NationStates Jolt Archive


Invisible Hand(s) Clapping [RP]

Santa Barbara
11-12-2004, 17:48
Chaos sweapt the Corporate Federal Conglomerate (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=340773&page=2). As the tyranids invaded Noachia (http://s4.invisionfree.com/The_Planet_Mars), the market tossed and turned.

Millions were made into paupers, and millions were made into rich men.

But in Santa Barbara, more than elsewhere, money and politics were undivorcable. Power, too, was a commodity, and changed hands as the traders profited and lost on the TNE. The territories were Santa Barbaran, the corporate entities generally so... but it all came down to the shareholders, not the executives.

All shareholders had a price. The CoFedCo was failing, failing especially to defend the land from plague, from war, from political upheaval. The time was ripe now for ownership - and power (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=297329) - to shift.

[/size]*(The TNE corporate sectors can be found here (http://www.freewebs.com/santa_barbara/TNEnew.html).)*

------

Green Cola Company

Sector: Food and Drink
Key Products/Services: Green Cola (tm)
Owned by: MHG

Lathe Multicorp

Sector: Central
Key Products/Services: various Industrial and Consumer goods
New Owners: Klatchian International Oppportunities Fund

GladBurger Inc

Sector: Central
Key Products/Service: GladBurgers (tm) restaurants
New Owners: MHG

Alcova Technologies

Sector: Arms Manufacturing
Key Products/Service: Very High Energy Lasers (VHEL)
New Owners: Der Angst

Autonomous Building

Sector: Manufacturing
Key Products/Service: Robotics
New Owners: Der Angst

CBM Chemicals

Sector: Manufacturing
Key Products/Services: Chemicals
New Owners: Der Angst

Davidius Energy Systems/CC&B

Sector: Energy
Key Products/Services: Solar Power
New Owners: Der Angst

Jayburg AAE

Sector: Energy
Key Products/Services: MHD Systems
New Owners: Der Angst

Lace-Tintown Cosmetics

Sector: Central
Key Products/Services: Many
New Owners: MHG

Predatory Systems Technology

Sector: Arms Manufacturing
Key Products/Services: Infantry Energy Weapons
New Owners: Der Angst

Mechanical Arms Manufacturing

Sector: Biotech
Key Products/Services: Artificial Limbs
New Owners: Der Angst

PrattCo

Sector: Central
Key Products/Services: Investments
New Owners: Der Angst

Shalenet

Sector: Infotech
Key Products/Services: Commercial A.Is
New Owners: Ctan

Cold Star MHD

Sector: Energy
Key Products/Service: Advanced Fusion Electricity
New Owners: Klatchian International Opportunities Fund

Groovelico Fashion Electric

Sector: Central
Key Products/Services: Many
New Owners: Ma-Tek

TLA Automobile Mfg

Sector: Manufacturing
Key Products/Services: Civilian Ground/Air Vehicles
New Owners: Der Angst

Brown, Berring, Henson Law (BBH)

Sector: Legal
Key Products/Service: Insurance/Security
New Owners:

Ctan: 45%
JTG (The Shakhtal): 45%
Others: 10%

Vesanto Memetic Engineering (VME)

Sector: Marketing, Education
Key Products/Service: Socioeconomic Engineering
New Owners: JTG (the Shakhtal)

Myrtle-Hammerstein Genetech (MHG)

Sector: Bio
Key Products/Service: Genetic research, modification
New Owners:

Vrak - 12%
Sketch - 18.6%
Menelmacar - 18.5%
Ma-Tek - 16%
Der Angst - 18.1%
Ctan - 11.8%
Others - 5%

Stevenson Shipbuilding (SSh)

Sector: Transportation
Key Products/Service: Wet-water civilian/military ships
New Owners: Hyperion Shipping (Vrak)

Milpas Somatic Engineering (MSE)

Sector: Bio
Key Product/Service: Organ/tissue replacement, augmentation
New Owner: Der Angst

Xavier-Kerry Communications Systems (XKCS)

Sector: InfoTech
Key Products/Service: Satellites, sensors
New Owners: Ctan

Snow Canyon Industries (SCI)

Sector: Manufacturing
Key Product/Service: Tanks, vehicles
Owners: Midlonian/Vrak Shareholder Group
Menelmacar
11-12-2004, 18:15
Anáriel nos Eärendil, Chief Financial Officer of Fëanor Holdings Group, pored through today's copy of Tercáno Autiva Vinyatírionya (Vinyatírion Financial Herald). Anáriel was widely seen as Sirithil's right hand in her corporate and personal finances, and both Noldor had learned a great deal from each other over the years... Anáriel had pretty close to carte blanche to make financial decisions for FHG and for her Lady's investments, since Sirithil was often busy with state affairs; thusly, Anáriel often caught opportunities that Sirithil might have missed. Two heads, as the saying went, were indeed better than one.

"Interesting..." she mused to herself. "A veritable firesale in Santa Barbara... some of these would certainly be beneficial..." She picked a few promising looking names, and called up the companies' fundamentals, and various reports about them, looking them over, comparing, examining, analyzing every figure for its strengths and weaknesses. She examined their assets, their product lines, their core businesses... which would be a good fit for FHG? Which would help fill holes in the Menelmacari conglomerate's own business, or boost its strengths further? Which were in areas where FHG's revenues were lacking? And which would boost FHG's market share simply by their elimination? In a short while she'd made some decisions, then reached over and hit a button, and automatically a business case was generated for each prospective purchase. Over the centuries she'd written so many of these she'd distilled it down to a standard template. Then she reached over and picked up her comm, and ordered her traders to start buying up the companies at market price, though not so quickly as to set off a feeding frenzy in the market. This way, even if FHG lost the bid, their opponents would have to pay a premium for FHG-held stock, ensuring that FHG would come out of this millions of credits in the black either way. Then she contacted her counterparts at the companies in Santa Barbara.

Within an hour, news channels all over the world were broadcasting the following headlines:

FHG bids M€ 1.000 per share above market price for 100% of outstanding MSE stock.
FHG bids M€ 1.500 per share above market price for 100% of outstanding MHG stock.
FHG bids M€ 1.250 per share above market price for 100% of outstanding VME stock.
FHG bids M€ 1.050 per share above market price for 100% of outstanding XKCS stock.
FHG bids M€ 1.100 per share above market price for 100% of outstanding BBH stock.

OOC notes:

The Menelmacari credit (M€) is subdivided into one thousand millicredits, hence the extra decimal digit.

The credit is currently valued at US$2.22.

In the example of MSE, FHG is effectively paying, market price plus one credit per share of stock. If the stock price is equivalent to €29 per share, then FHG is offering all shareholders €30 per share for their holdings in MSE.
Ma-tek
11-12-2004, 18:36
Scott, despite the suggestion of his name, was not a foreign-born Iluvauromeni national. No indeed! He was merely that rare anomaly: a native-born Dth'gari man...with a foreign name. It did happen. Occasionally.

His name had been considered most bizarre at school; actually, to be blunt, it had been ridiculed. Scott had not liked that. Scott, in point of fact, had hated it. Therefore, he had learned to wield a foil better than anyone else among his peers; and had engaged in merciless taunting of those he defeated in the school competitions.

Really, it had been most silly. Such a thing he wouldn't possibly do know - couldn't, in fact, because it was unwise to annoy those who elected you. Scott dragged a hand back through his mop of blue-grey hair (he dyed it reguarly), and sighed as he read the message aloud again.

"To the Chief Elected Officer of Rivette MI Corporation,

"Sincerely, the Chief Elected OFficer of IsnCo, with the backing of the Imperial Trade Conglomerate,

"Bids you good will. It has come to our attention..."

He stopped, laid the flexi down. It was just prattle; meaningless waffle about some corporation - megacorporation? - in Santa Barbara. Why should Rivette care, he wondered? Why would the workforce give up hard-earned capital to some hair-brained scheme to purchase...

He scratched his chin absently, peering down again at the flexisheet. This was the nineteenth he had received; apparently the so-called G20 Iluvauromeni companies were almost of one mind: investment in this project would aid the whole.

Eight million employees added to the payroll would certainly push up productivity, but he wasn't sure if that was at all in the interest of Rivette. After all, Rivette had recently attempted to break into the bio-engineering market, with several small successes. The new airponic-use fertilizer had been very popular on Vilya Elenosto, and possibly would be in use on Cyrnal Yste before too long; but if a new interest gained sway in the Iluvauromen market...

He sighed, and resisted the urge to bash his face against the desk. It would be a long, long discussion. HEads would shake, Ratheri would sigh and bemoan the crisis to come, Tarad would tut and act as if she had the answer to every question any man had ever asked; and meanwhile, Toratha would be sitting there with that infernal little smile on her face, as if she knew something nobody else did. He'd asked her about that smile; she had just smiled all the more and shook her head.

The board was a very strange group of people; he had no idea how any of them (including himself) had been elected. Indeed, there were two boards at Rivette; the workers board - this one - and the board with ultimate power, the shareholders board. But the workers board had first say in many things; the release of funds was one.

He growled and banged his head on the desk.

Long day. It would be a very long day.

* * *

Rialla ux-Rihad II, Empress of the Commonality, Defender of the People, Embodiment of Iluvauromen, Queen of the Provinces and the Colonies, Chairperson of the Commonality Executive Council, Chairlady of the Board of the ITC, greatly desired a nice, hot cup of cocoa.

Unfortunately, due to an error of historic proportions, she had forgotten to fetch any from the kitchen - which was on the other side of the palace. Which was a five minute journey.

She sighed, unable to even consider asking someone else to go when she herself didn't feel very willing. She was beginning to bulge, too, she was sure. Just a little.

And there was this itch. Right there. At the bottom of her spine, but a little forwards. A tingle. She cringed; the itch was internal; the baby had now developed the portion of brain critical to full-blown empathy to the fullest extent possible pre-birth, and, unfortunately, was exceptionally strong. She - for the child was most definitely female - had woken the entire palace on no less than three occasions with particuarly loud thought-castings. Unfortunately, this had proved very embarrassing.

The Empress had yet to reveal her state to the world. Indeed, she was caught between tradition and pride in this; traditionally, the Imperial Heir - probably better referred to as Royal Heir, now, she realised as she thought about it - was not revealed as such to any but the direct Imperial...Royal?...Family.

She harrumphed. She would tell who she pleased - so long as it was the right thing to do. Except she wouldn't. Or would she?

Letting out an exasperated groan, Rialla fell back onto the bed and clutched her forehead with her hands, her face burrowed against her elbows. She proceeded to growl - a sound of annoyance, exasperation, craving for cocoa, you name it. She even thrashed a little bit, for extra release of said triple-headed nuisance; but it didn't help.

So standing, wandering to the window, she wished that her infant would lie still for a single moment. Was carrying always this unpleasant? She wondered (primarily to distract herself from the itch) if Humans experienced anything like this; were they aware of the infant moving in the same way? She had read some material on Human gestation, but it seemed rather...

Violent. Yes, that was the word. All that blood and gore...couldn't be healthy, surely? She was amazed that they ever procreated, to be honest.

But was this really any better? To feel an itch inside you, as if the damned child was wriggling a feather against her uterus? She doubted that was the case: no feathers had passed that way that she knew of, and she doubted that Semir was a secret feather...stuffer.

She fell to laughing, the itch suddenly forgotten, and she was still laughing heartily when the news came in that the ITC had not yet managed to convince all critical parties that extra funding was needed; she bit at her lip to kill the giggles (with some success - albeit not much, as the little one was still very much amused [even though she didn't know why]), and moved over to her desk, sitting gracefully, trying not to giggle too much. Feather stuffer. Somehow the amusement value was vast, although she couldn't quite fathom why; this in itself, in fact, was also quite funny. To her. At least.

"Calm thyself, O Empress," she murmoured through a grin, as she drafted yet another letter to yet another so-called VIP in the complex ITC hierarchy.
Midlonia
11-12-2004, 18:43
In the rough building in the rebuilt south of the City of Gresley [some fighting still happening to the North of the city and Beyond] Harold Trunkfield studies the screen before him.
Hmmm, we need armoured vehicles, and trained personnel to make them would be a good idea…
He grabbed one of the heavy gloves and tapped the screen.
And Bio-engineering, people that can see further can shoot further…
The message glowed blue before him, reflecting in his glasses, he smiled.


Midlonian Shareholders Federation bids M€1.000 per share above market price for 100% of outstanding stock of Snow Canyon Industries.

Midlonian Shareholders Federation bids M€1.500 per share above market price for 100% of outstanding stock of Milpas Somatic Engineering.

He pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose, as the words danced across the screen in front of him; MSF was now in front of the bid for MSE, and was the sole bidder on the SCI, he smiled and sat down and poured himself some tea, which is slipped a sugar cube into, and sat back and enjoyed the aroma.
Der Angst
11-12-2004, 18:52
DA Earth, Antarctica*

Rudolf Augenstein looked somewhat annoyed at Jeanne. "You can't be serious. We JUST managed to get the communications to work... Well, not properly, but at least we know what is happening in the rest of the world, again. And you suggest something like... THAT?"

Jeanne Takashima seemed to be rather... Cold, and didn't seem to see just how ludicrous her idea was. "Why not? Their market seems to be... In turmoil, and so is ours."

"Our market doesn't EXIST!"

"Well, ok, but this will change in the forseeable future, no?"

Her calm voice, apparently ignoring things like the death of nine out of ten of her acquaintances, was slowly turning Rudolf... Well, mad. Granted, he wasn't aware of Jeanne having any friends, pre- cataclysm, so it was probably one less burden for her, but still. "Well, with what are we going to invest?"

"If we invest at all. Santa Barbara is in trouble, some less-than-legal ways should be an option..."

Another sigh by Rudolf. This woman was a threat to everyone listening to her. "Ok, I see your point. However... That wont be enough. We still need ressources. I mean, yeah, I see that it will take some time until we have... Money, but..."

"But we have ressources." Jeanne smiled, her cleavage striking Rudolf as odd, here, at 271 Kelvin. Well, outside, anyway. For a moment, he wondered what he would do with her, were she somewhat younger than 42, but then, that in itself would probably threaten his life. So, he merely continued listening. "Nine out of ten people are dead, remember? What do you think happens to their... Stuff?"

"We can't exactly do electronic transfer for an arcology or a factory. Besides, I thought we were taking over? Oh, not to mention that I'm sure that some owners remain."

"Which brings us to the point about semi- legal operations." Jeanne was still smiling, sipping from her wine (God alone knew just where she got it to begin with). "We offer... exchange of property. Well, ok, first of all, we acquire property, here. Then we offer the exchange. Or rather, a pooling of ressources and options. Granted, it is something for the far future, not something one can immediately end up being rich with. Thus, I expect there to be relatively few people willing to risk it, and those who might give it a chance will be big ones, holding plenty of shares... So we might actually be... Well, tiny in comparison. Nonetheless, it may still work."

Rudolf let out a last sigh. No, he didn't believe in it working. He didn't believe in it at all. Well, perhaps if one made it look like... No, not really. Nonetheless, eventually, he nodded. "We can try."

Jeanne nodded as well. "And if we manage to enter Santa Barbara, we might even be able to persuade some people... Gently, of course." There was a grin visible.

Now, Rudolf remembered the old times... Jeanne had always been excellent when it came to hacking a mind. "You're mad."

Same Place, different People

Aforementioned rather... Odd idea was, of course, not the only way. Even though corporations had crashed, even though all seemed to be lost... It wasn't. There were still vast ressources in foreign currencies, in various free economies worldwide, be it in Knootoss, in fellow Sisgardian nations, or elsewhere. It was, of course, a risk. One could lose it all... This last reserves needed to bring the business up, again.

But if successful... And effective communication infrastructures had just been restored... This were the thoughts of Matthew Trenchard as he connected to various networks, checked his reserves... preparing for another move... A risky one, yes, but still... Perhaps it would work out. And SB was most certainly a more than attractive target, far more capable than Matthew's own nation... If that nation actually existed, that is.

A moment later, he begun his 'mission'.

Still the same Place, still different People

And finally, there was the third option... The cataclysm had been a telepathic event, unforseeable (Or so the majority thought, though they weren't necessarily correct in this assumption) and disastrous... Yet, disastrous to the people. The technology, even though heavily based on biomagnetic communication (That is, telepathy) applications, the factories, all this infinitely valuable assets... While doubtlessly suffering, hadn't been hit as badly as the people. Far from it.

And thus, some ressources remained, and while 50% of DA earth were doubtlessly... Well, in trouble, as the ongoing civil war of sorts proved, the other fifty percent, the territories outside (or in the south of) Sisgardia were actually quite capable of acting.

Well, of course not when compared to a peaceful nation whose biggest problem is the garbageman strike. Compared to such a nation, they sucked badly. Nonetheless, basic options were there.

And the more adventurous of owners decided to use their chance. It wasn't much, that much was certain... But it was-

"Something. And something is better than nothing. Santa Barbara, while being relatively isolationist, has extreme potential."

"I see your point." Manfred Dexter smiled as he talked to his brother, Samuel. "Of course, as you said yourself... We can't do much."

"We can do enough. And getting a foothold..."

"They could also manage to make us a foothold. And I'm sure you're remembering how that ended, last time."

"Yes, I do. One of the more foolish decisions in our history, even though it helped rebuilding after the Red Bracelet conflict..."

Manfred nodded. "And they might realise the same, kicking us out."

"Yes, they might. But remember that we're not exactly like, say, the Menelmacari. All we want is a nice share, we wouldn't try to actively influent their society. Besides..."

"We could sell early on, after the current crisis is over. Yes, I see your point."

Samuel smiled, nodding. "Indeed. So..."

"Lets try."

And they tried.

And no matter who tried (It weren't many, but enough) they all followed... Comparable goals.

Snow Canyon Industries was somewhat irrelevant. Sure, right now, chaos was still reigning supreme, but it was to be expected that relations with GMC Military Arms would be reestablished soon enough.

Milpas Somatic Engineering... This was one of DA's own specialities. Whoever would try to get his share would know what to expect. Would be able to corner the market with the addition of SB's corporations vast ressources to his own. It was a prime target. Specialisation. It was what they wanted.

Xavier-Kerry Communications Systems. Not something the majority was terribly interested in, but better than nothing. A few would try it.

Vesanto Memetic Engineering. Going against central philosophical believes of the Angstian society, it was like a shining beacon, a shining beacon none of the people risking their ressources in this would touch. A beacon of inactivity.

Brown, Berring, Henson Law. Well, it would have been... Ironic, had it been invested in, alas, this wasn't the case.

Stevenson Shipbuilding was irrelevant, for the same reason Snow Canyon Industries was irrelevant. Another case of inactivity.

Myrtle-Hammerstein Genetech on the other hand proved to be almost as interesting as Milpas Somatic Engineering, for the same reasons, with the same goals. As minimal as the ressurces invested were... Here, just as with Milpas Somatic Engineering, they were concentrated.

Whatever the means were, legal, semi- legal, or illegal... They would be tried. A drop, really, nothing that could compete with the giants of the global market... But it was a little bit, something... For the future.

And who knew? Perhaps, with a bit of luck, success could be greater than expected.

ooc: * Refers to an artificial island WAY south, not to the actual RL continent
Santa Barbara
11-12-2004, 19:34
Office of the President of the CoFedCo
New State City, Santa Barbara

"Look at that. They're all going," his advisor said with dismay. "Everyone will be selling off. The whole god damned thing."

"Language, Peterson," Marcos Fernando scolded absent-mindedly. He watched the ongoing feeding frenzy on the newly-re-established Trans-National Exchange. The interruption - and everything else - had naturally wrecked havoc throughout the foundations of the national economy. It was in many ways beautiful to behold.

"Sir, we have to stop them."

He thought on this. Do I? In the end, he decided he did not. Abadas would have. Fool. How do you stop the market, how do you prevent the transactions from taking place? And why? For nationalistic dreams?

On the other hand, the CoFedCo was dissolving. There was nothing he could do. Everyone and everything craved autonomy. Over Mars, an IIA agent had restored control of the Mars Fleet over that maniac Vojska. But the head of the IIA, Gonzalo Tzu, was nowhere to be found, and Fernando doubted very much that the situation there was a hopeful sign for the Presidency.

Noachia had, at last, surrendered. But to the ITDO, which the TNE, not the CoFedCo's President (or acting President, as the case may be), commanded. The same ITDO which had split over Mars, which had no confidence among even the most patriotic of stockholders.

Marcos Fernando rubbed his head. "More important matters. The plague has spread throughout the east coast."

Peterson, with a wry grin: "That'll just bring down the territory votes."

Nodding, Fernando replied, "And the corporate votes will be changing hands. I know."

"You know you have to sell. Sell and retire. While we can still escape - "

He waved the advisor off. Escape to where? Oh, they'd sell, alright. Marcos knew he'd given up management of GBI the minute he assumed the Presidency. He would profit from it, too.

Maybe I should. Retire. Hide in some rathole second-rate nation, make myself anonymous, drink pina coladas into my dying years.

The thought was laughable. He was no Pratt, nor even an Abadas, but his face was as recognized, as hunted, as loved and hated as any public figure could be. You couldn't usurp the governing of 4 billion souls and then just fade away peacefully. It didn't happen.

Journalists would hound him. Special interest groups would want to use him. Companies would want to hire him or have him eliminated. His eyes would light up alarms everywhere he went, and satellites would spy down on him as he lay on that mythical beach. Some of the satellites would be able to kill him quite easily and silently.

"There's one thing, at least. Maybe some of them will, under new management, be willing to help find an adequate response."

"To?"

Marcos waved at a nearby wall, which displayed the march of the reported incidents of plague. Red blobs overlaid onto various analytical maps of the Mainland, Isla Vista and Muy Vista.

It had mutated efficiently.

According to Adler, head of the SBNP, there hadn't been any elves killed by it. The number of human dead continued to rise. Abadas's mad plan had backfired grotesquely, as if Nature herself loved to put the racially prideful in their place.

"I don't think they'll be inclined to. Not if the population loss increases their share of TNE voting power. Which it will."

"That might not be much of an incentive for apathy when there might be no-one left for the TNE to rule over. When the economy lies in ruins. They'll have bought high and have no way of selling at a profit, unless they can help avert or mitigate the effects of all this."

Peterson shrugged, "So we're actually relying on this."

Fernando nodded. He didn't say that this was, in fact, the reason he had reinitiated the TNE.

"And you're not selling."

"Of course I am," he replied, then added: "But I'm not running away."

"You'll be the first."
The Ctan
11-12-2004, 19:54
Unfortunately for Anáriel, she wasn't the only one to notice this offer, and she most certainly wasn't the only one interested. Within the hour, the massive Lossë-elen heavy industries company raised their bids, upon MSE, MHG, VME, XKCS and BBH.

To MHG and to BBH especial attention was paid.

OOC: This is partly venting at Siri posting instantly when she sees the shiny, but making me, and others, wait weeks when she doesn't. So. The objective here is to shaft Siri out of anything. Assume they're bidding higher than Menelmacar, but aiming to not buy any stock Menelmacar has already bought up if they can help it.

I am indeed, too annoyed to write anything more. Just assume we're spending more. And no. Siri doesn't have much in liquid assets. All bound up in her vast amounts of land and shiny.
Ma-tek
11-12-2004, 20:13
Now that she had sent some thirty-six letters personally - an unusual act in itself - Rialla felt assured that the funding would materialize. Profits for the year would deteroriate slightly, but virtually all of the key industries were in the hands of Nenyar or Noldor; both who lived long, both who had long-vision rather than the terrifically short-sighted attitudes of much of Humanity.

She smiled. Another piece was slotting into the puzzle; her long-term aims and goals seemed to be coming together here, in the short-term. Others would determine the future; but she hoped to leave the Commonality with a foothold.

A hand raises to trace a fingertip down along one side of her cheek; the skin was so very soft, now, as it always became with her kind during pregnancy. Silky smooth. The body produced more vitamins and made better use of minerals, she was informed. She didn't care; she just wished she could keep her skin this way. It was gorgeous to touch, a fantastic distraction from the business of her life.

