The d'Alembert TP -- Part II -- 11/24/98

[Patrick Littell <pwl206@is9.nyu.edu>]

Thanks to all who participated in the second night of our TP.  The plot's
still young, and anyone can still be involved.  Extra special thanks to
Boris, who helped me out greatly by giving a grand performance as
Jean-Clement.

----------
At the head of the long table in the back of the room, two men sit,
talking quietly. The older one, sitting in a wheelchair and slightly
slumped over, is the Viscount Alvstad. Across from him sits a much
younger man, dressed in archaic finery. His shirt is frilly, his hat
large and feathered, and his boots tall and fancy. They speak in hushed
tones, shooting the occaisional glance at the rest of the room.

Around the room, attendants in guards in contrasting uniforms stand
watch. Some wear large white whalefur parkas and sealskin boots, while
the others are dressed similar to the younger man. Near the head of the
table stand two more men. The larger man is dressed in a whalefur coat,
and wears the insignia of the Ukluk nobility. The man next to him,
dressed in the archaic style, wears an unfamiliar crest.

Boris looks up from speaking with his servant and chuckles. "Nils! How
are you, old boy? Good to see you out and about, eh?" He seats himself at
the table near Nils, and calls to Ballinore, "Bashar, come, join us, eh?"

Boris joins you at the Imperial table.

Ballinore mutters under his breath as he trots over to the Imperial
table, bowing his head to Nils, "Viscout," before taking a seat to the
side of Boris's.

Ballinore joins you at the Imperial table.

Nils turns in his wheelchair to greet the Duke Atreides. "Your grace! How
good of you to attend. Forgive me if I cannot rise, or even nod my head;
my health of late has been...limiting, to say the least."

Joral enters from the hotel lobby.
Joral has arrived.

Joral walks in, and heads directly for the Imperial Table.

Praxton returns the Viscount's salute, the relief on seeing Nils
relatively hale quite apparent in his expression. "No excuses necessary,
Excellency. I am quite honored to be a guest at this august table."

Joral stops as he approaches one of the tables seats and bows Deeply to
the Baron, Duke and Viscount.

Joral joins you at the Imperial table.

Boris chuckles, stopping in mid-guffaw as he spots Joral.

Joral says, "Greetings my Lords."

Nils wheels himself back to his place. "Duke, Baron. Allow me to
introduce our guests."

Praxton joins you at the Imperial table.

Ballinore is seated aside from Boris, daintly sipping from a small glass
of red wine. His gaze briefly flickers over the form of Joral before
returning to the newly arrived duke, "Your grace, a pleasure to dine with
you tonight..."

Nils gestures toward the young man across the table. "Duke Paulos
Atreides, Baron Harkonnen...The Lord Baron Michel d'Alembert of
Corvienne." He then makes a motion toward the siridari. "Lord
d'Alembert...Lords Atreides and Harkonnen."

Joral looks over at the Baron of Corvienne.

Boris raises his full glass to Baron Michel. "Well met, sir. I'e long
enjoyed your excellent wine, eh? We drink it by the case."

Michel stands, and bows with a flourish, doffing his hat and sweeping the
ground. "Your Grace. Your Lordship. I am unable to show how much your
presence tonight means to myself, my House, and the House of Ukluk."

Praxton regards the Baron d'Alembert frankly, as if taking the measure of
the man. He inclines his head graciously, with a perfunctory, "Charmed,
I'm sure".

Ballinore passes his gaze from the other Nobility at the table as he is
ignored, scanning the walls of the Dining room with a look of deep
thought on his face as he does so.

Ballinore glances sidelong at Joral as he is interuppted, leaning close
to the man and speaking in a low, cool tone.

Joral looks at Ballinore, with an unhappy look on his face.

Nils makes a gesture at the tall man standing behind the Baron. He is
dressed in a similar fashion, though not in as fancy a manner. "The man
behind him is his uncle, Jean-Clement d'Alembert, the famous chef. You
may have read his bestseller, 'The Thousand-and-One Sauces.'"

Joral begins to lightly tap his right middle finger on the table.

Jean-Clement, an aged, rather dignified man with a perpetually confused
expression, bows as if on cue to the nobles.

