The Auditor

Act 2, Scene 2

A Moreauverse Novella

“Not at this time, miss, but thank you." She seemed to pout, curling in on herself a bit, tail dropping down to its customary position. “Tag for interview, 1400." He sent to the ghost without speaking.

“Identified, tagged."

The elevator ride back down toward the cap was as rough as its ascent, shuddering and jarring with unpleasant scrapes and shrill squeals. The ghost informed them there was a camera and audio pickup but it had ceased functioning that morning during their descent due to its intervention.

“Do you have any preferences for dinner, Joh?" Salen asked once they had been assured they would not be overheard.

“Anything you wish to cook, though my appetite is going to take some time to recover after this roller coaster ride. I just want out of this getup, I'm sweating like mad under it all. And this brace has thoroughly stiffened my leg." He tried to stretch but was almost bodily thrown into a wall but for Salen's deft arm catching at his back. The skunk shaped dog chuckled suggestively, numerous whiskers lifting along his tapered muzzle.

“I could make you sweat some more, if you like. Rub the stiffness out of that leg and into something else." They both collapsed into one corner where they could brace against two walls and grasp the handrails. Johan laughed, a sound that felt alien in this cold, business like mein of shark-like menace he had adopted for the production.

Johan laughed a warm, relieved expulsion of breath, letting out some of the tension that always built up while maintaining a role. “Even when I'm wearing this face?"

Salen chortled and stretched, rolling his shoulders. “It's not your face I'd be looking at, now is it?" He said as their weight began to build once again, settling them ever more solidly to the floor. It also caused the elevator to buck less as it settled into its guide track more securely.

“No." He chuckled again as he gave the skunk a side hug. “No, I guess you wouldn't be."

The elevator slowed and finally stopped. Johan straightened, smoothed his face into an implacable cold mask once again, and waited for the doors to grind open. Brady was standing on the other side, as if abruptly stepping away from a lean against the wall.

“Commander would like a word, sir. Without your pet."

Johan's face became harder still, the cane clicking sharply on the floor as he stopped just beyond the elevator doors. “The Associate is not a 'pet', mister Brady. It is an asset retained by the Directors of Convergent for the express needs of this Audit and, as such, shall attend to its duties as previously defined. That means it is to remain with me, at all times unless I state directly otherwise, on record, to bear witness to assure my objectivity throughout."

“I'm just relaying what I was told, sir."

“Were you told the purpose of the commander's summons, as well?"

Brady's eyes flicked to Salen and back and he swallowed, the tip of his tongue briefly appearing between his lips before retreating. “No, just that he wanted to talk with you. Privately. About this whole Audit thing would be my guess."

“If it pertains to this examination of the facility the Associate is required to be present."

“If that is what is required, then, I guess, sir." Brady stepped back and turned, waving one arm for them to proceed. Johan strode forward, putting more weight on his cane and visibly limping as if the day had left his injured leg sore and stiff. That was not an inaccurate assumption, for it was indeed uncomfortably stiff in the constraints of the device.

“It had best not take overlong, then. The power of my mobility device is almost depleted and, if it should fail, some unfortunate will be tasked with carrying me back to my vessel."

“What happened, sir, if I might ask."

“I was shot in the knee and shortly thereafter I was doused with an accelerant and ignited."

“Ouch." Brady did not wince or show any other outward sign of empathy despite his response. “You're here, so the ones responsible must have been caught."

“I sent them out of an airlock. In a suit with a pinprick puncture between the shoulder blades." That did make the man wince. To be spaced was one thing, but the suffering was blessedly brief. To be spaced in a leaking suit was a far more protracted way to perish. “There was no attempt at recovery."

“Vindictive." Brady observed levelly.

“I was on fire at the time, but yes, you could say that. There have been others I dealt with similarly, without being aflame, by conscious choice." They crossed the atrium, as bereft of anything that offered a sense of timeliness, of hope. A few guards stopped their patrols to stare at them but none approached. Johan saw the Leftenant, leaning against door frame, arms crossed, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. She did not approach.

“A warning?"

“A what?" Johan spared the man a glance as he hauled his gimp leg along, click after click of the cane. “No. Merely fact of history." They boarded the elevator down to the command level, once more traversing the airlock with its toothy observer staring down from the wall above the inner hatch. In the command center Johan saw, on the large primary view display, a star field with a larger glimmer in its center. It was still too far away to be resolved by the station's imagers as anything more than a brighter albedo against the starry black, dimmer asteroids floating in the foreground.

Brady led them to the commander's ready room door and stopped when it slid open. Without a word Johan stepped through and Salen stopped, moving to take up a post beside the door without entering. Johan caught Brady's look of surprise before the door slid closed.

“Ah, there you are, Auditor." Jeyev said, looking up from something he was perusing in the desktop display. He was still wearing that fur coat, the desecration of once vital lives, and Johan fought down the bile that burned his throat. His face hardened under the mask. “Have you learned anything from the animals today?"

“Considerable." Johan stated flatly, drawing to a stop before the desk and leaning on his cane, exuding an air of discomfort and impatience. “What is it you wished to discuss without the Boadroom's witness present?"

“What is your commission for this?" Jeyev asked, bluntly. “I know you're on contract and not a direct employee."

