IC:
Thrashia wrote:Coruscant
Few things moved slower than bureaucracy – and few bureaucracies were slower than that which had belonged to the galaxy-spanning organization of the Galactic Conclave. With that government all but gone to the tides of an ever changing galaxy, Coruscant had been left in a mess. Given the ennui of the remaining politicians that were local, the emergence of Chaos as such a potent threat, and the swift and clear action taken by Commander Tycho...the result was rather startling. In three weeks, a record by Tycho's mind, those bureaus and agencies that had survived the loss of the Grand Hall debacle – many Coruscanti citizens were still protesting in favor of having the IF pay recompense in either blood or indemnities – had pooled together their resources and reorganized themselves into a functioning planetary government. By popular acclaim and by his own magnetism as amplified by the holo news teams, Tycho had been carried forth and declared the head of state and leader of a new government.
Lord Protector of Coruscant, thought Tycho, sitting in his office as the late hours ticked by. Hardly as pompous as some titles but it does have a nice ring to it. But with that title comes many responsibilities... Tycho once more turned his full attention to the letter before him.-snip-
It bothered Tycho. Too many problems popping up and unanswered questions. Where did the Jedi go? Or were they taken? Was it really possible that the IF had suborned them or tricked them? It was not something one cared to think about: a whole group of Jedi being hoodwinked. But for what purpose...and then there is the fact that even important embassies like that of the Colonial Republic were being misinformed about the threat of radiation. Tycho had been a first-responder to the entire event and had had his own security detail go over the case of the mysterious shield generator that had been purposefully destroyed during the attack on Coruscant. Though there had been a lot of holo-media hype about the dangers, only uneducated fools who fed on fear believed that there was radiation sickness sweeping the area where the explosion had happened. If the attack had happened a few centuries before, when the reactors had been older, cruder models then radiation might have been a small concern – however bacta treatments and other forms of medicinal-nano-technology were easy fixes to such minor problems.
Tycho penned a response, the usual salutations and agreement over the bafflement of the missing Jedi. He reiterated the need for more food stations and housing shelters than any medical stations. Several million had been displaced as a result of the damage and basic necessities were what were needed, not further scare mongering on the part of holo news teams looking for a hot story. Tycho made a mental note to send a reprimand to the Holonet News Network executives.
No rest for the weary, thought Tycho, as he pressed on to the next matter resting in his 'IN' tray.
Coruscant
Nora looked at Tycho’s letter, sipping a cup of Mediterranean-style coffee which was black as night, and with a thick sludge that used to be coffee grounds, out of a well-worn mug that said, “Best Mom Ever.” The mug had seen frequent use in recent days. First, it was coffee with cream and sugar. Then, it was coffee with creamer. Now, it was just coffee, made Mediterranean-style to ensure a maximum jolt of caffeine where it counted. The pressing issues of the day demanded the jettisoning of many luxuries, and French Vanilla creamer was one of them. The other was sleep. Nora didn’t remember the last time she had more than four hours of sleep. Her augmentations ensured she could handle the stresses of sleep deprivation and stress better than most, but it was a hell of a job.
Well, no matter. She guzzled the coffee and perused the letter. Pulling out her laptop, she began to type out a message relaying Tycho’s request to the Ordermen, the Red Cross and the Marines below, simply saying:
“To: Capt. Levine, Capt-Gen. Voroshilov, Ms. Pauling
CC: Norton Simons, Secretary of State [et. al]
From: Acting Ambassador Võ
RE: Correspondence with Tycho
I have received return correspondence from L.P. Tycho. He requests more food and housing instead of medical works. For now, please shift focus if possible on these aspects of our ongoing civil relief efforts, and prepare lists of supplies you require to help ensure proper alleviation of food and housing insecurity. I will bring this up at our conference call later today in detail, hence I’m going to need the lists to ensure everyone’s on the same page—especially when it comes to dealing with the State Department and your respective bureaucracies. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to contact me.