Michel, having returned to his seat, adds, "I apologize if mon oncle is
not the talkative sort. He has been deaf since his late twenties, the
result of an explosion. He speaks, mind you, and read lips...but do not
be offended if he seems...withdrawn tonight."

Jean-Clement makes an apologetic gesture, pointing at each of his ears in
turn. "Goo' evenin' t' you aw..." he says.

The aged man seats himself near his nephew, inspecting the dishes on the
table with a professional, dignified manner.

Nils swivels his wheelchair once more to face the large man in the fur
coat. "I am sure our dear Lord Ambassador needs no introduction to most
here, but, for formalities sake..." He turns back to his fellow diners.
"Ambassador Kuviasungnerk...the Lords Harkonnen and Atreides, Secretary
M. Ostreloria, and Burseg J. Ballinor."

The hefty ambassador bows four times, turning in a small semicircle, his
hands clasped at chest level and his waist bending to fourty-five
degrees.

Praxton flashes a warm, if somewhat forced, smile at the Ambasssador,
"Sir, we meet again."

Boris says, "Ambassador! Drink hearty, eh?"

Joral watches the Duke and Baron

Kuviasungnerk chuckles, his ample mass jiggling in a jovial manner. "That
will I do, Baron, that will I do!"

Boris says, "Good man. You know, you Ukluks are the most fascinating
folk, I must say. Even your women are plump!"

Half of the attendants in the room--the non-furred half--turn and exit,
as if on cue. The furred half remain in place, swaying uncomfortably back
and forth.

Praxton rolls his eyes at Boris' comment, allowing himself a rueful grin.

Joral stands and nods to the visiting guest. "In the Name of His Majesty,
the Imperium greets your coming to Kaitain."

Joral returns to his seat.

Boris makes groping gestures with his hands, as if an imaginary Ukluk
woman stood before him. "Splendid, they are. Always something to grab,
eh? Eh?" He chuckles.

Kuviasungnerk laughs harder, his furred form positively shaking. When he
stops, he says, "If your home planet were so cold as is ours, you also
would need so much blubber, no?"

"That'll be -quite- enough of that, Your Lordship," Praxton chides the
Harkonnen with a mock-stern tone.

Boris chuckles at Kuviasungnerk and Praxton with warmth.

Ballinore turns his head ajar, looking up at Boris with a faint smirk on
his face, "I see you have not lost that sense of Humor, Baron...", he
says in could voice.

Joral leans over and whispers to Ballinore.

Boris lays his finger alongisde his nose, winking at Ballinore. "No,
Bashar, I'll lose that when I'm cold and dead, eh?"

Michel turns in his seat to converse with Joral. "A thousand thanks,
Secretary Ostreloria. This is, I must admit, my first time on your lovely
planet. You may complement your lord on maintaining one of the most
beautiful worlds I have yet had the pleasure of walking upon."

Jean-Clement, alongside Michel, nods in grateful agreement with his
nephew Michel.

Ballinore turns around once more to face Joral, speaking in an almost
growling tone, "You will not correct me in public, Ambassador!" With a
faked smile to the Siridar he goes on with sipping from the now shallow
contents of his glass.

Joral nods to Michel. "I am glad you are enjoying your stay here...and I
will tell his majesty how you enjoy Kaitain."

Nils turns and joins the conversation. "Your first time on Kaitain,
Baron! You don't say!" He attempts to shake his head in incredulity, but
a harness prevents such movement. "Were I in better condition, I would
have to give you the grand tour myself!"

Joral sighs.

Joral shakes his head a little.

The furred guards watch the pleasantries, occaisionally murmuring among
themselves. At a stern look from Kuviasungnerk, they silence themselve
and straighten.

Boris mutters to Praxton, "Ah, a..."

Praxton regards the Baron d'Alembert squarely, "Tell me, Baron, have you
made many acquaintances so far on Kaitain?"

The fancy attendants return, holding platters, plates, goblets, silver,
and other implements of consumption. With turns and flourishes, they set
the table as if choreographed. They set a goblet before each place,
filling each with a purplish wine that smells of plums. On a tray in
front center of the table, a vast loaf of bread--as large as a small
table--radiates heat and a faint olive smell.

Praxton raises his left hand, pads of the index and thumb touching, the
fingers forming a cross. He directs his look at the Baron Harkonnen.