“I am. You should be able to access my public dossier."

“That's just it; public. So all that can be found are the glowing reports of your completed audits, usually skewed toward the corporation paying for them."

“Of course." Johan growled, shifting his weight and leaning on the cane. “Those who pay for audits do so for a reason; to verify a suspicion. My function is to determine the truth of their suspicions, or reassure them that they were unfounded. Typically they are well founded."

“And what happens when they are, and those who are under investigation find out?"

Johan swept a hand toward his face and then leg. “This." He turned, took a few steps, and settled into a nearby chair. Jeyev frowned slightly, having not bid him to sit. It was not nearly as ornate as the one in which Jeyev sat, nor as comfortable. “In this case I was the third sent to audit."

“What happened to the first two?"

“The first falsified their report. The second disappeared. Allowing for the timeline of events that I underwent; the first was paid to prepare false data, the second refused to do so, as did I." He leaned forward from the chair, both hands folded atop the cane. “The contractor realized what had happened with the first and increased the commission considerably. They can only assume what happened with the second, which my current condition verified." He leaned fully back into his seat. “You do not wish an unfavorable report, which is why I am sitting here, now, without the Associate. You wish to extend an offer for a favorable report."

Jeyev cocked his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “No, actually. I was merely curious as to what the animals are saying. No, there's no way around the glaringly obvious falloff of production, here, even if I did successfully bribe you." He shook his head. “They would just send another to verify your report, which would also happen if you two were to disappear. No." He sighed with another shake of his head. “Just, how long will this take? Clearly I will have to be putting my personal affairs into order in any case, the head office will most certainly replace me."

“I cannot guess at what will or will not be done, merely report my findings via interviews and available data. Currently I expect to be complete within another four to five days. Once my report has been submitted I do not know how long the review process will take, that is an internal process I am not privy to. My duties will have been concluded."

Jeyev waved an arm toward the wall, “Well, since they're right outside the belt I doubt it will take them long."

“Again, not matters germane to my duties. To my understanding they are on station merely to receive the report when I return. Their purposes are their own, and inscrutable."

“That ship you came in on theirs, too? I've never seen the like."

“That vessel is mine, built to my specifications. I chose to make its outline unique; memorable."

“It is that." Jeyev rested both hands atop the desk and sighed. “I don't think I have any more questions, Auditor, save to inquire when interviews of my staff will begin, and whom you have selected. Their positions will have to be manned while they're away."

“Those whom I choose will be interviewed prior to or after their regular duty rotation."

“Okay, then." Jeyev shrugged.

Sensing their tet'e'tet was at an end Johan laboriously levered himself up from the chair but paused before turning away, leaning on his cane. “And when I request our formal interview, commander, you will not be wearing that." He flicked one finger up from the cane to point at the human, indicating the coat he wore. “Since it is, after all, going to be recorded visually. Being seen wearing the skin of a corporate labor asset may not be looked upon favorably." With that he turned on his heel and limped from the office, spine ramrod straight.

Jeyev stared at the door for several minutes, stewing in his fury. He had yet to hear back from his contacts, whether or not they were ready to act on his premature notice. If they wanted to secure the station they had six, likely no more than eight, days to do so and with all of the firepower they could muster if the approaching ship truly was what the robot-like cold fish of an auditor hinted that it was. He tapped the button on his console to activate a comm channel.

“Larent."

“Sir?" The comp tech replied back quickly.

“You have gotten that scram crash program complete, I hope?"

“Yes, about six hours ago. It's been compiled and inserted into the command kernel, fully encrypted. I've cascaded a few hundred encrypted packets with identical hash values just in case that computer they've got is looking. It hasn't tried to break any of them, yet."

“What has it been accessing?"

“Fuck, man, everything. From top level operational logs down to how often the toilets flush. I've got no idea what it's doing, that's happening within its own operational space and those firewalls are fucking solid. I couldn't scratch them with every scrap of our processing even if I dared try."

“Anything else we can try? Slow it down, give it trash data?"

“As fast as its polled our systems, even with the narrowed trunk, I doubt it would slow it down much more, certainly not stop it. Trash data would be filtered by even the most unsophisticated system functions, even we have those. Nah, probably the only thing we could do was have a catastrophic failure of the hangar bay landing screen while they're going to or from their ship. I mean, you know, maintenance has been a bit off since we got rid of the others."

“There's a fucking ship of executives on approach, Larent, gods! They'll just roll in guns blazing if their ledger sniffer ends up in the tailing cloud like all the rest. No. Do what you can do and be ready to activate the scram crash in an eyeblink. I'll tell you what I want as an activation phrase."

“Yes, J, will do. It's up and ready any time you want, half second launch time, maybe five seconds after initialization before it's active."

“And have you isolated the systems I asked for?"

“The ones I can by computer, yes. The other computer was watching me like a hawk so I scattered shit everywhere to cover my tracks and I don't see that it's reverted anything. Anything else, that would require actually changing physical pathways, no. We'd have to bring up a technical for that and they'd certainly be noticed."

“It'll have to do. If you detect the buyers jumping in I want your hand on that button straightaway."

“What about when I'm down watch?"

