Kugel
Relevant to the events of Episode 2.
1.
2.
1.
It seemed like an easy thing.
A bit of pastry as a thank you to a friend and ally.
Pastry isn't like other coveted snacks. You don't need a factory to make a Kugel.
Kugel is eternal.
Still, there are ingredients that are hard to come by. More than that, it takes more than skill, more than craft. Making a proper Kugel is art.
Fortunately Tiber Fane was acquainted with an artist who could produce the gift he needed to balance the scales.
It took a bit of doing and more than a hundred volts but he got Marcus the Fox everything he needed.
Two days later he returned to the makeshift bakery to retrieve his prize.
Battle honed senses warned him that something was wrong before he saw the Fox lying dead, still clutching his paddle.
Throwing himself to the side, he curled himself into a ball and came up firing his auto pistol.
He couldn't even see his targets clearly because of how fast he was moving but he counted three one of which he had already ventilated.
Crossbow bolts whizzed past as he killed the second.
Before the remaining thug could react Tiber slid up beside him and held his blade to his throat.
"Where!!" he demanded.
Shaking, the thug dropped his crossbow and tried to respond "what?"
"The KUGEL you stain! The GOD DAMNED KUGEL. Where. Is. It.?"
He didn't know. All he knew was that they had been hired by someone to retrieve the Kugel. The woman who took it was on a motorcycle.
Fane walked away from the bakery and the corpses of those who helped take what he wanted from him, killing a friend and an artist in the process.
The only good news is that if someone wanted the Kugel it was still in one piece.
He reloaded his gun and started down the road in the direction the thug gave before he ended him.
A bit of pastry as a thank you to a friend and ally.
Pastry isn't like other coveted snacks. You don't need a factory to make a Kugel.
Kugel is eternal.
Still, there are ingredients that are hard to come by. More than that, it takes more than skill, more than craft. Making a proper Kugel is art.
Fortunately Tiber Fane was acquainted with an artist who could produce the gift he needed to balance the scales.
It took a bit of doing and more than a hundred volts but he got Marcus the Fox everything he needed.
Two days later he returned to the makeshift bakery to retrieve his prize.
Battle honed senses warned him that something was wrong before he saw the Fox lying dead, still clutching his paddle.
Throwing himself to the side, he curled himself into a ball and came up firing his auto pistol.
He couldn't even see his targets clearly because of how fast he was moving but he counted three one of which he had already ventilated.
Crossbow bolts whizzed past as he killed the second.
Before the remaining thug could react Tiber slid up beside him and held his blade to his throat.
"Where!!" he demanded.
Shaking, the thug dropped his crossbow and tried to respond "what?"
"The KUGEL you stain! The GOD DAMNED KUGEL. Where. Is. It.?"
He didn't know. All he knew was that they had been hired by someone to retrieve the Kugel. The woman who took it was on a motorcycle.
Fane walked away from the bakery and the corpses of those who helped take what he wanted from him, killing a friend and an artist in the process.
The only good news is that if someone wanted the Kugel it was still in one piece.
He reloaded his gun and started down the road in the direction the thug gave before he ended him.
2.
Most travel in the wasted land is on foot.
Riding beasts attracts predators and vehicles are unreasonably expensive.
Tiber Fane set out on foot after whoever had stolen the pastry.
It was a cold day with ash flurries that limited visibility enough to make him nervous.
He pulled his scarf over his mouth and nose.
Normally he would just shelter somewhere from the storm but he had to keep moving if he was to have any chance of catching the motorcycle.
If he was lucky, the ash would make it so hard to drive that his prey would walk the bike or pull over long enough for him to catch up.
After an hour or so the storm let up enough for him to see the motorcycle parked outside what looked to have once been a diner.
Tiber grinned. Lucky.
He moved carefully to the back door.
No one could have seen him approach. With so much ash in the air he wouldn’t even have to rely on his stealth suit.
There was a lock on the door but breaking and entering was an almost insultingly casual use of his skills. Once inside, he started clearing the rooms one by one, weapon in hand.
A soft voice spoke out from somewhere in the darkness “What are the odds?”
He would know that voice anywhere. It had the power to strip him of his carefully cultivated detachment.
Rachel.
She stepped out from behind the salad bar, a broad grin on her face.
“Needed shelter from the storm?” she teased.
He approached carefully, like he might spook her - be he knew better.
“Alone?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Me too…”
There was a break room with a couch. Lucky again.
Life is an exercise in assumption of risk.
This was clearly a terrible idea but he weighed the risks against an hour or so of feeling like the world wasn’t an irredeemable hellscape.