Acting Ambassador Võ”
Nora then finished the coffee, and then changed into some fresh clothing as she walked out of her office. Going to one of the Valkyrie guards, she motioned for her to follow with a simple, “Time to go to work.” Walking out to a repulsorlift craft with the guard—now sporting a Russian AKM—the two began their daily rounds.
The Ctan wrote:(Image)(Image)Transmission Source: The Exalted Phaeron Arnran Selvaran, Nemesor of the Skyriver Kaos Jihad
Destination: Sirithil nos Fëanor, Elentari of Menelmacar, Alexander Blaken-Kazansky, King of Allanea, Norton Simons, Secretary of State of New Dornalia – full list of recipients omitted.
Subject: Relief force for the Skyriver Galaxy
Security: OTP direct links
Dear Sirs and Madams,
As you are no doubt aware, there have recently been a number of atrocities committed by Chaos Space Marines in the distant Skyriver galaxy. As you represent the governments that are both allied to us via mutual defence treaty, and based in the Great Wheel (Milky Way) Galaxy.
Naturally, we are preparing a counter-action to respond to these, which in part consists of dispatching a relief force to the Skyriver galaxy. In order to maximise the bulk of transport of aid and troops to the front, we have determined that the most effective means of doing this is to stockpile goods and equipment on a planetoid equipped with short burn FTL drives (rated for two safe uses) that can be transited from one galaxy to the other, enfolding any ships on or near its surface within its fields.
Should it be of use to you in formulating your own counter-operations, we attach destination and current location along with travel itinerary, and have appointed a liason to your forces should you wish to join this fleet.
With thanks,
Arnran Selvaran ita Thurasid
Los Angeles
The Situation Room was likewise occupied, with the smell of warm coffee permeating the room—a given, since events were unfolding quickly and cheap coffee and pizza were quick, cheap and dirty foods were the fuel of any diplomatic/military effort. Then again, so were clean bathrooms.
The latter was where Norton Simons was at the moment. Doing his business, he felt his phone buzz, and picked it up. It was his wife and secretary, who said simply, “Nort, it’s someone with a message for you. A…..’Arnran Selvaran ita Thurasid?’” The name was pronounced with some hesitancy, as the wife didn’t quite know who this was at first.
Norton nodded and simply told his wife to, “Patch it through, dear.”
“It’s an e-mail, I’ll send it over.” A brief pause and she went, “You know, the kids are wondering where you are.”
Norton, quickly said, finishing up his business with a shrug, “Well, just tell them daddy’s off doing diplomat stuff.”
Sighing, the wife added, “I know, honey.” She then continued with a simple, “But I’m getting worried. The kids—you know, they ask questions, is all.” She added, with some sentimentality, “They miss you, y’know.”
“Well, I’d love to be there, sweetie. I really would,” Norton said, uncomfortable with the implications of the statement as he left his office. “The problem is, Mike’s got me working overtime on this, and that bitch Nadine Huntleigh-Macwhateverthefuckhernameis is trying to assert herself for some Goddamn reason. I mean, she humiliated Mike in front of the Russians and then just took over. I gotta be here, dear—I’m the chief diplomat here, and I gotta make sure our foreign policy isn’t hijacked by some runt from intelligence.”
“Honey….” The voice replied, annoyed and irritated.
“What?”
The wife continued, polite but concerned, “You’re letting her get to you again. You know what we discussed. You know Nadine has her way of doing things—bold, energetic, interventionist--and you’ve got yours—calmer, slower, whatnot. Why should it bother you? Besides, you’re on the same team.”
Running out of good things to say as he spotted Nadine talking to Bill Colby outside the Situation Room, Nort could only say, “You’d be surprised, honey. You’d be surprised.”
“I’m not, but thanks for the sentiment. Look, just remember you’re on the same team as her, okay? You don’t have to be her friend, just…work with her. Okay?”
“Sure. Anyway, tell the kids I love them. Bye.”