“Terann can handle it, just walk her through it. Just tell her it's a defensive subroutine that has to be manually activated or… something. And make sure everyone's ready to scramble."

“Oh, they are, J, they are."

“Good. Tell Brady to come in here."

A moment later the door opened and Brady stepped in. Jeyev fixed him with a level stare. “They're still here."

“Somehow they detected the accumulator cables around the transfer column, pulled up short." Brady explained with a shrug.

“Then, now what? That scar faced shark is not going to take a bribe. He'd probably try to have me executed on the spot if I suggested it, somehow."

“Probably that animal of his. It moves like a trained bodyguard. I don't know how extensive its training is but sufficient enough to make it look dangerous, regardless." Brady rocked on the balls of his feet. “Kinda makes me glad they didn't go face first into the column. I want to have some fun with that one."

“Fuck your fun, Brady, damn the stars!" Jeyev barked, stilling Brady's eager rocking. “This is our lives, not some game between you and some freaking animal with too much tail." He waved one stern finger at his assassin. “I give you one more opportunity to stage a legitimate looking accident to silence them, then I'm pulling the plug. The new owners could be here at any time and I'm just going to turn this place over, let them deal with that fucking auditor and his pet."

“We could skip and just blow the place." Brady offered, earning a hard look.

“And expect to get paid? That's if we can outrun the propagation wave." He shook his head. “Honestly, just… fuck it, leave them pandering to the animals' grievances, we'll let the new owners delouse the place. You just get everything ready for our exit. Go get our people out of the core. Redeploy them in the freighter bays to secure it."

“What about foreman Henry and his men?"

“Fuck 'em. That'll just fatten the spread for the rest of us." He paused a moment, then smiled wickedly. “Tell you what. Place a punch charge in the Yarek's drive core. Not enough to make it blow, just keep it from jumping out. That'll make an even bigger cut for us."

Brady grinned toothily. “Copy that, J. I'll take care of it during the next day watch."

The next morning, or what passed for it solely by facility's chronometer, Brady met them at the ascent elevator once more. The man had an edge to him that made Johan wary and he sensed Salen picked up on it as well, becoming more alert. “Sir, I was told to accompany you as far as the housing area. I will be reviewing security records today so I will leave you there, if that is okay."

“It's your facility, mister Brady, and you have your orders." Johan stepped into the elevator.

As promised Salen had eased the ache out of his leg after stripping away the costume and its layer of nano wiring. The skunk had then proceeded, again as promised, to shift the stiffness from his leg into other areas, leaving a pleasant ache in Johan's backside as much as Johan had left in his soon after.

And, that morning, after breakfast and before his stint in the cosmetic station Salen had given him a nice aperitif to their morning meal, filling Johan's belly with something altogether more appetizing than his well prepared meal. Its aftertaste still lingered on Johan's tongue, but he knew Brady's nose as not nearly acute enough to detect it. Some of his interviewees might, but that was not a particular concern as, by then, it would have faded.

They said nothing as the lift rocked and bounced with its attendant sounds of metallic torture for the twenty minute ascent, finally slowing at the familiar corridor. A different guard was present from the previous morning, their face hard and belligerent; Pyg. He was slouched in a lean against the wall when the elevator doors groaned open and shifted upright upon catching sight of them, his posture aggressive.

“Good morning, officer Pygmalian." Brady said with a greeting smile, stepping past the guard whose eyes never shifted from Johan. As they moved to pass his weight shifted, as if he was going to strike out, but Salen smoothly sidled between them, his proximity putting the far larger man back a pace.

“Hey, watch it, housepet, before I turn you into a fucking footstool." Pyg said as he regained his composure, looming huge over the much shorter moreau.

“Violence, actual or implied, against employees or designees of the Board is grounds for immediate termination of your employment contract, mister Pyg." Johan growled as he, too, stared up at the man. “Considering that there are no outbound vessels to remove you from the premises I may be inclined to utilize other methods."

“Drop it, Pyg." Brady said with an exasperated sigh. The larger man turned his withering glare toward Brady before returning to his slouching lean against the wall. He never made a move for the slung rifle or sidearm at his hip. As they walked toward the landing, Salen staying a pace behind with his round, black furred ears turned rearward, Brady gave Johan a sidelong look. “You would?"

Johan did not return the look. “I am not one given to prevarication, mister Brady. I stated exactly what I intend in the event violence is attempted against either myself or the Associate." His gaze did turn toward the man as he concluded. “I do not play, mister Brady, nor do I bluff."

The man shook his head ruefully, “Talk about destruction of company assets."

“He is not an asset, mister Brady. He is an employee, as are you. Termination of employment does not turn him into an asset, but a waste of resources. Waste has but two purposes; removal, or recycling."

Brady said nothing after that, flying ahead as they crossed the void using fresh thruster packs. This time they ignored his course, which again transected the vertical cables surrounding the dark transfer tower. By the time they reached the platform he had already shed his pack and made his way down the corridor. He turned into the commons, which the moreaus called 'the stockade', by the time they had shed their packs and began their trek down the passageway.

At the end of the passage a small group of moreaus greeted them, though not as welcome guests, but as prospective clients. Three raccoons, a striking red vixen, the shepherd they had seen the previous evening all straightened from their relaxed slouches as the two approached.

