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Description

This is an illustration for a WIP novel. Full Text here:

archiveofourown.org/works/4608…

Join the Discord here:
discord.gg/Fx7Eum5qDM

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excerpt
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"Zee?" - a discontented inquiry, having bored through the busy ambience of Biz´Shela Pra, reached the claret figure´s auditorial membranes.

The shape, three feathers of pattern on her hood, turned her eyes away from the morning crowds and onto the wonderer, to her eyes opening a sight of a quarian man wearing icterine belts with a chaotic geometric pattern.

"I hate these belts, Zee," - the utterer carried on, stepping aside to let a krogan porter pass before continuing, - "I absolutely hate them. With every fiber of my being."

"I know exactly one man who sounds just like you now," - Zilarra, indicating towards a bench not far away from the entrance to the FAIC main entrance, snickered back, - "and he´s learned to live with his aesthetic disability."

"Not fucking funny, Zee," - Yeel, now assuming the seat on a bench next to his companion, muttered back, - "I paid a fortune for those belts and now I cannot wear them anymore. Why did you have to bring me here, on a side note?"

"Hush," - the Lieutenant interrupted her counterpart, now pointing at a human exiting the building, a datapad in his hand, - "over there, that´s your target."

"So?" - the man, now focusing his eyes on the human´s silhouette, wondered, - "what?"

"Tell me something about him," - Zilarra, leaning back and crossing her legs, urged.

Yeel´s glowing eye-dots followed the human as he proceeded to the aircar.

"Not many human diplomats here, and they also have uniforms or insignia on," - the Candidate began, - "who is he? A journalist, a merchant? No drone with him. A merchant."

"Alright, let him be a merchant," - the claret figure assumed, maintaining her relaxed pose as she continued, - "you´re the border cop here. Tell me, what kind of merchants usually comes to do business on Rannoch?"

"What kind doesnt?" - Yeel smirkingly murmured back, - "they bring everything from good tech to the best shit in the entire galaxy. Also, mindfish as a separate category of shit."

"That," - Zilarra, clasping her hands together, noddingly continued, - "would leave us with a pool of threats and a pool of recruits. How do you differentiate one from another?"

A slight pause went by before the Candidate, having cast a glance of disgust upon his belts, reacted:

"You... don´t?"

"Exactly," - the claret figure, rising from her seat and motioning her counterpart to follow her, spoke, - "you are at risk of being an object of deception efforts, just like they are at risk of being exposed."

"Uh-huh..." - the man, following Zilarra in her footsteps, dully hummed back, the initiative taken from him again by the Lieutenant´s inquiry:

"And what do you do with an agent? What are the steps?"

"You recruit him," - Yeel, now entering the crowd right behind the claret shape, uttered in response, - "and have him do something for you."

An abrupt beep rang through the icterine man´s right ear, the monotonous signal followed by a pulsing warning indicative of external injection.

Bitterness subdues the Candidate´s mouth.
"You locate a candidate and ensure his motivation," - a relentlessly persuasive voice manifested itself to the man´s left, - "then you recruit him..."

Confluence of heartbeat and ambience enwraps Yeel´s mind.

"... afterwards you vet him to exclude an opponent´s dangle..."

Sharpening of senses becomes apparent together with the sharpness of faces and words passing immediately nearby.

"... following that, you run him until he is retired one day."

Overwhelmed, the Candidate inquired:

"Keelah, Zee, what is?.."

"Every service forges their cadre their special way. Humans have the Foundry," - the claret figure intercepted the initiative, - "the asari have the Asthartha´s Path, and we..."

Words, sentences, breaths - all ambient, all apparent, all integrated, all separately discernible - all were now surrounding the icterine man.

"... have got the Method. The Inquisitive Method, in your case. You are granted a chance to embark upon this path."

The Candidate, his noospheric vicinity at his disposal, following his mentor into the crowd´s depths, disconcertedly mumbled:
"Zee, dammit, I..."

"You sense just enough for the job," - a reply returned from under the patterned hood, the utterer pulling der disciple even deeper into the breathing mass - "now the basics - the five core motives for agent recruits are money, ideology, compromise, ego and revenge, together MICER. You can pick your favourite one when we are ready."

The man´s eyes went teary from the many tiny, unique details in the passing faces.

"Here´s a crowd. Eavesdrop on those I deem targets," - the claret shape, now abruptly emerging in front of the man, ordered, - "and give me a path for recruitment of each of those. Time for learning by doing."