Hanging up, he checked the message from the C’tan, and as he read it over. He knew Huntleigh-MacIntyre had to be kept out of the loop on this one. It was bad enough Nadine had intervened and usurped the President’s authority right in front of him. Now, he had a feeling that Nadine would try and somehow muck this up too. He had to act.
Looking behind him, Norton saw Nadine coming, and he decided to distract her. Walking up to the soda machine, he bought a Powerthirst Energy Drink from it and then popped the top open. Sipping on it as he caught up with Nadine, Norton gave her an acknowledging nod, and Nadine issued a polite “Nort” as she walked past.
At this, Norton’s left foot was brought down upon his right foot in an unusually clumsy manner, causing himself to fall over and spill the drink. Actually, that wasn’t all that happened. Norton also witnessed the drink fly out of his hand and hit Nadine in the head, causing her to stagger backwards.
The result was that Nadine was covered with sugary energy drink, and nursing a headache. Nadine then, rubbing her temples, glared at Norton. She stood there, livid with rage for several minutes, as Norton quickly attempted to apologize. But the deed had been done; Nadine stormed off into the women’s room and slammed the door tight. A loud string of Japanese expletives could be heard, as Norton walked into the Situation Room uninterrupted. Presenting the message to all present, Norton nodded, glad he had gotten to Wachowski and Haggar first.
Wachowski must have felt something was up, for she asked the Secretary of State, “Where’s Director Huntleigh-MacIntyre?”
“Accidental soda spill,” Norton said nonchalantly, adding “You know COredians. Clumsy fuckers. Anyway, what do you think? Should we take the opportunity?”
Wachowski paused, and then added, “We have access to the Infinity Gate system. I am not sure if this is truly necessary?”
“And I’m sure it is.” Norton looked at the Supreme Commander and sighed. “We have outstanding treaty obligations to aid the Greater Prussian Empire. Now, the C’tan are not members of that alliance, but Alexander motherfucking Kazansky is. Hell, he even met Mike over here to sign the agreement. If you ask me, we’re pretty much obligated. Besides, the Dornalian government needs to show that it is serious about stopping the Ruinous Powers--”
“Which we could easily do by sending troops through the Infinity Gate to Alderaan, we don’t need to use something as untested or unproven as this conveyance they propose to use.” Wachowski cut off the Secretary of State and then continued onwards. “Defense Intelligence suggests their technology is potent yes, and I am familiar with civilizations whose achievements meet the criteria for Clarke’s Third Law. However, my familiarity with such groups suggests caution is prudent. I do not wish for Dornalian Marines to be sucked into another bizarre situation. Not like the last time we encountered the Gaians. Besides, where does this man propose to send our forces?”
“Bullshit,” Norton went, calmly but with nerves clearly frazzled by the long duration spent inside the Situation Room. “The C’tani are nothing like the Gaians, first of all. Second of all, I dunno about you, but I looked at the rest of this message before making a judgment. There are coordinates attached. These guys disclosed to us where the hell they’re going, so we should take the opportunity and go. Besides, we need to rush reinforcements to the SWG sharpish. You want to wait for five fucking hours while we play word games with the Tzarina? Or do you want to do something?”
“Doing something does not imply rash action, and I am beginning to tire of your tone, Secretary Simons!” Wachowski snapped. The pause and temple rub suggested she snapped out of exhaustion also, but there was also genuine concern about just how effective things would be. Haggar, at this moment, stepped in and asked Simons, “Show me the message and the telemetry.”
Passing the message to Haggar, the President nodded and then handed it back. “Good. Nort, I knew you wouldn’t give me a bum steer. It’s legitimate, and I know bullshit when I see it and this ain’t it.” Turning to Wachowski, Haggar declared, “Okay, here’s how we do this. We split the middle. We send a force through the C’tani conveyor. We send another force to relieve Alderaan using the Infinity Gate. I’ll leave the details to you and your staff. But get it done. Understood?”