He chose to share some time with her in that diner break room. It was too urgent to be called intimate but it was something he needed more than he could admit to himself of anyone.
He was convinced he loved her once. They met on a job. She was another pro. They called her “Shadow”. If she didn’t want to be seen she could be invisible.
“The water here is good. I wouldn’t drink it, but a quick camp shower?”
Tiber chuckled. “Was that a hint?”
“Maybe.” she flirted.
He allowed himself a lingering last look.
She was the most impure pure he had ever met.
He sighed and raised his autopistol.
“Well fuck.” she muttered.
“Yeah. Business.”
She gestured to her clothes and he waved her toward them with the gun.
As she put them back on, he asked “where is it?”
She smiled again and all of the sudden something clicked.
She was stalling.
“What did you do?” he demanded.
Zipping up her bodysuit she answered “A drone on the roof. Gave it a twenty minute timer to give the storm time to chill. It’s gone now. Headed back home.”
So much for his contented glow. No time to bask.
“Where is home?”
The two just stared at each other for a long minute.
Tiber broke the deadlock.
“They killed my friend.”
The seriousness of the situation set in. She softened.
“So this isn’t about whatever they stole?”
“Kugel. No. Not any more.”
She put on her motorcycle helmet.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. We were working for someone who calls himself the Gourmet. I’m not sure how he knew what you friend had or why he wanted it but he paid well to have it. I can give you the location of the last place where I was hired but that’s all I know.”
Tiber knew her well enough to know that she was telling the truth.
“We good?” she asked.
“You didn’t know.” he answered.
She handed him a slip of paper and headed into the night.
He allowed himself to wonder idly if he would ever see her again then got back to work.
He knew where the Kugel was headed.
Riding beasts attracts predators and vehicles are unreasonably expensive.
Tiber Fane set out on foot after whoever had stolen the pastry.
It was a cold day with ash flurries that limited visibility enough to make him nervous.
He pulled his scarf over his mouth and nose.
Normally he would just shelter somewhere from the storm but he had to keep moving if he was to have any chance of catching the motorcycle.
If he was lucky, the ash would make it so hard to drive that his prey would walk the bike or pull over long enough for him to catch up.
After an hour or so the storm let up enough for him to see the motorcycle parked outside what looked to have once been a diner.
Tiber grinned. Lucky.
He moved carefully to the back door.
No one could have seen him approach. With so much ash in the air he wouldn’t even have to rely on his stealth suit.
There was a lock on the door but breaking and entering was an almost insultingly casual use of his skills. Once inside, he started clearing the rooms one by one, weapon in hand.
A soft voice spoke out from somewhere in the darkness “What are the odds?”
He would know that voice anywhere. It had the power to strip him of his carefully cultivated detachment.
Rachel.
She stepped out from behind the salad bar, a broad grin on her face.
“Needed shelter from the storm?” she teased.
He approached carefully, like he might spook her - be he knew better.
“Alone?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Me too…”
There was a break room with a couch. Lucky again.
Life is an exercise in assumption of risk.
This was clearly a terrible idea but he weighed the risks against an hour or so of feeling like the world wasn’t an irredeemable hellscape.
He chose to share some time with her in that diner break room. It was too urgent to be called intimate but it was something he needed more than he could admit to himself of anyone.
He was convinced he loved her once. They met on a job. She was another pro. They called her “Shadow”. If she didn’t want to be seen she could be invisible.
“The water here is good. I wouldn’t drink it, but a quick camp shower?”
Tiber chuckled. “Was that a hint?”
“Maybe.” she flirted.
He allowed himself a lingering last look.
She was the most impure pure he had ever met.
He sighed and raised his autopistol.
“Well fuck.” she muttered.
“Yeah. Business.”
She gestured to her clothes and he waved her toward them with the gun.
As she put them back on, he asked “where is it?”
She smiled again and all of the sudden something clicked.
She was stalling.
“What did you do?” he demanded.
Zipping up her bodysuit she answered “A drone on the roof. Gave it a twenty minute timer to give the storm time to chill. It’s gone now. Headed back home.”
So much for his contented glow. No time to bask.
“Where is home?”
The two just stared at each other for a long minute.
Tiber broke the deadlock.
“They killed my friend.”
The seriousness of the situation set in. She softened.
“So this isn’t about whatever they stole?”
“Kugel. No. Not any more.”
She put on her motorcycle helmet.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. We were working for someone who calls himself the Gourmet. I’m not sure how he knew what you friend had or why he wanted it but he paid well to have it. I can give you the location of the last place where I was hired but that’s all I know.”
Tiber knew her well enough to know that she was telling the truth.
“We good?” she asked.