Boris mutters to Praxton, "... not..."

Lord d'Alembert shifts in his chair to face Praxton. "I have, so far, met
but the Lord Alvstad and his family, your Grace. I arrived less than one
day ago, and am still settling in."

Boris says amiably to Lord d'Alembert, "Come on over to /our/ embassy,
your Lordship. I've some slaves I'm sure you'll enjoy sampling. You look
like a man who prefers blondes, eh?"

One attendant in a large, five-pointed hat carries a large black pot to
the table. Two attendants with long ladles proceed to spoon large
portions of steaming orange soup into each bowl. The creamy soup smells
of ginger and peppers, and wild mushrooms float ominously in the bright
orange liquid.

Ballinore quirks an eyebrow at Boris' comment, a slight look of disbelief
on his face as he interrupts, "Mabye I will come over to your Embassy,
eh?" A slight look of cruel delight on his face as he waits for a
response.

Jean-Clement inspects the glass with a practiced eye, holding the wine to
the light, then scenting the bouquet, without tasting it yet.

Praxton spreads his hands in front of him, his ducal signet flashing in
the candlelight, "That'll change quickly, I hope. It's good for men of
our station to know as many of our equals as possible."

Joral turns his head to Praxton and stares for just a short moment.

Praxton clears his throat explosively, leveling an icy gaze at Ballinore
with the unmistakeable meaning, "Mind your manners."

Joral turns away and raises his hand to his chin.

Boris grins at Ballinore. "We could deliver some slaves to your quarters
if you'd like, Bashar. Blondes, redheads, young boys if you'd prefer."

Michel shifts uncomfortably at Boris's suggestion. "I...er...I regret to
say that I am a happily married man and--" He catches himself
midsentance. "I do not /regret/ to say...that is..." He reacts with great
relief to Praxton's comment: "Yes, indeed, indeed. I am pleased that, in
my first two days here, I have already met the Lords of so many
illustrious houses!" He grins in awkward relief.

Ballinore mumbles under his breath at Boris, "That is quite an offer
Baron, though I believe I must pass it up at the moment."

Jean-Clement looks at the wine sourly and shakes his head. He speaks
quietly to Michel a moment, then turns to the table and pronounces,
"Corked." He seems deeply saddened by it.

Boris shrugs at Ballinore's decline of his offer. "Perhaps I'll gift you
with some anyway, and you can decide which one you want, eh? Throw the
rest away."

Michel shudders in horror at his uncle's pronouncement. He holds up his
hand and makes several quick gestures. His servants react with similar
horror and rush to remove the wineglasses. Within seconds, two new
bottles of plum wine have been opened and all the guests have been
re-served.

Ballinore fakes a smile in Boris' direction, offering a nod as well
before continuing, "Yes... yes, a gift... Perhaps you could gift me with
some more of that wine..." He taps the bottom of his empty wine glass on
the tabletop.

Ivanova enters from the hotel lobby.
Ivanova has arrived.

Joral looks over to Michel..."So you are here speak with the Lords of the
Houses major......while you are here perhaps you might wish to speak with
his Majesty as well. He is always ready to speak with his loyal Vassels."

Iohannes enters from the hotel lobby.
Iohannes has arrived.

Nils, unable to reach his soup, sits silently and stares at it with a
forlorn look. A wigged servant offers to help him, but he shakes his head
with regret.

Iohannes sweeps into a low bow to each siridar.

Gabriel enters from the hotel lobby.
Gabriel has arrived.

Upon the arms of Gabriel, Ivanova enters. The two pause at the doorway
before Ivanova lightly nods her head to a small table set apart from the
Imperial one.

Iohannes bows to the siridari and other assembled grandees, making his
way to a seat beside the Lord Alvstad.

Jean-Clement samples the new bottles of wine and nods in approval.

Iohannes joins you at the Imperial table.

Gabriel turns his head towards Ivanova briefly and says something in a
hushed tone to her.

Nils turns his wheelchair to face the incoming Rastanyevs. "Lady Ivanova,
Governor Vaurenta! Please, join us. This is the Baron d'Alembert of whom
I have spoken so much." He indicates the young man with his spoon.