Yet now she needed to draft one more 'letter' - albeit this time add the finishing touches to one, namely her signature. The offer itself had been drafted several minutes ago, by TVC conference, although she had not paid much attention at the time; really, the drafting had been done in the background anyway - the ideas had merely found their way to flexi, and then onwards.

The offer was a complicated one. It did not depend entirely on the price paid; instead, it offered a package which would guarantee the current management positions inside the corporation for quite a long while indeed - unless they fouled up, and managed to get themselves the boot, of course.

It would also guarantee better workers rights, yearly funding from the ITC, support packages always on standby, and the security of being backed by an entity which had a profit margin of trillions.

She was concerned only about one other bid; that of FHG. She sighed; despite the call for funding, a large amount of the funds would come from her own company, ux-Rihad Industries. uRI was committing some twenty percent of the total, which would be the largest contribution by far. The bid itself was higher than that of FHG - and, all the more sweeter, had a small guarantee on it: if the company's productivity improved by at least ten percent over the next five years, the current shareholders would receive an additional seventeen Rels (about one hundred thirty Menelmacari millicredits) per share from the ITC, on top of the initial bid of RLH3.12 (about M€2.80) for 100% of the outstanding stock. It was significantly larger than the Menelmacari bid, and for good reason: FHG was attempting to buy more than one of the so-called megacorporations - the ITC had interest in only one.

Rialla prodded both buttons at the same time; the first would announce the offer to the Iluvauromeni National Exchange, as the law dictated, and the second would issue the offer to the relevant company: Myrtle-Hammerstein Genetech.
Sketch
12-12-2004, 06:13
The turmoil surrounding CoFedCo had not escaped the attentions of Sketch, nor had the wholesale TNE bidding wars which involved serveral international powerplayers; all scrambling after the potentially lucrative Santa Barbaran megacorporations looking to jump ship. Like rats abandonning a sinking boat, so did the massive conglomerates which ran the institution which could be loosely refered to as the Santa Barbaran "government"; in Sketchian terms anyways. The MCF, ministry of currency and finance, working in close conjunction to the MFA, ministry of foreign affairs, paid close attention to the social-economic climate of all affairs involving Sketch. It wasn't purely the work of a strong internal economy which had allowed Sketch to dominate so many industries, but the fact that the industrial power of the empire played the market well. Undercutting the competition in times of surplus, overcharging in times of shortage, backdealings, bribery, wet work, all the dirty tricks of the trade. Such tactics were normal among the business world, but the fact that it was done on a national scale meant the advantages gained were exponential. It helped that the industrial powers of Sketch were bound to the government as tightly as the empire was dependent on it; no one dared question authority, least of all the noble families whose status depended on it.

Being a close ally of CoFedCo placed Sketch in a position to be privy to information not as readily available to others. Intimate knowledge of the circle of power, the levers which move society, the people that can move mountains. Most importantly, the ear of the still most dominant, although fast declining, authority in CoFedCo - the government. It was well known that the government was quite weak in the traditional sense, but like nearly any other government, it is run by special interests. It just so happens that all the special interests of Santa Barbara revolved around free enterpirse, and the unfettered practice thereof. While "free" enterpirse was hardly what the Holy Order could offer, with governmental oversight being as it is, wealth was an abundant option. Is not free enterprise just another way to express one's desire to attain material wealth?

With that in mind, the MCF and MFA offices saw it fit to make several surreptitious contacts with certain key players within the coporate ladder. It was obvious that any overt takeover bids would be subject to exuberant outbidding by some of the more.....reckless of investors, and not necessarily be within the best interests of Sketch. However, that did not mean that the companies could only be acquired through the direct means of buyout. It was true that all shareholders had an equal vote in company politics, but some shareholders held more "equity" than others. While wealth was of the first and foremost importance, wealth in a nation that was about to implode in an orgy of anarchism was meaningless. Security was a necessary companion of wealth, and money didn't always guarantee it; but Sketch could.

You didn't have to buy out the entire company, just the majority shareholders. Once a company was safely under Sketchian control, shares could easily be redistributed to more.....accurately represent the true distribution of ownership. The means of dominance was only a matter of wealth now, or latter. Such ideas were conveyed to the appropriate people.

In the meantime, while the coporate sharks mulled over the offer, the MCF engaged in what could be refered to as petty harrasment of the other participating exchanges. The Sketchian exchange was instructed to "pick up whatever was still available" at no more than 10% over the original value up to majority share, and then dump it on the market at three times the mark up. The purpose wasn't to explicitly make turn a profit, but to disturb the market stability. Destabalize the trend enough and those in it for pure profit making will leave. Those in for other reasons will be forced to decide between paying excessively, or lose out.

Particular interest was paid to the bio coporations, a field that the Sketchian industry could utilize some new technologies. Of the two offering stock options, Myrtle-Hammerstein Genetech (MHG) seemed particularily attractive. Not only was it a massive biotech powerhouse, but it also possessed the largest number of TNE votes. Although it was strictly against Sketchian policy to interfere with another nation's inner politics, much less that of an ally, it was also within the best interest of Sketch to ensure that no one else did. With several powerful entities interesting in MHG, it was readily apparent that it was going to be a matter of who had more hard cash available. While the empire was all encompassing and the economy all consuming, the pockets were still not infinite. Many funds remained tied up in military contracts critical to the operation of the Sketchian war machine, and that was still more important than political gains. However, the government was not without alternatives, many of the noble houses owed their positions and wealth to the generosity of the government, while many others had.....other incentives to remain compliant. Although explicitly voluntary in nature, it was an implicit understanding that if the nobles were to engage in market play with the TNE at all, they were to trade in the better interests of Sketch. Personal wealth once lost can be reclaimed, but status can be removed forever.

ooc: is there a specific number I should be quoting to buy something? Or is this based on a system of "he looks like he wants it more (and is willing to pay for it) than the other guy"?

The sole purpose of the other bids is to harrass, not aquire mass shares. Ie, don't have me buy all those companies ^_~
Vrak
12-12-2004, 14:55
The activities of the CoFedCo had not gone unnoticed by major Vrakian companies who had been planning for such a meltdown for quite some time. Being a close ally of Santa Barbara did have some advantages, if nothing else having people on the ground floor that are tasked with keeping abrest of the latest news.

Like the proverbial child at the candystore, it boiled down to what candy was the most appealing. And, after all the corporations displayed were shortlisted, four major contenders had the Vrakians salivating. Talk about saliva.

-Yes, well these three are the ones we would like to acquire.
-Hmmm? Let me see.

A paper was pushed by the CEO of Hyperion Shipping to the Economic Affairs Minister.

Snow Canyon Industries
Xavier-Kerry Communications Systems
Myrtle-Hammerstein Genetech
Stevenson Shipbuilding

The Hyperion Shipping CEO rumbled.

-We would like to bid on Stevenson Shibuilding. I believe Apollo Foods would like Myrtle-Hammerstein, Valkyrie Communications would like Xavier-Kerry and Gargantua Manufacturing and Power Industries would both like Snow Canyon. Is that right?
[CEO from Power] -Ah, yes. We are willing to form a partnership with Gargantua in order to beat all the other rivals.

The Gargantua rep, none other than Grag Montezuma, nodded his great head. His voice creaked like an old artillery piece.

-Er…yes. We sure like the stuff those Babarans make. Their smaller arms have been proven effective in the Vrakian military if I’m not mistaken.
-Right. And if we could get more of their stuff. Who makes those mega-factories and those OMFs?
-Ah…not sure yet.
-Well, hell, why do I pay you? We should get those companies as well you know.
-You know, I just thought of something.
-What’s that?
-Seeing how Midlonia, a fellow FKC state is in the bidding, why don’t we team up with them?
-Don’t know about that. For now, let’s keep ahead of their bid one kronor at a time. That goes for the rest of them as well. Inform our troops on the ground and tell them to start passing on the news that Vrak is in the bidding war.
-By Bok’s maw..
-No! I don’t mean like that, you pakrah. We don’t practice corporate warfare anymore, even though you all maintain a small private army. Oh, don’t look so shocked. It’s the secret that no one talks about. The King knows what goes on, you know. Don’t you all remember that little fiasco with the break up of Apollo? No? Well, the King explicity stated that their will be no corporate assasinations of any outsiders. Understood? We can’t afford any bad press right now.
[chorus]: Understood, Minister.
-Good. Then, get to it.

With the hour, a private letter from the respective companies was send by fax with the original sent by a corporate underling via jet from Vrak Prime. The Embassy in New State City was directed to begin the usual arm-twisting to the Santa Barbarans that needed it most. A polite reminder was also made that, if needed, the economic might of the entire FKC could be brought to bear...although it was remote. For some reason, the King preferred the competition right now.
Der Angst
12-12-2004, 20:00
DA Earth, Antarctica

The market tends to develop uickly, and this instance was no exception. And while dozens invested with what few things they had left, they noticed the tifdes of the market moving, changing.

Quickly enough, really. Odd physiology helps such things.

And some changed their opinions. Outbidding the ITC would be impossible even if an actual, working DA was present, simply because DA is (Or rather, was) a mixture of countless different corporations. They simply wouldn't be able of competing with the ressources of an entire ntion.

And thus, merely keeping what little they had bought of Myrtle-Hammerstein Genetech, investions went elsewhere, while MHG became less and less popular for the Angstian investors.

Yet, Milpas Somatic Engineering became more and more important for the.

And inside the networks, or at least their temporalily cleansed parts, negotiations begun, cooperation was developed, deals were made.

You know, we could combine...
... No, no. That is too-
Yes. Yes, buy. BUY!
4.17... 4.18... 4.19...
GODDAMNIT!
I... Yes, yes, no.. n... NOOO!
Ops. I think his mind was eaten by a network daemon...
Poor sod. Should learn just how one uses a firewall. Where were we? Ah, yes. So, look...

Business continued, as meager as the ressources were. with reasonable success, so to speak, and indeed, the many Rudolfs and Jeannes, the Matthews and Manfreds continued, quite eager to get what they could get, by 'all means necessary', so to speak.

It wouldn't be much, but it would be useful.
Midlonia
12-12-2004, 20:55
What on Earth?
Harold looked at the figure on the MSE company.
The numbers were going haywire.
Hmm, word got out... What the?
He looked at the figure infront of him.
Vrak Economic Affairs Bids M€1.001 for 100% of Snow Canyon Industries existing stock.
He frowned and merely added a single digit more to the number.
Burks.
Midlonian Shareholders Federation bids M€1.002 for 100% of Snow Canyon Industries existing stock
He returned to his cup of tea.
Ma-tek
15-12-2004, 00:14
Bao Ling cursed as she read the letter from IsnCo; IsnCo and Rivette relied on another in many ways - IsnCo did not have the licence to produce MI cores, and so Rivette, being the sole possessor of such a licence (currently), was the only viable subcontractor. Contracting to a foreign company, say, one heavily involved in gravitics, was possible - but unfortunately not feasible. Bao had ensured that in the very design of the MI core; secretly, of course. She had designed it specifically to be incompatible with gravitics; in fact, there was only the tiniest tweak in the maths here or there, the transposition of figures in one particular area - and there you had it. MI/AG combination system.

Of course, such a system was far too dangerous to ever be allowed to exist; her mathematical credentials were utterly unquestioned in the Commonality, and it would be many many years before some young whelp overturned her calculations - the calculations necessary for the creation of a propulsive EM field of the type used in an MI core. For, contrary to many opinions amidst the electromagnetic specialists, mostly those at TTU (Tek/Turath University) and not its primary rival, the Nenyar Technology Institute, there was more than one way to crack this egg.

Weyr had made that abundantly clear. Bao had to suppress that knowledge, suppress the idea that AG and MI could be wed; she had wept for a week when that colony ship had gone up in flames - she had tried to end the project, but Si had insisted and she had not dared to tell him the terrible truth; for in a way - in more than one way - she had betrayed her people. For without the MI/AG wedding, there could be no galactic empire. She herself ached to see the day when her species would conquer the space between the stars; while those foolish Humans spread amongst the stars, her kind and those Humans wise enough to rally to their flag would conquer the space between them; they would find ways to survive, ways that were being learnt even now aboard the Orbitals. Three years from now, the first interstellar colony would be launched. Now, even now, the first interstellar transitional ship had been deployed from the Oort Cloud, and was on its way to the First Site. If all went well, construction would begin on that first colony.

At home, the pretence would be made that each colony was lost. Whole families, villages, towns would vanish in the night to leave on a colony; and the world would be told of failure after failure after failure. And they would laugh, as they always had. She could see it all ahead; and to pay for it all, the Nenyar would bestow a gift upon Ambar and the inner worlds of this Sentient Empire that was moving through the throes of its birth: the Solar Mass Transit System. That would provide more than enough funding for such a massive project; but more was needed. Rivette needed to grow, to amass more resources in order to be the prime mover in this new struggle to the void between the stars: Rivette needed to begin to gobble up the foreign competition.

Cars were what Rivette made the most of; the Rotor International had sold in a dozen or so countries so far, but had not done particuarly well. Servicing was too complicated; one had to take their vehicle to a Rivette maintanence site, and there simply were not enough worldwide. But if another industrial giant were absorbed-

Rivette had earned nearly a trillion Relhames in its three fiscal years; the slow transition to the skycar had been aided by the outright banning of all combustion-engine groundcars, and Rivette was further aided by being one of the very few Iluvauromeni economic assets that had not been bought out by the Imperial Trade Conglomerate: it had grown too quickly, and had been protected by...market forces. And Rivette, as a consequence, albeit with major backing from another industrial giant in the Commonality that was not entirely at the beck and call of the ITC, ux-Rihad Industries (mainly in the form of the use of their vast manufacturing capacity), had put four hundred million Rotors and Fancys in the air over three years; now the market was approaching saturation - and so the Corporation had spread into further new markets.

Now Bao turned her eye to Santa Barbara; it was a meat market, pure and simple. But she wanted the best cow; and, perhaps more critically, she did not want Sirithil to lay her hands on it.

She put in a call; then another. She had amassed enough wealth to back part of the bid herself; the company would foot the rest of the bill - and Rivette was no co-operative. She was a dictator, pure and simple; although naturally the workers had rights. They would vote, but the vote would be advisory, and only if or when a bid was accepted anyway. And they would not reject a chance for the company to absorb new staff; new staff meant new pay structures - new pay structures meant Economic Court interference - Economic Court inteference almost always meant higher pay. Rivette would lose money this year; but it would absorb the cost.

She considered each in turn; only one would be truly worthwhile to Rivette - and any one, in fact, could be that one - but instead, she made a different decision. Two intrigued her the most; Xavier-Kerry and Snow Canyon. She pulled up whatever information she could on both, and shrugged: it turned out to be an easy decision. Xavier-Kerry was the obvious choice; although it would annoy the folks at IsnCo, she would make utterly sure that the new Rivette subsidary would not be allowed to compete in the same markets; the IsnCo contracts were too critical to provoke the possibility that the MI licence would be moved elsewhere - further, if it was, then Rivette would lose at least two-thirds of its income. Competitors would be fresh-minded, and would find new applications for the technology; applications that Rivette would not be able to match at first. She refused to give up the monopoly that Rivette currently held; thus...

She made two calls; first, to IsnCo - rather, her assistant called IsnCo and set up a meeting between the two boards of directors. Seconds after she had issued that order...'she' made the 'bid for a 50.1% stake in Xavier-Kerry, at M€1.20 per share. Or, rather, the Acquisitions Division did. They were far better at that sort of thing.

She then set about reading the latest updates from the Nenyar press; the financial observers were generally pretty fast. And she could not help grin at FHGs current sluggish response to the rapid reaction of those corporations that had already superceded the FHG bid; she was glad to see that...Elf...Sirithil lose out. She still did not forgive her for destroying the old alliance; even though it had partly been the fault of the Iluvauromeni.

She sighed, and, taking a sip of her water and a bite of her cheese, the Chief Controller and Royal Mother turned her mind to less important NIOUA (Nenyar Intelligence Organisational Umbrella Organisation) matters.
Vrak
17-12-2004, 09:12
To: Midlonian Shareholders Federation
From: Gargantua Manufacturing
Subject: Snowcanyon Industries

To Whom It May Concern:

We have learned that we are both competing for the same company – Snowcanyon Industries. Why don’t we join forces and put in a collective bid? Certainly, we believe that our two states can offer more than any other players in the game.

Sincerely,

Grag Montezuma
CEO – Gargantua Manufacturing

====

The news that a company from the ICEL was bidding on XKCS stock was worrying. Quickly, an emergency meeting was called by the CEO of Valkyrie Communications to the other communication giants, most notably Icarus Entertainment. It was no small amount of disbelief that the other corporate heads attended the meeting and, after a slick presentation and a verbal agreement, it was decided that a joint bid would be placed. Anything to stave off the ICEL juggernaut.

====

Within three hours, the following broadcast was sent out on the major Vrakian financial networks and, more importantly, through to the TSE exchange.


Apollo Foods bids M€ 1.000 M€ 1.100 per share above market price for 100% of outstanding MHG stock.

Valkyrie Communications bids M€ 1.100 per share above market price for 100% of outstanding XKCS stock.

Gargantua Manufacturing bids M€ 1.050 per share above market price for 100% of outstanding SCI stock.

Hyperion Shipping bids M€ 1.000 per share above market price for 100% of outstanding SSh stock.
Santa Barbara
19-12-2004, 05:15
Myrtle-Hammerstein Genetech Eaten by Foreign Investors!

The massive biotech/wetware megacorp's stock rose several points in the SBIA today, reflecting the flurry of transactions made during the week and the eventual transfer of the majority of MHG - along with it's 6.2% vote in the Trans-National Exchange - to several major investors overseas.

Apollo Foods, a Vrakian export conglomerate, gained a final 12% ownership of MHG. Other buyers included the Sketchian (13.6%), Menelmacari (12.5%), and Ma-Tek (16%) governments, a consortium of Der Angstian corporations (14.1%), with the remaining 31.8% exchanging hands among various other private and corporate buyers throughout the Sol sector.

MHG spokesmen announced that the board of directors would hold a new election for the new quarter [OOC: beginning 1/1/05]. Although the many changes are expected to have "some effect," MHG does not expect to pose too many problems of entrenched management.

Nationalist-economists such as Pete Wulsh have denounced the whole transaction, calling it nothing more than "a sale of sovereignty to foreign imperialists" that would "pave the way for the death of Santa Barbaran industry."

A majority of TNE Weekly readers (57%), however, have expressed positive feelings about the change and welcome the competitive and dynamic marketplace.

MHG's current CEO, Dan Marksham, has yet to make any public statement on the matter.

[OOC: Effectively this means: Each of the buyers will have that percentage of votes in the election of the new Board of Directors (including a Chairman), who will in turn appoint officers, possibly replace the CEO Dan Marksham. As for the TNE, this also means you can vote on any and all future TNE decrees, which currently co-govern the CoFedCo uneasily with Marcos Fernando, with your percentage of the MHG vote. Of course all that could change if MHG undergoes drastic changes.

Another note, sorry this is taken so long. RL and all. More to come!]
The Shakhtal
19-12-2004, 17:50
Siege of the Council of Trading Guilds,
City of Mek-Tenerath.

The entry of the Shakhtal into the Tartarian Empire brought a huge number of innovations to the citadels. And while the mages frowned with disgust, the engineers were happily running around setting up new means of communications and other nice and funny things. One of the factions to have been the first in tasting the marvels of technology were the Trading Guilds, or the ‘Joint Trading Guilds’ as they called themselves after the merger of the dozen or so separate guilds in all of the Five Cities and outlying territories.

The City of Mek-Tenerath has been slowly becoming the economic capital of the Shakhtal realms, putting aside the City of Tal-Lar (the High Citadel, aka the capital) and the City of Amanthir (the siege of the Kshas-Ker, aka the mages’ turf). This ‘evolution’ was sparked by the fact that the Joint Trading Guilds chose it to set up a common base and, moreover, to set up their Council. And now, members of the Supreme Council (six in all) were watching a giant TV set (a little toy they ordered over in Tartarus, took them some time to get used to the light generated by the screen ( a little brightness adjustment helped the thing a lot)) when the news about the a major sale of Santa Barbaran (it took the Councilors a couple minutes to pronounce the gibberish name right) Corporations (they automatically assumed that a Corporation was the surface equivalent of a Shakhtal Guild or Cartel). One of the six immediately jumped on his feet and yelled out.

- We must buy!

Four others blinked while the fifth one stood up and walked towards a bookshelf, searching for some book.

- Buy… euh… why?
- Because we could get stuff for cheap?
- Yes, but is it of any relevance? And what is stock anyway?
- Euh… eeh…
- They certify the share holder a certain share in a company.

The five Councilors stared at the one who was standing by the bookshelf reading something out of a book named “How do I become a good capitalist?”. The title was written in Common Gibberish (aka English) as the Shakhtal called it and one would guess that the entire book was written in it. The language was not widely spoken throughout the Five Cities and was only brought in along with the High Gibberish (aka Tartarian) when Lord and Ruler Da’teril signed the treaty (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=367731&page=1). The speaker of Gibberish went through a number of pages and looked back at his colleagues.

- I found this book in Tal-Nathil during the Filth Purge. Comes from a territorial and administrative unit called ‘Knootoss’.
- Kno-what?
- No idea, we’d have to ask Da’teril’s spies about it. But nevertheless, it clearly states here that the bigger share you have in a company, the greater share of the profit you get. Moreover, the bigger the share, the higher is the power of your vote in his company thing. So I guess we should try to buy. Will be fun.
- Hmmm… well, true. We have the money… but… do you think that the Keh’shal is a suitable monetary unit for such operations?

The Councilor took out a purse out of his pocket and extracted a number of coins made of gold and silver. The others shook their heads, while one of them had an idea.

- Acherons!
- You mean the Tartarian currency?
- Yes, we could buy the amount we need in Tartarus and use it to finance this operation. I do believe the Imperial currency will be more successful at the task than our little cold weapons.

The six men grinned broadly as the head of the Council said.

- So be it! Write that the Joint Trading Guild bids… euh… well, I let you figure out how much we bid.
- Yes, My Lord.
- Now, I am off to the Citadel. My son is passing the final trials to be admitted into the Black Guard.

And so, the five remaining Councilors happily sat behind a Computer and began typinating a little letter to be sent off to the Tartarian financial broadcasters and other relevant organisations.

***


The Joint Trading Guild bids ACH(T) 1,60 per share above market price for 100% of outstanding VME stock.

The Joint Trading Guild bids ACH(T) 1,50 per share above market price for 100% of outstanding SCI stock.

The Joint Trading Guild bids ACH(T) 1,50 per share above market price for 100% of outstanding BBH stock.



***

- That was fancy! Where did you learn to type?
- I didn’t.
- Huh?
- I’m a retired mage in rank of Ilu-Ker…
- O-o-o-o-oh…

[OOC:

A couple OOC notes first.
1) ACH(T) = Tartarian Acheron, the currency of the Empire of Tartarus. Following figures provided by the same calculator used by Siri, I came to the conclusion that 1 MC = 1,2065 ACH(T). This will change from everybody bidding in Menelmacari Credits.
2) The lines written in purple are spoken in Shakhtal. Which doesn’t really change anything for this post, but does make it fancier.
3) The bids indicated above are higher than what I understood were the highest so far. But since I got confuzzled at certain points… bah! ]
Vrak
20-12-2004, 00:39
“…Apollo Foods, a Vrakian export conglomerate, gained a final 12% ownership of MHG. Other buyers included the Sketchian (13.6%), Menelmacari (12.5%), and Ma-Tek (16%) governments, a consortium of Der Angstian corporations (14.1%), with the remaining 31.8% exchanging hands among various other private and corporate buyers throughout the Sol sector…”

A flipper reached out and shut off the radio. It wouldn’t matter if he shut it off since there was someone tasked to make a transcript. In fact, someone was always gathering the latest news and gave him nice, shiny reports every day.

