LotS/The Story/Aphrodisian Anabasis/Intro

"Ragnar! Let him go!"

"You got it, Princess."

The man screams as the Niflung's fingers loosen around his ankle, and he slips centimeters closer to his doom.

"No!" comes the collective cry, an anxious medley of voices -- male and female, adult and child, human and robot.

The man thrashes in the air, ill-conceived struggles spawned of terror that could only serve to send him plunging to his death in the street below. His purple jacket and trousers flap around him, making him look like some kind of strange sea-beast dancing at the end of a hook.

There's a thud as the ornate wooden doors at the far end of the room fly open, revealing around a dozen men and women in red hats and pinstripe suits. They dash across the chamber, fanning out on either side of the long conference table, and pass through the wide opening that gives onto the balcony. A crimson line forms in front of you, its redness broken only by the grim faces that stare from between jacket collars and hat brims. And by the Tommy guns -- their barrels trained on you and your companions, ready to unleash a barrage of laser fire.

As one, you, Talia, and Lu Bu form up around the Princess -- moving your bodies between her and the enforcers' guns. You raise your sidearm, and take aim at one of the red-suited gunmen. To your left, Talia's laser pistols appear in her hands -- and you know that each one is targeting an enforcer between the eyes with instantaneous precision. On your right Lu Bu is unarmed, wearing his hands instead of his claw and sword attachments. But you can sense the shifting of his weight as he prepares for the possibility of violence.

In the corner of your vision you see Telemachus taking cover behind the base of the baroque angel statue which adorns the balcony. He has some kind of rectangular device in his hand, one you haven't seen before -- and you find yourself hoping that he hasn't bought himself a weapon of mass destruction when you weren't looking.

"Think you can talk to her like that?" Ragnar roars from behind.

You hazard a glance over your shoulder, and see him shaking his hapless victim -- making his limbs flail like those of an upside-down marionette, causing his tie to slip out from behind his purple waistcoat and flutter against his face like a cavorting snake. The Niflung's still glaring at him, ignoring the guns pointing at his own powerful body.

"Let go of him!" one of the red-suited women yells.

"Sure..."

"No!"

This time your collective shout is echoed by the dangling man and the enforcers, the voices blending together in a mismatched chorus that makes you feel as if you're all part of a pantomime audience.

Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to bring Ragnar on a diplomatic mission. Still, if he hadn't moved first then the purple-suited man might be looking down the barrel of your pistol instead of staring at the street a dozen stories below him. No one talks to Princess Illaria like that...

---

"We need the Contella Consortium," the Princess said.

Wu Tenchu gave a slight nod, and stroked his finely groomed beard and moustache with musing fingers. The room remained quiet for several moments. No one, not even the Princess herself, presumed to speak in a stretch of silence reserved for Master Wu. You all awaited the words of the Emperor's greatest advisor, the man who would have been his Prime Minister in the days when that office still existed.

Master Wu's sharp, unfathomable eyes were fixed on the holographic displays hovering above the table -- on the many colored swaths of maps and charts, the endless lists of scrolling facts and figures. And you believed that he was drinking in all the information laid out there, his magnificent mind assimilating and processing data with such proficiency that it might have put one of TALOS' finest robots to shame.

"Her Highness is correct," he replied at last. "The Consortium's trading power must be denied to them. The other factions' severed ties with the Centurian Collective mean little if Contella merchants will simply purchase whatever they require and sell it to them."

Wu Tenchu made a series of gestures with his right hand. In response, sections of data became highlighted -- reports of ship movements and other such things which bore out his suspicion when viewed in their totality. Though the Contella Consortium had ostensibly broken off all trade with the Centurians when the other members of the UHW did, it appeared that their dealings had only become more surreptitious.

"Why's the Consortium helping the Centurians?" Telemachus asked. "They were planning to attack Earth!"

Master Wu's eyes narrowed for a moment, his displeasure at being interrupted and questioned by a child evident. But the Princess favored him with an apologetic smile, and the annoyance left his face if not his mind. It was Illaria who gave Telemachus permission to attend the meeting in the Sian embassy's council chamber, that the young prince might learn more of what it means to be a ruler.

"The Contella Consortium cares little for the UHW," Wu Tenchu explained. "They only remain part of the organization because doing so serves their trading needs more than it hampers them. Perhaps the Centurians convinced them that their designs merely concerned Earth."

"The Consortium are pragmatists," you said. "We may be able to persuade them that it's in their best interests to side with us instead."

"Just what I was thinking," the Princess replied.

Once the meeting was over, Sian diplomats made contact with the Consortium and arranged for Princess Illaria to speak with Santino Melloni at the Contella embassy.

The following day you and your companions were ushered into a conference room, and introduced to Melloni -- a slender, oily-haired man in a bright purple suit. And things appeared to go well as the discussion unfolded. He seemed amenable to persuasion, and confessed that the Consortium had been reconsidering their arrangement with the Centurians. It was then that the Princess asked what she could do to ensure their cooperation.

"We want you to go to Cythera," he replied.

That's when Ragnar growled, leapt to his feet, grabbed Melloni, and half-carried, half-dragged him to the balcony.

---

"I think there's been a small misunderstanding," Melloni says.

His voice is surprisingly calm for a man dangling above certain death in the grasp of an omnicidal Niflung, and there's only a trace of the panic which gripped him a moment ago.

"Let's just settle down before someone gets hurt," he continues.

