2023-09-04: Tempest in Azadistan: Tinker, Tailleur, Soldier, Spy
- Log: 2023-09-04: Tempest in Azadistan: Tinker, Tailleur, Soldier, Spy
- Cast: Vincent Bruno, Tailleur Persimmon
- Where: Azadistan
- Date: U.C. 0097 09 04
- Summary: The man who sold out the Tuatha de Danaan to Mithril's enemies contemplates, and then is provided, his next move.
Vincent Bruno was in the clear.
Fleeing the wrath of the Shuffle Alliance had been harder than he expected. All he'd done was leak a few channel codes in exchange for an eyewatering payout. Anyone would've done it. Millions of gilla! He could retire! Catch a ride on a Macross and get off this withering rock!
But it all blew up. That West Pacific Fleet sub had nearly been stolen, then nearly been destroyed; and some of their crew were killed. Bruno didn't give a shit about that, but the way Mithril had dogged him clear across the Orbital Ring you'd think he'd killed somebody's kid. Fortunately, an old acquaintance had had some space for him. Azadistan wasn't exactly Pendragon, but he hadn't had the flexibility to be picky once Gulskii's woman got involved. He had contacts here - friends he'd made facilitating an arms deal a few years ago. Not much, but it was somewhere to cool his heels while the pursuit died down.
They already knew all the Mithril Mediterranean Fleet SRT and the faces of Crockett's squad. And, Shiden had gotten himself in traction chasing that old fossil Murasame. Bruno didn't have anything to worry about on that front.
So he sat on the second floor deck of the small Azadi village chief's house, sipping the lovely fruity concoction prepared for him by the chief's wife, watching the dust play on the horizon and contemplating his next move.
"They're friendly people, when you come in peace, eh?" said a voice behind him. French accented Persian. Not a common combination. Bruno turned to find a man of Caucasian complexion but with black hair and deep green eyes, tall and in a button-down shirt that was intended to blend in, but was just slightly too nice for the area.
"Persimmon," the man said, with a quirk of the lips. "Tailleur Persimmon. I am an acquaintance of our mutual friend the chief."
"Hell of an alias you've got there," Bruno grunted, because not a chance in hell any mother named her kid THAT.
"Ho ho, perhaps," Persimmon said. "The chief has asked me to brief you on the next step of the task you must perform for him. Nothing significant."
"Yeah, he mentioned a favor," Bruno said, and rolled his shoulder in disinterest. "What are we moving, opium?" The weather had changed, but humanity's cradle still overflowed with the spices of life.
"Ah-hah-hah, not for a man of your expertise, Mister Bruno," Persimmon said, and firmly gripped Bruno by the shoulder in a way that sent spikes of alarm crawling up his nerves.
"Your old friends in Sicily cannot save you from the storm that hounds you, Mister Bruno," Persimmon said then, much quieter, but still all smiles. "But Mr. Kallium still can."
Bruno felt the blood drain from his face.
Persimmon's smile remained placid as he gazed at the distant twinkle of the recently built Azadi solar farms. Bruno's mind spun. The solar farms, the AEU's pet project. But if Azadistan failed to protect them adequately, the AEU could drain the nation like a tick for the 'privilege' of AEU protections.
"A task, before your salvation."
Which meant...if 'the organization' he knew as Amalgam, and the AEU, were both here...then he already knew what this man would ask of him.
"A small dose of regime change should be nothing to a man such as yourself, eh?"