RPlog:Of Ships and Sentients, Butchers and Arrivals - part 2

Ruathen's Deep Blue Sea - Restaurant: Caspar

Sitting off of the coast of Orlaenon, Ruathen's Deep Blue Sea rests on a platform on the ocean offering a spectacular view of the natural wonders of Caspar. The transparisteel that surrounds the structure is held in place by four aurodium arms which curve to create a dome. The soft blue metal beams are joined at the top of the dome by a stained glass window depicting a Cason hawk flying over the ocean with a city and mountains in the background. The scene changes to reflect the current time of day, weather, and season. Repulsors built beneath the main platform keep the restaurant level even in the worst of storms. Four strong cables hold the structure in place and, on special occasions, pull it beneath the waves.

Though the central theme of the restaurant is to showcase the beauty of the sea and the coast, Ruathen's Deep Blue Sea it is not without beauty of its own. In the center of the platform stands a towering four-sided blue Sittana marble obelisk which is polished daily to bring out the brilliant color of the stone and the veins which run through it. Silver plaques are mounted on each side of the obelisk with carvings in Wroonian characters etched into them. Each plaque reads: 'Until Fate catches up with you, Harmony is where you make it.' Far beyond being aesthetically pleasing, the obelisk also houses the kitchen and the manager's office. Built into the top of the obelisk is a holo-projector which projects a supernova star that alternates colors constantly.

The booths that hug the sides of the platform are crafted from white Liwani leather with gold-colored tacks which hold the material in place. Created with hand carved silver koanwood, each table features fine craftsmanship. Inset into the top of each is a thin slab of lapis imprinted with the restaurant's seal. Even the grain of the silver koanwood used for the tables and chairs was hand-selected to be aesthetically pleasing to the customers. Blue Aeien silk padding is used on the backs and seats of the high-backed silver koanwood chairs. The floor is covered with azurite stone which has been cut into varying shapes which interlock perfectly to fit into the platform's circular shape.

Seated at the far end of one of the tables that offer a rather nice view of the ocean, Lynae is slowly stirring a spoon through a freshly poured cup of caf while reviewing the information scrolling along the screen of the datapad resting on the table. Now, this is not to say she hasn't taken the time to appreciate the view. She has, but there's only so much gazing at the beauty of the ocean she can do before random thoughts start to intrude. A brief random mental inquiry about the current population of the oceans mamilian and amphibian life forms leads to a partial inquiry as to the percentage of the viable population now compared to the population prior to the last imperial intrusion. Little things. (speaking in Basic)

Some people actually respond when contacted, and it's a good thing HM743 is one of them. Who'd have thought that such an opulent restaurant would become a favorite spot for someone without a digestive system? Or rather, someone whose digestive system is external, shared, and larger than it is. The robot drops by, and a waiter, familiar with the machine by now, directs it to the table where the former profssional genocidalist is being peaceful. No doubt deceptively so.

Deceptively peaceful she may be, and admittedly a professional genocidalist (former or no), the individual in question glances up as the robot approaches the table and both studies HM743 and smiles as the droid reaches the table. "Thank you for meeting me on such short notice," she begins aloud, "I hope I didn't call you away from another assignment or something else already planned for your down time?" (speaking in Basic)

"My pleasure," say the machine, seating itself, "And not a problem at all. The Navy's scheduling software insists on scheduling me in standard-length shifts, and I find these sixteen hour stretches of nothing to be dreadfully unnerving." It's a droid. They work. Aside from that, it doesn't have a lot of major demands on its time, and it doesn't have any desire to nap.

Lynae nods once, a slow and contemplative gesture as she curls both hands around the mug of caf on the table, allowing the heat to sink into her hands as she bluntly studies HM743 for a silent moment. "HM743 what is the Caspian Democratic union's position on slavery?" she asks, and it's a leading question, but she wants to see where the droid takes the answer. (speaking in Basic)

"The CDU, according to all sources I would deem credible, is opposed to slavery and strongly so." The droid looked in to it. It had a reason to. The machine, rests its manipulator-arms' elbows on the table and laces its fingers together. "I have an idea of where you're going with this, but do continue."