Baron Michel stands quickly and bows with a flourish. As he sweeps it
below him, his hat loses its large red feather. Disappointed, Michel
hands it to a servant, who hurries off in search of a new feather.

Ivanova is about to turn towards the table she indicated when she hears
the heralds of the greetings. For the first time, she looks up to see the
Viscount. A small glance to the side is made to Gabriel before she nods
her head slightly and smiles, "Viscount Alvstad. Please... we do not wish
to be a bother to your party."

Praxton rises to his feet when he spots Ivanova and her retinue arriving.
He bows his head to her in greeting, "Milady Rastanyev."

Joral keeps his attention focused on Michel

Gabriel looks to the viscount and nods his head, offering a sincere
smile, then looks to the young man indicated to give him a casual glance
over.

Jean-Clement, an aged dignified fellow seated next to Baron Michel, rises
and bows deeply to the new arrivals.

Nils swivels his wheelchair back and forth quickly, in an odd, full-body
parody of a head-shake. "A bother?" He emits a hoarse laugh. "Not at all!
Please, sit...House Minor d'Alembert is treating us all to an
unparalleled feast..." He frowns. "At least, it looks so. I have been
unable to taste it of yet."

Steffan enters from the hotel lobby.
Steffan has arrived.

Ballinore is seated to the side of Boris, hands resting gently upon the
immaculate table top. The Burseg stares solemnly down into the contents
of his wine glass.

Steffan enters carefully surveying everyone present and then smiles
thinly. He then bows deeply to all nobles present and then walks over to
the table.

Boris says, "Don't worry, Nils, I'm eating enough for us both, eh? Eh?"

Nils wheels himself several feet towards the newcomers. "And na-Marquis
Ginaz, as well! Surely you will join us..."

Steffan joins you at the Imperial table.

Glancing to her side again, Ivanova takes a quick look towards Gabriel
and then nods her head. She turns to smile again towards the table and
bows her head to the Baron d'Alembert, "Then I have you to thank for this
treet. We accept this gratious invite to join your table this eve."

Steffan nods to Nils, "Thank you m'Lord...I shall..."

Michel rises once more, and bows again. This time, he is unable to add
the flourish, having given his hat to an attendant.

Joral stands and bows to the newly arriving nobility.
Joral returns to his seat.

Ambassador Kuviasungnerk rises, swivels on his heels, and bows once to
each new arrival. He then reseats himself and attacks his soup with
renewed vigor.

Ivanova joins you at the Imperial table.

Gabriel nods his head with a smile to Baron d'Alembert, "Yes, please
accept our thanks."

Gabriel joins you at the Imperial table.

Boris shovels in the food, noisily, then belches in appreciation.

Joral turns to Michel again and repeats, "So Baron.....You have come tro
Kaitain to meet the Lords of the Houses Major.....perhaps you should see
if his Majesty has time for an audience, He is always glad to speak with
his loyal Vassels."

Michel, having been occupied for a moment, returns his attention to
Joral. "His Majesty, you say?" His eyes widen, incredulous. "His
Imperial...?" He shakes his head. "I would never think of disturbing his
Imperial presence...! That is...unless?" He closes his eyes and begins
again. "Do you mean that I should meet the Padishah Emperor himself?"

"To what occasion do we celebrate?" Ivanova turns her head to look at one
occupant of the table to the next as she asks, leaving the last person
she looks at the Baron d'Alembert.

Joral nods, "It does not seem inappropriate, I am sure his wisdom will
help you lead your people."

Michel, amazed, crosses himself in an unusual manner. It is similar to
the Orange Catholic method, but adds two more movements.

Joral ignores the odd display.

Steffan sighs at the mention of the Emperor and begins to eat his soup
that was placed before him.

The Baron d'Alembert turns to the Rastanyevs. He eyes Nils and
Kuviasungnerk for a moment, and asks, "May I explain?" The two nod,
almost in unison, as if controlled by a single puppetteer. Michel then
addresses Ivanova, "I have come to this beautiful planet--" he smiles at
Joral "--to submit an application to the Landsraad. House Minor
d'Alembert is applying for House Major status, with the support of Houses
Alvstad and Ukluk. Three sponsors are needed; I am seeking the support of
one more House before I present my application to the High Council."

Joral says, "excuse me Baron...?"

