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Gamemaster's Puppet: The Cayucan Puppet
OOC Thread
OOC
As Gamemaster, it's proper that I should post the OP rather than the puppet, regardless of the fact that it's the same person. Save for short replies to my own actions to minimize post spam, this will be the only longform NPC action posted directly by yours truly.
"That wasn't supposed to happen"
Vandenberg Mission Control, Vandenberg AFB, CA
United States of America
3:08 AM, PST
"...Lock the doors."
Office aides briskly made work of the Flight Director's command. Save for the occasional gasp at the moment and the hum of computers, the room had gone quiet. Normally Mission Control would be in a seemingly constant back-and-forth chatter with whatever flight was in action, but today that chatter came to an abrupt halt. 7-ACE-4, the fourth maintenance mission of the 7th Aerospace Combat Engineer squad, had gone dark. Every manned and unmanned mission the United States conducts is in a seemingly perpetual communication with ground control. If not explicitly through flight control or verbal communication, than certainly in flight data and vitals. But today, 7-ACE-4 had gone dark. Totally dark. No radio chatter, no flight data, no vitals. Nothing. With Mission Control unable to get anything from 7-ACE-4 but a radar ping, Mission control had no choice but to assume the worst.
"Orion, Vandenberg, comms check." The Flight Director was mentally taking tally of the possibilities. At this point, 7-ACE-4 was at an altitude workable for Low Earth Orbit. Their mission was at an higher altitude, though. Perhaps a critical malfunction compromised the vessel. Until Mission Control could get confirmation from other Space Force assets, they had to assume there was a chance 7-ACE-4 was still alive and their vessel was sound. The Mission Control team was scrambling to do what they could to confirm the mission's wellbeing. The Flight Director started asking to get the rest of Space Operations Command available to confirm this possibility.
Not even five minutes later a knock rapped from one of the locked doors. It was one of Vandenberg's vice commanders. "Open up in there, it's Colonel Reeves."
The Flight Director was thankful for a reason to stop having his focus tuned entirely to the status report in front of Mission Control, even if it stopped being useful some fifteen minutes ago. He was the first to reach the door and open it for the Colonel. "You're a sight for sore eyes at this awful hour, Sir. You have any news for us?"
Col. Reeves kept his voice low. "Yeah ... keep it down. You got an empty office around here?"
The Flight Director nodded and ushered Col. Reeves in. Col. Reeves wasn't the senior commander of Vandenberg nor the wing the 21st SOPS was beholden to. But at this rate, having any superior to answer to offload some of the pressure to was good. The Flight Director took Reeves to his office and closed the door behind them. "So what can you tell me, Sir? We haven't had any luck reaching the Spades from here."
"Nor have we. At least not exactly. We were able to confirm the crew is still alive and their vessel is in working condition. The Surveillance Network suggests that the vessel is changing course."
"Well that's good, Sir, the crew's alive and the vessel is well. I'm assuming they're aborting the mission?"
Col. Reeves had a sort of sideways glance and gave pause before a response. "Director, I assume Mission Control wouldn't have any way of knowing the current situation of the Spades. That correct?"
The Flight Director gave it thought and figured he had it right. "Seems so, Sir. All they know is that we've lost all communication. Don't think they'd know why."
Col. Reeves looked down with a furrow and a tut. He made a decision with how this was going to go. "Let your Mission know that higher command is taking direct control of the situation. No one is to speak of the mission's outcome. You and the rest of Mission Control may be talked with to make sure of that if it proves necessary. Don't consider this a direct relief so much as a ... a shift in command. Understood?"
Not that Col. Reeves was trying to hide it, but the Flight Director could sense that something bigger was happening. Something worse than a classified vessel exploding in the upper atmosphere, whatever could be worse than that. In all honesty, he didn't want to know. If it wasn't worse, it was at least above his pay grade. "Understood, Sir. I'll make sure the rest of Mission Control follows."
Col. Reeves smiled at the sound of the Flight Director's compliance. "Very good. You'll hear from us if any relevant developments require your attention. In the meantime, keep your data handy. We may need it later."
Situation Room — the White House, Washington DC
6:49 AM, EST
"Ten-hut!" An NCO opened the Situation Room's door. President Bartlet and Chief of Staff Leo McGarry followed suit, prompting the room's occupants to rise at attention.