-Well, it seems that we are successful.
-Not as successful as we had hoped. Our stake is the smallest in Myrtle-Hammerstein.
-But, we have a stake. And twelve percent is not bad, considering the players.
-We have to contact the other major stakeholders.
-Indeed. I’m sure Sketch already knows of our interest and we are prepared to work closely with them. We share similar business philosophies with Der Angst. Pity we haven’t explored that market more.
-What about the ICEL and Menelmacar?
-Personally, I favour dealing more with the ICEL. At least we have some contact with them, however brief.
-Right. I will type up the letters.

====

Soon, a letter was sent to Sketch, Der Angst, the ICEL, and Menelmacar

To Whom It May Concern:

Congratulations on having a major stake in Myrtle-Hammerstein. As one stakeholder to another, we look forward to collaborative efforts in the prosperity of this fine corporation and hope that any political differences can be overlooked in the name of business.

Sincerely,

Grand Duke Rex Yuuley
CEO – Apollo Group

[Personal Seal of Rex Yuuley]
[Corporate Seal of Apollo Group]
Der Angst
20-12-2004, 16:05
The Angstian stockholders, about a dozen of them (Several of this dozen being consortia, this increasing the practical amount of stockholders a little) were, of course, somewhat surprised by the Vrakian message, considering that not a single one of them was holding more than 2% of Myrtle-Hammerstein Genetech, thus being comparatively irrelevant, even though the Angstian held stocks were quite significant.

Nonetheless, after a bit of chuckling and a few jokes ("1% and the world is ours!") some actually replied, mentioning that yes, they would of course act in the interest of the corporation, in order to create profit for, well, all of them.

"You know, I do think we should at least cooperate with the rest of... Us." Jeanne said, enjoying yet another glas of wine whiel watching some construction drones taking care of a collapsed building nearby. Fighting was over (On this island, anyway), but the damage... Well, it was rather significant.

Rudolf smiled. They had been surprisingly successful. "Yes. I'm sorry I was doubting you. Looks like it worked. Of course..."

"Of course?"

"Target #1 is still in."

"I know." Jeanne chuckled. "But it should work out. I found a few quite significant ressources we can throw in to get Milpas Somatic Engineering. Of course, there is competition, despite it being the smallest possible acquisition... And I don't mean our dear neighbors." She chuckled some more, waving at the Dexters who sat on the table to her left. Switching to her mind, she continued.

They got 0.2% more than we, bitches. Have to repay them for that... Not sure how, though, at least not right now.

Heh. Well, I'm sure you will find something. What else... Ah, right, now... We're continuing with Milpas?

Yah, as planned. We'll see how it works out.

Needless to say, Jeanne and Rudolf, as well as the Dexters, were quite representative for the overall decisions the investors in the peaceful parts of DA made. Which resulted in some more money being thrown into the pot. Or, well, in Jeanne's case, fictional money. But well... It was for a good deed.
Santa Barbara
20-12-2004, 23:40
New State City
MHG Arco

The leading executive of MHG was Dan Markstram, known simply as Mister Markstram to his many inferiors. He'd scratched, clawed, fought and climbed his way to the top of a very tall ladder, a ladder borne by and made of 8.2 million employees. With it he attained worldwide power, but not enough to be seen as an alarming threat (especially with the helpfully, famously psychotic Abadas running CC into the ground), and not too little to be impotent.

He'd seen it coming, of course. Not with his steely blue eyes, the eyes that inevitably told at least one woman a day that his heart, if it still pulsed with what could be called human life, was certainly not open to her likes.

"The writing was on the wall," he explained to his contact.

"It is mutually profitable that your reading is so excellent," came the crisp, clear reply. Digitized, of course - the sender may have been man, woman or machine, but the ID checks showed that it was at least, an individual capable of carrying out the Deal.

He looked at the clock. Two hours til 8 AM, when the drones would come buzzing in.

"When will the transfer be made?" he inquired.

"It has already been made, Mr Markstram."

He was referring to an assorted package of trade secrets, product data and other assorted goodies worth ungodly sums of money. To the likes of Markstram, it was just more working capital, and in this case, a ticket. To rebuild his empire, in the stars. Where all the smart execs were heading.

But the transfer wasn't supposed to happen yet. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, studying the phone as if the tiny metal box would itself yield answers.

"I - "

- the conversation ended before he could formulate a question, as the bullet tore through the armored-plexiglass windows and demolished the CEO's neck vertebrae in a bloody spray. The harsh, sudden, ice-like sound of the plexiglass breaking was heard in his last brief moments of consciousness.

--

CoFedCo HQ

"So, it's done," Marcos Fernando, not really asking a question, said.

"Yes," came the reply anyway.

Marcos Fernando looked as if in deep depression for a moment, but then shrugged and breathed in deeply. "I was the chief officer for forty-three years, Peterson. I am now no longer. I didn't quite know how I'd feel. I do. Now my only responsibility is to the Corporate Federal Conglomerate. I can always retire a wealthy man, and I can always go and be a wealthy man, but no more do I have to answer to any stakeholders other than those who make up the CoFedCo," he said in an even, nearly unbroken confessional.

Peterson, not knowing what to say to this, said nothing. He fixed a concerned, slightly wary and expectant look on the acting President's face.

"With my own company swept off my feet, in this rush to abandon the nation, it will only incourage. I will do what I can to keep the loss of so many contributors from breaking the CoFedCo's bank, but with the market in flux and a rush offworld... I don't know, Peterson. What's the answer?"

Peterson could think of only one thing, and he wondered why Fernando was so reluctant on the matter. "I wouldn't presume - to know answers. But, Lord President - "

A sigh and a leery look from Marcos Fernando -

" - Sir, acting President Sir, the ITDO is always-"

"- Yes, there's always the military," he cut him off, nodding and waving his hand dismissively. "But what can I do with it? I can make calls, I can have Cheng group his forces menacingly, but at this point the ITDO is as ready to fall apart as the rest of the Conglomerate. If I try to keep the integrity of the nation using force, we'll get disasterous fallout from the international scene, and probably face more military rebellion."

Peterson shrugged, "It is your decision, Sir."

Fernando, seemingly taken aback - but then relaxed, nodded in his grandfatherly way again, as if all had proceeded as he had expected. In a way, it had.

"I'm not sure that it is, Peterson. That's the damnedest part of it. I'm not sure it is anymore."

[OOC: GladBurger Incorporated is now up for quasi-auction as well. GBI is a fast food conglomerate with products and sub-corps spread all up and down the supply chain. They own the ranches and the farmers and the cows and the trucks and their drivers and subsidiary after subsidiary and franchise after franchise. Etc.]
The Ctan
21-12-2004, 22:38
“My lady,” said Laegcened, one of the numerous investment advisors of the Lossë-elen company, “reports on our current acquisitions.” He handed Luinthelë a thick wad of papers, which she took without hesitation. Luinthelë nodded, and smiled at him.

“We’re initiating a new policy,” she said.
“Oh?” he asked.
“There’s been a change in our… position,” she gave a playful little smile, “ We’re going to make an effort to gain an outright majority of Xavier-Kerry,” she said, “not that this means slack off on the others, but I want your efforts focussed on Xavier-Kerry.”
“I see,” said the other elf, “and what of Gladburger?” he asked, curiously.

“If they become available, buy.”
He nodded and left the office. Luinthelë closed her eyes and smiled.
Vrak
22-12-2004, 15:11
Apollo Group HQ

Rex Yuuley brooded. Normally, he would be estatic over the stake that his company acquired in Myrtle-Hammerstein Genetech. But then, Gladburger was up for bids. Something he did not anticipate. He fretted and wondered if he could actually secure enough credit to even make a bid. He would hate having to go to Power Financial or worse, the Vrak Economic Affairs Division itself, since he secretly believed that they were behind near break-up of Apollo. Some divisions were sold, yes, but he managed to retain most of the company.

He wondered again why his father wanted MHG. It was known that the old man collected exotic animals from around the world and had an extensive zoo and labs at the family estate. What the hell is he up to?

Gladburger would be an ideal acquisition for the flagship company, Apollo Foods. Integration could take a bit of time, but it would be worth it. Danm that MHG purchase! He banged his large fist on the solid Vrakian pine desk. He angrily picked up the phone and contacted the Acquisitions department.


-Yes, well, just do it. Put in a bid. And by Bok’s maw, find out what else might be up. I can’t buy all of Santa Barbara you idiot.

He slammed the phone down and thought that he won’t have much of a chance in this particular horse race.
Valinon
22-12-2004, 16:56
The Solar Industrial Cartel's headquarters in the city of Agraria on Mars was very much like the Cartel itself--new. However, the Cartel was by no means a struggling industry. Drawing on the resources of the seven powerful Valinor concerns in Sol that had merged together to form it, the Cartel was enjoying a boom. The Cartel enjoyed healthy contracts from interests within the Democratic Imperium of Mangala, and was surging into new markets like the Tekhat Maraldi.

But Nikolai Gagarin, the power motivating the Cartel's success, wants more. The Star Empire's government may have largely retreated from Earth, except for maintaining relations with a few states and regions, but that did not mean he was just going to abandon what was still the most profitable market in Sol--even if Mars was rapidly gaining on Old Earth. He follows the reports of chaos from the CoFedCo zealously. And now it seems the first opportunity is beginning to present itself.

True, he would much rather prefer to accquire the surviving CoFedCo Martian assets, but at the rate those were dropping that would be an easy task. And why not move beyond just Mars and start to move into the CoFedCo itself?

He re-read the report on Gladburger once again. It presented a unique opportunity, a chance for the Cartel to enter into an entirely new market. He would set the Cartel's Earth offices to start eying Santa Barbara much more carefully. Perhaps an opportunity better even than Gladburger would present itself.

He presses a button on his comp-pad, a few minutes later Tess, the AI on contract to handle the Cartel's communications appears.

Yes, Mr. Gagarin?

"Tess, connect me with Herr Orwell in the Hague, I need to speak with him on the matter of Santa Barbara."

Right away.

**********

Two hours later a flight from the Hague leaves for Santa Barbara, four of its passengers are Cartel representatives, dispatched by Jason Orwell--the Cartel's director on Earth. As they are scrambled from the primary office of the Cartel on Earth, Orwell starts to contact Gladburger stockholders on behalf of the Cartel. A half-hour later he stumbles across a stockholder who tells him there has been some interests from a series of Vrakian parties.

Orwell steeples his fingers and thinks carefully between vid-calls. It seems there will be a race for Gladburger after all.
Santa Barbara
22-12-2004, 18:30
MHG EXECUTIVE ASSASSINATED

"..and in other news, CEO Dan Markstram of Myrtle-Hammerstein was found dead in his office of a gunshot wound. Police authorities strongly suspect a case of corporate assassination, one of many feared due in the ongoing struggle over MHG ownership. However, because of a genetic plague, political disintegration and alien invasions, not many viewers are concerned over the matter.

"Markstram, 52, left behind no wife,children, or will, and his estates have been seized and divided by a CoFedCo commission..."
Ma-tek
22-12-2004, 20:55
TURATH, WEDNESDAY - Following the silence of the ITC immediately following the announcement by a Santa Barbaran newsgroup of the succesful purchasing by the ITC of a sixteen percent stake in MHG - Myrtle-Hammerstein - at last an ITC spokesperson has outlined the basic preferred approach of the Imperial Trade Conglomerate to the newly part-owned asset.

The ITC, according to Mr. Elleth-Rihad of Dth'gari Industries, elected member of the ITC Board of Control, will "pursue a hands-off approach... in all areas."

What this means is not entirely clear, however, as the Conglomerate also admitted Wednesday that it is amassing funds to inject into what some see as the newest ITC family member.

"There is no truth in the rumours that the ITC is seeking to sell its fifteen percent stake in the Feanor Holdings Group," Mr Elleth-Rihad stated categorically. However, in a seperate statement to the Iluvauromeni Exchange (IXE), issued by Miss Tamzin Reshad-Menjda of the ITC Acquisitions & Sales Commission, it was clearly stated that the stake in FHG (Feanor Holdings Group) is indeed under review - it is not however clear in which regard.

The ITC also admitted Wednesday that it may even supply "several billion Menelmacari Credits" to Menelmacar's largest economic asset; but the purpose of such a move, should it occur (it is believed to already be being lambasted by the strong anti-Menelmacar movement inside the Conglomerate) remains unclear.

~ excerpt from the Iluvauromeni Financial Review electronic broadsheet

* * *

Imperial Trade Conglomerate Headquarters, Turath, Ax-turath, Iluvauromen, ICEL

"Sixteen percent is unacceptable. Further efforts must be made to assume greater control; we cannot gain anything without a majority share. You are all, of course, aware of the regulations. Only when the ITC has a clear majority stake - which the regulations would not consider the holdings in MHG to be - in any economic asset may we impose the usual 3% taxation rate."

"He is correct," agreed Lady Juria Menjda - an unusual course of events, as the speaker had been none other than Lord Commander Stur Rathkin, head of the small House Rathkin and a former Navy officer. Rathkin and Menjda rarely allied in any matter: the rest of the Board of Control undoubtedly took note; eyebrows raised around the oak table.

Juria, a red-haired Human with piercing green eyes but an over-liking for chocolate that had resulted in her rounded figure, traced an absent-minded fingertip against the grain of the wood before continuing. "We're looking at a cut in profits. We spent alot of funds going after this asset; worse, we spent the funds of our subsidiaries. If we fail to give them a return, they will be annoyed." She knew; she owned no less than seven of those subsidiaries, and she would not be impressed to see no return from what was increasingly looking like a hair-brained scheme.

"Rivette is willing to write off the loss," Bao Ling assured calmly.

"Rivette can damned well afford to," Darit Elleth-Rihad growled, "but Dth'gari Industries cannot absorb this kind of loss. We're looking at a loss in profits for the next three, maybe four quarters. That's simply not acceptable. The ITC is not in the business of losing money, in case you'd forgotten, Majesty."

The redirection of attention to the Chairlady was swift; all eyes turned.

Rialla sighed - inwardly. Outwardly, she conserved her air. She had no intention of explaining further the purpose behind these efforts; instead, she urged quietly, "Patience. We have people working on the matter."

* * *

Cafe TeepFreeZ, Turath, Ax-turath, Iluvauromen, ICEL

The TeepFreeZ - although it had several other names in various languages - was exactly what the glowing trimensional sign above the door said (in those various langauges): a telepath free zone. Telepaths were not allowed past the doors. This would usually have been considered prejudiced; but the TeepFreeZ had obtained special permission from the government to run such a franchise: not all foreigners were comfortable with the pro-mentalic attitudes that ran so strongly through Iluvauromeni society and culture.

However, it had other uses, too. In fact, the majority of those who used the cafe were Iluvauromeni natives; and the majority of those were business people. Here, there could be no corporate spies listening in on surface thougths and revealing secrets to ones enemies; there was only one telepath present, and that was the owner - who was a hands-on type, and preferred to 'work the tables'. One would have guessed her to be a waitress - but nobody who came here failed to know her.

She was useful to those who didn't know her very well; she offered protection from corporate intelligence units, who were suspected to be in use amongst some thirty percent of the Iluvauromeni interests. Yet she herself was a high-grade telepath, a middle-grade empath - and more rarely, a middle-grade telekinetic. She could not influence the sub-atomic level (as that very very very rare breed occcasionally could), but she was a Medical Adept; she had been 'volunteered' to serve in the old CAF as a field-medic during the rule of the oppressive and thankfully vanquished Commonwealth of Ma-tek. She rarely used the ability nowadays, for there was little need; although representatives from the Turath Prime Medical Facility often visited still, on recruitment runs. Medical Adepts were very rare indeed - but she felt no guilt at not working in that field. She preferred to listen.

One hears many things when one listens carefully enough; and few had a more potent set of listening tools than Carrala Elestra of the minor House Elestra. House Elestra was really part of Great House Rihad - or had been, until just over two centuries ago. History bored Carrala, however, so she did not understand or know the circumstances in which the split had occurred.

But between her telepathy, empathy, blazing amber eyes and her finely curved and pointed ears, there were few who were more suited to observation than her. And ironically, she ran a business which depended on her not observing.

It would have been a strange life for her - had not the cafe merely been a front for other, less savoury business. Those in the know knew that Carrala knew what nobody else knew; and they came to her for the edge. For Carrala was a liar: she listened long, and she listened well. And her next client - due in about five minutes, she figured - would be the better kind: the seeker of information who would pay with information.

She smiled as she cleared a table with expert precision, aiming the smile at a young couple who occupied a nearby table; they looked like young lovebirds, but from the taste of their surface thoughts she knew they were not. A quick glance across the floor found their true reason for being here: a Rivette executive was involved in a quiet discussion with a gentleman that - she tried not to frown - she was not aware of.

She made a mental note to find out more about the mystery customer...and moved into the backroom.

To wait.
Santa Barbara
26-12-2004, 04:42
Somewhere in the Central Goletan Plains

Sylvenna attained consciousness once more. Red and yellow haze clouded her vision. Half-human, and thus more accustomed to feeling ill than otherwise, she had never had such wracking, deadly pain - mostly in the throb of her head. A brain which felt two sizes too large for the painfully hard walls of her skull attempted to get some bearings.

Drugged...I've been drugged...

No, that wasn't it, was it? It was something else... the faceplate doctor told her. When was that? Yesterday? A week ago? How much time had passed?

Weakly, she lifted her arms, knowing it would be in vain but unable to resist. The restraints did their job neatly, preventing her from making any useful movement away from the uncomfortable bed she had been strapped to.

She vomited. The hot wetness on her chest was startling, and dismaying.

Radiation, that was it. The room. The whole room is irradiated.

The door opened again - a neat whoosh, caused by the brisk movement of air more than the motors, which were efficient and quiet - and brightness spilled out, piercing her eyes like shining needles of pain. She cringed, eyes watering, and peered at the blurry shape entering the room.

"Hello, Sylvenna," Dr. Jellico said. "It's been a while. Sorry about that. How are you doing? Not well at all, looks like."

She croaked something in response, and he frowned while smiling. "Pardon? Didn't catch that," he asked.

"I'm just fine," she said, her voice hoarse and the words painful. She made herself smile defiantly.

Dr Jellico laughed pleasantly. "Wonderful! You are quite a marvellous being. No one could say your resistance is genetic by now. It's all heart."

He sat down at the foot of her metal excuse for a bed. She wished she could kick at him. She twitched her left foot as she wished.

"Sylvenna," he said, sighing, "I've come to let you know. We're going to have to let you go."

She blinked.

"Yes, you're getting out of this place. We've gotten what we wanted. You're free to go!"

He then began to unlock the restraints. Metal buckles at the sides released the incredibly strong straps with a click and a twang.

"You can walk, can't you?"

She attempted to swing her feet to the right. Surprised at her weakness, she did some considering and wasn't sure she could walk at all. Or was it all a trick?

"No trick," he said, as if reading her thoughts. "You see, it was never our purpose to detain you indefinitely, or extract any information."

The floor was cold to her bare feet, which felt swollen. Nausea swelled inside her and she fought it off.

"R...radiation..." she said thickly.

"Not at all," Dr Jellico said. "I'm afraid we did trick you there. There is no radiation." And then he removed his bulky suit-hood, the faceplate showing his hair and then darkness, and then it was just his head. It looked somehow smaller. His face was the same, attractive and calm. Almost preternaturally calm.

She shook her head violently, nausea striking again as a result of the spinning world. It didn't make sense. It was like a hastily written conclusion to some not well-thought-out third-rate web novel.

Dr Jellico patted the bed once more, patronizingly. "Confused? Come on, give it a try. Stand up. You're fine."

She considered lunging at him. She could kill him, she thought. She had just barely enough strength to do that. Trick or no trick...

...but then she felt better, as if waking up from a fever dream to discover the fever passed. Strength dripped back into her muscles, and her vision cleared. Looking at her hands, she realized the peeling blotchiness of the radiation wasn't so bad. Just a sunburn, maybe not even that...

...and then she was standing up, Dr Jellico looking up at her with lifted eyebrows, as if in surprise, but his jovial eyes showed no surprise at all.

"What the hell?" she said, her rage forgotten now that she felt further from death, replaced by utter confusion. The nausea spun around again, but it was much less physical, and more like the effects of some unknown drug.

...and then she was back in the bed, strapped, restrained, a prisoner. She couldn't remember having moved. Dr Jellico continued to look at her, unsurprisedly. His face was quite handsome. His faceplate was still removed, cradled between her feet straps.

"It appears you don't want to leave yet," he said.
Santa Barbara
27-12-2004, 18:27
New State City

The sounds of gunfire began in the middle of the night for Marcos Fernando. He'd been sleeping - or trying to, tossing and turning in what used to be Abadas's office bed. The sheets had been changed, of course, but the stench of madness lingered.

Waking up after a particularly vague but terrifying nightmare, into a specific and even more terrifying one.

When he interrogated the nearest aide on it, he learned that throngs of rioters filled the streets of the capital. Many were simply attempting to escape the plague which jumped from person to person indiscriminately, inevitably.

Before going to bed, Marcos Fernando learned that 6 million people were already infected and dead or dying. He'd attempted quarrantines, he'd contacted every biotech company of note, and he'd issued public health warnings.

The panic, however, was worse. The megacorps were heading offworld and overseas. Stevenson Shipbuilding was the most recent, bought out by a Vrakian corporation. But enough of the others were headed the same way.

The Corporate Nationalist Party and all it's power had been destroyed instantly by a simple, overwhelming wave of panic. And without the CNP, without a strong dictator to rule the mobs, who would? Himself?

All of which lead him back to his original decision to remove Abadas. At the time it had seemed a good idea. But while Abadas was a negative influence, it was hard to find a replacement. As the sounds of gunfire - the ITDO troops, of course, firing into the mobs - echoed throughout the night in his lonely spire, Marcos Fernando realized he was not that replacement. He had neither the charisma, the dominance of will, or the power.

The gunfire continued. The sharp, dry coughs of the assault rifles were intermingled with the fearsome, though distant, sound of heavier weapons. Sometimes a muffled explosion signalled the death of a small building or car.

He was trapped.

No one told him this. No aides informed him that by leaving the city he would sign his own death-warrant, because the powers that be were now wholly greater than himself and would have to eliminate him, to succeed him. The battles below were raging so long not because the power of the mob was so great, but because the unity of the ITDO even here at the capital was fragmenting.

Nor did anyone tell him that nearly half the ITDO orbital fleets were loyal to the CoFedCo, the other half to Abadas, the remainder to the TNE and none at all to the office of the President. Or Acting President.

Truth, he realized, is when something need not be explained, documented or expressed, but still it is.

With no one to hand off his duties or responsibility to, and no more to be done about the wave of problems, there wasn't much left to do but declare Santa Barbara to be in a state of emergency - and the influx of foreign powers would be complete, the destruction of Santa Barbaran national sovereignty as final as if it had come at the hands of orbital strikes.

What else was there?

So he turned on the office 'puter, his link to g-net highly encrypted and secure. So he was spared the news reports, the pictures of the plague's gruesome effects, the shots of the police and military scrabbling for control, the grim reports from Mars, the frenzied foreign investors. He was spared spam as well, which we was also grateful for.

And he began to write up a basic statement, to be elaborated on by memetic engineers before release.


I, Marcos Fernando, acting as President of the Corporate Federal Conglomerate, do hereby declare a national emergency ...

Engrossed in his typing, feeling numb, Fernando didn't hear the door to his office open and shut quietly.


because of the virulent outbreak which has claimed millions so far and has not responded to any known treatment. This public health hazard threatens not just our nation, but the world and perhaps all mankind...

The voice which now spoke was so startlingly close that Marcos Fernando couldn't help but give a yell.

"I wouldn't write off the nation just yet, Mister President."

He turned, breathing hard, heart thumping.

Standing just beside his desk was Gonzalo Tzu, director of the IIA. He smiled wryly. "Didn't mean to startle you, sir."