“Back again, we see." The shepherd bitch said with that mushy, slurred voice as she sidled closer. “Still have needs to meet, sirs? This one can satisfy. Us all can satisfy, alone or all that you might desire." She moved salaciously yet awkwardly, as if unskilled at the art of seduction or had no need of it. The vixen simply stood to one side, tail wrapped about herself, head bowed. The raccoons, one of which turned out to be male, hovered but did not interrupt the more bold and much larger canine bitch.

“We have work to attend to, miss." Johan said as he continued past her, stepping neither faster nor slower to escape or linger in their presence. “You," he thrust his cane toward the bitch, making her cringe back, her tail abruptly tucking between her unclad legs, “I will see when requested. Be available." The cane clicked sharply when he returned it to the floor and continued into the stockade. He paused a short distance in, scanning the small number of moreaus busying themselves with various tasks. Some were collecting laundry, others tending the sparse gardens, while the majority were working on some manner of repair or another, hammering at bent pieces of metal with nothing more than tools and their own muscle.

Johan spotted the one horse, towering above all the others and alone among his species. The stallion was a bruin, a half meter taller than the belligerent Pym, with arms as thick as Johan's thigh. It was working at one of the gardens, delicately picking at tall racks of hanging vines, plucking away dead leaves and ripe produce of some kind. It looked down at Johan when he came within five meters, limpid brown eyes with barbell pupils gazing at him with wary, calm regard.

“Lyrenzen-84-R 'TMM'? Tomas?" The stallion nodded slowly, bending to set down the diminutive looking clippers it had been using and a handful of some manner of legume.

“This one is Tomas." Its voice was a rich, smooth, exceptionally deep baritone. “How might it be of service, master?"

“I was told that you could conduct us to the tiger known as Rakshasa."

Again the slow nod, “This one can, was told. Please, master, follow." Turning he strode away, his steps slow but long enough to move him at a pace that made Johan hasten. The cane and stiff leg brace did not help matters. He was forced to half-hop each stride when the faux motors failed to keep up with the constrained motion of his leg. Sensing his faltering the towering horse slowed, until he was plodding along sedately, huge hooves clacking noisily on the rough stone floor. He was actually shod, Johan realized, with some acrylic protective shoe adhered to the bottom of each hoof. “Raks is dangerous, master." He intoned in that slow, measured basso note. “More if he is angry. Do not anger him, master. He is very quick to anger, slow to calm. Very violent."

“We shall do our best to keep him calm, mister Tomas. Have you worked at this facility long?" The ghost, of course, had a dossier on the horse available almost the moment they had made contact with him.

“Long? No, but this one does not know how much time one has been here. Not long, but before hard master took over from kind master. Hard master killed this one's gardens, took away its screens and weaving. Great Rakshasa made this one to fight." One massive hand, each finger very nearly human and, incongruously, tipped with blunt talons rather than fingernails or hoof-like caps normal to hooved ungulates used as template species, curled into a fist nearly the size of Johan's head. “This one not fight well, but fight hard. No one wins against it."

They moved into one of the many corridors branching from the stockade. This one followed a descending arc, the sounds of heavy industrial machinery echoing up from its terminus somewhere below. “What did you do before you were brought here?"

“Gardening, Kahman Palace of Grenadine orbital habitat. This one worked with others of family group to grow crops and keep palace grounds pretty." He heaved a great, barrel chested sigh. “Was taken when transporting fresh produce to Terrel Five habitat. Freighter was boarded, taken. All of us sold. I know not where others went. This one brought here, made to farm in great empty, when sun shone in center. Hard master put out sun, killed gardens, brought all back inside rock. This one only have dirt and few green things since then."

Reaching the bottom of the ramp Johan found himself looking across a vast chamber, the ceiling fifteen meters overhead crisscrossed with gantry beams. All manner of heavy equipment was parked around the chamber, most in some state of active repair. Moreaus, most of them racoons but a smattering of other templates, swarmed over some of the machines while robots worked on others. The sound was near deafening but Tomas did not slow, turning left along the wall where a space of ten meters from the nearest repair bay allowed them to walk in relative safety. A few technicals scurried by, arms weighed down with tools, their coveralls stained with all manner of grime. They scuttled past hastily with tails low, their eyes cast down to avoid looking at Johan.

After a hundred of the horse's ground eating strides he stopped at a door warded by the biggest dog template moreau Johan had ever seen. It wore a leather codpiece over its groin kept in place by an elaborate harness of straps festooned with sharpened studs. A similar harness crossed its chest with a massive ring dangling from the center of its heavily furred solar plexus. It must have been a Caucasian Mastiff, if Johan was correct, though he had never seen a specimen of the breed either in its natural form or enhanced. It towered over Johan and Salen, though was a head shorter than the brawny horse.

“Wot you want, clacky?" The dog huffed in a deep, dangerous growl, flexing the meaty arms over its chest.

“Bring." Tomas said, hooking a thumb toward Johan and Salen who, for once, actually looked cowed. He also looked impressed and Johan felt a momentary twinge of jealousy. Though their close relationship was wide open when it came to intimate encounters the skunk shaped dog's startled awe still stung. That dog would split him in half and leave nothing for Johan to enjoy afterward.