Nils turns to Joral. "Yes, Secretary Ostreloria?"

Ballinore seems intriuged at what is being said now, he leans in slightly
to listen.

Michel turns to Joral. "Yes, Secretary Ostreloria?"

Joral says, "I'm sorry to interupt, please go on...i was simply
surprised."

Boris says, "Here here. We of Harkonnen would be proud to support you,
your Lordship. Eh?"

Iohannes attacks a breadroll with a will.

Seeing that the majority of guests have finished their soup, the
attendants swipe the bowls from their places and hurry off to fetch the
second course.

Steffan looks up with interest, "and so Baron ...please elaborate...tell
us about your House....I have not heard of this..."

Ivanova lets a small smile play upon her lips. She turns to watch the
Baron Harkonnen make his proclamation of support and merely turns to
reach for a flute of wine. His sudden response seems to have silenced
her... for now.

Michel starts forward in his seat. He seems startled for a moment, but
that passes and a large smile crosses his face. "Baron Harkonnen! Thank
you very, very many! House d'Alembert shall be eternally grateful!"

Gabriel's head turns to observe Ivanova but soon returns his attention to
Michel.

Michel and Jean-Clement exchange seats, so that Michel may sit closer to
Boris. He turns and asks, "Lord Ambassador Kuviasungnerk, will you please
elaborate for the na-Marquis while Boris and I discuss amongst
ourselves?" He turns back to Boris and converses with him in hushed
tones.

Boris speaks assuredly to Michel in what are for him quiet tones,
occasionally giving a chuckle or short burst of laughter.

The ample man in the white whalefur parka looks up from the peace of
bread he is devouring. He nods emphatically and swallows his current
mouthful. He smiles widely, and says, "Allow me to be explaining..."

Boris mutters to Baron Michel, "..alliance....food and wine....crush our
damned enemies....D'Alembert...Eh? Eh?" He chuckles, clapping the other
baron on the shoulder in comradely fashion.

Ivanova sips her wine, letting her eyes look over the rim of the glass at
the Ambassador as he speaks.

Kuviasungnerk pushes his chair back from the table. "For those of you
recently arrived, I am the Lord Ambassador Kuviasungnerk of the House of
Ukluk, authorized to act for the young Marquis Havioyak Ukluk." He nods
and smiles widely to each listener. "House Minor d'Alembert has been our
most loyal and productive of House Minors for the last several of
millenniums. They currently hold the Governorship of one of our planets,
Epsilon Corvi III, commonly known as Corvienne."

Boris calls out by way of explanation, "Best damned cooks in the galaxy,
eh?"

Joral taps his fingers on the table.

Ivanova lowers her glass, returning it to the table. She keeps her eyes
focused on the contents within the glass as she interjects, "Tell me
Ambassador... why has House Ukluk sought... NOW to promote its House
Minor and not some months or years before... " She pauses and then
restates her question, "What has changed?"

The d'Alembert attendants return, carrying trays and plates. On each
setting, they place a platter of grilled chicken over a bed of lattice
pasta and spinach, covered in a light bechamel sauce with crushed
walnuts.

Joral says, "And I suppose you, Viscount Alvstad, see some truth to their
claim?"

Boris frowns at the meal. "Walnuts? I hate those bloody things..." Some
things
he just won't eat. Not many things, but some.

Iohannes looks longingly over the chicken...

Joral hasn't touched a bite all night.

Steffan smiles thinly, at Ivanova's question, "yes, why now do you seek
House Major status. Why do feel now that you deserve it, I do imply
sarcasm but I am genuinely interested..."

The portly ambassador nods to Ivanova, frowns at Steffan's lack of tact,
and, continues, "Three thousand of years ago, a group of religious
refugees from House Turenne pogroms booked passage on a Guild Heighliner.
House Ukluk granted them asylum on E. Corvi III, a cold, barren world
that we had little use for. Over several of millenniums, at great expense
to their leading family--" he nods to Michel--", they terraformed the
planet, build a planetwide civilization, and amassed a large fortune.
They became much wealthy, wealthier even than Ukluk..."

