Tuskaloosa propped up a section of wall beside the door: her most achievable task since folding the unnecessary privacy wall/blanket. She felt a pang of guilt at watching Arc trying desperately fight injury and distraction to figure the riddle their target represented, but there was just too much she didn't know; so many names and connections that the other others on the team recognized that she was hearing for the first time. It was one thing to bring in a fresh pair of eyes on a jigsaw puzzle, but this felt more like a repair job on a half-fragged drone armed with a box of random bits and pieces: she had no clue what the finished drone was supposed to do, so anything in the Bits Box might be important. For all she knew even the junk box itself was a vital part that shouldn't be overlooked...possibly even the only usable part in a pile of red herrings. She sighed. There was just so much that she didn't know, she didn't even know where to start.
Arc had tried to wave her in closer: she had ansered with a shake of her head and a polite “I'm good.” She had overstepped herself while Arc was negotiating with their hosts and was determined not to undercut the mechanic's authority again.
She did send the other rigger a message:
<This interrogation was in progress when I got here...I'd take a recap if you're up to it. I think it would make us look disorganized if I asked and got it in front of her.>
The reply was quick:
<Disorganized? Omae, we got that covered.>
The message contained an AR loving cup. An arrow pointed to it: <Here's the Trophy for that goal... >
<A recap huh? Not a bad idea. Makin' one for you might let me catch somethin' I overlooked. Hang loose a sec.>
“That spit in 'ere eye,” Yelena's diminuative shotgun beamed as she approached. “We've been owing 'em fer awhile now,” Chesh growled as she finished wiping her hands on a shop cloth, “and with the mess we saw at 'at scene, 'ey'll be busy to busy with the cops ter notice the vans missing. 'atter says you did some fancy work getting yer out an kept a cool 'ead.” She nodded approvingly. "We got 'caf iffen yer wants a cuppa. ”
Normally she wouldn't go for soykaf so late: caffeine insomnia was a pain. She instead nodded at her host: if the 'cup' offered was dwarf-sized it would be a drop in the bucket, and if troll-sized...well, she doubted her head was going to meet her pillow any time soon. “Sure. Think there's a cup for Arc too?”
“Yer Iron Lady?” The gnome shrugged. “Iffn you ask me, she needs more 'n a 'caf'll get er...but can do. Be right back.”
“Thanks.” She turned back to the rest of the room: to Marco's attempts to stroke Dana's pride and ego. To Firefly's current chess match: making argument and counterarguement with bits of data.
To Yelena, who seemed to have taken on the role of goalie as she kicked Marco and Firefly back into play whenever they strayed from the room too long.
To Arc's stubborn vigil.
When the mechanic began to step back, Tuskaloosa was relieved: everyone else had a chance to step out...and couple of minutes off her feet wasn't going to make her look bad. That relief turned to worry as the human continued to pull back, looking around...and nearly tripped over her.
Arc muttered an apology then took up the troll's wall-supporting task nearby.
<Soykaf is on the way, Arc. And don't worry about the recap.>
The troll turned her attention to the interrogation. For Arc's sake, get this over with already!
Dana was defending her current position, describing the rat race known as corporate research. Suddnely, she swore. “I know what Leonard was after!”
Tuskaloosa's blood ran cold as she listened.
How easy? How easy would it be for some Humanis lunatic to justify the extermination of all trolls? They're only five percent of the population.
...A drain on society. Dangerous. Smelly.
Just too damn big.
And after that?
The next outlying group. Haters will be haters...
There were no lack of fingers willing to pull the trigger on such a gun; that there were scientific circles talking about how to craft the parts made her sick to her stomach.
“Who do you imagine he'd target?”
Firefly's words brought Tuskaloosa out of her thoughts with whiplash speed.
“And would it be for real or blackmail,” she continued. “Is Leonard sapiens sapiens or another variant? And while we're on the topic, which sub-species target would threaten you, Dr Wallace? Your childhood is intriguing...namely because the record is rubbish. A well crafted but imperfect fabrication. Who...and what...are you really, Dr Wallace?”
Firefly's last question made no sense. What would the doctor have to hide? She was Human, right? Part of the largest group?
A group that could be broken down though: if it was possible to target a particular meta group thanks to a Meta-unique gene, a group of humans that shared a gene unique to them could be targeted the same way: like all lefties.
...And all red-headed lefties.
...And all red-headed lefties with green eyes...
Oh drek.
<Arc, if what Firefly says is true, sounds like our guest is full of drek. There's no “could be used for bio-terrorism” if her record is a dummy: it's real enough to scare her. Why? Sounds like it's to keep someone from making a bio-bullet rather than a bio-bomb: a killer with just her name on it.>