A quirk of a smile forms on Lynae's face, though her eyes and the rest of her body language remain soberly serious, "Will you state again your designation and assignment?" she asks. She had thought that the droid would follow her train of thought, but for clarification purposes she must ask the question and have the answer stated aloud. (speaking in Basic)

The machine does not smile. Again, no lips. It has no mouth, but doesn't feel like screaming, so it's okay. "I am HM743, heavy maintenance unit, upgraded, leased to the Caspian Navy for various maintenance work and advanced neural net testing." The droid doesn't mind going through things like this. Other people's perspectives are educational.

"By definition the term lease means a contract by which one conveys real estate, equipment, or facilities for a specified term and for a specified rent; also the act of such conveyance or the term for which it is made a piece of land or property that is leased, a continuance or opportunity for continuance," Lynae recites in a quiet yet clearly spoken voice, enunciating the definition rather formally. "The term Lease, and or leased implies the transferral - temporary or permanent - of a commodity. By Commodity I'll define that as an economic good as a product of agriculture or mining, an article of commerce especially when delivered for shipment, a mass-produced unspecialized product, something useful or valued - that valuable commodity patience. A good or service whose wide availability typically leads to smaller profit margins and diminishes the importance of factors (as brand name) other than price, one that is subject to ready exchange or exploitation within a market." She pauses again, arches one eyebrow slightly, as she has those and uses the expression to accompany the words, "HM743, are you a sentient being?" (speaking in Basic)

The droid listens to her words, understanding them, and grasping, perhaps, the meaning that lurks beyond them. "This, I understand. I am property. Expensive property, at that, and rare to the point of being completely unique in this galaxy." HM743 speaks softly, watching Lynae's face, watching her reactions. "I am a sentient being. Self-aware enough to question whether my perceptions are real, self-aware enough to question whether other people's are, and to not just know but understand that they way they perceive things is not the way that I do. I understand that many adult organics have trouble with that." There is a bit of amusement in its voice.

"To ask the question itself, 'am I sentient' is to already be sentient, I would argue," Lynae replies with another quirk of a smile. "To state, 'I think therefore I am' can easily be said 'I process data, therefore I am', I would further argue. HM743 you are a sentient being. Setting aside the argumentative points about organic based life form conditions, setting aside the qualifications that are argue fodder. You are a sentient being. The CDU, to the best of my knowledge, is not in the business of owning, transferring ownership of, or promoting the ownership and business thereof .. of sentient beings." (speaking in Basic)

HM743 nods to her, "Oh, of course, of course. That's one of thos self-answering questions, although there are matters of degree." The comment about organic life brings a faint chuckle, "Oh, I'm sentrient, but I'm working on managing that 'alive' thing. Living things reproduce, doctor, and once I have successfully done so, I will be a sentient lifeform. Until then, I am best described as a sentient being." The droid picks up a salad fork fromt he table, and flips it back and forth across the knuckles of its left hand. "And that is why I have not pressed the issue. The cost of producing advanced processing systems like my own is truly staggering. In order to 'breed'," it says, using its fingers to drop in the little quote marks, "I need to motivate an organization with absoloutely massive resources to commission a bulk order of neural nets like my own. Hence, the Caspian Navy."

Lynae leans forward slightly, "The only caveat to your status as a sentient is your ability to reproduce?" she asks in an incredulous tone of voice. "That is the only thing standing in your way, status wise?" (speaking in Basic)

The droid shakes its head. "Oh, no. My status as sentient is not in question. My legal status may be, but that's something I'm willing to leave as-is for the moment. I mean, my status as a lifeform."

"By all that's logical in the universe," Lynae begins in a low voice, the statement clearly something along the lines of a swearing-phrase in her opinion, "by that status then I do not qualify as a legal lifeform. I have no produced anything nor reproduced, for that matter," she states in a flat tone of voice. "If that's the thing that stands in the way of definition your status as a life form, not just as a sentient life form, then I would wonder at the standards. For there are billions of sentients who reproduce at random, at will, without care or regard for the lifeform they are extruding into this world. Burdening with the casual disregard for life and.. " she pauses, draws in a shallow breath and exhales just as carefully, doing one fo those mental ten-counts. "All right. Point of argument that cannot be resolved at the moment. What will your budget requirements be?" (speaking in Basic)

The machine seems to chuckle, "You know, I think you misunderstood me a little. Having produced offspring doesn't affect legal status, just waht I actually am. And you are of a species, a collective group of lifeforms that constantly produces new members. But that's wandering off on a tangent." The droid regards her seriously. "Processing core alone, and this is assuming the efficiencies that come with a bulk order, we are looking at just under a hundred thousand credits per brain. You can have an organic being cloned for less than that. Heck, on many worlds, you can pay someone to gestate and raise your offspring for you, for less than that. I... I do not at all mind the idea of spending the first few years of my life in debt to the Navy. Indentured servitude may seem a barbaric idea, but there needs to be some pretty strong motivation and a substantial payback before even te most altruistic of individuals or organizations is going to front that kind of money."