"Tzu!" he said with some amazement. "I was told you were AWOL."

Tzu nodded, his handsome face bobbing up and down once. "That I was, sir, but if you'll pardon me I had good reason for it."

If the world had not been ending at the time, Marcos Fernando would have complained about the indecency of just walking in unannounced to the CoFedCo President's office in the wee hours of the dawn. But, it clearly was.

"I suppose you're here to tell me how to get out of this mess. Help save the world. Have our cake and eat it, too?" Marcos Fernando laughed. His voice was startling to himself, sounding distant and weak.

Gonzalo Tzu frowned. "Now, don't go crazy, sir. We've had enough of crazy Presidents, and I need you in command of your facilities."

Nodding, the acting President replied, "Yes, yes. Of course. But you haven't answered the question."

Tzu produced a manila folder, rubber-bound and bursting with various colors of paper. He plopped it onto the desk, pointed at it with a gesture of his head, and said, "Yes, sir. I've the answer."
Vrak
31-12-2004, 02:05
-Any word on the bids?
-No, not yet. Apollo is looking to secure credit to make a bid on Gladburger. It appears that the process may have stalled.
-What about the Midlonians?
-No word yet from them regarding Snow Canyon. Then again, we’ve heard that there are reports of a possible rebellion in that part of the Klatch.
-Oh? Well, that won’t help things. What about Hyperion and Gargantua?
-We’ve learned that the bid was successful. With Costa-Tula shipyards recently established and now SSh, it will be very hard for anyone to beat our state in ship building capacity. Aside from Calarca, of course. Then again, they excel at ship design and not necessarily capacity.
-Right. The navy is looking for a new aircraft carrier design I’ve heard. Maybe they can find something with Stevenson.
-Regarding Myrtle-Hammerstein, only the Angstians responded positively. There are some rumours circulating that…er…the ITC, the one in the ICEL might be shedding their stake in MHG.
-If they do, then snap it up. Provide Apollo with credit for that, but not for Gladburger.
-Sir?
-Apollo is a good tool, but it needs to be reined in. And any advantage that can be gained from new genetic research is positive for Vrak.
-Pity about that executive being killed.
-Are we positive that none of our corporations were involved?
-Yes sir. The King’s Own have been monitoring the various corporate armies and their assassination squads. None of them have left the country.
-Good. I don’t think our efforts in Xavier-Kerry is going to pan out. Too many for that one. Besides, the plan is to hold back a little here. When Gladburger came out, this means that others may also be on the auction block. I think the corporations know this. Do we have any word on what might be next?
-Nothing so far. Our embassy in New State City hasn’t sent word yet.
-Contact them and find out what’s going on. That’s what we pay them for, for crying out loud.
-Yes sir. Right away.
Midlonia
31-12-2004, 02:12
Certainly, bidding with you will be benificial the Klatch herself.

Joint bid by Vrak & Midlonian Shareholders group:
M€ 1.050 per share above market price for 100% of outstanding SCI stock
Ma-tek
02-01-2005, 20:28
Back room, Cafe TeepFreeZ, Turath, Ax-turath, Iluvauromen, ICEL

"Rivette wants to build thirty thousand of them."

It was, to most, a simple enough statement. Few would have seen anything in it. Few would have recognized the meaning - if any. But Carrala was different; her store of knowledge meant that she knew with a certainty exactly what that statement meant. She laid another 'credit' down; each 'credit' was worth five thousand Relhames - the information was not cheap.

"They'll impersonate," her source - he was a mysterious type, favoured a black hood, used a voice alteration system, as useless as all that was - informed her softly.

"Who?"

"That information is outside your price range, Carrala," the neutrally-toned feminine voice replied dully. It grated on her, made her want to grind her teeth, but she didn't let it show. That wouldn't do.

"Then three more credits would suffice to pay you to increase the price beyond the range of any other?"

"About that," the source replied. Neutrally. Dead voice. Stale mind. Carrala didn't like this man one bit; but a source is a source - and this one was more reliable than most.

The three credits slipped onto the table. They were, in fact, small plastic cards with 'uncrackable' chips - they weren't uncrackable, but it was useless to forge them. There were only so many, and only so many registered, and only so many reference numbers; forgeries were fairly easy to spot, therefore.

Carrala did not bother to bid the man farewell as he left; she merely considered the danger of this new information. It had been expensive, but she had learnt more than the source had expected, she suspected. In fact, the source had been an insider at Rivette - of this she was sure. She smiled as the next source entered, almost immediately after the last.

"You have the information?"

"No," Carrala lied smoothly, hoping that this new, alternate information would be more useful to the one who spoke with as a foreigner, but who (she knew) was not, "but I have something even better..."

* * *

Rihad Subterranean Tower, Nenya

The tower was nearly a mile tall, but it was not imposing. One could never see the entirety of it, for it was underground, and surrounded with other buildings; but this was the primary manufactury for ux-Rihad Industries, and over thirty thousand people worked on the 'floors' alone. The offices were slightly less populous, but the building contained nearly ninety thousand persons at all times - including various sorts of visitors...

And, of course, the rented offices. Several organisations and companies also 'rented' offices here; they paid very little, as the law clearly stated, but they paid nonetheless.

Sura stared out the 'window'; it was, actually, a VisiWall. But she stared all the same. The forest 'outside' was green and vibrant, as always, but the sky was darkening slowly, and so the greenery was lessening in intensity. She tried not to sigh; it reminded her of her life - fading fast and going nowhere but the sunset, for now.

But at least she had her health.

At least...for now.
Santa Barbara
09-01-2005, 17:36
Leaving.

The megacorporations, and their business ancestors, had remained Santa Barbaran despite massive political, social, technological changes over the centuries. They had remained as a constant: governments came and went, and political idealogies paraded across the public and faded from view, but Santa Barbaran businessmen held the keys of power in the nation.

No more.

MHG, MSE, XKCS, SCI - big names, many products, manufactories both mighty and varied. With the foreign investors came foreign ownership, and with foreign ownership the inevitable death-knell of national corporatism.

And in the streets of Santa Barbara's cities, from the Carvajal Shelf to the New State City megacenters, citizens evading the ravages of an unknown disease caused by an unknown virus now had the epilogue of their fear stapled to themselves: fired. Not just fleeing, refugee, but now an orphaned employee in a world that no longer could afford to care for orphans. Line workers, be they Santa Barbaran or no, could always be replaced. To the corporations, people were just like capital property, only much more liquid.

It was liquidity that reigned. Plans were made in boardrooms and over communication nets, and now came execution. Land was appropriated elsewhere; building plans were concretized, all ties to Santa Barbara - and the inherent risks of remaining in a burning building - were severed.

Some remained. Some stood steady before the onrushing terror of destruction, even revolution. But there are always those who prefer the flames...

[OOC: And a BUMP and a congratulations to some new owners of some hefty corporations!]
Der Angst
09-01-2005, 21:01
"Well. This was certainly... Successful."

"Yes, yes it was." Jeanne chuckled. "Now, what remains is... What to do with what we have."

Here, Rudolf was (Annoyingly enough) a little bit clueless. "Well... Selling?"

"Most likely, although I would like to know what the other owners have to say about it."

"Oh?" Rudolf was most certainly, well, curious. "What else?"

"Well... SB is in chaos, right now, just like we are. Well, probably not as bad as SB. But still."

"That means that we should get out as fast as possible. Especially since, ya'know... I dunno how long we're considered valid."

"We will see. Acting alone isn't going to do us much good, anyway. So... Well, I guess we will know the future soon enough. Be it shipping an entire corporation off Santa Barbara or staying there."

Conversations like this happened all over the non- combatant territories of DA earth. Of course, what they had achived was getting the smallest of all possible targets, but then... They had it, and that was the point. However, what would happen with this possibility was another question, as certain provisional bureaus begun researching options, possibilities, and the past.

Even though the times of the Capitalizt Utopia DA were barely over, things had already changed, and a little bit of foresight was used by those who realised that Angstians were, right now, nothing but an endangered species.

Why not using the pieces of Santa Barbara for something more than mere economic gain? Why not trying something long term? Of course, certain things had to change, in what they owned, now. It would mean a lot of frustrated Ex- Employees. It would mean significant investions.

But this really wouldn't need to be all...

Nonetheless, for now, this were secondary options, only discussed, pondered, but not executed. What would be executed was a little visit. The new owners, or at least the three holding double- digit percentages, were most definitely interested in seeing what they had just bought. All the while discussing the nearby future.

ooc: I'll have to get some clearances from you, namely regarding some fungus I recall you having. Probably on IRC.
Menelmacar
10-01-2005, 10:47
Ma-tek: You don't have 15% of FHG. Far as I'm concerned, anything above pehaps 2-3% has gotta be RPed, and unless you can provide me with either links or logs, I don't recall RPing this. Please edit.
Ma-tek
10-01-2005, 22:24
Ma-tek: You don't have 15% of FHG. Far as I'm concerned, anything above pehaps 2-3% has gotta be RPed, and unless you can provide me with either links or logs, I don't recall RPing this. Please edit.

[OOC: Negative. Remember the old Imnsvale International Stock Exchange? The ITC purchased a 15% stake back then, as FHG purchased a similar stake in return from the ITC. As the two companies are relatively comparable in wealth (in mass, if not volume), neither side was really gaining anything, which was at the time the point (it was an exercise to strengthen the links between our two economies, in those gone halycon days of EOTED-ENEM Alliance and the good ol' Triple Alliance (FSP/EOTED/ENEM). At least - the bid was put in publically on the exchange, but we worked out those fine details on IRC. I don't have logs going back that far (this was before CENNA, and as I recall, in the early days of SATO, and who has logs that old?), but I'm sure you remember with all this prompting. - Or have forty thousand years dulled the brain cells a bit? ;) (*g*)]
Ma-tek
10-01-2005, 22:40
Somewhere in Santa Barbara

He sighed, stifling a cough. The back of his throat hurt. This place was not Nenya; here there was...

He grumbled internally at the mere thought: air pollution. Disgusting! To allow - but that was the least of his problems. His eyes were sore, his throat hurt, and he had managed to eat something which disagreed with some naturally-encouraged digestion-aiding bacteria in his gut, which had resulted in extensive vomiting. And...other unpleasant bodily responses.

Something the Nenyar were not supposed - in theory - to experience. There were cases, though. Nenya were symbiotic with various bacteria which were not required for digestion, but enhanced and speeded the process somewhat. The result was - well, normality. But if those bacteria were interfered with - which was somewhat rare - it would produce discomfort. Death by dehydration during such an event was, on occasion, a reality: but only when access to water was limited to an extreme.

Fortunately, that wasn't the case. And the talk of plague had hardly concerned him - or, more specifically, had hardly concerned him in a personal sense. Why should it? Nenyar did not suffer disease. Their immune systems were vastly superior to that of a Human - on a par, at the least, with Elves. There wasn't really a way to compare, but, being Nenyar, S-24 greatly suspected that his immune system was superior to that of the Quendi. It was...racial patriotism, perhaps.

Or racism. Hard to define the difference, he strongly believed. But a little racial superiority was okay; it was the glue that held a species together. Wasn't it?

Regardless of his slightly dim opinion of the Quendi - and his entire family being (temporarily) forced out of work by the loss of trade with Menelmacar over a year ago probably had a good deal to do with that - he had no such dim opinion of these Santa Barbarans. He had not expected strength, but, to his surprise, was seeing it.

RISE had no business being involved in this, this...corporate struggle. But it was all Commonality Security. And so...

He was here, in his guise as an Imperial Trade Conglomerate Retainer. Fancy name, but a potentially dangerous - and 'grey area' - job. It was just about legal in the Commonality to hire persons for such purposes as his contract allowed for - but not all those purposes were truly real purposes that were, in fact, the purpose of his hiring. Elsewhere was different. He suspected Santa Barbara was similar to the Commonality in this respect, but he hadn't bothered to check for sure. As he was not going to be caught, there seemed little point.

He sighed, settled back in the rather disgusting armchair. Moth-eaten. This was not good accomodation. In fact, it was the worst he could find. All the better to meet the people he needed to meet...
Menelmacar
10-01-2005, 23:43
[OOC: Negative. Remember the old Imnsvale International Stock Exchange? The ITC purchased a 15% stake back then, as FHG purchased a similar stake in return from the ITC. As the two companies are relatively comparable in wealth (in mass, if not volume), neither side was really gaining anything, which was at the time the point (it was an exercise to strengthen the links between our two economies, in those gone halycon days of EOTED-ENEM Alliance and the good ol' Triple Alliance (FSP/EOTED/ENEM). At least - the bid was put in publically on the exchange, but we worked out those fine details on IRC. I don't have logs going back that far (this was before CENNA, and as I recall, in the early days of SATO, and who has logs that old?), but I'm sure you remember with all this prompting. - Or have forty thousand years dulled the brain cells a bit? ;) (*g*)]
[OOC: Ah, right, I recall now. *opens portfolio, finds old dusty stock certificates* Ah, here it is. Right right. Anyway, check your TG's, if you haven't yet.]
Vrak
17-01-2005, 06:23
Vrak Diplomatic Corps HQ

-Any word yet from our personnel in New State City?
-Not yet.
-Issue an alert. They are quite good at checking in. Something must be wrong.
-Suppose there is any truth to the previous rumours that were reported?
-We cannot confirm nor deny that. And I don’t run the Corps on rumours. I run it on evidence. And I have no evidence.


Vrak Embassy - New State City

The daily affairs within Santa Barbara were observed, catalogued and then summarized into reports that were passed along to headquarters in Vrak Prime. Nothing odd about that practice since, among other things, embassies did act as an unofficial intelligence gathering tool. But now, things moved into “panic” mode, which frankly unnerved the usually calm staff.

The flight of the Barbaran companies was, in a way, logical considering the situation and the exact circumstances did warrant a “how” investigation later, if only informally. However, the issuance of public health warnings caused much greater concern. This was passed back to HQ which, in its usual high-handedness, told the staff to remain put and find out exactly what was going on. So, the local staff were ordered to find out and discreet calls were placed to local health officials who responded with the usual stonewalling. Apparently, no one wanted to alarm the Vrakians but in doing so, did manage to spook them. And the fact that none of the local staff reported to work today set off alarm bells.

-That’s it. We’re pulling out. We haven’t gotten a straight answer from anyone. And now no one has come to work.
-We haven’t received authorization from HQ. The last communiqué stands, Ambassador.
-Am I not the Ambassador? Very well, you go to whoever the hell is in charge. Things are falling apart and we can only pick up so many pieces. I want this rumour about this plague substantiated – now. And I’m giving you twelve hours to get me an answer. Or you find your own way out.
Santa Barbara
19-01-2005, 16:58
"A half-elf?" Marcos Fernando repeated dully.

"One Sylvenna Yorn. Daughter of Eldebrath. You remember him, I take it?" poked the former friend of Bob Pratt.

"Name sounds familiar. PCC finances?"

"Yes. Apparently he met an elf lady at some point and the two had a child together. I haven't found many details, but it wasn't consentual."

"Unfortunate, but what does this have to do with...?" Fernando's voice trailed off, indicating the whole, general mess that was the world now.

"I've been tracking her for some time, under orders."

"Abadas's orders."

"Yes. Now that he's out of the picture, I have no problems reporting what I've found. She's being held in a former PCC research base, underground, by MHG."

Marcos Fernando felt a surge of anger and it petered out as quickly as it came. It was no use getting angry, he realized sadly. "What PCC research base?"

"Designation Shell. Of course it's officially been closed since the PCC collapsed. It appears MHG has been doing some remodelling all the same. What's more, MHG is the company I've got linked closest to our last President's wonderful idea to concoct a genetic plague to kill elves."

Marcos Fernando shifted uncomfortably, remembering his own role in that idea. He remembered listening to the Anonymous Leper envoy tell it's strange, intoxicating tales of power. He remembered proposing what he proposed to Abadas. He remembered Abadas's slow, malevolent grin and he remembered realizing that he needn't have bothered to ask him at all - of course the bloodthirsty man would go for it. He only wished he had sent that envoy packing.

"I... see," he said.

Gonzalo Tzu smiled without humor. "Of course, it was designed by.. foreign parties. The implementation was given to MHG, though, and to accomplish this they utilized a combination of human and elven DNA. Specifically, that of Sylvenna Yorn's. My sources indicate they also used her as a host for testing cures - vaccines - whatever," he said with a shrug. "If they managed to find one, and if she's still alive..."

"Yes!" cried the acting President. "You DO have the answer."

Again the head of the IIA smiled, as if patiently humoring a sick child. "Not quite, sir. Just a good lead on a potential answer."

"MHG!" Fernando exclaimed. "And they've just been sold to foreign companies. If I clamp down hard on them, they'll squeal to their new owners bloody murder."

Tzu held up a hand. "So don't clamp down hard. From what I know, only a small subsect of MHG employees are even aware of the operation in Shell anyway."

"Shell. Where is it?"

"Central Goletan Plains. Underground. It's quite extensive, and superbly hidden if you don't know where to look. I have coordinates to the entryway."

"Good. I'll contact the military and get a team going. You're coming too."

"Sir?" Tzu's calm smile seemed to fade. "What good would me being there do?"

Marcos Fernando laughed a little. "Well, what good does your being here do? You're closest to this, and I want you on my team. Yes, that's right, I'm going too. It's the only answer we've got - besides the obvious solution - and I have nothing else to do here."

As if to emphasize the point, an explosion accompanied by the not-too-distant rat-tat-tat of gunfire boomed from the streets far below.

Tzu paused, seeming to consider alternatives. Was it cowardice preventing him? Or something deeper? Fernando had his suspicions, but was also faced with a diminishing number of options.

Finally, Tzu nodded slowly, seeming to approve of this new President and his decision.

"Let's go."
The Shakhtal
19-01-2005, 17:08
Siege of the Council of Trading Guilds,
City of Mek-Tenerath.

- We have lost the SCI to Midlonia and Vrak.

- How come? We have put up a bid of 1,50 ACH(T) while they put up a bid of 1,2668 ACH(T) equivalent above market price per share!

- Hmmm… you are already learning the correct vocabulary…

- We must sue them immediately!

- And the correct procedures…

- At any rate, this situation requires some clarification.

- Yes. Write a missive to the appropriate instances and get this cleared out.

[OOC: No time to write right now, but consider the appropriate people contacted. :)
Couldn't catch you on IRC, SB, so will have to do it this way.]
Santa Barbara
19-01-2005, 18:41
New State City, CoFedCo HQ Building, Office of Complaints

A letter is delivered.

Through panicky crowds of consumers fleeing the plague, around police and military roadblocks, past heaps of corpses burning in the streets, through smoke and smog and haze and fear, the messenger strove. The way wasn't clear, but it was clearer than the way out.

He'd suffered numerous cuts, scratches and bruises merely due to navigation. His heart thumped from exertion. Safe and sound, but for how long? He enteres the government building, already a target for dozens of security measures, and isn't shot at, for which he is grateful.

But it's not business as usual here. All movements speak of disaster. The CoFedCo is doomed, the messenger realizes. When the center can no longer distinguish itself from the violent periphery, it's over. Sure, they're not shooting civilians in here yet, but give it time.

He takes the lift up. He doesn't know it, but it is in fact the same lift the Montecitan Prime Minister used when he'd left the suicidal Bob Pratt on the Board floor, for the last time.

The government offices of level 17 are in confusion. Phones are ringing, people are hurrying, and there is a distinct lack of the usual, calm, bored crowd. Only a handful of employees can be seen, and a large presence of armed soldiers is easily noticable.

He places the letter - compiled from a digital message for handy reading by the eventual recipient - onto the smoothly polished desk, where it is placed into the appropriate filing slot. The bleary-eyed, stunned looking young woman at the desk gives him a fleeting, vaguely dismissive glance and then continues with her work.

He breathes a sigh of relief, a job well done. A foolish job, a stupid one even, especially in light of the end of the world. But it was always good to have accomplished one's job.

Now it's down, back down the lift, down to the streets again, where death lurks and terror reigns.

The letter is transferred to the desk of the complaints officer of level 17, who is currently lying dead in the bedroom of his apartment, glazed eyes staring straight ahead, the skin of his face, neck and upper torso blistered and crumbled in a loose, bloody sheaf.
Der Angst
20-01-2005, 11:47
ooc: The usual blatant assumptions are made

Santa Barbara

Of course, the plane arriving did not carry those tiny ones trying their best to get a hold of SB's megacorps. It carried the three 'Big ones'. The ones holding upwards of ten percent of the MHG Stocks Angstians had been able to purchase.

Jeanne Takashima came alone, leaving Rudolf behind. She didn't exactly believe in his ability to comprehend certain issues they would (priobably) face. With her were two old acquaintances, competition from the previous weeks.

Matthew Trenchard was blowing odd- smelling smoke into the air of the cabin, seemingly indifferent to it all, not exactly caring about the intentions of his fellow owners. Well, at least he didn't look like he did.

And then there were, of course, the Dexters. Manfred was the one coming, while Samuel stayed behind, organising other parts of their business, now that things were (slowly) turning out to be normal, again. Relatively normal, considering the overal situation.

It is unnecessary to explain the sheer magnitude of malevolence taking place in the plane, between the three competitors, each of which would have preferred to travel alone, alas, given the time and place, this had been proven to be somewhat impractical. Besides, with all of them being in one plane, they did at least know that no one would try shooting down the others. Which was, in some rather odd way, working as some sort of mutual life insurance.

Arriving in Santa Barbara was actually fairly pleasant (Apart from the paranoia the local security suffered from, but sheer luck prevented them from being shot down), the environment kinda comparable to DA... And so was the overall situation, with corpses on the streets, and, well, warfare had ceased, at least on the islands, but the memory of the corpses, the memory of death was still fresh.

"Just like home. Beautiful." Jeanne exclaimed, the two others nodding in agreement, the first time they agreed upon an issue since they had met.

The next thing to do, visiting MHG and working through the available data, in order to get a feel for the situation.
Santa Barbara
20-01-2005, 17:21
Somewhere in Santa Barbara

Jas opened the door into the low-rent apartment, getting the manager to provide the key for the usual kind of fee. One didn't merely knock on the doors to these places without body armor.

Of all the powerful executives and honchos of industry, none of them could now be bothered to be picking through some seedy apartment. They preferred their deals over luncheons and drafts of manufac beer, or while driving on the road in an air-conditioned, computer guided expensive vehicle. Even the corrupt ones didn't enjoy getting their hands too dirty in the muck and mire of detail.

That was where he came in.

Closing the door, he stepped further into the room, lifting a foot over a large folded bump in the carpeting. The Imperial Trade Conglomerate retainer sat on a ratty armchair in the corner. Dust formed a hazy drifting cloud illuminated by shafts of light piercing through the slit blinds. Everything remained still and silent. One could almost forget the world was ending.

"So," he began.
Vrak
27-01-2005, 16:14
The hypersonic transport of Santa Barbaran design landed at New State City airport, but not without a bit of difficulty. It seemed that their arrival was unexpected and perhaps added a bit of unwanted attention to the already stressful environment. Quite contrary to the usual fluid efficiency that was taken for granted.

The ambassador and his staff waited patiently on the tarmac. The rear doors popped open and a T-90 tank, a Vodnik, and a company of King’s Own came down the ramp and formed a perimeter. Apparently, this was no ordinary extraction since the ambassador noticed that the special ops all wore a form of NBC protection. They must be taking my report seriously thought the walrus idly.

-This way Ambassador!

A King’ Own waved towards the maw of the transport with his machine gun while his cohorts watched anxiously. The tank swiveled its main gun at the airport building itself while the Vodnik’s gunner scanned the immediate area with his heavy machine gun.

Once all the staff were aboard, the King’s Own formed up and gathered inside, the tank being the last to follow. The aircraft wheeled around and soon roared out of Santa Barbara.

Pity thought the ambassador as he recalled giving the order to destroy all the non-important embassy documents. The paper shredder was a good quality one and he made a note to make sure his new assignment had the same model. He folded a flipper over a bulging briefcase protectively and he signed, thinking about the latest announcement of the CoFedCo leaving the Order of the Seraphim. He shook his head and then, violently sneezed.