“Wot fer?" The mastiff grunted.

“The one called Rakshasa has a scheduled appointment with me." Johan said in the same flat, mildly irritated note he used with most of the humans on the facility. “It was not a request. We will see him now."

“Oh, will you now?" The huge dog turned its massive head to glare down at the puny human bracing him. Instead of forcing his challenge he turned and tapped an intercom button near the gated entryway. “Got a human and a… a something else down here, fer Raks."

“Send them down." Came a far more cultured, feminine voice from the speaker, loud enough to be heard over the din of the repair bay floor. The mastiff grunted, shrugged his huge shoulders, and turned to push the gate open. Tomas stepped inside, and down, revealing a flight of wide steps leading downward. Each riser was a good meter deep, making it impossible to simply descend with each step. He had to step down, move forward two paces, and step down again, a feat made awkward by the leg brace.

Salen at his elbow helped him in that regard. “Oggling the stud?" He asked in a quiet aside, seeing Tomas' ears pricked forward rather than back toward them.

“Gods of the stars he is magnificent." Salen breathed into his ear as he helped Johan down a step. “Terrifying, but magnificent."

Johan chuckled. “He wouldn't just bounce the bedsprings with you, Sal. He'd break the bed! After he broke you."

Salen gave a soft, breathless chuckle in return. “Oh no, that one's getting no where near my body with what he's packing, gods no." He sighed dreamily. “But just to look, though, and I'm drooling. The thought of it… terrifying."

“But magnificent."

“Oh, indeed."

They shared a laugh as the stair descended, turned ninety degrees, and descended further. Four such turns brought them to the bottom, the sounds of the bay fading to a distant, muffled din above. The chamber they found themselves was as dramatically opposed to the bay, and the stockade, as Johan could have imagined.

It was a club!

A vast expanse of stage lighting, holo emitters, laser cascades, spots, floods, and all manner of dance floor illumination covered the ceiling and festooned open grid pillars through the space. Very few of them were currently operating though enough were lit to illuminate the chamber brightly. To one side stretched a long wet bar and, along another, was some manner of sound booth. A canine, far smaller than the bruiser above, was busy behind the bar, cleaning and stocking the mostly empty shelves while the sound booth was empty.

At the far end of the chamber the floor fell away another three meters into a wide pit, benches carved into the raw stone of the asteroid on three sides. On the opposite side, the wall sheer and polished smooth, was a single balcony tenanted by a chair so ornate and massive it made Jeyev's look like a camp stool. Like the sound booth and the rest of the club it was empty.

Without descending toward the pit Tomas lead them around toward the back wall of the club, to another door. His huge hand rapped with deceptive lightness upon the metal portal. A moment later it was drawn open and a lithesome spotted snow leopard stood within. She was dressed in some sort of flowing, semi-transparent silk costume that revealed nothing yet suggested everything.

How had something such as she come to be here, and unsullied like the prostitutes in the stockade above? Of course, the ghost was quick to provide a dossier on her. Piratess, captured by other pirates and disposed of the same way Tomas was; traded and sold, accused of murdering multiple 'masters' both human and non, until being procured specifically for her purpose here; as Hostess for the club they now stood in.

During commander Nan's tenure.

What, exactly, had the man been up to, Johan mused. He ran a wonderful environment for the laborers under his care, yet bought slaves from the darkest markets in and outside of Alliance space to populate the place as well.

“Did the previous commander leave personal, private logs or journals?" He asked the ghost as they were led through the door. Tomas stayed behind, turning toward the bar.

“Yes. There is a considerable repository of personal recordings by Commander Nan dating back fifteen years in facility data archives. They are protected by biometric access but not direct encryption."

“Archive them locally."

“Downloaded, archived, biometric access limitations removed."

“Formulate assessment based on journal recordings. Cross reference with local official logs and reports as well as available remote data."

“Assessing."

The entire exchange had taken as much time as Johan needed to take two steps through the door, Salen slipping in smoothly to take up his normal position. The skunk, when they were 'in character' as master and servant, always assumed a position directly opposed to the awareness of the ghost's 'location' in his proprioception.

“You are certainly one ugly mother fucker." A deep, growling voice commented loudly from the shadows at the rear of the large, poshly decorated room they were escorted into. Decorated paper partitions in scrounged metal frames populated much of the room, turning the large space into several smaller, secluded nooks on either side. The center of the room was open, illuminated in a deep burgundy that ever so slowly shifted toward red as Johan focused toward the shadows.

Twin motes of intense green focused back, allowing him to define a shape of deeper, striated shadows sprawled back in some sort of massive chair. Two other shadows, each with their own attendant pair of green motes, were low to either side. The scent of male, arousal, and sex hammered even Johan's human nose with a palpable blow. Despite the leopardess leading them there was very little female scent to his nose. Salen, of course, had probably already identified and filtered all of them.

“I could, perhaps, say the same." Johan replied levelly as he stopped in the center of the open area three meters or so from the seated figure and its - his, by the heavy musk and expectation that it was the tiger, Rakshasa - attendants. “If I could see you."

The light shifted, smoothly but quickly, causing shadows in the periphery of Johan's vision to shift in alarming ways, and the cat appeared as if by magic from the depths of the darkness. At his side were two racoons, one of them leaned over his lap to lavish his prominent maleness with attention before making it disappear.