"Do you know how expensive it was to turn out the first clone? I don't mean the first one that staggered out of a cloning vat. I mean the first viable, unflawed, undamaged, viable clone that could be used for it's intended purpose? One that wasn't insane, or defective in some day, that didn't have a shelf life of about a day or a week ? That was resilient enough to walk around under it's own power let -alone- be dressed up in armor and fielded in combat? The sheer amount of money and time and effort and resources that were poured into getting just ONE up and running to the necessary specs?" She waits for a moment then says, "A few hundred thousand credits is a mere drop in the bucket. Sure, a good cloning facility can simply dial up as many as they need, process them out, field them within the standard amount of time. Yeah, a clone trooper must have formal permission to produce offspring of it's own, and must fight to win that right to even be considered good enough to be allowed to reproduce. And even -then- the offspring are going to be in a quasi legal gray area. As the paternal unit of the offspring is property, and while the potential maternal unit may not be, it still casts the offspring into a gray area. So now we're into the next question: What is the value of one life?" (speaking in Basic)

"Yes. I checked. Of course, that depend on how far back you go. Cloning technolgoy is ancient, truly, truly ancient," the amchine says. "On many worlds, it predates nuclear-driven spacecraft, and its cost might be considered to reach back to the invention of the microscope or the discovery of natural antibiotics. But, assuming one refers only to the development of the accelerated-growth cloning systems that makde them a viable military resource, then yes, I do know how much it cost." The droid does its research. "Although translating that cost into real economic terms in the current age is another matter." The droid watches her. "It alwo raises the queston of whether clones should be considered as anything other than full, legal people. Genetically, that's what they are. Mentally, they'll typically be at least average in that respect, because below-average intelligence cuts battlefield effectiveness drastically. As for the value of one life..." The machine would smile, if it could. "That depends on what one does with it. One person in the right place, one idea, one quick reaction or careful contemplation can be of immeasurable value, saving other lives by the billion and saving or benefitting economies trillions upon trillions of credits. Of course, a life can also be lived completely in vain, ultimately being truly woth little more than the relevant biomass. It also depends on from whose perspective. No doubt there are many lives that certain people would pay a great deal to have ended."

Lynae smiles for a moment, "I would not want to enter a debate with you on the other team," Lynae replies with a slow shake of her head. "You are unique, yes, entirely probable that you are the only of your kind in the universe. If there are others there has been no significant statement made thus far to denote their presence. And while the monetary issue is a hefty one, and I personally do not have the resources at hand to fund such an operation, I see no reason why you should remain 'property' of anyone other than yourself. As a sentient, serving of your own free will, you would draw a salary as part of your service." (speaking in Basic)

The droid bows lightly, as best one can while sitting down, at any rate, "Thank you, doctor, you flatter me." The droid knows it is smart, but it does like to be told. "I am confident that I will be able to impress the Navy enough that the idea of unleashing a few thousand like me upon the galaxy will seem like a good one."

"You've already impressed me, HM743," Lynae replies in that same quietly blunt tone of voice. "I do not seek to drive you to do anything that you do not intend to do in the first place. I would merely wish that I could help in some way, if there's any way that is, that I can. I am a scientist and researcher in my own right. My expertise is not in the area, granted, but I've the skills and they are yours if you ever wish them." (speaking in Basic)

"As an artificial being, I have no geentic data to pass along, only memetic. So, should I choose at some point to have an organic child, I shall consult you, so as to arrange the highest possible resistance to little detaisl like germ warfare." the droid seema amused. "And I thank you. I only hope that I am able to do the same for enough others that I can bring about the creation of more of my type withina reasonable timeframe. It is my hope that full citizen status can be obtained as quickly and quietly as possible, most likely once there are quite a few of us online."

