangar doors are opening on one of the hangars over there, too. Must be queuing up another ship for departure, a large ship, too, to judge by the hangar size...
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Post by Mirage on Jun 10, 2010 22:11:15 GMT -5
Mirage does note the newness of those hangers, and the security, and the spy had already decided to take a closer look at them once Bambi reported back.
However...
//Bambi!// he hisses, //I have an opportunity, and I can't afford to waste it.//
He's cloaked and moving as he's talking.
//I'm heading to <hanger coordinates>. Don't try and follow. Just watch yourself, and we'll meet back up shortly.//
Mirage slips through the open hanger door.
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Post by Lynn Deanna Payne on Jun 11, 2010 13:43:50 GMT -5
Bambi sniffs the racks. Living beings have touched these racks, handled them, but she doesn't think they were stored there.
Mirage actually warned her that he's leaving? How courteous. She wouldn't have expected that much notice. She mentally revises her estimate.
But she's a bit consumed by looking for traces of things, and Bambi has not yet noticed that there's a watchman making the rounds.
There is nothing inside the hanger.
Oh, there's a full staff, the kind one would expect for a spaceship prep crew. There's equipment, a fueling cart, the whole works. The staff have the look of people who have been very, very busy, and are now just cleaning up and finally relaxing a bit.
There's just no ship.
The staff are all, to a man, robots, cyborgs, transorganics, or technoorganics, and there's something of a glazed look to them, something dead behind their eyes. One of them absently stoops to pick up a discarded ragdoll, tattered but clearly once shaped like a boxy robot, and tosses it in a trash can.
The hanger doors swing all the way open, and outside, there is dead time on the runway, with no ship on deck.
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Post by Mirage on Jun 11, 2010 17:49:08 GMT -5
Mirage is frowning. He is careful, so careful not to get in the way of these odd workers. He steps lightly, avoiding spills or other traces that might cause footprints and taking care not to avoid passing too quickly from shadow to light. The way the staff acts....
This isn't right.
He glances between the staff and the empty launchpad. A ship should be there. As busy as this place has been, a ship should be there. All signs point toward a ship having been in this hanger recently.
Mirage is the invisible man. To consider the possibility of an invisible ship is not that far a leap.
He turns his optics to the areas where a ship would rest, had it been or was still there. He's checking for wear patterns, recent scuffs, spilled fuel or oil from maintenance.
And he listens. He listens very, very carefully.
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Post by Lynn Deanna Payne on Jun 11, 2010 18:03:45 GMT -5
Bambi feels a prickling on the back of her neck as the watchman approaches. She does what comes naturally to her - she jumps and climbs to the top of the racks. The watchman doesn't quite see her, but he does see something out of the corner of his eye, and he pauses, suspicious, and he decide to linger here a few moments, muttering, "Rats again?"
There are all the signs of wear and tear that would suggest a spaceship was just here, the scuffs and spills, and the most recent look very, very fresh. There are older marks as well, suggesting that this hangar gets a lot of use.
But there's nothing to be heard, aside from the staff shuffling about and the groan of the fuel truck being moved off to the side for storage. No roar of engines. No whoosh of wind. In fact, the quiet is a bit oppressive, if anything, too quiet.
There's nothing here but us mechanical ghosts.
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Post by Mirage on Jun 11, 2010 20:14:52 GMT -5
This is very not right.
Mirage makes a pass around the hanger, checking the trash, if he can do so without calling attention, checking any bulletin boards and work tables, and also checking out the glassy-eyed staff. They smack of being drugged or controlled to him.
Once done, he moves swiftly, silently back to hover near the hanger door, wanting to make sure he gets out before it closes. He eyes the launchpad. Part of him wants to go and give it a once over, but the risk is great. Too much lighting, and too many eyes focused on it.
He glances across the way at the warehouse Bambi is exploring. He hopes the little Dinobot is all right.
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Post by Lynn Deanna Payne on Jun 11, 2010 21:16:15 GMT -5
Aside from that doll and the normal sort of trash one would expect in a hanger, there are a number of odd dropped objects in the trash, like watches, handkerchiefs, and so on and also some towels stained with fluid. There is an incinerator, also.
A number of the staffers have cuts on their heads, scarred or welded shut, as the case may be. Of those with noticeable cuts, most of them are subtle, well-healed or well-repaired, but some look rather fresh and raw or like, frankly, botched lobotomy jobs.
The bulletin boards are mostly blather about productivity. No where does it ever mention anything about what they ship, but there's blah blah about pride and safe working habits.
Bambi is just easing her way back down to the floor when the watchman makes another pass and vaults back up to her perch. Drat! Is this how a treed raccoon feels?
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Post by Mirage on Jun 11, 2010 22:06:22 GMT -5
Mirage makes careful note of those obviously maimed worker's faces. He will be going over missing persons reports later. Just in case.
He sighs inwardly. Not that he can do much about the situation as a whole. An operation like this would not be easily brought down. It galls and frustrates him. Mirage's function means he often sees the absolute worst sides of a group imaginable; this does not mean he is immune to such horrors.
One person. He is looking for one person. But if she was taken off planet all ready, how will Mirage keep his promise?
Hrm. The launch pad should have been occupied by another ship by now, certainly...
And his cloak is going to cycle soon. Frag.
Mirage quickly pads back toward the shadows of Bambi's warehouse.
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Post by Lynn Deanna Payne on Jun 13, 2010 10:23:56 GMT -5
The missing persons reports aren't quite where to look to find those workers.
The doors close behind Mirage, and elsewhere, another hanger is opening - one with a ship inside. Must be getting ready to put another ship on this tarmac and fill the dead time.
Meanwhile, the watchman has sat down, just below Bambi's perch, to eat the giant alien equivalent of a foot long sandwich. First, he spreads a napkin on his lap. Then, he wipes off his hands with some hand sanitiser... he's going to take for-fragging-ever to each this sandwich, Bambi just knows, and inwardly, she groans.
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Post by Mirage on Jun 13, 2010 16:56:27 GMT -5
Missing persons reports are at least a start, though.
Mirage takes advantage of the shadows between the buildings to cycle his cloak. Once he can do so, he recloaks and ducks into the warehouse, scanning for signs of Bambi. Back behind the forklift again, he decides to forgo the cloak unless circumstances warrant.
Carefully, silently, he pads among the racks. He hears the watchman eating before he sees him, and swiftly activates his cloak.
//Bambi? Where are you, love?// he finally asks. The addition of security personnel changes the experiment, and he's a bit worried about his little protege.
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Post by Lynn Deanna Payne on Jun 13, 2010 21:28:35 GMT -5
Bambi admits, sounding miserable, //Me Bambi stuck on top of rack. Him watchman think there rats in here. Uuuugh, you Mirage no tell anyone, or me Bambi... hnn, no, you Mirage too pretty to punch in face. Too tall, too. Punch in knee?//
Yep, she's still a Dinobot.
The watchman is taking rather thoughtful, dainty bites of his sandwich, and he's sipping from a flask in between bites.
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