Record reconstructed with high-level protocols provided by Head Office. Original record subject to high-level ECM, producing recording of time-loop over the timeframe in question.
The vid displays the picture of an alleyway. Gray brick buildings rise on either side of the alley. One end debouches into a way on which occasional pedestrian traffic can be observed. The other end terminates in a chain link fence, partially bisected by a meter-long tear. Water pours down the walls in independent torrents before being caught in drainage chutes that run the length of the alley. Little rain falls freely into the alley, however. Beyond the fence, the alley is piled high with refuse of indeterminate nature. Before the fence, paralleling one wall are two large crates supporting a flat board, perhaps one by two meters in dimension. The assembly acts as a table and display case of sorts for wares of sinister nature. At the walkway end of the alley, two figures exit the alleyway and join the flow of traffic. They have apparently just conducted business with the man who sits on a third crate, counting a stack of uni's. He is watched over by an immense brute of a man, almost seven feet tall, heavily muscled, with a shaven head, wearing a leatherite vest, denims, boots, and a large knife. Slung beneath his left arm in a shoulder harness is an immense pistol. The large man's eyes are turned toward the alley entrance. He stiffens and stands up straight when a figure enters the alleyway. The figure stands in silhouette for a moment, then proceeds into the alley, striding confidently. He wears a long raincoat of deep gray; his head is bare. His features are sharp where the light above the `table' strikes them. His eyes are a clear blue.
The seated figure looks up when his bodyguard makes a sound to gain his attention, then leaps to his feet when he sees his new visitor.
"Major! I had no idea, I mean I wasn't prepared." the formerly seated man splutters and stutters.
"Be at ease, Benedict." The Major has a friendly, warm voice. It is the kind of voice to inspire trust, or terror. "I merely wished to stop by and pay my respects. I feel that the company owes a great debt to those of its independent contractors who work as diligently as do you. Happy New Year! You should be celebrating, or at least relaxing!"
Benedict responds in a reedy voice with an overabundance of fervent energy, "Um.Major, I can't see how we can celebrate that another year finds us under the repression of the corporate state that."
"Benedict, Benedict," the Major's interruption is comforting, reassuring. "Such slogans are for the masses who need simple catchphrases to educate them. Ours is the wisdom of patience, and we will celebrate the New Year because it places us one step closer to our eventual and inevitable victory."
The sound of one person's hands clapping carries from within the open end of the alleyway. Benedict and the Major spin around to face the interruption. Just beyond the bodyguard's massive form stands a solitary figure. Lean and tall, he is dressed like a fantasy character in a Gothalia vid, in red leggings, black half-boots, a coat of what appears to be red silk, somewhat faded, and a sumptuous black velvet surcoat that gives the impression of being a cross between a robe and a duster without really being either. He bears a strong nose and chin; his hair is cropped close to his scalp, and his eyes glitter like black diamonds. His clothes are dry, as is his voice.
"A pretty speech. I shall have to consult with your scripters when next I plan a public appearance." The new arrival speaks with the cultured accents of Central.
Upset by the interloper's temerity and feeling the need to assert himself, the bodyguard steps forward and reaches for the slender man. The figure does not resist, instead touching the bodyguard's arm briefly as the man grabs his shoulder. The reaction is immediate. The bodyguard convulses, crying out in horrible pain, clutching his arm with his free hand. He falls to his knees. Two heartbeats later he is lying in the mud of the alleyway, still as death.
"Salt," spits the Major. His hand, partially extended, holds a slender black pistol. The stranger appears unconcerned, but as he speaks his features darken briefly.
"That's `Baron' to you, Augustine." The Baron of Salt's voice is cold. "Don't presume too much."
He turns to Benedict. "You may leave us, Benny. I have a small matter to discuss with your friend, Augustine." He turns slightly to permit the frightened Benedict to flee the alleyway.
"What do you think you're doing, Baron?" the Major grinds out between clenched teeth.
The Baron turns back to the Major, his expression grown less convivial. "You've been a naughty boy, Augustine. You've been making inquiries into areas that don't concern you, and you've caused something I value to go missing. I should like it back."
The Major's face loses some color, but his voice is firm enough. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, come now Augustine! Let's at least both act like the professionals we are, shall we? You've recently had cause to take excursions into some rather esoteric areas of applied metaphysics, namely the beliefs and rituals of the Chi'en cultists. In return for your information you agreed to provide a trinket you had the ability to acquire, and now said trinket is indeed missing. I fail to see any need to dispute or deny the facts."
"The scarab was in a museum in Central, Baron; it had nothing to do with you." The Major's tone is insistent.
"Ah! But here, my dear Augustine, we come to an example of the truism that a little knowledge is indeed more dangerous than blissful ignorance. For the scarab does belong to me. It was merely on loan to the museum. Placed there for safe keeping, I'm afraid. It does not appear that storing it there accomplished the intended objective, and I shall see about remedying that situation later, but for now, I simply want it back." The Baron smiles. "Now, how are you going to help me?"
"You're too late, Baron, the trade's already complete. I." He is interrupted by a gesture from the Baron.
"I say, Augustine!" The Baron is staring directly at the vid pickup. "Do you always allow your business contacts to be monitored? I should think it would be bad for business, what?"
"Even if there is something up there, Baron, it's inactive in my presence. Our ECM is superior to SLA's," says the Major.
"Nevertheless," the Baron's voice is dry again, "lend me the use of your sidearm." He extends his open hand, obviously expecting to be obeyed.
The Major's face betrays utter surprise. After hesitating for a moment, however, he shrugs, reverses his grip on his pistol, and hands it to the Baron. The Baron aims at the camera, and the vid goes blank. .
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