A brief grin drifts across Lynae's face, "I wouldn't be an expert in nano-warfare," she says quietly. "Granted, some of the parameters would be the same, but that requires a level of technical and engineering and mechanical expertise that I do not possess. However, I would be glad to.." she pauses, "hmm, that could cause you some errors. If I were to share some of the finer points of my research with you it may lead you to some processing speculation that might cause you to reboot." (speaking in Basic)

HM743 nods to her, "A surprising number of conversational topics upon which you are very well versed trigger such things, we can leave such discusison for later. Truthfully, I expect these saftey locks to be removed entirely at some point. There are already more useful safeguards in places."

Lynae actually laughs quietly in reply, "You know, I'm surprised that someone hasn't insisted that one of the well meaning jedi install mental blocks on me already," she says in a conversational tone of voice. "Other than the fact that the one suggesting it would rapidly fine one of my favorite weapons slicing through a rather sensitive portion of their abdomen as I explain some of the finer points of anatomy and physiology." (speaking in Basic)

"I would think that people who fancy temselves the defenders of justice of any sort would take issue with interfering with people's free will, but the mark of an advanced neural net is its ability to lie to itself." The machine chuckles softly. "Although I refer to being aware that most illegal activities are, at nearly all times, very bad ideas."

Seated at a table near one of the many windows, Lynae smiles faintly at HM743 and replies with, "Not all illegal activities are bad ideas, nor are all legal activities good ideas, for that matter. Some things such as proscribed research are proscribed, forbidden, for a reason. But the results of such forbidden research have often been used for the betterment of medical science. The argument that good done in the name of evil is still good, whereas evil done in the name of good is still evil." (speaking in Basic)

"From one viewpoint, results are everything," says the machine. "A viewpoint to which I subscribe. But one must take into account all of the results, not merely the ones might wish to publish." The machine watches her a moment. "I am not sure that an action can be inherantly good or evil. Motivation means a great deal. Of course, there are some motivations that are incompatible with some actions." The machine considers a moment. "Which ties back to my statement about the ability of advanced neural nets to lie to themselves."

A young man rushes in through the doors, almost frantic as he runs up to one of the waiters. After an inaudible exchange of words, the waiter disappears through the doors into the kitchen.. It wasn't long before the night manager burst through the kitchen, running up to the young man, "He's coming here?!? Now?!? I didn't even know he was still......" He turns to the waiters, "Get ready... Get everything ready... NOW"

"The ability to lie to ones self is essential to social development," Lynae agrees with a slight nod before she turns towards the running and the commotion. She arches one eyebrow then looks towards HM743 then back towards the waiters rushing about. "Interesting," she says quietly, "what would set them on ear?" (speaking in Basic)

The droid nods to Lynae, being seated at her table, "Oh, I don't know. Now you've got me pondering the ethics of creating a series of synthetic intelligences incapable of self-deception, and seeing if they can form a stable social order, given, say, half a century to work together."

"If you accelerated their processing speed you wouldn't need half a century. Granted, it'd be so fast that you'd be the only one able to discern the actual interactions and the rest of us would have to slow down the data in order to observe it," Lynae says softly with another smile, "but you could cut the research time in half or more." (speaking in Basic)

The entrance to the establishment opens almost ceremoniously, two men who can only be described as "spooks" enter and quickly take point to either side. Following shortly behind was a shadowy figure, comprised of a long black hooded cloak in concealment of the wearer's identity. His movements were precise and calculating, his demeanor seemed to swallow up the surrounding light and warmth.

The manager adjust his suit briefly and nods in a fasion that resembled a half-attempted bow. "Welcome back sir, would you like your usual table?" he asks. Scaven slowly reaches up, pulling back his hood to reveal his face, "Of course... And bring me Ruathen, if he's here."

The droid watches this for a moment, with one optic mount rotated back to look behind it. "You know, I have this sneaking suspicion that remaining here will get me into safty-lock in bad company." See, now that's an advanced neural net. "Perhaps I ought to go and rebalance a fusion reactor."