Description

This is an illustration for a WIP novel. Full Text here:

archiveofourown.org/works/4608…

Join the Discord here:
discord.gg/Fx7Eum5qDM

_________________________
excerpt
___________________________

"Zee?" - a discontented inquiry, having bored through the busy ambience of Biz´Shela Pra, reached the claret figure´s auditorial membranes.

The shape, three feathers of pattern on her hood, turned her eyes away from the morning crowds and onto the wonderer, to her eyes opening a sight of a quarian man wearing icterine belts with a chaotic geometric pattern.

"I hate these belts, Zee," - the utterer carried on, stepping aside to let a krogan porter pass before continuing, - "I absolutely hate them. With every fiber of my being."

"I know exactly one man who sounds just like you now," - Zilarra, indicating towards a bench not far away from the entrance to the FAIC main entrance, snickered back, - "and he´s learned to live with his aesthetic disability."

"Not fucking funny, Zee," - Yeel, now assuming the seat on a bench next to his companion, muttered back, - "I paid a fortune for those belts and now I cannot wear them anymore. Why did you have to bring me here, on a side note?"

"Hush," - the Lieutenant interrupted her counterpart, now pointing at a human exiting the building, a datapad in his hand, - "over there, that´s your target."

"So?" - the man, now focusing his eyes on the human´s silhouette, wondered, - "what?"

"Tell me something about him," - Zilarra, leaning back and crossing her legs, urged.

Yeel´s glowing eye-dots followed the human as he proceeded to the aircar.

"Not many human diplomats here, and they also have uniforms or insignia on," - the Candidate began, - "who is he? A journalist, a merchant? No drone with him. A merchant."

"Alright, let him be a merchant," - the claret figure assumed, maintaining her relaxed pose as she continued, - "you´re the border cop here. Tell me, what kind of merchants usually comes to do business on Rannoch?"

"What kind doesnt?" - Yeel smirkingly murmured back, - "they bring everything from good tech to the best shit in the entire galaxy. Also, mindfish as a separate category of shit."

"That," - Zilarra, clasping her hands together, noddingly continued, - "would leave us with a pool of threats and a pool of recruits. How do you differentiate one from another?"

A slight pause went by before the Candidate, having cast a glance of disgust upon his belts, reacted:

"You... don´t?"

"Exactly," - the claret figure, rising from her seat and motioning her counterpart to follow her, spoke, - "you are at risk of being an object of deception efforts, just like they are at risk of being exposed."

"Uh-huh..." - the man, following Zilarra in her footsteps, dully hummed back, the initiative taken from him again by the Lieutenant´s inquiry:

"And what do you do with an agent? What are the steps?"

"You recruit him," - Yeel, now entering the crowd right behind the claret shape, uttered in response, - "and have him do something for you."

An abrupt beep rang through the icterine man´s right ear, the monotonous signal followed by a pulsing warning indicative of external injection.

Bitterness subdues the Candidate´s mouth.
"You locate a candidate and ensure his motivation," - a relentlessly persuasive voice manifested itself to the man´s left, - "then you recruit him..."

Confluence of heartbeat and ambience enwraps Yeel´s mind.

"... afterwards you vet him to exclude an opponent´s dangle..."

Sharpening of senses becomes apparent together with the sharpness of faces and words passing immediately nearby.

"... following that, you run him until he is retired one day."

Overwhelmed, the Candidate inquired:

"Keelah, Zee, what is?.."

"Every service forges their cadre their special way. Humans have the Foundry," - the claret figure intercepted the initiative, - "the asari have the Asthartha´s Path, and we..."

Words, sentences, breaths - all ambient, all apparent, all integrated, all separately discernible - all were now surrounding the icterine man.

"... have got the Method. The Inquisitive Method, in your case. You are granted a chance to embark upon this path."

The Candidate, his noospheric vicinity at his disposal, following his mentor into the crowd´s depths, disconcertedly mumbled:
"Zee, dammit, I..."

"You sense just enough for the job," - a reply returned from under the patterned hood, the utterer pulling der disciple even deeper into the breathing mass - "now the basics - the five core motives for agent recruits are money, ideology, compromise, ego and revenge, together MICER. You can pick your favourite one when we are ready."

The man´s eyes went teary from the many tiny, unique details in the passing faces.

"Here´s a crowd. Eavesdrop on those I deem targets," - the claret shape, now abruptly emerging in front of the man, ordered, - "and give me a path for recruitment of each of those. Time for learning by doing."