-Are you alright Ambassador? inquired a King’s Own.
-Oh, yes. Just the Santa Barbaran weather is all.
Ma-tek
03-02-2005, 23:33
The 'Retainer' peers at a small metal band on his wrist in the manner one would peer at a watch, but there is no (visible?) face on the object and certainly it does not speak. "You're thirteen seconds early," he noted easily. His voice is surprisingly soft, almost sing-song, and, to an afficianado in Iluvauromeni accents, is clearly of Nenya origin - specifically the area that was once referred to as the Royal Quarter, now the Old Quarter.

"But early is good, often. It's lateness I detest. Almost as much as I detest dust."

He pauses a heartbeat. All business now, his words more clipped and precise: "Now we're on schedule, I'll need to verify who you are, and who sent you."

It's not exactly phrased as a question, but it's not exactly phrased as an order, either.
Sketch
04-02-2005, 08:13
With so much of the system in chaos, it was doubtful than many, if any, of the more powerful indivudals were still in Santa Barbara. In fact, a little snooping within the coporate sector revealed that many of the more influential megacorps officers were conviently "on vacation" at the present moment. No doubt enjoying the hospitality of places more appreciative of the value of money, and much more stable. However, a few holdouts remained, banking on the thought that once the storm blew over, they'd be the first in place to reap the rewards of renewal.

Thomas Peckham was one such man. He wasn't a coporate officer, nor was he a governmental offical. Instead, he made his profits quietly, as an independent broker, or so he liked to call himself. What he really controlled was an empire of his own, holding in his palm more wealth and influence than entire companies. He wasn't the only such entrepreneur in Santa Barbara, not by a long shot, just an exceedingly successful one. What made him so successful was the fact that he always stayed below the radar. In the cut-throat capitalism environment, success made you a target; and being a target drains resources. Thomas Peckham always made sure to stay out of the spotlight. Which wasn't easy. Ownership, networth, trading, and other such records are easily accessible, making it child's play to identify the who's who of the corporate world. But not Peckham, he made sure no one would be able to flush him out. It was merely a matter of who you could trust. Dummy corporations, partners, mergers, joint ventures, spinoffs, whatever it took to ensure that his personal networth never exceeded a certain threshold. But ultimately, despite all that he did not own, he still had control. It was like that of a fiefdom, where the fuedal lords paid homage to him, the king.

No, Thomas Peckham was not worried in the least. He was merely one of the idle rich who married into yet another rich family and just happened to have a few successful business ventures. There was nothing remarkable about him at all. So long as the teaming masses of the bourgeois were kept at bay by the private armies of the elite, there was no need for concern. Especially at present moment, the unruliness was concentrated in the main cities, where the common people inhabited.

Coming back from another "neighborhood houseparty", something that would be considered an extravagant ballroom gathering by the not-quite-so-filthy-rich, Peckham waited patiently in his vehicle as his head of security made another one of his annoying checks. All clear sir a low voice grunted through a now fully open door. Really Igor, I don't think anything's changed since we passed the front gate. Besides, isn't that shiney new security sysem supposed to take care of the problem?[i] Another grunt, [i]As you say sir. Peckham gave a quiet sigh, always a noncommital response, something that always seemed to come with the security package. He even tried getting a reaction by calling the man Igor; his real name now forgotten, but the security man had taken to it with no objection. Peckham could probably have called him Sally, not that it really mattered, as long as the job got done.

Once inside, Peckham handed off his coat to the butler, Alfred; they all seemed to be named Alfred for some reason, and continued on to his study. His young wife, Monika, had been pestering him lately about "taking a break" with the family from his work until the whole COFedCo crisis blew over. Most of the evening was spent dealing with her attempts to bring the other wives to her side. Women, they always need something to nag about..... Stopping at his door, Peckham turned around, just how long do you intend to follow me around Igor? I am going to my study to have a drink. Will you wanting to taste my cognac for poison as well? No, don't answer that, I already know you do. With a sigh he stood aside, allowing Igor to look into the room. When he tried to step in to make a more thorough check, Peckham stopped him, that's enough, you're done. Take the rest of the night off or something, you look like you need to relax. With a most sour look on his face, as if he actually enjoyed doing room searches, Igor stalked off, by your leave sir.

Peckham sighed and shook his head as he watched Igor sulk away, some people just need to learn to relax. He stepped into his dark study, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dim illumination from the lights of the hall. Closing the door behind him, he walked confidantly to his minibar; he had obviously navigated his study in the dark before. Working in the occansional glow of a cabinent or fridge light, he poured himself a drink; the first of many for that night if he had anything to say about it. Always the workaholic, he had to be to get to where he was now, Peckham made his way to the desk, guess I should check up on the news before I drink myself into a stupor he thought. News, onscreen; lights, level 2, nothing. Frowning, he tried again, News, onscreen; lights, level 2, still nothing.

Suddenly, a voice called out from the darkness, lights, level 10. Shielding his eyes from the sudden onslaught of radiation, Peckham reached frantically into a draw nearby.

Really Mr. Peckham, you should let your security guards do their job. That is what you pay them for. And no, that gun isn't still there, I have it now.

That stopped him cold. An icey knot forming itself in the pit of his stomach as he looked up at his uninvited guest. Who are you? What do you want?

Good, you are smart. You caught on quicker than the last man anyways. Mr. KnowlesI believe it was, one of your friends if I'm not mistaken.

The feeling just got worse, Steve wasn't at the party tonight. Something about not feeling well..... What can I do for you?

My, my, you are good. Since you've been so kind as to make this easy so far, I'll get straight to the point. Over on your desk, the man gestured; Peckham's eyes followed, You'll see a folder with a few documents we would like you to peruse at your liesure.

Getting over the shock of suprise, and beginning to feel a little indignant at what was obviously a strong arm tactic, Peckham bit back a scalding comment and tried to maintain a business like air. Who is this "we" that you speak of?

Let's just say that we are more than capable of making your life much more difficult than it needs to be. That we would prefer to deal with you than be forced to negotiate with that sweet young wife of yours. Who, by the way, you really should pay more attention to; she has good instincts.

And if I don't do what you want?

The stranger's face darkened. You'll have the night to think it over. I really dislike having to make more than one trip to close a deal. The man walked over to the door, as he opened it, he turned around, all smiles again. Tell Igor I said hi when he wakes up, and that water will help with the headache. With that final, bizzare note, the stranger slipped through and vanished like he never was.

Thomas slumped into the nearest chair he could find. It was more than obvious by now that raising any alarm would be futile. The man got in, he'll get out with no problem. Furling his brow with his fingers tips, he immersed himself into deep thought - What do I do now?

ooc: let me know if I went too far
Knootoss
04-02-2005, 17:41
OOC: I should have done this… well, months ago. Now the situation is a little worse so I guess I will have to be a little more melodramatic. Again, I have no excuse for this blatant non-postingness and hope to make up for it like this. Knootoss owns CC together with sunset: link for your referencing needs (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=7538310&postcount=45)

IC:
----------------------------
An exclusive club,
Rotterdam, Knootoss.
----------------------------

The dark room of the Paradiso club was humming with exited chatter as the meeting was called to order. Twelve men and one woman – all in business suits - were assembled around a round table. The group was headed by a butch woman with a cold look in her eyes and a small objectivist pin on her sleeve.

“Gentlemen, to order please. I’m sure you have all heard of the deteriorating situation in Santa Barbara so I will come to the point forthwith. We can no longer postpone the operation there or we will lose everything.” She looked around to let this sink in, and the men either nodded or looked to be in agreement. “Gentlemen, today is the time to be the entrepreneurs that shape the market. Without the entrepreneur there is no Market. So I say we go ahead if there are no questions.”

One man – a younger fellow with wavy blond hair – interjected. “Hester, we are acting too early and too eagerly." he looked around for signs of support. "What authority do we have there yet? Would it not be wise to move when we have a more firm grip on affairs there?”

Another immediately countered: “By the time we do their Markets will be destroyed.”

With a calm voice Hester reinforced her authority: “We control the Knootian share of Cathedral Capital – the execs of the Instituut Zorgverzekering Ambtenaren are loyal to the Order. And Pink Bunny Cola…”

”Yes, yes, we know”, interrupted the young man who had asked the first question. “But it does not seem right.”

“No risk, no profits”, someone countered. "We will be saviours as well as heroes."

“But did we manage to get the Knootian Defence Force on our side?”, the young man countered more desperately.

Hester shook her head. “Such a move has been deemed too blatant, but we have arranged for a decommissioned cruiser to be transferred to our control. It is taking up orbit right now…”

-------------------------------------
SS Willem van Knootcap
Earth Orbit over Santa Barbara
-------------------------------------

The Elvish captain took one more strawl over his bridge before moving over to the old communications panel of his Venture B-Class Explorer (http://www.pacifier.com/~cziller/ventureb.html). When this mission was over he would redub it the ‘Onzichtbare Hand’ after the its owners, but for now he had to contend with the old name.

“You ready Mark?”, he asked the shorter human with the artificially tanned skin. The Santa Barbaran CC communications staffer nodded. His wife and children where dead because of the disease, his former bosses were either dead or fleeing the country. The foreigners had been the only ones to care for him, to provide clarity of purpose and a vision for the future. He had needed no more encouragement to speak. “Then start transmitting,” the elf ordered. The channels of the Explorer opened, indiscriminately blasting their message into all public venues still in operation in the CoFedCo territories on earth. Mark gulped once and began to speak, using all the rhetorical skills he had once fielded to sell commercials for chemo-enhanced pretzels and more – so much more was at stake now:

“Friends! Countrymen!

I speak to you as a representative of Cathedral Capital - a name which has always stood for strength in the Market. I want to bring you today a message of hope in what are surely the darkest days we’ll ever face. A state of emergency has been declared, the virulent outbreak has claimed millions of lives so far and has not responded to any known treatment. The CoFedCo is doomed because it acted against Market forces and allowed this doom to befall us without acting against it.

But in your despair remember this! Never has demand run so high in this troubled Market! Where there is a demand for something eventually there will be the salvation of supply. It is a fundamental law of nature, but it will only work if we act in accordance with Market Forces, if we try to fix our problems instead of running away from them. That is why a new Trans-National Exchange will meet tomorrow morning. It will be digital – hosted from a ship in orbit and all who have remaining linkups to the net can participate. It will not be exclusive, but a Market for all who have demand or supply relevant to this current crisis.

Our goals for this meeting are twofold: first we must find a cure for this disease, using the brilliant minds of both ourselves and those abroad. Seondly, we must restore Market order and stop this panic! A state exists to preserve the Market. to defend the Market and advance its power. If our former leaders run then we must have new ones. There is yet supply for your needs, there is yet salvation!

The foreign powers may seem like a threat to some old interests – but now they must be our salvation that the Market has provided for us. The destruction of Santa Barbaran assets is also the destruction of their assets now. This public health hazard threatens not just our nation, but the world and perhaps all mankind including themselves. The foreigners are invited to attend as well, therefore, that they may protect our interests as well as their own - they are now one and the same.

Therefore, I tell you now to act in conformity with Market forces, and to maximise the opportunity for others to conform to the Market forces we are about to generate together. We must have no other goals if we are to survive as a people! We must not run like cowards from the doom that is at the same time our opportunity.”

Frequencies and channel ports for the new TNE meeting were sent along with the message.
Santa Barbara
04-02-2005, 23:41
Somewhere in Santa Barbara

"Who else would I be?" Jas retorted. But he held out a hand. "Take a sample. Got a gene-alyzer with you? Take a sample."

He added, "I'm sure my old PCC barcode isn't good enough. Those things can be faked now. Then again, so can blood, right?" he couldn't help but laugh nervously. He'd seen a lot of blood on the journey here. Bad shit was going down outside.

--
Flying Over Santa Barbara

I speak to you as a representative of Cathedral Capital - a name which has always stood for strength in the Market. I want to bring you today a message of hope in what are surely the darkest days we’ll ever face. A state of emergency has been declared, the virulent outbreak has claimed millions of lives so far and has not responded to any known treatment. The CoFedCo is doomed ... Never has demand run so high in this troubled Market! Where there is a demand for something eventually there will be the salvation of supply ... a new Trans-National Exchange will meet tomorrow morning. It will be digital – hosted from a ship in orbit and all who have remaining linkups to the net can participate. It will not be exclusive, but a Market for all who have demand or supply relevant to this current crisis ... The foreign powers may seem like a threat to some old interests – but now they must be our salvation that the Market has provided for us. The destruction of Santa Barbaran assets is also the destruction of their assets now...

Words of freedom and liberation rang out across the country...

Panic continued. The hope of the TNE was shallow, as so few of the megacorporate representatives were casting votes OR interested in saving the competition - instead letting them build up, investing, saving for the obviously hard times ahead. And getting the hell out of the doomed nation.

Marcos Fernandos watched it all disintegrate from above, as the gravitic shuttle effortlessly and unimpededly ferried he, Gonzalo Tzu, and five IIA security agents (that he could see, anyway). The Knootians were doing the right thing - though he hadn't declared emergency. This was an offense for which the traditional Santa Barbaran response was to huff and puff and rattle the ITDO and, in the Pratt manner of things, unleash the dogs of war.

But he was no Pratt, nor an Abadas, and the ITDO just wasn't scary anymore. Over the years it's budget and manpower had decreased relative to the economy, along with the CoFedCo's inherited arms of the former Federal Government and PCC. Much of the wealth that was taxed from the megacorporations (or, more often, the subcorps) was bled into the Order of the Seraphim's military budget.

And what a waste that turned out to have been. Gone the way of SCC Buelo and the Noachians, although the CSF had yet to be torn apart by monstrous alien beasts. For that matter, the ITDO was still there, and yet -

"Still no response, sir," the pilot reported. He'd reported this every two minutes for the past fifteen.

"Damn," the acting President swore. He stood hunched over a polished synth-wood desk, much like the one in Abadas's boardroom, though smaller. A built-in optical display showed the status of everything he had access to - which wasn't much.

The TNE had officially wrested control of the ITDO from the hands of the President, and of course Fernando wasn't even the President. Although SCC Cheng remained loyal to Abadas - last time anyone checked, that was - many other commanders didn't, and desertion was a major problem in the ground, naval and air forces. Whole units took off, often to join directly with the departing megacorporations. Worse, the TNE's central computer network had locked out access to the ITDO's main strategic communications network, MP1.

Abadas had gotten around that through makeshift means, diverting some of CC's own satellites as well as many others to make up for the vast fleet of relays and transceivers and eyes of MP1.

Whatever makeshift means those were, Marcos Fernando was unsuccessful so far at duplicating them. He never felt less like the true President than now, and realized his title and role of 'acting' president would hold no water against the tide of chaos. Abadas might have been able to, but...

... unfortunately, Abadas was no longer among the living. He hadn't intended it; the President had gone quietly, but heavily escorted. Not long after leaving Marcos Fernando's sight he struggled, resisted, and managed to acquire one of the soldier's weapons, after which he was shot and killed.

Marcos Fernando, when he heard, realized that although the man had earned a kind of justice, his death would cause as many problems as it solved. It brought him no joy. He thought perhaps Heinrid had known this would happen, and had decided to take his methods of control and hegemony to the grave before it could be usurped by his betrayer. Or, perhaps, he had simply wanted to die fighting; not locked in a cell, tortured, or infected by the disease had himself unleashed. Perhaps even, he had not struggled, and the guards had shot him on their own initiative.

It didn't seem to matter, now. The ITDO may or may not be loyal to his rule, but without a way to exert any authority his rule was finished.

But still, there was Shell. And Gonzalo Tzu. The older intelligence man's steely presence hardened him, filled him with the fighting hope that he wasn't on another fool's errand. His story had seemed true. The cure to the plague might be there. And that was surely the first part, wasn't it? Just as the Knootian warship's broadcast had said.

Earth Orbit

"Oh, Christ, now what?"

"We've got incoming. Knootian, though. We're allied, they're overriding public comsystems all over the place."

"All over, all over where?"

"Santa Barbara. They're not being picky about who hears it but they've bypassed enough security to be a standard memetic assault..."

"Enough with the commentary. Any weapons power up, energy spikes?"

"That transmitter. Nothing special, just powered orbit maintainance."

"Good. I'll inform the Strategic Core Commander. It's his decision whether this is a 'memetic assault' or not. Christ..."

ITDO Battlecruiser New State City

SCC Cheng glared at the report. It was clearly not a good thing for the CoFedCo, but their words made a terrible kind of sense.

It had been hours since last word from the capital city, for which his mighty Mars class battlecruiser was named. He assumed the President had gone into hiding, but he wondered if something more sinister was up, and so did the other chief generals.

This Knootian free-market zealotry thing had been worrisome, he knew, to Abadas previously. His choice had been to embrace it culturally while refining the social inclination to accept the CoFedCo, as a 'private government.' But now ... what in the world was happening?

First Mars had rebelled, and it's fleets had been lumped in with the Earth orbital fleets - now the only ITDO - OOTG theatre. It reminded him of the Roman Empire, gradually receding inward on itself.

And where was he, the last bastion of national authority other than the TNE - other than that damned Knootian vessel? Frankly, he hadn't heard from the TNE either. For far too long, his entire armed force - and it was a lot of armed force, now that the Mars Fleet and it's advanced warships were arriving - was stranded, forgotten, disconnected.

Worse, desertion was becoming a problem. Crews were lulled by corporate messages, signalling them to return, defend, live a better life as a purely independent mercenary. It was a good pitch, and surely if the megacorps could advertise something like it now - bypassing ITDO security in the process, of course - they might even deliver on the promise.

But then, were they to just watch as chaos destroyed the homeland? Or worse, nearly destroyed, only to be re-colonized by foreign imperialists?

The thought made his Santa Barbaran blood boil with a dull rage. It was home, dammit, he wasn't going to abandon it for some rocks in some distant orbit!

So he fought his war, delegating authority as best he knew how, keeping morale up among his staff and fighting back. He'd never before devoted so much time and energy to the details of electronic warfare and was now regretting that. If he'd known a few years ago what he'd learned in the past few days, he would have requested - nay, demanded - an upgrade and boost to the CCCTG.

But, he reflected, it might not have made a damned difference. The megacorps were still withholding tech, they weren't obligated to be any more generous than they wanted. More funding might have been granted, but he had a feeling even so that the ITDO would now be outclassed by the megacorp's market domination schemes, just as it was outclassed by the fancy CSF warships.

At least he had those still. But what to do? He wasn't used to making his own independent decisions; as General, one always merely assessed the current state of the armed forces, and the strategic objectives laid out by the political leadership and went about meeting those objectives, by changing the current state of the armed forces.

Without the political leadership...

"No," he said, commandingly, to the members of his staff listening on the channel. "There IS a political leadership. We just have to make contact."

"Sir," one of the younger, and clearly more nervous SCS's objected, "We've done all we can. President is dead, the vice president or high executive or whoever he was is gone, the megacorps are gone and we can't stop the plague. Our ground forces are disintegrating and taking heavy losses. The ones that haven't departed by now for stars unknown."

"I know, I KNOW!" Cheng shouted. "But look. Fernando is no longer in New State City, but we all knew that was the plan in an emergency. And that city is definitely in a state of emergency. We have just been cut-off from his command, as he is no doubt in transit. Since we don't know where he would be going, we just have to keep trying and keep alert for when he can re-establish contact with us. Until then, nothing has changed!"

The look in his subordinate's eyes showed that they didn't believe 'nothing has changed,' any more than he himself did.
Knootoss
05-02-2005, 03:09
((OOC: Oops. Well, the state of emergency thing was an IC mistake hen. KNN would be on this thing, but at the same time be fairly hesitant to send actual reporters in because of the plague - so rumour would be rife.
I am also assuming now that I know about Marcos Fernando being the acting president If not, I’ll gladly edit to more general hails to ‘the leadership’ and/or ‘Santa Barbaran military leadership’. The list of corporations not replying at all is the same list as those who left the CoFedCo in an earlier post.))

-------------------------------------
SS Willem van Knootcap
Earth Orbit over Santa Barbara
-------------------------------------

The lights on the bridge of the old Triumvirate of Yut explorer had been adapted to fit Knootian standards, meaning that it was now ‘night’. The lights still shone but slightly darker – more ominously contrasting with the pastel-coloured monitors. The bridge itself was populated by a mix of men, elves, and the occasional non-human. Some were Santa Barbaran, yet others were Knootian. None of them wore uniforms, but all were loyal to the cause.

Captain Orodreth Carnesîr was staring at the incoming status reports on the TNE as his engineers tried to contact as many independent organisations down on earth as possible – Santa Barbaran corporations and regions but also the foreign shareholder conglomerates that had bought pieces of the old megacorporations. “Try it again”, he commanded. “Do a passive check on all connections again. The meeting is hours away and we are at… what? A fourteen percent of votes response valdidated?” One of the Knootian engineers turned around to face the captain: “That depends Sir. The data could be wildly corrupt. This fourteen percent could all be actual working uplinks to the new TNE or they could just be automated replies by corporate computers because of us using the correct acces codes. There is no way to clear out the static until we go online with the damn thing in the morning. Only then will we see if that number means anything.” The engineer pressed a few buttons. “But here goes nothing… one more try.”

The official TNE logo flickered up on the main viewscreen and two sub-monitors, playing down a dizzying list of contacts and communications ports in a an unreadibly small green font. Moments later a status report was replayed back to the engineers monitor. “It reports an eighteen percent response now, Captain. We have some new contacts, but the commlinks we have from many corporations are completely dead. I have nothing at all from MSE, XKCS, MHG or SCI.”

A man at the communications panel turned: “Incoming transmission from Rotterdam, Captain.” The viewscreen which had just before shown the TNE logo was now dominated by the cold gaze of the same butch woman who had chaired the meeting earlier that day. “Aiya, Orodreth,” she began formally in Quenya before continuing in Dutch “how are your efforts?”
“Too early to tell Hester”, the elf replied. “We still have several hours to go, and the foreigners might respond a little later.”
She looked sceptical. “I have no time for games. I have access to your data too and it does not look good.” Orodreth Carnesîr nodded, but not resigned. ”Some corporations remain, whether by choice or forced by circumstance. Whoever is remaining, they are the Market. The TNE will convene with everyone who is willing to stay and fight for Santa Barbara. We are currently the only coordinated effort to keep this nation from falling apart, Hester.”

The same cold gaze again. “You have the support of the others to proceed”, she observed grimly. “But we need a back-up plan in case the TNE does not successfully convene. I want you to try to contact the remaining leadership, anyone with authority will add to our case. I don't care if they claim to be acting president, grand admiral or vice-emperor of the solar system. Invite them over to your ship if you can. I will be taking the shuttle in Utrecht to join you in the morning. ”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Rotterdam out. End transmission.”

Perhaps it was the objectivist Pin on the sleeve of his boss that made the elf ponder his predicament. If nothing exists, there can be no consciousness, he thought, a consciousness with nothing to be conscious of is a contradiction in terms. If that which you claim to perceive does not exist, there is no consciousness.

He stood up from his command chair and raised his voice. “Come on people. 188th in the world for Information Technology and we cannot handle the job of a simple callcentre? Contact these corporations manually if needed. Anyone still in their facilities. I don’t care who.” He paused. “Mark” – the Santa Barbaran looked up from his distant gaze – “I want you to compose a general hail to the acting president. Fernando, or whoever it is that holds that office now” the corporate employee nodded and went about his business to compose the message to Marcos Fernandos as the elf continued to give orders. “Comm, I want you to open the hailing frequencies – contact the ITDO Battlecruiser in charge of their Earth operations. Tell them that Cathedral Capital still stands with the ITDO in defending Santa Barbara and that I wish to speak to their commander directly.”
Ma-tek
05-02-2005, 23:25
Imperial Trade Conglomerate Headquarters (Turath branch); Turath; Ax-turath, Iluvauromen

"Things are getting worse," he commented quietly, before leaving. He had merely brought an orange juice, but everybody had an opinion these days.