“You didn’t know.” he answered.
She handed him a slip of paper and headed into the night.
He allowed himself to wonder idly if he would ever see her again then got back to work.
He knew where the Kugel was headed.
3.
Rachel kept the helmet but left him the motorcycle, keys in the ignition.
Tiber smiled. It was an apology. She had given him a chance.
He mounted up and peeled out.
The ash storm had died down but the highway was still a bit slick from the accumulation so he drove less quickly than he would have liked to.
The location Rachel had given him was only a few miles away.
He closed the distance in about twenty minutes, cursing the ash all the way..
He pulled up tight at the location she had given him and dismounted.
Apparently she had her meeting in an old dance studio.
There was no electric light but someone had set up some burning barrels out front.
He could see a small group gathered inside.
It would have been satisfying to just wade in guns blazing but he needed information so he approached slowly with his hands up, pistol tucked in the back of his pants.
They saw him coming and sent two of their number out to speak with them.
“Nice ride” one of them offered with a smirk.
Tiber tensed. These were hired guns. They were tuned to look for a fight and as much as he ached to give him one it was a bad idea.
“Someone stole something from me. They are dead now. I want my property back.”
Hands on guns. To be expected.
“This doesn’t have to concern you. I am looking for the Gourmet. Tell me how I can find him and will be on my way.”
The staredown doesn’t last long. These guys may have been tough in whatever scrap pits they came from but they weren’t even in Tiber’s league.
One of them got brave enough to speak “I don’t know what you are looking for but the Gourmet is holed up at the GoNuts DoNuts three miles east.”
“But you don’t want any part of him, or that place” the other one offered.
They were scared. Of the Gourmet. Good to know.
“You boys have a nice night now.”
He climbed on the bike and rode away without looking back.
Whoever the Gourmet was, he better pray that Kugel is still in one piece.
The Gourmet sat down at his place at the head of the table.
His guests had all arrived and were seated first. He liked to make an entrance.
Victor has learned that the key to the kingdom was scarcity. He had begun his career as an arms merchant but there are weapons everywhere.
Often when he spoke casually to his clients about what they really wanted it wasn’t some high powered rifle or autocannon. It was always food.
After almost twenty years selling guns his biggest sale was a case of “Carmello MuffinTop Breakfast Rolls” that he salvaged from a climate controlled vault. Some wise ass had put them in next to important papers and a stack of cash. The cash had turned out to be useless. The case of Carmellos bought him his house.
Since then, he offered his clients what was truly scarce - food worth eating.
He has a network of informants who kept tabs on anyone who could source what he sold including some talented cooks, chefs and bakers.
One of these was Marcus the Fox. When Marcus began gathering ingredients such as raisins, sour cream and cinnamon he knew it was going to be for something special - something he had to have so he dispatched his men to buy it for me and if Marcus wouldn’t sell, to retrieve it.
Victor and his guests shared acceptable appetizers, sides and mains.
He watched them trying to hide their disappointment. His menu, as always, was carefully planned. He took them where he wanted them to maximize the impact of the desert.
“Good evening. My name is Tiber Fane and you have something that belongs to me.”
The intruder had a stylish jacket over a stealth suit and was brandishing a mid grade auto pistol.
Victor frowned.
“You are uninvited and unwelcome Sir. I am known as the Gourmet and these people are not only my guests, they are my customers. They are the kinds of people that have bought weapons from me for many years. They are all dangerous, all armed and they are all connected to organizations that you don’t want hunting you.”
At this point, a goblin girl entered with a silver tray. On it was a large rectangle of Kugle, a golden promise dusted with powdered sugar.
Tiber holstered his pistol and walked toward the tray.
All eyes followed him.
4.
He raised his hands as he moved to show that his intentions were not for the time being, violent.
Tension rose with every step.
As he neared the prize he spoke.
“Your men killed a friend of mine, the artist who made that.”
Victor scowled. Unfortunate. There would be no more from him. On the other and, that made this last Marcus Kugel an even more valuable commodity.
Tiber gestured for the girl to set the tray on the table. She obeyed.
Slowly, carefully, he reached for the long serrated knife.
Everyone present was faced with having to decide whether or not to open fire on the newcomer.
None did.
Tiber carefully cut the Kugel in two. He withdrew a plastic baggie from his jacket and placed half the Kugel inside.
He nodded to the Gourmet “Enjoy your desert.”
Victor chose not to take action. He was certain they could take this man down but he couldn’t be sure none of them would be harmed. Better to keep these customers.
As Tiber left, the Gourmet called after him “Be seeing you.”
Tiber Fane sighed. Add him to the list.