You look round, and see that he's holding his palms out in a gesture of appeasement. The stance seems somewhat ridiculous when enacted by an upside-down man with his tie streaming past his face, but it seems to do the trick. The enforcers lower their Tommy guns, and you and Talia do the same with your pistols.

"Ragnar..." the Princess says.

The Niflung looks to her. He grunts his understanding, and tosses Melloni onto the balcony with a casual swing of his arm -- as though he were throwing away a piece of trash.

Melloni thuds and rolls on the tiled floor, and gasps as he sits up in a disheveled heap. But he has the presence of mind to raise his hand, and forestall the enforcers who are beginning to raise their weapons once more.

"We're good," he says. "You mooks can scram."

The red-suited men and women turn around and walk away. In a few moments the doors have closed behind them.

Melloni gets to his feet, adjusts his tie, and slips it back inside his waistcoat.

"What did you do that for?" the Princess asks, staring at Ragnar in confusion and anger.

The Niflung's cheeks color, and he almost seems to squirm under her gaze. You sympathize with the awkwardness he must feel, but you can still barely suppress a smile at seeing him standing there like a hulking, muscle-bound, embarrassed schoolboy.

"Well..." Ragnar murmurs, "he said..."

He looks to you for support. The Princess follows his gaze, and focuses her attention on you instead.

"Well?" she asks.

Now it's your turn to redden.

"He said..." you begin.

You look over to Talia. The gunslinger rolls her eyes. Then she steps towards Telemachus, and clamps her hands over his ears.

"Hey!"

The boy gives a token struggle, but he appears to have learned the futility of resistance on prior occasions -- and he submits soon enough, contenting himself with huffing in annoyance.

"He said they wanted you to go to Cythera," Talia says, looking at the Princess.

"So?" she asks, her anger now entirely replaced by confusion.

"I believe Cythera is a planet in Contella space," says Lu Bu. "But I'm unfamiliar with it."

"It's a vice-world," Talia replies. "Going to Cythera means..."

"It's a euphemism," you say. "To go to Cythera means to become a..."

"Prostitute," Talia supplies.

"Whore," Ragnar says at the same moment.

"...courtesan," you finish.

The Princess' face becomes expressionless. And to someone who knows her well, that seems more ominous than any look of rage. She turns to Melloni.

"That's the misunderstanding I was talking about," he says. "I didn't mean we wanted you to go to Cythera. I mean, I'm sure people would pay a lot of-"

He gulps, as he sees the homicidal looks surrounding him. Even Lu Bu's robotic body language screams of impending slaughter.

"I meant we wanted you to go to Cythera. The actual planet."

"You desire the Princess of the Sian Empire to visit a vice-world?" Lu Bu asks. His metal fists clench, and he takes a step towards Melloni.

"As a diplomat!" he yells, taking a step away from the advancing robot.

The Princess holds up her hand, and Lu Bu stops in his tracks.

"Look," Melloni says, "sit back down and let me explain."

"Talia," you say, "take Tel out of the room."

"Okay, captain."

"I know what a prostitute is!" Telemachus says. "I'm ten, not seven!"

Talia loosens her grasp in her surprise. The boy slips free and turns to her.

"Your hands aren't soundproof, you know."

Talia looks at you, and shrugs. As pilots, the two of you are so used to having your auditory experience altered by your aural implants that you sometimes forget exactly what it's like for someone without them. Apparently the boy's hearing was keener than either of you expected.

"Make sure you say nothing... inappropriate... in front of Prince Telemachus," the Princess tells Melloni.

Then you sit down at the table, Telemachus wearing a look of triumph at his inclusion. Melloni presses a button, and a holographic projection of a planet appears before you all.

"We own Cythera," he says, "but we don't run it. Each group runs their own turf."

He gestures, and the image zooms in on one of the landmasses -- until you're looking at a single sprawling city. Colored overlays flash into existence, turning the metropolis into a patchwork quilt. Floating labels appear above each one, containing text and photographs of people's faces.

"There are dozens of groups. Most based on their... tastes. The kind of stuff they're into. You know, some people like-"

"Spare us the details," the Princess says.

"Right. Anyhow, they do things how they want. We just sit back and take a big share of the profits. But recently we've been having problems. Some of the group leaders have started talking about cutting us out, and keeping all the credits for themselves.

"We can't just send the enforcers in with guns blazing, like we'd do in other places. It might make the whole damn whorehouse of a planet rise up, and we'd end up having to kill the goose that lays the golden egg. Besides, if we went in hard..."

He pauses, and you sense a tasteless comment dancing on the tip of his tongue. But he glances at Telemachus, and seems to swallow the emerging words. Even this purple-suited mobster appears to realize that some things shouldn't be said in front of children.

"Well, no prostitute would ever work with us again. So, we need to negotiate."

"And you want me to represent you?" the Princess asks, raising an eyebrow.

"You have a reputation. People trust you. And they'll listen to you. Let us set up a meeting with representatives from the major groups. All you need to do is go along, hear them out, and see if we can come to terms. You help us out, and we'll tell the Centurians to go to hell."

The Princess meets your gaze. You can perceive her distaste at the thought of an imperial princess acting as a mediator between pimps and prostitutes. But at the same time, you know she'll accept. A little embarrassment is a small price to pay for the Consortium's aid.

"Make your arrangements," she says. "We'll go to Cythera."