Rialla was no fool. She did not need a flunky to tell her that the situation was worsening in Santa Barbara; and with the ITC holding a large share in a Santa Barbaran megacorp, and thus having a responsibility to a number of Santa Barbarans, she was equally aware that there was a measure of responsibility that the ITC would be forced to accept. If not by circumstances, then by employee pressure. The employees of the Conglomerate had great power; after all, there were more than a billion of them. She had no idea if any other group had as many employees under one umbrella; she didn't really care.

But if even one million signatures were garnered, then the Board of Control could be overruled. It was that simple. So the Board had to make the right decision - and the right decision had to come quickly.

The flunky had left, but the room was not empty. Two men, both Human, both bald, sat across from her chair behind the old oak table. Everything in her office was oak effect or actual oak - mostly oak effect - for she liked the 'living' feeling it brought the room. The VisiWalls were configured to show a forest scene; there were even scent-deployers stowed beneath her desk, which gave off a faint aroma. The aroma wasn't entirely pleasant if analyzed - the combined smells of animal excrement, crushed plant matter, and all manner of things one would actually find in a forest. But it didn't bother her: better that than the smell of dust and mildew, as she had found in other offices at other times.

And the scent - it was not strong enough to call a small - was not anywhere near overpowering for her nose; she wondered (not being supremely versed on Human anatomy) if the Humans were even aware of it.

"There's always the Warrior," one of the two men suggested, finally. They had sat there for a long time, relatively patiently.

She gave him a stark, surprised look. It took effort to portray the emotion on her face - not quite as mobile as Human facial musculature - but she felt she had the hang of it by now. "You aren't serious." Flatly.

"I am," he asserted, clearly resisting the urge to pace. He was about to explain his thoughts, she saw: and she didn't need to be a telepath to know that. She met only Humans, now; all Nenyar meetings, except with her husband, were disallowed, and she travelled in strict seclusion - although she still viewed other Nenya, she did not see them. The birth was nearing; she was clearly pregnant to any Nenya, but Humans could be fooled with visual effects where a Nenyar would detect the infant's thoughts inside the womb.

"Well, nobody outside Sphere is aware of the existence of the Warrior or her consorts, you know. We pulled out all the stops to make her...hard to find. But, well, she could be used in a way that IDF...CSF, rather...warships could not."

"She's a warship herself," Rialla pointed out, somewhat pointlessly.

"Exactly," the other man said, chipping in. Clearly rehearsed, Rialla decided. They had a toy - and they wanted to use it. Typical Human men.

"And?" she prompted, deciding to play along. She even looked as attentive as she could, resting her chin on the cradle she made of her hands.

They shared a glance. Definitely rehearsed. Rothja smiled, now, and his colleague Duval joined in. "The ship would render aid. It would be a massive public relations exercise, nothing more. The ICEL government doesn't have to interfere; and we might very well improve the image of the ITC in Santa Barbara in the process. And-"

"And everyone will be aware that we have illegally manufactured an assault fleet," Rialla jumped in sternly. Her tone was flat, dismissive.

The Humans shared a hopeless glance. "No?"

"No," Rialla confirmed. "I already have a plan in place."

* * *

Somewhere in Santa Barbara

The Nenya looked just a little amused at the mention of a genetic analysis; not very amused, or even quite amused. Only the slight upturn of the corner of his mouth, a crinkling at the eyes, and something in the eyes themselves...something deeply...well, odd, and hard to define, about the way that they glimmered slightly as a sparkle of light reflected away from them.

"That won't be necessary," the Retainer replied softly. But he stood, and took the hand in his own. His skin is a little cooler and drier to the touch than one might expect.

[OOC: He is making physical contact in order to recieve an empathic impression of the person - i.e., relating to senses, in the format 'cold/lilac/shimmering', or somesuch. It's better than any genetic test: you can't lie about your true nature this way unless psionic ability exists in the person being 'tasted' - and unless that ability is significant or well-honed, perversion of the 'taste' would be...

Well, tasted.

- Oh yes. The TeepFreeZ hostess is waiting for a foreigner; that foreigner has some information on the situation in Santa Barbara (could be anything), and is wanting information regarding ITC activities therein. That means I'll need someone who fits the above criteria to actually, um, well, arrive. :p

Pretty please? *g*]
Santa Barbara
06-02-2005, 02:10
Cafe TeepFreeZ, Turath, Ax-turath, Iluvauromen, ICEL

The foreigner spoke very little, wore a steel-gray suit and a reserved lack of expression. Informed ahead of time, he appeared somewhat at a loss but nodded subtly at the hostess.

[ooc: You are confusing me. Carrala wanted information on ITC activities, or was offering them for information on SB in general?]

Somewhere in Santa Barbara

Jas let the contact hold his hand for a few moments, and had the disturbing sensation of a second consciousness inside him, as if he had been presented with an unexpected mirror image. The feeling faded quickly, but all the same he pulled his hand away with a slight shiver.

"Mister Albon sent me," he said unnecessarily, and uneasily.

ITDO Battlecruiser New State City

The fleet had orders to prevent infected transports from leaving the nation. This wasn't an easy task, and the forces still under Cheng's command were having a hard time. Sure, the obviously infected transports - the ones whose passengers and crew became increasingly dead during flight - were quickly spotted and turned back or destroyed. But for some the choice was hard. For some only had rumors of a case or two, and still they couldn't be permitted to make destination in any other inhabited area.

Despite the cruel and necessary procedure, they couldn't all be stopped. A population of billions, with wealth and often means of wrangling transport, all seemed to want to take to the skies, sea and stars.

Abadas, it seemed, was not going to give an order anytime soon. But what of Cathedral Capital, the great megacorporation which had deserted him just as he had deserted the nation? The messages spoke of their offers. He knew the Knootians, at least, had a well funded public health system. Could he trust them?

After a few tense hours of increasing chaos and silence from his superiors, he pressed the ACCEPT key.

"This is Strategic Core Commander Jerry Cheng of the battlecruiser New State City to SS Willem van Knootcap. What is your status and purpose? Over."

Earth Orbit

A small Bolden Corp transport of the MSS series, retrofitted with the latest and most efficient DPF drives, made it's slow, silent arc upwards. It was not alone.

Inside, Julia Bennings already missed Santa Barbara. The cafe she used to dine at when she wanted to be alone. The magnificent-ugly spires of New State City. Even the toxic rains and fogs had their charm in retrospect, now that they would forever be closed to her.

"How far?" she asked suddenly, almost to herself. "How far do we run... Mars, Jupiter?"

Sonya Chang, a longtime enemy, had no words of solace. "As far as survival necessitates."

"Survival?" she turned her head. "I thought we were out to stop Abadas..."

"We did."

"...and build a new world."

"We are," Chang insisted. "For that is what survival is. The old world is falling, a new one will come."

"Are you sure? I don't see the new one. I see the old one falling, but that's all I see."

She held in her hands the defeated PDA, her messenger of ill reports. Three of her subcorps had been virtually wiped out and a fourth had mysteriously and quickly relocated to Sketch, home of it's new owners. And she was lucky - millions were dying, and millions more would die as she sat here talking with Sonya Chang. Anger burned in her heart.

"There's nothing we can do about that right now," Chang said, a tender edge to her voice. "Look," she said, pointing at the pilot display. "We're almost there."

Julia shook her head. "Almost where?" she repeated dully.

Sonya motioned again. On the screen loomed a ship - large, sleek, Triumvirate design - and a large assortment of other ships, smaller, oddly almost recognizable -

Then she recognized. Those hulls - and they were in the right numbers. After trying for hours to get a hold of them - there they were, waiting for her all this time. Bennings Enterprise's security vessels. She breathed a sigh of relief. But what was the other ship?

"The SS Willem van Knootcap," Chang replied. "A new world."

Somewhere else in Santa Barbara

"They're coming."

"Bastards."

"We have no grounds."

"Fuck the grounds. We have autonomy. Shoot them down if they approach."

"And give away our defensive positions? Those are supposed to be secrets."

"What good are defenses if we don't use them when we need them? No one here needs some foreign investors poking their snouts around, and the simplest solution is elimination."

"Fine. What do we do when they dismantle the company."

"Same thing we did when they bought it off."

"Sit here and hope they don't find us?"

"Just get the damn defenses ready."
Ma-tek
06-02-2005, 05:57
"The Commonality hereby declares to its population that Santa Barbara is in a state of emergency. Therefore, the Commonality Executive Council, under the Protection of Sentient Life Act (article two, section two, clause three, paragraph four), declares that no votes on any decision taken by the Council short of military involvement will be put before Imperial House and Citizen's House. All actions taken with relation to the crisis in Santa Barbara will be dealt with by the leglislature and constitutional branches of government retroactively.

"Without further ado, then, I would like to inform the population of the actions being taken by the Government. We have deliberated long and hard on the subject, and, despite a temptation to rush in, we have maintained a calm and delicate poise. The Commonality will respond. There have been questions raised among the People, I am aware, but we will aid our friends in their time of need.

"We are not entirely sure who is currently the de facto leadership in Santa Barbara; therefore we have not applied for permission to pierce Santa Barbaran airspace. Further, the ships sent to begin the rendering of support to the medics and doctors of that nation will not be armed.

"Further, with the stabilisation of the Santa Barbaran economy in mind, the Military Appropriations Committee is expected to give authorisation for Rivette to manufacture and sell a maximum of five hundred million MI drive units per annum in Santa Barbara. With incomes undoubtedly set to fall in Santa Barbara, the Executive Council intends to petition the Commonality Economic Court with an order in mind that will subsidise the sale of these units to corporations and, if Rivette should choose to sell completed MI skycars there, the sale of skycars with Rivette manufactured engines. The Government is prepared to divert funding to the ITC to ensure that the ICEL economy, and thus the Iluvauromeni People, do not endure too much loss in order to aid and support their fellow Sentients in Santa Barbara.

"This administration wishes to make it entirely clear that we do not intend to waste any resources we may utilize to ensure that Santa Barbara suffers no further, and further to issue our willingness to help Santa Barbara secure its borders to prevent the spread of the horrific viral agent at work there currently. The Imperial Medical Guild has also stressed that no Human medical staff are to be allowed access to Santa Barbara, as it is widely felt that the Quendi and Nenyar are immune, or, should zoonosis occur, at worst likely to provide easily treated cases.

"It is imperative in this ever-changing world that we change with the times, and, despite the danger to ourselves, we must thrust ourselves into the breach to aid our fellows, rather than sit safely behind the Walls..."

~ Empress the Supreme Commander of the Iluvauromeni Commonality of Everlasting Light, Rialla ux-Rihad II; excerpt of a public address via the ICEL MESH Private Citizens/Nobility/High Nobility/Imperial Address System: speech released to domestic, international media thirty minutes later - aired by INN Solar 1 first (at least one minute before all other stations), full speech once, quotes thereafter
Santa Barbara
07-02-2005, 17:13
Earth Orbit

The megacorp representatives beeped in, one by one. A communications net was woven, the hairy spider of the SS Willem van Knootcap spun the tiny, invisible threads.

Bennings Enterprises was one of the first. Their old rival, Cathedral Capital, was even earlier - something no one had expected, because no one had expected Abadas's removal. Alcova Tech, Autonomous Building, CBM Chem, Cold Star MHD, Groovelico Fashion Electric, Kako Habitat Construction, Lace-Tintown and Lathe Multicorps, OMI, Predatory Systems, Utopia Mining Co, Extraplanetary Mining...

Notably absent were the likes of MHG or GladBurger, whose recent changes had left them without unified management. No one would ever see Disaster Relief, Inc or BBH Law; both bankrupt and virtually destroyed. Whether the new owners of the other megacorps would choose to represent themselves was still in question... but for now the TNE had reconvened for the first time since voting down decrees 11 and 12. The last measure for vote had been whether to use the ITDO directly to maintain the political unity of the CoFedCo, and the mechanisms had not ever come to the vote. (ISI's rep Gram Gosko, who proposed it initially, was now lying cold in a deserted graveyard of her Carvajal Shelf condo.)

But the TNE, which had included the territories of Santa Barbara, from Isla Vista to Perdido, was now almost wholly corporate in nature. As disease ravaged the populations of the nearly helpless earthborne nation, it became clear that for many of the old provinces, the point of no return had been passed behind. The death toll reported was now routinely rounded off to the nearest million.

For Julia Bennings, management of her empire had receded to the background. So too had her unusual ad-hoc relationship with Sonya Chang - who, unlike most others, seemed to have a plan - as well as the reconvening of the TNE. Her shoulders sagged as the small craft docked with the larger vessel. With all the world ending, how was anything they could do going to matter?
Ma-tek
07-02-2005, 22:02
Earth orbit - Free International Space

A MISAT swivels around, altering its position only slightly. No use wasting energy - and this one is the closest satelite to the Knootian vessel (namely the only one that matters at this time, as far as Santa Barbara is concerned). A single message is bleated towards the Knootian ship, on an encoded frequency; the data packet is secured by the way of 5kb encryption (which on its own suggests critical importance, being the highest-level encryption used by ICEL - and only then by the military) in one of the various ICEL-Knootoss formats. Although the communique is encrypted and sent on an encoded channel, it is not sent via tightbeam m-wave or laser - rather, it is an RF transmission. Which is more than a little strange...

The message is also very brief:


Expect a member of the Commonality Royal Family imminently, with regards to attendance of the meeting to be held aboard the vessel this communique is directed at.


...and perhaps somewhat annoying, considering the word 'imminently', which suggests very little time for security arrangements...

* * *

Royal Conveyance Vessel Bi-Millenial/i], en route to SS [i]Willem van Knootcap; ETA: 14 minutes

...but the Imperial Palace Guard contingent were not particuarly fussed regarding the late announcement to the Knootians. In fact, they were much pleased. The plan was simple: inform them late, and give them little choice but to accept that the only plausible way of ensuring the best security for their charge was to allow the IPG to carry out that security.

5 almost grinned. It was...

Deplorable. Absolutely deplorable. One was not supposed to dump such aggravating concerns in the lap of an ally...

But there was a deliciousness to it. He, a mere soldier, was in effect dictating terms both to his own government - and to a foreign one (hopefully). He loved every second he had to revel in his (possible) victory.

However, there was the chance that it would not work. He strongly suspected that the High King did not want IPG presence on board the Knootian ship - it was the usual game: the Royal Family tried to dodge their protection, and the IPG used the regulations and the Law to prevent that from happening.

But to be on the safe side, the High King would be wearing a pBd, today; unless the ship itself was destroyed, there was little chance of a succesful assassination attempt. There was no reason to suspect there was any danger, in fact, but that, to 5 (once known as Major-General Sural DeValaki-Rihad) was when one ought to be most suspicious. No news was bad news, despite the cliche to the contrary.

He stiffened to attention as the High King approached, then inclining his head to the Highest Degree of Respect and Servitude, as custom dictated. He held the position for precisely seven seconds, as polite society required, and then clapped his right hand to his right breast, elbow extended, left hand resting on the m-wave blaster at his left hip.

"Sire," he acknowledged very softly - no grandiose shouting allowed in the IPG.

"At ease," the High King replied, equally softly; his voice belied no negative emotion, but the Nenya soldier could taste the aggravation radiating off of his King. "We will be arriving very shortly. As per the request of the Guard, the Knootians have now been informed at the final approach phase."

He did not need to speak the words which would have clearly stated his disappointment; he had clearly hoped to persuade a different course of action, when, earlier that day, he had met with 5.

5 recalled that meeting; "There's no need for protection; they're our allies, and partly dependant on both our trade and our military protection," the High King had stated. 5 knew better on the latter score and the former (although the 'allies' part was certainly true), but public speaking was public speaking - and there had been others present. He had simply nodded, and quoted from the rulebook. The rulebook covered every eventuality, just about. Except giant space creatures - but those only very rarely attacked the Palace.

Now, in the present, 5 resisted the urge to smile at his thoughts. That wouldn't do. He was supposed to be stoic, calm, focused only on his job. Outwardly, he was exactly that. But it was simply not possible to be that focused all the time - no matter how hard one tried.

The High King appeared to be waiting for something; perhaps he had no clear purpose for speaking to his chief guard - but no. His eyes were searching 5's face for something; that he could tell. Well, he'd find no hint of regret there; 5 was right, and had done his job to perfection thus far.

The High King sighed quietly, and moved off.

5 allowed himself a sigh of relief. No matter how free Iluvauromen was today, he still remembered the 'old days'; he had seen men killed for less than the sigh he had given, back in the old Commonwealth Assault Force, under the brief but brutal Menjdari rule of what was now merely the Province of Ma-tek.

Now turning, he stared out of the window - which was in fact a VisiWall - at the Earth. The filters prevented his eyes from hurting - Nenya eyes are so much more sensitive that the bright blue of the planet, unfiltered, can cause temporary blindness, in the manner of a flash grenade.

Sometimes, an advantage was a disadvantage. He clung to that thought, firmly, and for the umpteenth time, fiercely swore to himself never to forget.
Knootoss
09-02-2005, 02:37
OOC: Have something in the works. Will post it tomorrow ;)
Knootoss
09-02-2005, 15:28
SS Willem van Knootcap

Captain Orodreth Carnesîr waited in the command chair as the reports came in. His first officer, a senior Santa Barbaran from Capital Cathedral whose white beard did much to give him an aura of importance reported with a furrowed brow. “Bennings Enterprise's security vessels have also taken up geostationary positions above Santa Barbara. Our competitors are staying, it seems.” A young Knootian woman manning the sensors turned round as well to add to the report. “We also have a small Bolden Corp transport on a course towards us.” Orodreth nodded and waited calmly as the she continued: “It appears to be heading to dock with the main Bennings Enterprise ship.” The helm – a former KDF officer – reported formally. “I’m taking up a better orbit to improve TNE reception for the engineers, helm is moving up 500 metres, z axis. This will bring us nearer to the BE ships.” The elf was about to inquire further when the blonde-haired human manning the communications panel said more tensely. “Sir! We have an incoming from the ITDO Battlecruiser New State City. Someone finally answered. ” This peeked Orodreths attention. “Main viewer.” He and his first officer stood up and watched the holographic projection form…

"This is Strategic Core Commander Jerry Cheng of the battlecruiser New State City to SS Willem van Knootcap. What is your status and purpose? Over."

He smiled politely. “I’m Captain Orodreth Carnesîr, at your service, and this is Frank Rixon my first. “We work for Capital Cathedral, and hailed you because of the current situation in the mainland.” He frowned. “As you may have noticed, it is deteriorating and we have lost contact with a great many corporations. I wanted to let you know that Cathedral Capital stands with the ITDO in defending Santa Barbara the best we can…” he paused for a moment. “You have no doubt received our transmission by now. The military and corporations need to work together now. Our objective is to reconvene the TNE via…”

He was distracted by a red light flashing up on his own small console. “I’m sorry, please stand by for a moment Mr. Cheng. It appears we have a high priority incoming transmission. “

The communications officer cut the audio on the link with the New State City, speaking hastily: “I just received a message from the ICEL Palace Guard… they say that we must expect a member of the Commonality Royal Family to board this vessel imminently to attend a meeting.”

This was highly surprising for the elf, but he had to deal with it the only way he could. “Prepare the docking bay”, he ordered. “And get some security ready!”

He signalled to the communications officer to restore the audio. “I’m sorry, Sir, but I’m there for you now.”

((OOC: better have this convo before the TNE starts))
Sketch
10-02-2005, 00:47
ooc: assuming that I have a right to attend, as part owner of MHG. Note: all the communications stuff is not "hacking", just felt like elaborating the process ^_~

Tapping into the communications web swirling around the Knootian vessel, a query originating from Sketchian sources sought entry into the conference communications datalink. Attached to the signal were the standard Sketchian communications protocals used when dealing with non-associated entities. When processed, the message popped up a simple audio/video message along with the appropriate channel port tags.


I am senior representative George Walmer, here to represent the Sketchian part ownership of Myrtle-Hammerstein Genetech. I trust that video conference is satisfactory medium for the purposes of this meeting. We look foward to the re-establishment of the TNE as a viable moderating power of the Santa Barbaran market.
Knootoss
10-02-2005, 00:55
The reply came swiftly and in similar format from the ships communications officer, smiling like a good salesman:

“This is SS Willem van Knootcap, Bas Siemen of Cathedral Capital speaking Sir. Glad that you’ve decided to come. We’ve plugged you into the new TNE mainframe. Please stand by while the other corporations sign in – the meeting will start soon.”
Ma-tek
10-02-2005, 01:47
Royal Conveyance Vessel Bi-Millenial/i], on final approach to SS [i]Willem van Knootcap; ETA: 27 seconds

The little ship - no more than twenty metres in length and half that in width, although she was deep: double her length, in fact - sped on towards her rendezvous with the Knootian ship, but she exerted no energy. She had not, in fact, done so at all; she had been fired in from a shunt, and had only enough power to get her home. She was not unescorted, although the escort was not visible without OTH observation - an ICEL carrier hangs out there in the black of space, in a high orbit, staying just over the horizon and out of immediate sight.

But she has no fighter escort, and has not needed one, despite her apparent lack of point defence systems.

"Final approach," reported the pilot over the comms, not slowing an iota.
Knootoss
10-02-2005, 02:02
The doors of the docking bay of the Venture-B class ship hissed as they opened and closed, extending finally their docking clamps around the small craft. ICEL navigators had no doubt calculated their approach with the utmost precision, and the men aboard the formerly Knootian military vessel were not too scared of anything going wrong.

A navy whistle blew as the doors of the Royal Conveyance Vessel opened and ten men and women of a private Santa Barbaran security corporation lined up on each side of the ramp*, presenting weapons. At the end of the parading line stood a white-bearded man in civilian clothing to greet the visitors.

*or extended doorway or whatever it is. I am also assuming the conversation with the SCC will be over by the time this happens.
Santa Barbara
10-02-2005, 02:50
“I’m Captain Orodreth Carnesîr, at your service, and this is Frank Rixon my first. We work for Capital Cathedral, and hailed you because of the current situation in the mainland. As you may have noticed, it is deteriorating and we have lost contact with a great many corporations. I wanted to let you know that Cathedral Capital stands with the ITDO in defending Santa Barbara the best we can … You have no doubt received our transmission by now. The military and corporations need to work together now. Our objective is to reconvene the TNE via … I’m sorry, please stand by for a moment Mr. Cheng. It appears we have a high priority incoming transmission ... I’m sorry, Sir, but I’m there for you now

Cheng pondered. Clearly the TNE was not dead. But was it still Santa Barbaran? What rights did it have - did it ever have - of authority over the ITDO? It was previously hosted on the military's own channels and satellites, the MP1 network. Times changed...

Corporations. That was the trick of it. They were still in power. And as always, the ITDO was nothing without their support, technologically, financially. It couldn't really exist without them. What did that mean for the future of his beloved military?

The ITDO, the TNE... Santa Barbara. At once his decision was clear. This was the only path, the only people in government willing to put an effort into duty... there was no choice but support.

"Acknowledged, Captain," he responded at last, "What exactly do you intend to do? I've got an entire military without orders other than whatever I come up with. Over."
Santa Barbara
10-02-2005, 03:20
Bennings Enterprises Corporate Security Vessel Barracuda

She strode forth down the corridor towards her ready room, for the first time.

Though the CSVs from OMI had proven themselves functional and efficient, she had never been on board one. She'd seen the necessity of armed warships, but never before had occasion to do anything more than own them.

Flanked by a security team - her own, this time, while Chang's cronies waited in the crew mess hall - she and Chang got to work.

"Let's get to work," Chang said, with a satisfied edge to her voice that, as usual, stirred feelings of mistrust in Julia.

"Lieutenant," Julia said, slightly too loudly, "send a message to the Willem. Bennings Enterprises is logging in to the TNE database."

"Yes, ma'am," the young BE flight officer, a small man with short black hair, said.