"Keep your seats!" Bartlet said as the two of them took their positions at the head of the table. The various generals and relevant secretaries returned to their positions at ease. Bartlet resumed reading the briefing he had on hand, boldly labelled classified and dashed red bordered. Not that it was unusual for his briefings to be classified, just that this one seemed even more so and was a separate from his daily. He was well aware by now that it meant today would be a long one. "What's the matter, can't we have breakfast in peace? Leo tells me we have a developing situation in Space of all places."
Chairman Fitzwallace took initiative to verbally brief the President of the problem. "Mr. President, at 03:08 Pacific Time, the 7th Aerospace Combat Engineers, aka. the Spades, ceased all communications with the Space Force. Vandenberg Air Force Base stopped receiving radio chatter, data transmission, or any transmission in fact from the specialized Orion spacecraft they manned. At 03:12, the United States Space Surveillance Network confirmed that Orion was going AWOL from its mission and had changed its course for an interception with the International Space Station. Our estimates indicate that the Spades will reach interception in approximately 20 hours. Between orbit matching and docking, it may take the Spades two to four hours to properly rendezvous with the ISS."
"Well," Bartlet said, "I can't imagine the Spades intend to give the fine men and women of the ISS a candy gram."
"No they don't," Fitzwallace confirmed. "If the Spades were aborting their mission, they have clear orders to de-orbit their vessel rather than dock with the ISS. The Space Force believes that the Spades managed to purposely disabled Orion's communications on their own, rather than this being a malfunction in the vessel. Mr. President, as it currently stands, we have reason to believe the Spades have a plan to put the ISS and its lives in jeopardy. The spades are flying a specialized Orion vessel with a cabin, payload, and final stage adapted for their mission. The Spades are highly trained and equipped for aerospace maintenance, repair, decommissioning, and demolitions. They know what they're doing and they're capable of doing it. If they wanted to fix their communications or abort the mission, they would've done so by now. But not only have they failed to do either of these, but they're actively pursuing the Space Station. We currently have no choice but to prepare for a worst case scenario and defend the ISS."
Bartlet was concerned of the developing situation, but was more than capable to maintain a cool exterior in it. "So what are we considering? I'm assuming we can't just shoot the Spades out of the sky, otherwise we wouldn't have this conversation."
Gen. Raymond, Chief of Space Operations, took his turn. "No we can't, Mr. President, not without making this a global incident. Shooting the Orion down would be immediately noticed by the likes of the Chinese, who would likely take pleasure in putting this under worldwide scrutiny. Letting this become a public incident may undermine our diplomatic authority. Shooting down the Orion may also possibly put the ISS in jeopardy of collision with the resulting debris. In sum, simply shooting down the Spades guarantees this becomes a problem on the world stage. We think that this is a matter that calls for men at the scene. Special forces can likely handle this scenario."
Leo McGarry had concerns with the idea. "I would imagine, but as I recall we have practically anyone substantial deployed as-is. Where can we pull from, Fitz?"
Fitz shook his head. "We shouldn't need to. We have a contingency plan for this sort of situation that involves calling on some of our allied nation states. I'm not so sure I'd call it multilateral, or even official, but we have a list of nations and operatives within them who we would consider suitable for such an unprecedented mission."
If it was suitable for Fitz, it was suitable for Leo. "Very well. Give me that list and where you want the operatives to meet and we'll make some calls."
Leo and Bartlet stood up, once again prompting the room at attention. "Thank you, everybody. We'll take care of what we need to do from here. Keep us updated throughout the day with any developments."
A "Thank you, Mr. President," reverberated through the room with the president's departure.
With Fitz's list in hand, Leo McGarry directly called the leadership of the noted nations that a situation was developing that, according to Chair Fitzwallace, warranted a special forces presence. Fitz's recommended operative was requested to be present at Cape Canaveral Space Force Station as soon as possible. The noted nations had clearance to directly transport their operative to Cape Canaveral for briefing and processing. An official such as a (primary or Deputy) Chief of Staff, Communications Director, or ambassador was also suggested for a physical presence at the White House; regardless of title and position, the official should have high level security clearance. The necessity of a unified political strategy was emphasized, implying there's any chance of this mission going public. Discreetness in all transportation was highly encouraged given the circumstances.