Not back into his sheath.

Rakshasa was effectively naked save for a heavy robe draped over his shoulders and open at the front to allow his attendants to… attend. Typical of tigers, his dense pelt was striped orange and black with a few white highlights along throat, brow, and groin where it was visible. One massive hand was stroking the head of the raccoon attending him while the other leaned against his outer thigh watching Johan with a look of sycophantic stupor and distrust.

The tiger rumbled a laugh, but not a merry one. It was dark, sinister, and confident. “And you're the vaunted Auditor." He waved his free arm in an expansive gesture, grunting softly as the raccoon face down in his crotch performed something especially pleasurable. Powerful fingers, not overly thick in relation to the hand and body they were a part of but considerable in size, flexed into the racoon's gray and black fur, splaying his ears to either side. “Welcome to the former glory, the Striped Hole."

“Former?" Johan was unphased by the blatant display of power and dominance, though the vaunting of it was in poor taste.

“Since y'on emperor took his throne my fine establishment has fallen on hard times. Too few have the energy or care to come cut loose, and fewer still the coin." The racoon backed off of the tiger's sizable, tapered shaft which slipped back into its sheath before the cool air of the room could be more than a suggestion. The tiger thrust him away, firmly but not roughly, with a congratulatory ruffle of the fur atop his head. The racoon beamed, sharp white teeth gleaming in the stark lighting which had shifted to blue without Johan being consciously aware of it. “That's a good lad. Go take Naru and get yourselves a shower. Don't waste yourselves, now. Daddy is not done enjoying you."

The raccoons, neither of them terribly old by physical appearance, probably the human equivalent of mid-twenties. Considering they were gestated in artificial wombs that meant they were somewhere between five and ten real years of age. That meant they were both physically and mentally mature, but not wise to the world at large, especially if their entire existence had been on the asteroid.

“What were they supposed to be?" Johan asked, nodding after the two as they scampered away, ringed tails flicking wildly behind them.

“Me boys." The tiger said as he levered himself up from the chair and tied his robe.

“Before they became your pets, I mean. They were not gestated simply to be sent here for your pleasure."

The tiger chuckled that dangerous rumble again and shook his head. “Technicals, like all the rest. But they couldn't handle the gravity shifts outside of the plated areas, kept getting violently ill, so ol' Nan put 'em to work in the repair shop. 'S where they still work, when they're not doing other work."

“And you? Why were you brought here, an ex-pirate with an extremely violent history?"

Rakshasa ambled toward the door, walking directly through them forcing Salen to shift aside. Johan did not move as the tiger purposely brushed heavily against him. He stood a good head and then some taller than Johan was, and most certainly massed a good deal more. “Come, let's share a drink." The snow leopard drew open the door for him.

Perforce the two newcomers followed, the door held for them as well, back into the club with its quiescent lights and silent sound stage. “We are not here to drink, mister Rakshasa, we're here -"

“To interview me, yes, I know. Just as you did Baron and some others." The tiger drew up to the bar, taking a large stool clearly installed for his use, or the use of any other very large patron. “I didn't ask what ye' wanted to drink, water or liquor is of no matter. Just t' share a drink." He waved at nearby barstools. Johan chose one nearby, leaving one open stool between them. Salen did not sit.

“What manner of liquor can you procure here, securely hidden away as this place is?"

“We make our own, or did back when we had grain crops. Now's just fermented fruit 'n such. Palatable, but hardly top shelf." The bar keep, a lanky canine of indeterminate lineage, poured a dark liquid into a large tumbler before setting it neatly before the tiger. Johan nodded and tapped the bar with a fingertip for him to do the same.

The dog was costumed similarly to the bouncer at the gate above; with a leather harness and codpiece but little more. He bobbed his head and silently poured four fingers for Johan before giving Salen a questioning glance. The skunk merely shook his head slightly.

“'S that your, pet, then?" Rakshasa asked with a nod toward Salen. “Caterin' t' yer every need, too?"

Inwardly Johan laughed at the Tiger's aim, though the mark had been slightly off. Johan was much more the 'pet' than Salen was, though the skunk did cater to Johan's requirements when he was not directing Johan to cater to his. “That is the Associate, a witness for the corporation while I conduct my investigation."

Rakshasa gave a long, heavy sniff as he tilted his head back, broad pink tongue flicking from his muzzle to lick the pad of his nose and then lengthy whiskers. “Is he now? Doesn't smell it, to me. In fact, his smell is all over you." He turned and leaned a little closer, sharp feline eyes piercing as they bored into Johan's. “Even on yer' breath, skin." He leaned back and took a long pull from his tumbler, letting out a growling hiss as the alcohol seared down his throat. “Don't be expectin' us t' miss much, skin, no much at all. Which be leadin' me to me own question: what're ye doin' down in me hole? It got jack nor shit t' do with mine operations. Maintenance be up there." He hooked a thumb toward the ceiling.

“All facets of the operation are germane to my investigation, mister Rakshas -"

“Raks, man, jus' Raks. Ye keep spewin' me 'ole name an we'll be here all the day."