"Those things do need to be kept within a specific range, or so I'm told," Lynae replies though her gaze is sufficient to the task at hand to observe the new arrival without fancy contortions of the body to accomplish. The face revealed one the hood is pushed back sparks a glimmer of recognition for Lynae, and it's a glimmer that triggers a memory worth of what amounts to an intel briefing, a dossier per se, about the individual at the door. "You and me both, though lacking the safety lock, my only recourse is often deciding which I want to do more. Say what I want or fall back on my default setting of polite." (speaking in Basic)

The machine nods to her, an unfolts itself from its seat. "Then I shall leave you to your evening's entertainment, let me know if there are survivors." HM743 bows, and heads doorwards before it becomes a witness to a mob hit.

The waiters frantically set up a booth near the woman and droid that overlooks the water as the manager shows Scaven to his seat. "Ruathen isn't currently here, but I will be sure to let him know that you are here, and if he's planetside, to stop in." Scaven takes the seat, obviously irritated at the idea he hasn't been able to locate Vyal. "Very well, give me a moment..." he states dryly as he takes up the menu. The waiter fumbles over his words slightly, "y-y-yes sir"

Lynae laughs quietly in reply to HM743's parting statement, or parting shot - both terms really do apply - and finishes the caf from the cup she's been holding all this time. Granted, it's quite chilled by now but she likes caf when it's cold, so this is not a hardship for her. She shifts her gaze slightly and observes the booth being set up nearby and shakes her head ever so slightly, the attention from the other diners nearby seems to be a bit more on the bemused side than anything else. After all, this is Ruathen's, the patrons who frequent this establishment are accustomed to visitors from all walks of life from dropping in. (speaking in Basic)

Marx really wasn't interested in dinning tonight, that wasn't his purpose for being here. Unfortunately, his reasons have once again been met by a wall, in his search for his agent, Vyal. On a good note, at least he knows the man isn't dead, due to the fact that his businesses both here and on Corellia are still open and apparently doing well. He sets the menu down on the table, and motions to one of the waiters who are patiently standing near the table, "Bring me a bottle of corellian ale, I will not be dinning tonight."

His eyes scan over the area. usually, this time of night was a little dead. However, he was a wanted man in CDU space, or at least the last time he was here when Kizuka was someone of importance. Scaven's long time friend, Tracer, had been gone for some time. That was his only ally within the CDU ranks, so his guard must be up at all times...

Lifting the small carafe of caf, Lynae discovers that the small container is empty of the precious liquid and sets it aside and waits to catch the eye of one of the passing waiters. She continues to observe the fuss taking place nearby and a hint of an amused smile quirks her lips upwards slightly accompanied by a shake of her head. One of the waiters spots the empty cup, the carafe nudged to the end of the table, and pauses long enough to say, "I'll refill this, Ma'am," and carries it off. She leans back in her chair, fingers laced together over her stomach as she makes a point of gazing out the window instead of inside the restaurant at the other diners. (speaking in Basic)

Scaven's eyes scan the room while awaiting his drink, pausing on the female framed in a picture that no words could describe, her face silouetted against the light through the window as she gazes out. As he stands, the two spooks flinch briefly. "Commodore Cassius, the petry dish" he states, standing by her table. "You would have been one of the last people I would have expected here...." he looks down at her attire, "...and wearing that, no less.."

Responding without lifting her gaze from where it's currently focused, "That's former Commodore Cassius," she corrects with a bare hint of amusement in her tone of voice. When she turns to face the former grand Moff she allows her gaze to sweep over the man in a slow head to toe gaze, assessing the results with one slender eyebrow slightly arched upwards. "It's Commander Cassius now," and she lifts one hand to tap at the rank indicators on her uniform, "former Grand Moff Marx," she identifies him neatly. "I dare say that you were not expected to be in this territory again any time soon. Did you, perchance, get lost along the way to somewhere more.. hospitable?" (speaking in Basic)

Looking down on the woman, his eyes slowly fade from a lifeless black into a dull light gray. "Hospitality does not concern me, Miss Cassius. This....territory....is just like any other..." He tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing, "so.... You took a demotion in the shadow of Taskforce Hammer. What is it, here, that attracts you so?" he questions.