Wachowski shrugged, not willing to get into a shouting match and then got up and left the room, merely nodding and declaring, “Yes sir.”
Walking outside, Wachowski walked to the bathroom, hoping to get some air. As she walked past, she saw Nadine Huntleigh putting on a suit coat, mumbling to herself about “ingrates” and “this is a fine, sugary mess!” Wachowski approached the young lady, who merely said, “Give me a minute.” Fixing her coat, Nadine looked up.
“Supreme Commander? How’s things?”
Wachowski looked about and said simply, “I’ve got some news. The President wants me to send two forces out. One is a relief expedition to Alderaan. The other is a force which will join the C’tani in their intervention in the SWG. I am to go to my staff, and draw up contingency plans as if I were God creating the Earth.” Pausing, she then asked, “How did you get soda on yourself?”
“That clumsy oaf Simons tripped on me and spilled it on me. He also let the can fly out of his hand and onto my head. I’ve got a nasty headache, which isn’t helping my sleep deprivation.” Nadine’s words came out like acid, and Wachowski decided to stop asking. She merely said, “Well, anyway those were my plans.”
Nadine nodded, brushing her hair.
“Anything I can do to help?”
Wachowski nodded. Although part of her was cautioning her to not make Simons’s petty game and his high-handed behavior in the Situation Room a personal matter and to be a better person, something within her wondered if he perhaps needed to be reminded to whom he was preaching to about strategy. Besides, he did negligently injure a co-worker just to ram through a plan. That buddy-fucking behavior broke the Bro Code in more ways than one.
“Yes, actually. Do you have any spare Paramilitary Operations Officers?”
Nadine grinned.
“I’ll see what I can do. Let me contact my people. You make your plans now.”
Nadine then walked past, making a few calls…
-----------
Later on
The two Dornie Forces would soon approach their respective destinations. Both of them were combination of the usual Navy tricks, as well as Marine and Army units.
One, to the coordinates of the C’tani planet, the other requesting SWC permission to enter the Infinity Gate to reinforce Alderaan. Mobilized in quick time and with plenty of men, no one knew for sure what would happen—but it would be quite a ride.
The Inflexible
“Spast,” Ulir said under his breath, looking at the chaos fleet spreading out, frowning beneath his beard as the chaos fleet began to spread out and initiated a burn from Deleya to Alderaan.
“Admiral?”
“They’ll not have such a shot again, and we still need to get in the fight,” he said, “give me optical of that superweapon firing.”
The holodisplay wound back and zoomed in, showing the ARC-170s’ feed of the weapon firing on the chaos fleet, destroying several closely grouped ships.
“That thing, get the analysts working on what limits its spread. Perhaps a sufficient volley of missiles into the affected area, or a minefield, could increase its utility; daisy-chain the effect from one to the next,” he said, “get me interfleet communications again,” he said, watching the battle for Delaya again. “Those fighters, whose are those?”
“Dornalian, Admiral.”
“Excellent. Try and find whoever’s in charge of them, I think I know just the job for them.”
Merrie Monarch
The sudden appearance of a transmission from one of the C’tani vessels got Captain Macquarrie’s attention away from keeping tabs on the Dornalian fighters. SMS forces were redoubling their efforts, giving chase to the enemy and intercepting them as they approached the IF forces around Alderaan. From his screen and with Gracie’s redundant help, he noticed the fighters and the Black Defiants continue to make passes at the Chaos forces, ganging up on enemy ships using their usual bags of tricks—large explosives which used tractor beams to drag enemy ships at one another, Forced Uniform Kill Colliding Projectors and so on. Generally, a lot of the same tactics they had used before, but now faster to keep up with the enemy’s pace and to rip away at his fringes with Meltabombs and so on.
Now, however, Captain Macquarrie was distracted from managing the insanity, as he picked up the “Gertrude” and spoke into it.
“This is Captain Macquarrie of the M/V Merrie Monarch, registered to the Strategic Military Services company. To whom am I speaking?”