Julia was further irritated when Sonya Chang plopped down in a chair in her ready room, uninvited, as if she was one of her innermost circle of friends.

"Let's get to work," Chang repeated.

"Look!" Julia banged her desk with a flat palm. Chang looked up, eyebrows raised innocently. "We're doing what we can, alright?"

"Of course," Change cooed with syrupy sympathy. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm only here to help."

"Yeah, well, some help," Julia snapped.

A few moments of silence. An acknowledgement came from her bridge - they'd sent the message to the Knootian ship as ordered. More silence.

"I think," Sonya said offhandedly, "we should find our friend. Abadas."

Julia narrowed her eyes. "He's dead. Already told you. I've got sources."

"He's not," Sonya insisted with sudden intensity. "I've got sources of my own. That was a lie. He wants the world to believe he is dead. But he's alive and on the mainland."

"And how do you know that?" Julia was skeptical.

"I said I've got my sources."

"I don't believe you. I believe if you had your own sources you wouldn't have needed my help at all so far."

"Believe me," Chang repeated calmly, "One can have insider sources without having a private fleet of spaceships. I need insiders for insider information, and you for your fleet."

"Specialization," Julia said, echoing bitterly one of Chang's published papers on "social progress."

"Specialization," Sonya agreed.

"Then if you have your sources, they can do the dirty deed themselves. With him no longer in power, I have no need to find him. He's as good as dead."

With that, Sonya sighed. "Informers, not assassins, Julia."

"I'm no assassin either! And neither are my ships, for that matter."

"Julia - "

"No! We've got a world to save and you want to go on some crusade against a single man!"

There was a pause before Sonya responded. "What world to save?"

Julia stared, appalled.

"You see Julia... I don't care for your free market ideals. I never have. You know that. You agreed to assist me in one purpose. One alone. The elimination of the most prolific tyrant and murderer who's ever sat on the throne of Santa Barbara. That was our deal. Are you backing out now?"

Julia sighed. Then she stood up, her eyes darkening. "Yes. I want you off my ship. You are just in the way. As for our 'deal,' I don't recall getting anything from you."

Sonya merely smiled. "Then let's discuss that. Where are you going to throw me, into orbit? I can help you and you know it."

She had a point, but Julia literally stood her ground, searching for words. Sonya Chang continued on gamely, her voice dropping into cooler tones and elliciting warmer connotations. "I can do good for you, Julia. I know what you need. I can give you what you really want."

Julia couldn't believe this. She blushed furiously. "Get out of here."

Sonya smiled again, standing up. "Think about what you want, Julia. What you really want. I'll be around."

Before she could get a response, Sonya left the ready room.
Ma-tek
10-02-2005, 20:48
The ramp is indeed an extension of the hull, having folded out rather than flowed, for once. Darkness is only visible through the hatch - it's darker in there than out here - but a flicker of movement later, there are two men dressed in what is probably ceremonial body armour, complete with head-obscuring helmets. The helmets have no faceplates, and the soldiers carry no obvious weapons besides the short, thin blades in scabbards at their hips; but they wear the distinctive broadsword-wreathed-in-flame emblem of the allegedly brutal (so it is rumoured) Imperial Palace Guard.

A voice, speaking from somewhere just south of where the man's mouth would be, announces in stentorian tones:

"Presenting his Royal Highness, High King of all Nenyar, High Commodore of the Armed Forces of the Commonality, Lord of the Aelinenya, His Esteemed and Greatly Honoured Majesty, Taurórë Semír-randil Hwinmacil."

The guards step aside neatly, and dressed in formal white dress uniform bearing the wings of the Commonality Air Force as well as the crossed swords-and-stars of the Crown Guard Lancers, Semir-randil appears. He is frowning; he murmours softly, "That was not necessary," faintly irritated at the pomp which he had not requested. But traditions were tough to let go of, he knew, and there were some which were probably best held to - although the difficulty was in telling which were which. Other problems threatened to crowd his mind - but he pushed them away, and smiled in what was undoubtedly a friendly manner.

Taking in the guards, with their weapons, Semir-randil cannot help but grin a little internally; if he had been relaxed, he might even have cocked his head to one side with an amused smile and said something like, "All this just for me?"

But he was rarely relaxed when not at home with his wife, for few others could be trusted not to treat every action and reaction as a political statement. So he merely smiled faintly, held his back straight and his head at the proper posture, and marched with perfect grace - toes down each stride, as tradition demanded - and came to a halt precisely two point five metres ahead of the civilian-dressed person.

"It is my esteemed pleasure to board such a well-run vessel, with such an excellent welcome," he offered softly.
Knootoss
16-02-2005, 02:11
OOC: Damn. This one shows up last on my Firefox tab and thusly is skipped because its late a couple of times. I'll respond to this thread first tomorrow with lots of RAWR. Promise! ~A sleepy Knoot at 2:11 AM.
Knootoss
18-02-2005, 00:26
"Acknowledged, Captain," he responded at last, "What exactly do you intend to do? I've got an entire military without orders other than whatever I come up with. Over."

“Thank you, Commander”, Captain Orodreth said gratefully. “Yet instead of your ships I would like to ask something of you personally – that is to say we would appreciate it if you would throw your weight behind the new TNE, as it were. In all this confusion, people need see TNE authority over the ITDO confirmed. A message of support for the institution and its decisions would be most welcome.”

He pressed several buttons on this command display, sending a package of data over to the ITDO Battlecruiser New State City. “I’m sending you an authorisation code to share our sensor data. We’ve scanned the surface as well as the ships leaving from there. I don’t know what information you still have, but our twin parallel sensor arrays can probably provide a faster sweep time and instant data checking as well as a better resolution.” – in fact the sensor arrays and their sub-arrays had consumed more than half the ship cost in its construction. It was, after all, built to be a Triumvirate explorer. But all of this went without saying. “I cannot thank you enough for your efforts so far to stop the spread of the disease.”

***

[quote]"It is my esteemed pleasure to board such a well-run vessel, with such an excellent welcome," he offered softly"[/qouote]

"Welcome aboard Your Highness"

The civilian bowed, before introducing himself: “My name is Frank Rixon. I’m the First officer on this ship, and I work for Capital Cathedral”

He smiled respectfully, but something was bothering him. “To be honest, Your Highness, we had not expected your visit. The Trans-National Exchange is being held in a virtual environment, after all. And otherwise this is just a mere civilian ship...”

OOC: Bleh. I had much, much more planned for this post but I guess I cannot move too far ahead without damaging the time/space fabric. :/
Ma-tek
19-02-2005, 23:20
Semir-randil, had, in fact, been counting on the unexpected nature of the visit. He had also been counting on the well-known fact that there was absolutely no need for the visit - he could, of course, have taken part via TVC or holovision. And in fact, he still would. But being here at the spot was a sacrifice; and it detracted attention from Rialla's otherwise clear absence - either on-screen or in the flesh.

"Indeed," he answers softly, smiling only a little. "But considering the magnitude of the situation, I wished to be close to Santa Barbara. And I have business to attend to out here," a wave of his hand indicating space, "and if I had sent myself outwards when I intended to, there would have been the usual annoying lag to deal with. This way, I am en route, and my absence easily explained."

It was far too much information, much more than needed - and yet he still went on. "Further, in ordinary circumstances, the CEO of the Imperial Trade Conglomerate would be the one to be 'present', in whatever form. However, Rialla has other matters concerned with this one to deal with at present, and so I shall speak in her name. - And I hope it shall be pleasing to the People of Santa Barbara, that I would inconveniance myself and my routine, in order to devote time to them and their cause."

Internally, he grinned. The information was cluttered, too fullsome, and not at all in his usual style, delivered as it was with vague familiarity rather than the utmost formality he usually expressed. He rather hoped it was worthwhile, and set minds elsewhere than they were supposed to be.

He also tried not to be vaguely (and utterly irrationally) irritated at being met by the First Officer of the vessel, but was well aware of the intricacies of running a vessel.

And Santa Barbara, of course, was far more important than ceremony.

* * *

Royal Residential Wing, The Imperial Palace, Nenya, Iluvauromen

Rialla paced like a caged animal.

Barely, she resisted the urge to snarl at her confinement; walls, walls everywhere!

She was, of course, free to leave and go anywhere she pleased. But she was walled in just as surely - walled in even more completely than in any prison. Taboo! Culture! Tradition!

Nothing but damnable walls!

She was angry and irritated because she was finding it difficult to contain the thoughtcastings of her infant; the child - a boy - was fiercely strong already, seeing as his brain was already ninety percent developed in that area. That was the first part of the brain to develop; he would be four years old before he managed to walk, and six or seven before he was able to run without falling. There was nothing abnormal in that, of course, because from that point inwards he would be superior in almost every way to a Human - born into the world with knowledge, educated in basic language(s) and numeracy, empathic (and in this case most definitely telepathic)...

Except, of course, that the Humans had always had the advantage. They were not entirely bound in Doom - except their own peculiar one, the only inescapable one, the only one which seperated them, other than their ability to determine their own fates in strange and unexpected ways, from the Quendi and their Kin, the Nenyar.

It was hard to decide which was inferior, in that case. The advantages and disadvantages of each were so varied-

Rialla hated it! The walls were so damned tight she couldn't breathe; she could not leave the Palace as the identity of her child could not, would not be revealed. Nobody outside her own most intimate circle - her father, mother, and Semir (in purely alphabetical order) - had any idea that she was pregnant. Or, rather, they chose to ignore the obvious fact by the radical alteration in her behaviour.

She made no public appearances, of course. None could know the identity of the heir. None could possibly manage to find a way to be near or present at the birth. That would occur in secret; she would move next week, in fact, to the place where the child was to be born. As an heir to the Tumnorean Throne, that place was obvious. But none would see it - none who were Iluvauromeni. Tumnorean doctors would oversee the birth, as they had done the pregnancy, and then her child would be assigned false parents; bodyguards, in fact, who would only be with her child when the child was in a public place. Otherwise, her child would live at the Palace.

That was not unusual. The bodyguards lived at the Palace. They were believed to be 'servants', although not in the old meaning of the word. Very well paid servants, indeed, very high in social standing - Nobility, each and every one. And most of them of House Dethra.

Dethra was increasingly likely to become a Great House. Then there would be six, as foretold in certain 'prophecy'; predictions were more the truth, for prophecy implied some deep significance. There were always meant to be six, was all.

But Rialla could not give a rat's hairy testicles for whether or not it was wise to reveal the heir. She knew it was not! But at the same time - what were the likelihoods of assassination?

But it was not fear that provoked her to stay cooped up like this; not terror or suspicion or paranoia.

No.

It was tradition.

All of her calls were diverted to Semir, as a result. For now, he was the de facto Emperor; ironically enough, the position he had never wished to possess... again.
Santa Barbara
21-02-2005, 03:29
Glancing over his shoulder, the Strategic Core Commander caught a nod from commo.

"We've received the code, Captain," Cheng replied. "And I'm certain your sensors will contribute to our overall strategic picture. But before I start throwing my voice around giving anyone support, I'd like to know just who I am dealing with. Even a legitimate TNE is still incomplete, with all that devastation, and I'm rather doubting the willingness and ability of the corporate types to hold back this storm based on their ... inaction so far..."

He didn't enjoy the politics, and enjoyed chatting it up over ship's frequencies even less. He tried not to let his impatience show.
Santa Barbara
24-02-2005, 17:59
In the central dryness of Santa Barbara's inland, desert rose to power. It was power that had been building for years. When the PCC underground installation here was constructed, the desert was only beginning it's long reign; now the heyday was approaching, a golden era of hot, parched browns and yellows. There was life in this desert, but not natural - most native forms had been long made extinct. Instead, escaped domesticated animals, colonizing plants and the occasional human structure inhabited the lonely wastes.

Touching down near one such human structure was a gravity-manipulating aircraft.

"...and so I said to him, 'if that's your wife, who did I just sleep with?'"

"Damn, that story sucks harder every time you tell it."

Exiting the vehicle were four men. Gonzalo Tzu, the IIA Director. Marcos Fernando, the acting President. And two of the IIA's security detail, who'd been referred to as Pete and Garon, but security agents were notorious for their lack of true identity.

"Quiet!" Fernando said.

The men were quiet a moment. The vehicle's power source hummed. A hot desert wind blew steadily. Fernando raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the reflecting sunlight.

"I don't hear anything," Pete said, somewhat defensively, casting a glance at his comrade.

"It's not what you'll hear," Gonzalo Tzu replied. "It's what you'll feel. I can feel it too."

"I don't feel anything," Marcos said. "I mean - not exactly - it's..."

He found he couldn't put it into words. Gonzalo stared at him dead-eyed a moment longer and nodded. "It's weird. Are you ready?"

"This is it?"

"That's it," Gonzalo pointed at a decrepit looking barn. A barn which looked strangely at home, despite the lack of other supporting structures. It didn't look like any top-secret, high-tech facility to the acting President, but Gonzalo gestured with his head and was walking to it. He moved with a steady walk that spoke of wariness so ingrained it was natural and inobvious. Marcos followed, and the two armed agents did as well, one taking the left and the other taking the right.

He wondered why more hadn't been taken. There was still a good detachment waiting in the vehicle.

As if reading his mind, Gonzalo Tzu suddenly stopped, turned, and gestured at the vehicle and it's pilot. It was a strange, twirling sort of finger movement that Marcos recognized as a "lift-off" command, just as the craft suddenly floated up off the desert again.

"Tzu! Keep it here," Marcos Fernando protested weakly.

"Negative, sir," came the grim reply. "They have other duties than waiting here for us. We could be a while."

"I thought we could use the extra soldiers..."

"If it comes down to that, we will not prevail with ten thousand," Gonzalo said with a finality that allowed no question.

"I find that hard to believe," Marcos mumbled, but did not expect nor get a reply. Instead he found himself hearing...

... a voice. A distant, constant voice, like a singing, or perhaps screaming. It was hard to tell.

Probably just the wind... no, he corrected himself. Probably NOT just the wind. It's weird, Gonzalo had said. How true.

"Come in," Gonzalo called from the barn's door. "We've got to get going. Lives depend on us."

[OOC: Does anyone want to RP Pete and/or Garon? They're your basic topnotch security guys, part of the Internal Intelligence Agency. Probably augments, but not ridiculously so. Otherwise I'm feeling lonely RPing this whole important plotline with no one else. :p]
Ma-tek
25-02-2005, 00:20
27 Evercrescent Drive, Turath, Ax-turath, Iluvuaromen

... a voice. A distant, constant voice, like a singing, or perhaps screaming. It was hard to tell.

Probably just the wind... no, he corrected himself. Probably NOT just the wind. It's weird, Gonzalo had said. How true.

"Come in," Gonzalo called from the barn's door. "We've got to get going. Lives depend on us."

Sweating, anxious, heart pounding in his chest, Ilyiane awoke with a gasp.

He had been seeing through another man's eyes, he understood. He did not know where...

... a voice. A distant, constant voice, like a singing, or perhaps screaming...

...it was fading fast, but he clung to that one moment, near the end, where he had...

What? What was it? What did it mean?

Ilyiane clung to the memory as he clambered out of bed and padded across the wooden floor, through the graceful arch and into his kitchen. Orange juice - cold. Tasted like sand. He sput it into the sink, revolted. The air was hot - oppressive - too hot -

Hand clutched to forehead, stumbling against the freezer unit-

"Leave me alone!"

I am Ilyiane. I am Ilyiane. I am...

He muttered the mantra in his mind, clinging desperately. The Healer had warned him of this - warned him not to ever stop taking his medication. The visions will come again, she had said. Had he ever wanted them to stop?

The air was so damned hot! No, not hot - arid, arid like it never was, arid like he had heard deserts being spoken of. Had there been a desert, in the dream? He whirled about, facing the tall mirror at the end of the kitchen. His wife had liked to watch in the mirror as he had kissed at her neck whilst she prepared the evening meal, her skin silk against his lips, warm and supple and alluring in taste and texture...

Memory overpowered the visions. The Healer had suggested that the two were linked, that perhaps these were not manifestations of his unusually potent talent, but rather mere memories.

But he had never experienced a desert. There had been one in the night-vision, it had made his body feel so very hot and dry-

Yet it had not been as unpleasant in the dream as memory suggested. That alone stuck out, for-

He couldn't remember why, anymore. Sipping at the juice, hand tightening against the silicate casing - sand? No. There was no taste of sand any longer. Just cool, tangy juice. Fresh. He checked the use-by date, to be certain - it was well inside that date now. And he had opened it just last night.

Sand. The desert. A voice screaming or singing; dry air, hot air, a tingle of fear down the spine, icy in the unnatural heat. Sweat hot against the spine, skin cooler than the salty secretion.

A barn - he banged his head violently against the freezer, adding another dent to the others. "Come back," he ordered softly. He could not see for the hot air swirling desert sand in his eyes-

"COME BACK!"

BAM! Another dent.

Vision cleared. Memory!

Hot air, dusty - no, sandy - gritty against the skin. Hot sweat and sand mingling rapidly, very unpleasant, too hot, too dry-

A hum. A thick, heavy hum. Some sort of vehicle? Or just the ache in his head?

The facts would not be called to order. Mingled and confused; disorderly. My life squared. The hum had been there first; what had caused it, the vehicle? Or something... Not a storm. It had been windy, hot, dry. Not a storm. A vehicle. The thrum was familiar; he had heard something like it before, near the airport. An air vehicle. Not Iluvuaromeni, though. They buzzed, hummed gently, even purred - but they didn't thrum like that. Not at that pitch. He had lived near the airport for years, with Turalli, his beloved wife. Tight knot in the stomach - a little walnut of pain swallowed too soon, too easily; indigestion of the heart, the spirit, the soul, who knew which?

Focus. A sense of importance. Stumbling in the alleyways - the link was still there, thoughts were racing that were not his own. He drew back, back further, concentrating only on the senses, striving ever not to hear the thoughts that were not his own-

I am Ilyiane!

-or were they his thoughts? They were alien, different, exotically Human with an added zing - or was the zing, the exotic taste, was that him?

"Ilyiane," he whispered hoarsely. The desert air stung his throat-
Santa Barbara
25-02-2005, 18:48
The barn had remained unchanged, seemingly since the dawn of time. Spider webs glowed in the light and lurked in the shade. Dust, sand and grime covered everything, and most of the wooden structure was dessicated; beyond rot, cooked to hardness. Marcos Fernando thought he would be able to kick in the whole building.

For some reason, the change from the bright outside to the hot stillness of the barn demanded lower voices. Gonzalo signalled as much, with the universal "shush" gesture.

He then examined a broken pile of thin timbers that had once been some kind of furniture or crate. Kneeling, he drew his fingertips through the layers of dust inexplicably, until he found what he was looking for and lifted a squarish section of the floor up. The hole beneath gaped.

"Right down there, huh?" Marcos Fernando asked.

"Either that or dig," replied Gonzalo Tzu.

... a shudder ravaged it's way through Fernando. He had the strongest, most absolute sense of deja vu that he had known, accompanied by the perfect certainty that he had never been in a place like this, doing anything remotely similar to this, in his life. It made him dizzy.

When his head stopped swimming crazily, he saw Gonzalo lift himself down into the hatch. One of the guards - he couldn't remember the name now - followed, and the other nodded with a slight smile. "After you, Mr President."

It was harder than he'd thought. His hands had difficulty grasping the necessary surfaces and he had no idea how far beneath his dangling feet the ground was. As it turned out, it wasn't too far, and a helping hand above steadied his descent.

Below, he was surprised to see light. A door-sized hole in the wall opened next to Gonzalo Tzu and a long concrete passageway beyond was adorned with glowing lights along the wall.

"That's the secret research facility," he stated rather than asked. "Shell?"

"At the other end of the hall," came the reply. Gonzalo was already striding forward, his shoes making complete but soft clops on the hard surface.

As Marcos Fernando advanced forward, the... feeling returned. It had never gone, he realized. Stronger now, he had the clear sensation that there were more than the four men present - there was a fifth, a larger, darker presence...

...but that was crazy. What kind of research could wind up with the effect of giving people the willies? Psychological warfare? Market dominance? How would any of that help the disease?

...no, no. His reason had to keep reminding him. Gonzalo Tzu had revealed that MHG's little hideout here had played around with genetics. They'd quite probably had contact with Anonymous Lepers. If there was a cure or vaccination to an artificial disease, it would surely lie with those who had created the virus in the first place. And there wasn't much time.

After walking for far too long, into an increasingly disturbing set of emotions that felt like sailing into a storm, a massive door loomed before them. The large, heavy, absolutely secure kinds, good against radiation and explosions and the efforts of men and animal alike. It was very foreboding, and now Fernando again questioned the wisdom of what he was doing. Even if what Gonzalo had said was true, what good would their presence do?

The more he thought about it, the less it really made sense. But he knew that if he left, he would be forever wondering about this place in his dreams. And where else could he go, what could he do? Santa Barbara was lost without an end to the plague. He felt, more than ever, weak; pushed along, no longer journeying with a purpose.

And his fear was growing.

The door was now open. Not remembering how Gonzalo had come to open the huge barrier, he looked questioningly at the IIA director - but he had gone straight ahead already. There was no hesitation in Gonzalo's actions, it seemed. He felt his legs pick his feet up and carry him across the threshold.
Ma-tek
25-02-2005, 20:58
'Aunties Cafe', 421 Central Point, Turath

"-sir? Do you want to pay for that, sir?"

Ilyiane looked up, knowing full well that he looked unwell to the eyes of the attendant. It was there on her face. Poor girl. She probably didn't know whether to call for a Healer or not. A doctor, maybe, he could hear her mind murmouring. Surface thoughts were quiet today, probably because his mind was very much else-

...As he advanced forward, the... feeling returned. It had never gone, he realized. Stronger now, he had the clear sensation that there were more than the four men present - there was a fifth, a larger, darker presence...

Ilyiane staggered, felt a slit open in his palm as his hand raked against something sharp. Pain - spike of - hurting -

The world went deep, velvet-black.

* * *

The High Lord Sir Andhibara Rihad Royal Military Infirmary, High Command Citadel, somewhere in Iluvauromen

"They brought him in faster that I've seen before," Doctor Craditz noted, with some irritation. "If he had been in psi-trauma as all the evidence suggested, he might have died. Moving a patient that quickly increases stimulus to the brain, you know. And that's dangerous, in psi-trauma conditions. - Are you listening, Rihad? Are you paying attention to the words that my lips are speaking? No, you're not. I can see that."

Ax-randiri Rihad snorted. "Oh, shut up, man. He's not in psi-trauma. And if he had been, then we would never have moved him to start with. Look, the girl didn't know what was going on. This guy didn't say a word. His vitals showed normal but he was comatose. Records show he's a high-pot teep with long-reach capabilities. - And worse: he's a former remote viewer, from back in the days when we didn't have satelites. Pretty screwed up, according to his psych profile. The docs have him on pills for it."

"Healers," Craditz corrected sharply, "are different to doctors. Doctors heal only the body. Healers correct the mind."

"Whatever," the High Lord Commodore murmoured softly. Frankly, Craditz annoyed him. And he shouldn't have been here, Ax noted silently to himself. He was a doctor - healer! - but he wasn't a Nenya. Damned Humans.

Some of the Humans had begun developing psi traits; no doubt due to Nenyar genes spreading out into the gene pool. Human genetic structure was 'weaker' in some ways; the Nenyar genetic material would proliferate for years to come, following the brief interbreeding that occurred a few centuries ago. Of course, such activities were illegal now, without special permit. Only one thousand Nenyar in every generation were permitted hybrid children, and even then there was hot contention as to whether even this limit was low enough. Their children, the hybrids, however, were only allowed to breed with Humans. Never a Nenya. Sex was okay; reproduction was not.

Of course, as the slaughter of unborn children was considered despicable at best by the general population (and Ax-randiri, being of a species who remembered their time in the womb wholeheartedly agreed with that view), there were always exceptions. He suspected that Craditz was one, but it was impolite to enquire about such things. The doctor was droning on, but Rihad wasn't interested. He was interested in this Ilyiane, who lay on the table in the enclosed ward.