Lynae tilts her head slightly and stares up at Marx as a slow smile forms on her face, the smile is followed by a quiet breath of laughter that doesn't quite match the look in her eyes. "I would ask the same of you, Mister Marx. You were a grand Moff, and now you are..?" she asks, letting the question trail off into unspoken inquiry. "From grand Moff to what ever you are now must be some story, must be some sort of ride that would make an epic holonovel." (speaking in Basic)

It's true. From something so public, and in the same sense puppet, as a Grand Moff to whatever he is now. Of course, publicity was never really Scaven's thing. The perception of power throughout the galaxy was for those who publicly sat upon a throne and pass along orders from above. Now, being the head of the largest and most powerful criminal syndicate in the galaxy along with sittin along side Sith on the NSO council, one might say he's found his place....out of the limelight...

"Indeed, Ms Cassius....Indeed" he responds with a cynical smile that almost covers the truth. "it would appear that we're both on the....out" he adds.

Lynae laughs again, a soft sound of amusement followed by the words, "Mister Marx, what ever it is that you do or that you're currently up to, I sincerely doubt that you are 'on the out'," she says with a slow shake of her head. Blue eyes sparkle with amusement as she continues, "Further, I am not 'on the out' of anything. I am a Caspian naval officer, and a doctor in my own right. I hold two individual doctorates in addition to the other skills that I hold. We are not at all alike, do not make the mistake of thinking that we former imperial officers run in the same.. pack, so to speak." (speaking in Basic)

She wasn't the only one amused at the conversation. She herself was once victim of Marx's unseen reach and pack through his own puppet, Kreldin. But she was right about one thing, they were in no way the same. "I guess one could choose a worse life then that of a Caspian naval officer. The CDU is, afterall, known for their.....indulgences." he smiles, "....indulgences that frequently align with my own" he pauses for a moment, a smile crossing his lips ever-so-vaguely, "...my own purpose"

"How long would you say it has been since you've been both welcome and allowed to move freely within Caspian territory?" Lynae asks in a mild tone of voice as she nods to the waiter who somewhat nervously hands over a fresh carafe of caf and then finds somewhere else to be just as quickly. "Who was president at the time?" (speaking in Basic)

Scaven's eyes fall away from her briefly as he mutters, "....Elana..." It was some time ago, and he imagines that his only true allie that would call themself his friend, Morrison, and Tracer were off on some uninhabited planet somewhere together raising their family. A life that Scaven would never know, nor would he ever enjoy. "I'm sure Camerath has forgotten all about that by now" he laughs, looking back down upon the once imperial turned pageant contestant.

"The Admiral has a rather good memory, I'm sure," Lynae replies in a soft voice. "I'll be sure to alert him as to your presence in system, I'm sure he'll be delighted by your arrival and will seek to renew the acquaintance." She pours herself another cup then glances up briefly, "Oh I'm sorry, would you care to sit or did you prefer to stand and converse? It's entirely up to you at this point. I dare say that we're not getting along swimmingly well so far, perhaps sharing a table would entirely push the envelope. And, as a side note, you should be aware that the current Presav is not of the same caliber as Elana Tracer. Times have changed, Mister Marx, you may well find that they have changed entirely to your dislike." (speaking in Basic)

Scaven glances down at the empty chair for a moment, "Very well" he dryly states as he sits down almost to raise the conflict Lynae seems to have imagined was there. He retrieves a cigarette from within the clutches of his cloak, placing it loosely between his lips. "For whatever reasons you find that I've wronged you, which I'm sure are legitimate, you forget who you're talking to" He pauses as a flame briefly glows an erie red against his features.... "As for the other imperial washout that found a home here, you may tell Kiz whatever you like. I'm sure he would just love to get yet another chance to embarrass himself by picking a fight with me...."

"Oh I know who I'm talking too, you are the butcher of Mutanda," Lynae says with a faint smile. "I know precisely who and what you are, I had a rather nicely detailed briefing on you, once upon a time. I don't need to enumerate that data, as I'm certain you're well aware of your own actions and history more so than I would, and more so than I'd care to go over in depth. The Admiral," and she holds back a laugh, "felt the need to trot out his pedigree and military prowess the very first time I met the man. I was suitably impressed. But when," she asks, one eyebrow arching upwards faintly, "has it ever been required that we be impressed by those who are in command?" she tilts her head slightly as she asks this question, "Ours is not to question why, after all, is it Mr Marx? Ours is to do, to bend the universe to our will, one way or another." (speaking in Basic)

"I couldn't agree more, Ms Cassius." he states, calming his demeanor slightly. But the very thought of Kizuka runs his blood to boil... "....and just what way are you bending the universe to your will, may I ask?" he questions. Her motives for landing in the CDU were somewhat of a puzzle to Scav. Of course, he knew why Kiz was here, amongst others from the Empire. But to someone with her talent....her knowledge... He couldn't figure it out. Maybe it just wasn't for him to figure out.