At least Anita would get the thank you she deserved.
Half of it anyway.
Vengeance would have to wait.
Rachel kept the helmet but left him the motorcycle, keys in the ignition.
Tiber smiled. It was an apology. She had given him a chance.
He mounted up and peeled out.
The ash storm had died down but the highway was still a bit slick from the accumulation so he drove less quickly than he would have liked to.
The location Rachel had given him was only a few miles away.
He closed the distance in about twenty minutes, cursing the ash all the way..
He pulled up tight at the location she had given him and dismounted.
Apparently she had her meeting in an old dance studio.
There was no electric light but someone had set up some burning barrels out front.
He could see a small group gathered inside.
It would have been satisfying to just wade in guns blazing but he needed information so he approached slowly with his hands up, pistol tucked in the back of his pants.
They saw him coming and sent two of their number out to speak with them.
“Nice ride” one of them offered with a smirk.
Tiber tensed. These were hired guns. They were tuned to look for a fight and as much as he ached to give him one it was a bad idea.
“Someone stole something from me. They are dead now. I want my property back.”
Hands on guns. To be expected.
“This doesn’t have to concern you. I am looking for the Gourmet. Tell me how I can find him and will be on my way.”
The staredown doesn’t last long. These guys may have been tough in whatever scrap pits they came from but they weren’t even in Tiber’s league.
One of them got brave enough to speak “I don’t know what you are looking for but the Gourmet is holed up at the GoNuts DoNuts three miles east.”
“But you don’t want any part of him, or that place” the other one offered.
They were scared. Of the Gourmet. Good to know.
“You boys have a nice night now.”
He climbed on the bike and rode away without looking back.
Whoever the Gourmet was, he better pray that Kugel is still in one piece.
The Gourmet sat down at his place at the head of the table.
His guests had all arrived and were seated first. He liked to make an entrance.
Victor has learned that the key to the kingdom was scarcity. He had begun his career as an arms merchant but there are weapons everywhere.
Often when he spoke casually to his clients about what they really wanted it wasn’t some high powered rifle or autocannon. It was always food.
After almost twenty years selling guns his biggest sale was a case of “Carmello MuffinTop Breakfast Rolls” that he salvaged from a climate controlled vault. Some wise ass had put them in next to important papers and a stack of cash. The cash had turned out to be useless. The case of Carmellos bought him his house.
Since then, he offered his clients what was truly scarce - food worth eating.
He has a network of informants who kept tabs on anyone who could source what he sold including some talented cooks, chefs and bakers.
One of these was Marcus the Fox. When Marcus began gathering ingredients such as raisins, sour cream and cinnamon he knew it was going to be for something special - something he had to have so he dispatched his men to buy it for me and if Marcus wouldn’t sell, to retrieve it.
Victor and his guests shared acceptable appetizers, sides and mains.
He watched them trying to hide their disappointment. His menu, as always, was carefully planned. He took them where he wanted them to maximize the impact of the desert.
“Good evening. My name is Tiber Fane and you have something that belongs to me.”
The intruder had a stylish jacket over a stealth suit and was brandishing a mid grade auto pistol.
Victor frowned.
“You are uninvited and unwelcome Sir. I am known as the Gourmet and these people are not only my guests, they are my customers. They are the kinds of people that have bought weapons from me for many years. They are all dangerous, all armed and they are all connected to organizations that you don’t want hunting you.”
At this point, a goblin girl entered with a silver tray. On it was a large rectangle of Kugle, a golden promise dusted with powdered sugar.
Tiber holstered his pistol and walked toward the tray.
All eyes followed him.
4.
He raised his hands as he moved to show that his intentions were not for the time being, violent.
Tension rose with every step.
As he neared the prize he spoke.
“Your men killed a friend of mine, the artist who made that.”
Victor scowled. Unfortunate. There would be no more from him. On the other and, that made this last Marcus Kugel an even more valuable commodity.
Tiber gestured for the girl to set the tray on the table. She obeyed.
Slowly, carefully, he reached for the long serrated knife.
Everyone present was faced with having to decide whether or not to open fire on the newcomer.
None did.
Tiber carefully cut the Kugel in two. He withdrew a plastic baggie from his jacket and placed half the Kugel inside.
He nodded to the Gourmet “Enjoy your desert.”
Victor chose not to take action. He was certain they could take this man down but he couldn’t be sure none of them would be harmed. Better to keep these customers.
As Tiber left, the Gourmet called after him “Be seeing you.”
Tiber Fane sighed. Add him to the list.
At least Anita would get the thank you she deserved.
Half of it anyway.
Vengeance would have to wait.
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