Kuviasungnerk continues, "House Minor d'Alembert has been satisfied with
their status under House Ukluk for millennia. However, of late, they
feel...not dissatisfied, but...without rest? Restless, that is. For all
intensive purposes, they control a planet, have a large fortune, and are
still only petty nobility. They have decided that it is time for a
friendly break with the Ukluk, and have agreed to reimburse us kindly for
our planet and our kindness..."

Nils turns to face the Ambassador. "This does not have anything to do
with your little...war...does it, Lord Kuviasungnerk? Please do not leave
us in the dark as to that situation."

Ivanova eases her position so that her back now rests against the back of
her chair. She lifts one arm, placing the elbow against the armrest of
the chair and the fingers along her thin lips. At the Viscount's words, a
thin eyebrow arches upwards as the unspoken question is clearly written
upon her face, 'What has the War to do with this?'

Kuviasungnerk sighs. "I was to be getting to that, your Excellency." He
fidgets with his fork and knife. "You might wander why the Ukluk would be
so eager to give up one of our fief worlds, even so much as to sponsor a
new House?" He drops his knife. His eyes follow it to the floor, but he
does not stoop to retrieve it. "To put it with bluntly, the House of
Ukluk is in severe need of solaris. Our War of Assassins with House
Chakramurthi is going very badly for us. We are low on supplies, low on
assassins, and have lost already three worlds! In exchange for sponsoring
the d'Alembert application and allowing them Corvienne, we will receive
enough solaris to prevent catastrophe."

Jean-Clement nods to the Ambassador's words.

Joral says, "I do not believe the situation of the Ukluk War of Assassins
is central to the question. The question is House d'Alembert's fitness to
become a House Major."

A metallic *zing* is heard from a corner of the room. A faint buzzing
sound follows.

Iohannes raises his voice. "Halt! Stay in your places honoured lords and
worthies! Something is a foot!"

Steffan looks at the Ambassador unconvinced, "No disrespect Ambassador
but my father the Marquis as a result of his recent illness has granted
me more powers than I probably deserve as the na-Marquis. I still however
to do presume to speak absolutely for House Ginaz but I doubt that this
alone would convince my Father to support your house. I am afraid wealth
alone is not enough."

Joral drops to the floor...slowly and clumsily.

Nils pauses and looks to Iohannes.

Steffan activates his shield generator.

Boris raises a brow and rises from his seat.

Iohannes looks first to the safety of his siridar, and then glances about
the room.

One by one, Holtzmann shields flare up around the room. A nervous, static
tension crosses the room.

Joral fumbles with his Holtzman Generator Pack.

Iohannes says, "A hunter seeker!"

Joral finally hits the correct connector....but his fumbling set it for
1/2 shield.

Ballinore doesn't bother to glance around, yet he immediately slams the
button on his shield pack... jumping up from his seat he begins to gaze
about the room.

Iohannes glances about the room drawing his sword instinctively, a heavy
and ugly looking thing.

Praxton's shield goes up on command from his bodyguard, who runs into the
Dining room at a full tilt.

Steffan rises slowly his sheild generator flickering in the light.

Joral freezes at hearing the words "Hunter-Seeker"

Ivanova is about to ask another question when the warning is heard. Her
mouth lingers open slightly, the comment hanging unspoken. She lets her
finger drop to the generator at her side. As the shield sizzles about
her, she shifts uuncomfortablely in her seat.

Gabriel seems about to get up, making the slightest of moves protectively
to Ivanova but stops in place suddenly.

Ballinore presses his chair back, not caring about the mention of a
Hunter-Seeker. Quickly two Sardaukar in working uniform step up to flank
the Burseg who continues to scan the area.

Boris stays where he is, not flicking on his generator yet. He watches
the room, moving only his eyes.
Iohannes stands still, barely breathing.

The hunter seeker buzzes across the room, searching for movement. It
catches Ballinore's sudden movement, and hurries over to his seat. It
pauses for a moment, confused, and then turns, heading toward the one
person still moving--Jean-Clement, who didn't hear the shout.

A strangled gasp is heard from next to Baron Michel. Jean-Clement
clutches his chest, where a 20 cm length of silver metal is sticking out
between his second and third ribs. Blood flows freely down his side,
staining his fine garments.

Jean-Clement grasps the device that's plunged into his side. It buzzes
like an angry hornet as the little suspensor motor propels it further
into his flesh.