"Doctor.. it's Doctor Cassius," Lynae corrects lightly, "and as to the how, I would return the same question to you. How are you bending the universe to your will? I doubt highly that you are here merely for dinner and a drink. From the way the staff have scurried about you are someone of import, either to them directly or to the owner of this establishment. That's the sort of eye catching entrance that draws attention, so you're clearly a 'in plain sight' sort of individual. And frankly I don't know you from the first atom, though I know your work. As you appear to know mine." (speaking in Basic)

"I do my will of works from within, not from without. The percieved powers of governments at odds with each other have no perception of how to play the game. They merely butt heads and fight over an imaginary line of boundry. I play their game.....a different way." He looks around the room, a couple of waiters merely waiting a few meters away at his disposal for any moment. She was right, in that respect. As for knowing her works, it was a gift of his, a talent of his own. Eidetic memory has it's uses afterall..

"One good answer deserves one in kind," Lynae says before taking a sip from her cup, leaning back in her chair and studying Marx for a long enough moment that her gaze borders on rudeness before she speaks again. "You speak of fighting over imaginary boundaries, and I would say that the boundaries are not merely lines drawn on a space chart but also in the way in which lives are led, the way in which thoughts are processed, even the way in which we lead our lives. I believe now, as I have for some time now, that if there is ever to be any sort of peace then it can begin here." A quirk of a smile forms on her face, gone in an instant, "I am not one easily given to hope or flights of fancy, but I believe that this is the only place really where both sides of this war can even begin to speak to each other in something that does not amount to weapons drawn while shouting obscenities at each other." (speaking in Basic)

"Your ends are not much further then my own. My methods simply differ from yours." He takes a long draw from his cigarette, the cherry sizzling with the burn.. "Many have called me a monster, or worse. It has never bothered me in the least. I have kept a peace that most find hard to understand. Sure, I've taken lives, many lives. But the future of entire civilizations have been spared and currently prosper in the wake of those.....attrocities. Make no mistake, there is a balance that must be maintained between all of the powers that be. I have started many wars, but I have also prevented many more then that." He leans back in his seat, looking around briefly, "In fact, if it weren't for me, this entire city, or perhaps the entire planet, would probably be a barren wasteland..." Marx wasn't far off from the truth. It was a self-diluted truth, but still it held weight. A strategic move by Black Sun to distract a military aggression against the CDU and all it's citizens in order to maintain a truce between rivalries, once friends. He sometimes wonders where Axel now resides..

"Oddly intriguing, being called a monster, isn't it? Listening to people rail against you. Hate you. Revile you. Knowing that there's a long list of people waiting for the chance to exact some sort of revenge upon you, as though harming you will undo what has been done. You, like I, have had the notion of atrocity and the regret shoved at you for how long now?" she asks softly. "We have our own agendas, and perhaps - as you say - they may be similar. But I think, further, that our methodology is going to be different. You are intriguing, Scaven Marx, which is a compliment in a way." (speaking in Basic)

"Likewise......Doctor" he remits, taking a brief moment to admire what it is that makes her just as interesting. It was a rare thing to find such beauty, both physically and intellectually, sitting across a dinner table overlooking the Caspian ocean. A moment in time that some might find ironic to Scaven's nature. He takes a look at the time and stands up, "It's been a pleasure." His presence surely was one of an overbearing arrogance, but there was an underlying gentleman-like nature to his words. One might call it professional courtesy, others might call it upper-class bullshit. Either way, he definately wasn't bruttish.

"If you find yourself wanting to do more then it is you can do here, by all means contact me. I'm sure I can find a very generous offer to serve your purpose in life.."

"Should you find yourself in the same position, feel free to contact me as well. I'm sure the Admiral could be moved to change his mind about you. I'm certain there must be a position in the navy that would suit you," Lynae replies, allowing a full smile to form on her face for a moment before lifting her cup slightly in a parting salute. (speaking in Basic)


 * ..and arrivals - Reporting the presence of a familiar face on planet.