“Indeed, Raks. All facets are germane, even the criminal underside of them. All facilities have them, and I have not a care about the legal aspects in the least, save that they do not interfere with operations."

“Ol' Nan said sommat th' same when 'e 'ad me shipped 'ere. He knew me past, 'e knew he had a dark underbelly, 'ere. Tha's why 'e wanted me, to gather it up, 'old it in me fist, keep it more or less under control. Particularly them that were out o' control, like Hurt, upstairs. Ye' saw him, at th' gate."

“The big ass dog?"

“At's him, yep. Likes 'is violence, likes t' be about breakin' bones an skulls. He was dumped here, not requisitioned off a slave skow or penal transport. Caused s' much havoc they near had to send him out a 'lock. Nan wasn't about t' be doin' that, hell on morale. So I was bought in."

“By your records you're just as violent as he is." Johan sipped the liquor, dubiously at first. It was smooth enough, but had a rough aftertaste that lingered far too long. It was high enough proof to burn its way to his stomach but he did not let out the customary gust of surprised breath.

“Oh, ah am." Rakshasa smiled wickedly, showing fangs as long as Johan's smallest finger in that huge maw. “Loves me a good brawl, but, see, 'as no me fault."

“No?"

“Nah. Ya know about Trimurti cats, dont'cha, how they make us compliant and shit?"

“Drugs."

Rakshasa shook his huge head, “No direct as such, no. They made it so 'ems produced in our 'eads. When we do good we get a hit that leaves us as docile as a kitten jus' been fed." He finished the tumbler, clacked it down on the bar, and tapped it with the tip of a distressingly long, wickedly sharp claw. “And then they jus' go and… shut off the trigger." He flicked his fingers outward as the dog refilled his glass. “Poof, like. Toss us out if they don't core our skulls with a high velocity termination notice. 'Ad t' find me another way t' be gettin' me fix, see? Yeah. Syndic picked me up, Evaress, ran jump point piracy 'n such. Promised could get me 'ooked up, get me brain spillin 'em chems again, yeah?"

“Which was through violence?"

“Oh, aye, yep." He nodded, tossing back another swallow as Johan sipped. “Got right good at bashin', but, see, never killin'. Never liked it, never abided it. Still don't. An' now, 'ere, I'm in charge. Put an end to the bone snappin', an' head crushin' them boys was dishin'. They kill, they die. Don' like it, but I do it, keep them others in line." He turned to fix Johan with a level stare, teeth gleaming as he leered, gaze shifting toward Salen to look him up and down. “Now, me, I be likin' a good blowjob mor'n smashin' a skull, gets them chems flowin' right nice. A good piece of ass, a good piece of male rootin' under me tail, I find right nice." He turned fully about to lean his elbows back on the bar, tumbler dangling from one large paw. His robe spilled open below the sash as he leaned back, once more revealing his groin. The smell of it that tickled Johan's nose was potent, almost offensively so; cat and male recently aroused to release. “'At one's yers." He waved the hand holding the tumbler toward Salen. “Off th' menu unless ye' sez so, or 'e does."

Johan chuckled softly, “Keep such observations private, if you would extend that respect, Raks. I strongly doubt the 'skins' in the cap would approve."

“Emperor sure as shit wouldn't." The tiger observed with a frown. “'E'd like us dead, but we gots t' work. I'm no miner, he wants me dead most of all, but I've got more muscle 'an 'his men 'ave stopping power. An 'e likes t' hurt folk, our folk." He bobbed his head toward Salen, the barkeep, then the snow leopard standing, as Salen did, a few paces distant. “Takes th' prossies up t' 'is quarters an uses 'em 'ard." He made a soft grunting growl, almost a sound of frustration. “Sends 'em scuttlin' back down here damaged." His voice dropped to a dangerous, angry growl as he turned to set the empty tumbler, with exaggerated care, on the bar top. He pushed it away with one finger and the barkeep plucked it away.

“They yours, the prostitutes?"

“Nope. Chief o' security down 'ere runs 'em." Rakshasa growled, his timbre deeper, darker, tinged with fury. “No better'n th' emperor, 'at one. Sadistic son of a street corner slut. 'Im an' is boys strut around layin' their clubs on them any as they catch alone, so stay clear." Johan became aware of something, some strange sensation, tickling at the back of his neck that he could not place. It put the small hairs on the nape of his neck up. He saw the jaws of Rakshasa's feline muzzle clenching; they had been for the last few minutes. Even Salen and the other two in the bar seemed to be tensing, as if waiting for the crack of thunder to break after a nearby strobe of lightning.

As he turned his eyes toward Salen he saw that his head was slightly bowed, ears and whiskers back, his tail low and extended. He sent a questioning probe toward the ghost.

“Subsonic acoustic signal. Damping." The wait for impending thunder faded and Salen's muscles relaxed though his ears did not come back up immediately. A low, rumbling sound drew his attention back toward Rakshasa and he saw that the tiger was clutching the lip of the bar in a death grip. The barman had dropped out of sight entirely and the leopardess looked ready to either bolt or attack, all of her attention fixed on the tiger.

“Raks?" Johan asked as Salen let out a whistling chuff through his teeth. The tiger's teeth were bared, whiskers backed, the fur at the nape of his neck and upper shoulders bushed above the collar of the robe. The long, thick tail was lashing side to side in short, quick, darting motions of a pissed off cat.