The old man shrieks and kicks his feet in agony.

Ballinore glances down to the item lodged into Jean-Clement, quickly
scooping his hand downwards to grab the end still protruding from his
body.

The end of the hunter-seeker snaps off in Ballinore's hand. He draws out
the thin needle, but Jean-Clement still thrashes about in agony.

The hunter-seeker buzzes malevolently and digs further into
Jean-Clement's ribcage, lodged firmly. The old man shrieks, grasping at
the device, beginning to convulse in sheer torturous pain.

Joral speaks from below the table, "Someone call in some guards....and a
Suk."

Ballinore growls as it snaps off in his hand, carefully handing it to his
aide before growling out, "Get a Suk out here, now!"

Jean-Clement rises up in his seat, spasming, falling into Ballinore's
arms, bleeding all over the Sardaukar's uniform. His voice comes
raggedly, uncontrollably shrieking in little gasping screams.

Nils watches Jean-Clement thrash, horrified. "You only caught the end,
Burseg! The head's still in there!" His eyes grow wide in terror at
Jean-Clement's bloody agony.

Through the crackle and distortion of her shield, Ivanova watches the
events silently. Perhaps it is the effect of the shield, perhaps not...
her face looks inanimate and distant in its lack of emotion as to what is
going on about her.

Boris says, "Bashar! Snap his neck, end his pain, eh?"

Iohannes kneels beside the man, taking out a dagger.

Joral activates his com unit and speaking into it urgently in battle
language.

Ballinore extends his arms quickly, bracing himself for the weight of
Jean-Clement as the man falls into him. Glancing around with a face of
anger he yells once more, "Seal off the Hotel, shutdown all subway
systems leading to this District... restrict Ornithopter traffic as
well." Glancing to Joral he commands, "I want twenty fully equipped APC's
here on the double."

Jean-Clement is now in full grand mal convulsion, flopping like a fish
out of water, his screams strangely muted. Blood gouts from his chest and
he desperately scrabbles at his ribs. He tries to suck in air in little
moans, eyes blind, blood spilling everywhere, all over the table, finery,
hissing and steaming as it falls upon shield surfaces...

Joral mutters from below the table. "Already done."

Boris says calmly to Praxton, "If they'd find the damned assassin, this
would be over quickly, eh?"

Iohannes looks to the Baron d'Alembert. "May I end it, my lord?"

Michel, sweating profusely, nods in agreement. "There's...there's no
getting it out now! It will chew...and chew..." --he shakes his head in
horror-- "...chewing up his nervous system until it reaches his brain
stem! Please! Ki...kill...end his agony, now." The young Baron tries
unsuccessfully to hold back tears as his uncle virtually explodes on the
table. "Yes, Ambassador..."

Jean-Clement grasps blindly at Ballinore's face, hands flexing, the
sounds coming from the ruin of a man now just a long low scream of sheer
terror and utter agony.

Ballinore glances to Michel and then to the Ambassador before finally
resting his gaze upon the man in his own arms, with a quick motion he
snap Jean-Clement's neck. Though he continues to hold the now lifeless
body.

Iohannes takes his dagger, cutting the man's throat as quickly and
cleanly as possible.

Steffan looks at the scene horrified as he switches off his generator.

In his death throes he kicks and still screams, terrified, spraying blood
and gore all about. The room is filled with the smell of urine and
released bowels as Jean-Clement dies, his shriek dying out to silence. He
collapses in Ballinore's arms.

Joral slowly stands up, his shield only protecting the right side of his
body.

Boris looks about. "Find the damned controller, eh? The old bastard's
dead!"

Joral says, "Troops on there way....."

Boris rolls his eyes. "Oh, grand. The same troops who looked into the
Ginaz bombing, eh?"

Iohannes rises, soaked in blood.

Ballinore glances sidelong at Boris, shaking his head with a grim look,
"No, these are my elite Sardaukar. They should get the job done much
better then the Ginaz were able to do."

Boris chuckles. "Oh, of course, that explains it, Bashar."

Joral fumbles with his shield generator until it cuts off with a screech.

Joral says, "Ambassador, Baron....where are your Guards?!?"

Steffan turns to Boris and Ballinore his eyes a bit narrowed, "We killed
those responisble. Perhaps you will be efficient..."