“You." The tiger growed; low and deadly. “Go. Now!" Johan slipped off the stool, reaching down to flick a catch on the brace at the outside of this thigh. His thumb released a similar catch on the cane as he stepped slowly back.

“Slowly." The leopardess, her voice musical and light, warned. “Do not flee, walk. The rage is on him, anything that runs is prey."

Setting his empty tumbler on the bar Johan backed away, not slowly nor swiftly, at a carefully restrained walking pace. Salen moved with him, backwards, extending his tail to brush at Johan's hip so that the skunk would know where he was. At the end of the bar Johan turned and began walking, smoothly and without haste though, had he hackles of his own, they would have been standing erect. He stopped when they reached the door, the tiger's growls and snarls echoing in the room but the beast, himself, remained at the bar, head bowed.

“What the hells was that?" He asked Salen as they stood at the bottom of the stairwell back up to the maintenance bay.

“Some sort of subsonic signal." Salen replied without looking away from the bar. “Perhaps a trigger, I've heard Trimurti implanted such things into their creations. Freeborn still have them but they're incredibly muted. I felt it probably a minute or so before I realized something was happening and queried the ghost. It tracked down the signal about the time you began feeling it, too."

“Signal?"

The ghost replied before Salen could. “A subsonic frequency was generated through the emergency speakers and alarms within the chamber. Its purpose is in use on many vessels to heighten alertness as it triggers limbic danger responses. Hypothesis: Tiger Rakshasa was pre-programmed, perhaps during his employment subsequent to piloting, to respond to such signal with bursts of violence."

“So, another attempt to terminate our investigation." Johan muttered darkly as the ghost detailed the purpose of the signal. Where it originated, however, could not be resolved. Several hundred nodes throughout the entire facility were utilized to transmit the signal, all focused on the club.

“Distributed computing spread to overwhelm tracking measures." was the ghost's explanation. “No logs retained by transmitting nodes, unable to back-trace origin point." Johan refastened the catches on his cane and brace, leaning on the former as he regarded the tiger who seemed to be slowly regaining his composure. Though his head was bowed his body no longer radiated tension, his tail stilled behind the stool. The leapoardess was rubbing one shoulder as she stood beside him. Catching their eyes she shook her head; going back was not yet advisable

“Reassess subject Rakshasa."

“Following what parameters?"

“Safe to retain upon withdrawal?"

“Inadvisable. Subject still retains highly violent tendencies and nature, both of species and conditioning."

“Retain. Actor: pilot."

“Altering script."

“Local audio monitoring?"

“Not being monitored, channels open. Recording."

“Obfuscate."

“Obfuscating, utilizing previously recorded audio of subject in work area."

Despite the snow leopard's warning Johan approached the tiger once again, moving confidently, neither too fast nor timidly slow. “Rakshasa."

The tiger turned furious eyes toward him, the pupils dilated until very little of the golden iris remained. “What?" He spat, the claws of his hands flexing against the bar. The leopard, looking almost a furious, tightened her reassuring grip on his shoulder.

“If you could leave, whom would you take and whom would leave behind, of those you have assumed dominance over?"

“Leave most of 'em, ones like Hurt, upstairs. They's feral animals wit' brains." The question seemed to curb some of the mounting rage behind those huge feline eyes, the pupils shrinking to a more normal aspect. “But wi'out me, they jus' go back t' hurtin' an' killin'."

“We can use that. Orders will come to them, and to you, that will send them all to a certain area. Tell them to go. Anyone you think is safe enough from the same violent nature you must prepare to leave on very short notice. I do not know when, but it will necessarily be swift. You can still pilot?"

The tiger leaned back, straightening. “Anything wi' a cockpit, aye, I can fly."

“Good. Be prepared to do so. As soon as the ones you select are gone, gather your people and get to the freighter bay at the lower levels of the facility. They may need you to fly a freighter, perhaps under dangerous conditions. Everyone, moreau and human, who are judged worthy will be going. Take them. Speak the names of those you judge dangerous, not merely ones you do not like. They will be compared to judgments already assessed. Some will be left, perhaps all, perhaps few, I cannot say, yet. Just be ready."

Giving him a quizzical look and, at Johan's nod, he rattled off a good dozen or so names. The ghost pinged in the back of Johan's mind at each one, acknowledging each positive match to existing residents of the asteroid.

Johan stepped forward and, despite the shocked widening of the leopard's eyes, reached out and laid a firm hand on the big tiger's shoulder. “And yes, you were right, but not as to whom was what." He offered a warm smile, insofar as his faux scars allowed. “I am his." He let go and turned to make his way back out of the club, through the maintenance bay, and up the long ramp to the stockade. Behind them the tiger coughed a laugh and the leopard made a soft, confused mew.

“You trust him that much?" Salen asked as they ascended the ramp where there were no nearby microphones.

“When I was on the street I saw plenty of him, human and not. Frustrated, angry, trapped in their situation but, beneath the bluster and violence they were, at their core, good people. I saw fewer of them once I went into media, unfortunately. Those sharks truly tended to be just exactly what they were, no matter how well they tried to hide the sharp teeth and scaly hide."