Praxton is stupefied as he regards the scene, hands stiff and trembling,
mouth agape and eyes dull. It is the look of a man who has seen too much
death.

Boris yawns. "Well, wasn't that a grand evening, eh? Great food and some
entertainment as well." He lifts his glass. "No sense letting this wine
go to waste..."

Iohannes murmurs to no one in particular, "An ill starred month if ever
there was..."

Ballinore glares at Boris with ice cold eyes, "You will stop hampering me
in my attempt to make sense of this assasination and allow me to do my
job..." Without giving the Harkonnen another thought he sets down the
dead body of Jean-Clement upon the table.

Harkonnen guards clad in black hurry in and speak quietly in the Baron's
ear.

Boris mutters to Praxton, "Hamper?... I..."

Joral receives a beeps from his com and lifts it to his ear, "Sarduakar
here in 5"

The Baron Michel collects himself, wipes the tears and sweat from his
face, turns his shield off, and returns to his seat to await the troops.
He pushes his plate away, the chicken now soaked in bechamel and blood.
He murmurs to Nils under his breath, "I knew this trip was too risky.
That hunter-seeker was meant for me! Both mon oncle and I are on the list
of targets for this damnable war..."

Boris sips at his wine as his guards speak. He looks at them and nods.

Boris frowns at Michel. "Oh, don't go all to pieces, Baron! Let's find
the little fellow who did all this, eh?"

Nils nods, not having budged. He says, softly, "There are those that do
not want this transaction to take place." His head falls, and he looks at
his lap.

Ballinore turns his attention towards Baron Michel, quickly he says,
"Keep your shield on, Baron, it might yet prove useful." Glancing
sidelong at his own Sardaukar guards he says, "Stay with them until you
safely make it back to the Alvstad Embassy, that is who you are with,
yes..?"

The Ukluk and d'Alembert guards rush out of the room in search for the
controller. Eight of them, four furred and four fancy, remain behind.

Boris tears off a hunk of bread and mops up some sauce on his plate.
"Then we'll peel the assassin's flesh off, eh?" He eyes the corpse of
Jean-Clement on the table before him as he eats.

Praxton regains his composure in steps, first flexing his hands, then
normalizing his expression. He turns to thank and dismiss his bodyguard.

Michel resets his shield. The orangish static flicker envelops his thin
form. He nods to the Burseg, but remains silent.

Joral says, "If House Chakramurthi sent this hunter-seeker then they are
in for a surprise. I'm sure the Judge of the Change will want to hear
about this night."

Joral says, "The forms have NOT be obeyed."

Ballinore stands back from the body of Jean-Clement, glancing around the
room he bellows, "Anyone who finds the culprit or culprits shall bring
them to me. If the assassin winds up dead, the one who killed him/her
shall answer to me."

Ivanova watches Joral's passionate speech and smiles slightly. She then
touches her side to lower her shield and allow her to regain the wine
glass within her hand. She takes a long, silent sip.

Iohannes nods. "The Charkramurthi have no honour if they have done this.
May they suffer even more than my lord the noble Baron Harkonnen has
suggested."

Boris wipes his mouth with a corner of the tablecloth and rises. "You'll
inform me when you find the fellow, eh?" He nods to his guards and claps
Praxton on the shoulder as he passes in farewell. He gives a respectful
bow to the other Siridars as well before he leaves.

Kuviasungnerk moves over to the young Baron and lays a hand on his
shoulder. "I am not so sure it was meant for you, son. I, too, am on this
War's List of Targets."

Boris passes through the arch leading into the hotel lobby.
Boris has left.

Gabriel has turned off his shield and moves beside Ivanova, giving her a
concerned look, "Are you alright, m'lady?"

Joral says, "It does not matter who was the intended target, if House
Chakramurthi sent this device they places us all in danger, they have
violated the War of Assassins."

"Many if's and no definites." Ivanova says lightly, as if more to herself
than anyone else. Yet her eyes watch Iohannes as she speaks. She turns
lightly towards Gabriel and nods her head, "Yes. Thank you Baron. I would
like to depart from this company as the night grows old... and it seems
I've lost my appetite."

You pass through the arch and enter the hotel lobby.