The infirmary was named for an old leader of Ma-tek who had showed great mercy to his enemies; he had been a great military leader, as well, leading the then-Northern Army to victory after victory against the Dth'gari during the Two Thousand Year War. Of course, his successors had squandered the advantage they were given by his campaigns, meaning that his success really counted for very little in the long run - but he was remembered fondly for other reasons: primarily for his 'mercy'. Andhibara, a Human of foreign extraction (probably Indo-European) born into House Rihad, had believed that to be merciful was a soldier's duty. He had understood that, and built infirmaries for his enemies - and had even used prisoners of war to staff those infirmaries. These prisoners were trained, even, and although they spent much of their lives in captivity due to the seemingly never-ending nature of the war at that time, they had lived comfortably, treating the injuries of captured colleagues, who then went to other infirmaries and treated more of their colleagues.

Thus this place was named for him. A good man. But Andhibara had had another quality - he was a Human talent. Strong telepath, they said, and tested by some rather potent Nenyar mentalics, at that. And there were rumours that still prevailed, in historical fashion; that Andhibari had been a remote viewer who had known the movements of his enemies ahead of time. Such skills were not rare. But Andhibari had possessed exceptional range, and endured "seizures of the mind which left him gasping for air, but possessing of new knowledge of places far away, beyond the edge of our great land by many leagues at the lowest estimate". Rihad believed he had remembered the text in full. There was something here - he was a fairly decent telepath himself - that reminded him of that.

Something in the air, it might be said. A tension of sorts. Rihad stared down at the man, wondering what he saw behind those tightly clenched eyes...

* * *

P-Space

Ilyiane was submerged, now. Absolutely inured in the man who, for some reason, he had been tied to. Ilyiane had no control over the matter, but he understood, in some way, now. He had to help the man. He had no idea how he might attain that goal, but he focused less on the images in front of his eyes and more on the mind around him.

Human minds, like Quendi and Nenyar minds and all the minds of all the Sentients who were, were fantastically complex. Intricate threads tied around other threads, strings upon strings of thoughts and concepts and memories and ideas and below it all the pulsing, fiery, hot, searingly white light of...

Spirit? Something like that. That was where all the strength and reserves and the pattern of thought was initiated and originated. Spirit, heart, whatever one wanted to call it. And threads leapt forth from it constantly, tying into the whole. Other threads snapped or loosened or tightened or simply vanished, replaced by still other threads. And to every thread a colour and a texture, a taste and a sound; every part of the whole a whole in itself, complete individually and entirely. So complex!

And there, a thought, a feeling. Dominant. The strength of the thread was tremendous, like a thick bundle of carbon nanofilaments trussed in super-tensile titanium. Light, flexible, but terrifically strong.

Fear.

He tasted it, gingerly. Not with contact with the thread, for that was dangerous - painful for the being involved, even. Just a flicker of consciousness in that direction, becoming the mind rather than touching the mind, as his teacher had taught him so many years before-

Regret. He regretted this. Yet some higher purpose surely guided his hand; fate was not fickle but directed. Nothing happened without purpose. He hoped.

Gently, he went to work on the thread, perceiving it fully and utterly - or striving to - and whispering gently along the pathway down towards the spirit...

Be calm. I am with you. Your fear I will strive to bear as my burden. Go on, and do not falter.

He had no idea how that would help, but it made sense.

Actually, Ilyiane had to be honest with himself: it was a line he'd heard in a movie some years ago. Seemed to have helped then...

[OOC: You wanted someone RPing along with you. I just figured I'd be a bit more original than taking over a character. ;)]
Santa Barbara
26-02-2005, 04:17
... a soothing contact came and numbed his mind...

The fear which had come unexpectedly now left in the same mysterious manner, leaving pervading perplexion. For a moment, Marcos Fernando had thought he'd heard a voice in his head speaking words, and the voice was not his own. A different sound... or sensation... from before, but no less disturbing.

Shakily, he fixed a look on Gonzalo Tzu.

"Here we are," Tzu said, waving a hand casually at the surroundings.

The lobby way was deserted.

It was reminiscent of vacant schools and of submarines. Circular hatchways lead in three directions. The large door, he noticed, was now closed. The two guards wandered around casually now that they had arrived.

"What did you mean," the president said, "When you said we would not prevail with a thousand? I don't see anything here to prevail over."

Gonzalo smiled. It was now creepy when he did, and how calmly he bore himself. "I didn't expect there to be."

"Well, we better find what we're looking for," Fernando suggested expectantly. "Or find someone. The power is on." He felt the tide of panic rise up, but get swept back before it could gather steam. The whole scenario seemed surreal and absurd.

Gonzalo lifted a hand. "Calm down. Pete, why don't you head down to the kitchen that way, bring us something to consume? I could use a drink."

"You got it. Anything special?"

"Water. Mr President?"

Marcos Fernandos, incredulously: "I'm... alright, thanks."

Time passed and the IIA director had seated himself down at one of the three steel circular tables, on a low stool which had been nearly perfectly camouflaged and hidden underneath. No one spoke, and Marcos Fernando sensed that something significant was going on, something beyond his comprehension. He wanted to say something, to urge Tzu to pick up his previous quickness, to seek out the cure, to explore, to move. Instead he stood in place, watching, and his eyes found Tzu's. They were utterly calm. They spoke of a relaxation so profound that, literally, the end of the world could not break it. The second soldier paced on another side of the room, forgotten.

After what seemed like an eternity, he found his voice, smaller than he remembered it. "What are we doing, Gonzalo?"

Tzu did not reply, merely met his question with his eyes, absorbed it and spat out complete silence.

"Eh! Catch!" a man's voice sliced through the air. Startled, Fernando turned to see the guard called Pete toss a plastic water bottle through the air. It was caught deftly by Gonzalo Tzu. Fernando, having broken his gaze to follow the flight of the bottle, now saw that Tzu was again - or still - meditatively appraising him, expressionless.

"Well?" Fernando demanded.

Gonzalo held up a hand again, and now he perked up, seeming to hear something from far away, and he broke the staring contest. "I think you know."

Fernando hesitated, feeling the fear rise again, and fall again, as if drained instantly from a wound. "I don't know. I'm asking you."

"You don't hear it?" Gonzalo's voice contained a hint of humor. He didn't like it.

"No, I don't hear it. And I want to know what's going on. You're not telling me all you know."

The latter was certainly true, but somewhere inside of him, Fernando felt that he did indeed hear it. Whatever 'it' was. It was so pervading, so massive, like a headache so chronic one almost forgot about the pain. There was no sound - besides the mild electric hum from the power, his own heart beating obviously in his old chest - but nevertheless, he felt that he 'heard' something. It sounded high-pitched and tinny, yet menacing.

Gonzalo simply favored him with an inscrutable expression.

"God damn it!" Fernando swore, uncharacteristically blasphemous. At that Gonzalo merely looked upwards, as if rolling his eyes, but fixed his gaze on the ceiling. Fernando looked up as well, and it was then that it hit him -

Darkness. Surrounding, dark, comfort. Warmth. Breathing... breathing better. Breeding. Awakening. Darkness...

A kalleidoscopic wave of emotions hit him... the sound of millions of voices at once, voices without words... a single, shrieking melody... loneliness, anger, confusion... growing alertness...

Somewhere in a greenish-yellow dirty haze, Marcos Fernando lost his way and fell to the floor and darkness...

[ooc: Me likes. Fits in nicely...]
Der Angst
28-02-2005, 11:54
It had taken them 'a little' long to reach MHG. Well, its nominal and/ or previous headquarters, anyway. Not surprising, given the chaos on the streets, although Jeanne proved herself to be quite capable of voiding firefights and the likes.

The plague didn't seem to worry them. Understandably so, given that they came from a nation where cancer and radiation sickness where the equivalent of having the flu in the normal world.

Yet, the plague was, of course, unknown to them, and as such, there was a good chance that the price for their happy risk- taking would be high.

To high.

However, right now, neither one of them cared about this particular problem. They did, however, care about MHG.

The CEO has been assassinated, the nation is falling apart, their markets may soon be closed. No wonder they're a little unpolite. Jeanne giggled. Indeed, they had suffered certain problem being allowed in, but being a not all that insignificant shareholder (And, more importantly, slowly getting clearances from minor Angstian MHG shareholders regarding the three of them representing all of them, this allowing for a little more influence. Sometimes, teamwork was necessary. Even for Angstians), they had, eventually, managed it.

Of course, their motives differed. For Jeanne Takashima, the whole thing was quite simple. look what is there, and get rid of it, to get a nice profit. Of course, there were certain rumours she had heard about. Nothing big (After all, classified documents tended to be, well, classified, which meant that they were not exactly available to her), but her feminine charme... Well, she would see. If there was something special she could do, she would do it.

For Matthew Trenchard, it was even simpler. See what is there, and bring it back up. Yes, he was interested in staying in Santa Barbara, and he was interested in organising the necessary means. Of course, there were this annoying problems... The plague, the apparent anarchy, but being the optimist he was, he hoped that the other (Vastly more capable) parties, the Knootians and the (Despisable, but sometimes useful) ICEL would manage to organise something.

And even if not, as far as he knew, 35% mortality was about the maximum a plague could manage. It would be bad, yes, but something would remain.

Or so he hoped.

However, Manfred Dexter was a special case. Jeanne had heard some rumours. He had seen the actual files and reports. Oh, certainly, MHG was a useful and potentially profitable acquisition, yet, he didn't see just why he should be satisfied with it.

Orbiting earth, countless satellites as well as seven larger orbital installations had been the eyes of the (Currently 'occupied') DA. Their job was to watch. And DA being the nation it was, it had been quite interested in the unusual.

The data available had of course been vague. And Manfred had only seen parts of it. Yet, the reports had suggested that something was... Lurking? in Santa Barbara. He wasn't entirely sure what, although emission suggested that it was potentially psionic.

In his eyes, this meant that it was potentially profitable, and most definitely interesting.

And given MHG's occupation, he hoped to find some interesting things.

Yet, right now, he would have to deal with simpler things, be it MHG installations in Santa Barbara and abroad, Profit margains, recent developments (Of the technological kind), overall assets, employees, its chaotic internal structure...

But he had time.

"Water, please?"

ooc: If I went to far (Especially, though not limited to, the basic knowledge regarding something interesting being present), lemme know, I will edit. But seeing as it's been ages since my last post, I preferred to post, rather than to backcheck per TG
Santa Barbara
02-03-2005, 18:10
The time had long ago passed when news was reported, written or even thought-out. Events were instead sensed like pain and signals were sent, the faster the better, throughout the world in sound- and thought-bytes.

"...brutality with which the foreign companies are said to..."

"...burning out of control all along the northern coast of..."

"...packed with survivors, fleeing..."

"...reported missing, along with nearly all high-ranking members of...."

"...death toll breaks one hundred million and seems..."

"...confirmed destruction due to ITDO interception, repeat..."


...and they came, incessantly, constantly, flooding through g-net like the spread of the virus itself. Along with any information came chaos and fear. Normality had come crashing through the facades, demolishing the previous age with exceptional and indiscriminate skill.

"...tide of refugees slowing..."

"...civil disorder, but also among the military called in to..."

"...fear for the underwater colonies which..."

In orbit, a stability had been carved out by the Strategic Core Commander, a stability won by blood. Innocent blood. Fragile stability. The TNE perhaps, would live on as well.

But all might have been in another galaxy for all that many of the billions still on the surface cared. Investments might hold out. Market will bounce back. That meant little to those trapping themselves behind barricades, hoarding food and supplies, arming themselves against a much larger and closer barbarian hinterland.

And there was something new. Government had never been too close a presence, but the father-corporations always had. You might not be subjected to criminal prosecution for theft but you'd always hear - usually, all too quickly - from a corporate security detail.

Now it wasn't always so. The looting had tried to begin earlier but now, like a new plague of panicked, unstoppable consumerism, spread throughout all the country.

The market continued to crash, freed from the moorings of stability...
The Shakhtal
02-03-2005, 18:20
Siege of the Council of Trading Guilds,
City of Mek-Tenerath.

Only two Supreme Councilors of the Trading Guilds were present in the room, others attending to other duties in other Cities. Clearly, they were annoyed. Annoyed to the point of wanting to cut some throats. But there was one big problem – they did not have an army, and the Black Guard was under Lord and Ruler Da’teril’s control, and they doubted Da’teril would lend them any of his warriors.

They still waited, deciding two votes in favour and four in absence to keep waiting, updates on their bids. Clearly, they were, as ones talking gibberish would say, “totally screwed” on the SCI bid, since it was clear, by the time that passed, that their complaint was "swallowed up by bureaucracy". But then again, nobody ever said free market had to be free. They still had their claims to VME and BBH, though, but were without any updates and were considering withdrawing altogether and passing to funnier tasks, such as setting out the optimal prices on the slave market. After all, ever since their merger, the Joint Trading Guilds held the monopoly over the entire sector in all of the Five Cities! What numerous prospects such a situation offered...
Menelmacar
02-03-2005, 19:19
Sirithil perused the reports, leaning back in her chair, her eyes scanning the lines of tengwar script on the flexisheet in her hand. "This could be difficult."

"Yes, milady," Anáriel replied; Anáriel was Sirithil's financial advisor, and also the individual in whose hands rested day-to-day control of the mammoth Fëanor Holdings Group. "But I think we can still cobble together majority control."

Siri tapped the sheet. "These small-investor sorts, yes? They make up a full fifth of the company."

Anáriel nodded. "The problem is that several of the other large stockholders are beginning to assert pressure on them to sell. Very few have yet done so, but we may be able to scoop up almost all of those shares if we do so at a premium. If we base the premium on yesterday's closing price, we also discourage bidding up of the stock, because there is a point at which it will no longer be profitable to do so. Say, plus-three."

Siri let out a low whistle. "Three credits above yesterday's close?"

"We can afford it, milady. I'll have messages sent to the various shareholders informing them it's a limited time offer contingent on strict confidentiality. I believe they will sell, because it gives them a very good price, and also gets the wolves off their backs - it is pointless for the other shareholders to move against these people if the shares in question are no longer available."

Sirithil nodded. "Well, go ahead and give it a shot. The worst that can happen is we don't get any shares and thus don't spend any money."

"Exactly, milady." Anáriel grinned, rising from her chair. "If there's anything else?"

"No, that's all," Sirithil replied. "Let me know tomorrow evening how you're doing with this."
Santa Barbara
02-03-2005, 20:03
Vesanto Memetic Engineering, the 'mind control' private education and advertising service, found that an overwhelming number of it's owners were now members of the Joint Trading Guilds.

Tide turned against the corporate nationalists as more shareholders turned to increasingly lucrative offers overseas and offworld...

Cold Star MHD

Sector: Energy
Key Products/Service: Advanced Fusion Electricity
Employees: 4,501,677
TNE Votes: 52.7 (1.94%)

Green Cola Company

Sector: Food and Drink
Key Products/Services: Green Cola (tm)
Employees: 1,550,483
TNE Votes: 24.2 (0.89%)

Lathe Multicorp

Sector: Central
Key Products/Services: various Industrial and Consumer goods
Employees: 4,496,880
TNE Votes: 6.94 (0.26%)

Shalenet

Sector: Infotech
Key Products/Services: Commercial A.Is
Employees: 917,445
TNE Votes: 4.48 (0.17%)

Intelligent Systems Inc

Sector: Infotech
Key Products/Services: Commercial A.Is, subsentient
Employees: 29,090
TNE Votes: 0.31 (0.01%)
Der Angst
03-03-2005, 16:19
DA Earth, Antarctica

"And thus, Sir, the deal is quite simple. You sell US all of your MHG shares, and WE get you out. How does this sound? Sir? Ah, I see... No. Seeing as this is a great risk, we would like to buy below market price. Remember, your life's at stake. This accounts for something, no?"

"Yes. Yes, exactly. I know, being a foreigner, you were not aware of SB's overall problems... Well, we can safe you. Yes, yes we would buy. UNDER the official price, but be honest... They're crashing. So?"

"You really don't want to? Awww. Sad, for us, that is. But understandable. After all, both of us like the risk, no? Yes. Perfect. See you in SB, perhaps? Once this is over, naturally. Cya."

The reason for all this calls, netmeetings, other communications was fairly simple.

The Dexters wanted more of MHG.

And so they tried with the 20% 'others'. Given SB's state, it shouldn't be all that hard to convince them.

Of course... There was this other problem. The problem being that SB was really a mess. If they wanted to make a profit, they would have to be quick.

Yet, DA was still, well... Not really fit. Assistance? Ludicrous. Help? Impossible. Organisation? Laughable.

For now, they couldn't do a thing. All they could do was hoping that SB or one of the others involved could save the day.

And the Dexters (Or rather, the involved Angstians in general) would try to get a hold of the results.

Meanwhile, in Santa Barbara, where Manfred Dexter was staying, different things developed.

Or more to the point, threatened the bright future. Mainly because it wasn't looking bright. It was looking disastrous.

And something had to be done to prevent it from actually becoming disastrous.

For now, it was quite simple (Though frustrating). Getting some hint. Archives, hidden files, the pityful remains of destroyed evidence and/ or data.

Or, alternatively, peeking into the heads of some higher executives and persons whose files looked as if they could have taken part in previous research involving psionics...

"Good morning, Mr. ... However this is pronounced. I have a few questions..." And a few more I don't intend to ask you. I will get the answers by more efficient menas. Hope you don't mind. Not that you know... He smiled. "Well, have a seat, and lets begin."

For Jeanne, it was a little bit different. For her, this kind of highly efficient plague, striking in a nation that should, by all means, being capable of limiting casualities due to plagues to roughly 0.1% of the population... For her, such things didn't develop all on their own.

And seeing as she was currently busy in a megacorporation whose speciality were genetics...

Eventually, she decided to poke some heads, as well. of course, she wasn't all that efficient.

Hummm... This one's kinky. Wait, I have to search for something different. What was it? Oh, yes...

The major problem the two faced (Apart from needing ages to get access. Getting access is easy. Getting access without being noticed takes ages. And when the target decides to leave the area, all the work became pointless) was something different. The problem was that finding someone with the necessary information, in this sea of millions of employees and an unknown amount of possibly outsourced 'Keepers of Secrets', their chance to actually succeed was... Slim. Very, very slim.

Yet, perhaps, if Fortuna wasn't having her period... Perhaps they could succeed.

And all the while, the new corporations trying to flee the doomed nation weren't overly interesting for DA investors. After all... Even they didn't want to risk even more. Not to mention that their own civil war was still posing problems.

ooc: Standard disclaimer. See previous posts.
The Ctan
03-03-2005, 23:26
It was not Lossë-elen Industries that would express their interest in Shalenet, but a small group of individuals whose concerns were more esoteric in nature. Specifically, the bid was raised by the Imperial Necrontyr Navy.

Under the name of the ship mind that called both itself and its vessel Reaper of Light – Part the Second, and another battleship, the Athra, Warlord, in the common tongue, a massive bid was raised. It was unfortunate that one of the many expenses required by various operations and treaties, was the fair payment of all military personnel. The empire chose to interpret this to include its naval vessels, and so, these ships had a surprising amount of disposable wealth, which they rarely used, except to purchase remote avatars now and then.

Their reasoning in wanting the AI company ranged from the possibility of leaning new software features such as data structures and interfacing techniques, to a simple kindred feeling with other artificial intellects. Nevertheless, their resources were, if not as impressive as those of Lossë-elen, still as great as a large consortium of the very wealthy, which was after all, what they were.

They were careful to keep their true identities anonymous of course, to ensure that no local laws on the rights of Artificial Intelligences stood in their way. A man named Joseph P Sanders was responsible for the actual purchasing, he was an agent known now and then to acquire things the Imperial Hierarchy felt they needed, with a small commission of course.

By now he had become a very rich man.
Menelmacar
05-03-2005, 00:12
OOC: Placeholder for going after Cold Star, Shalenet, and Lathe.
Ma-tek
06-03-2005, 00:41
Imperial Energy Headquarters, Vilya Elenosto

Ty sighed softly as he stroked the small kitten perched on the corner of the table, snoring gently. It was such a sweet little animal - but not really a pet. She was here as part of a test run; thirty seven pet animals had been allowed aboard - all of them 'newborns' grown in ectogene tanks, away from bacteriological infection of any kind - and then introduced into the Colony.

The idea was simple: each animal would serve as a testing guage for the health of the macro-organisms living in the colony. Each animal was also fairly easily infectable with certain micro-organisms that affected the plantations - cats, for example, were carriers of a certain bacteria which could, if let loose, kill off a significant percentage of the produce of the fondly-named 'crud farms'. Yeast plantations, and various other fungal growths, provided the mainstay of food for the Colony.

Ty, himself, was new here. He was not new to his job - just the location. Headquarters had moved out here to end the Commonality Economic Court's jurisdiction over Imperial Energy foreign concerns - which meant that IE only had foriegn public opinion and foreign laws to deal with in foreign countries.

Ty didn't entirely approve of the move, but it made economic sense. And Imperial Energy had had a stranglehold on Iluvuaromen for so long that distance was irrelevant. The group would continue to dominate, especially under ITC guidance. Very few even bothered to attempt an Energy startup - and those that did were quickly subsumed by IE anyway. Oh, no hostile takeovers were allowed, of course - but it was easy to convince people to take a pay rise.

And although Imperial Energy had made a loss for four years running now, it was still a power - ignoring the pun - on a global scale. It literally owned a market of two billion people - and ensured it provided them with the energy they needed. The solar farms out here were going well, and would be completed at the same time that the Solar Highway finally arrived at Vilya Elenosto; the Highway's power grid would be expanded to take the additional load, and energy would be transported back to Earth from here, too. Later, more solar farms would be in place, hopefully in the inner system, where real estate was a little harder to come by. Later.

For now, Earth was still a key asset. The economy there was a full-world economy, but so was Mars, and just about every other body out there. In fact, it was a full-system economy - all the bodies interacting tentatively still, but there it was. Very few niches were left to be filled.

And in such a situation, Ty knew, one was likely to encounter subsumation of smaller interests, because they represented a slice of the pie that the big players wanted.

Ty wanted Cold Star. Imperial Energy needed Cold Star.

No doubt the Menelmacari would want it; they wanted Santa Barbara, Ty had assumed. And Cold Star was the key.

But the Chairman of Imperial Energy was not lightly put off. His own vast personal wealth - shrinking by the year, damn those newfangled personal financial regulatory laws - could be put towards the purchase; that would tally up several tens of billions. Leaving him only a couple of billion to play with, admittedly, and with the days of the Commonwealth and the monetary oppurtunities that disgusting regime had provided gone, it would be hard to recoup.

But Ty had all he needed, and his sons would not be inheriting.

Ty Lumwi, the richest Human in the Commonality, decided he would need the richest of all three species in the Commonality to obtain Cold Star. And there was one woman, one Nenya woman, who fit the bill.

And she was eight minutes lag away.

"Damn it all to hell," he murmoured under his breath, in order to avoid waking the cat. She looked so peaceful...

She started at the tone of an incoming message, and Ty heaved in a deep breath and watched the screen...

* * *

Rialla scowled into the screen vigorously. She had reason. Her head hurt like it had been assaulted by a Dth'gari vakto - an old bludgeoning weapon - and her feet needed a massage. And Semir was in orbit. So the feet and the head would remain so.

She bit her lip slightly, realising that she missed Semir awfully. In her own way.

So she bit his head off. Not Semir's - Ty Lumwi's.

"You want that much? Are you insane? Were you born, or are you an ectogene from a tank with a deficient bioreactor? Did your mother drop you as a child? You want half a trillion Menelmacari Credits? What makes you think even the entire Royal Family has that much?"

She paused. In point of fact, the figure was attainable. Best not to let him know that, the little worm. He had manipulated funds out of the ITC deftly enough - she knew not to underestimate him.

At least - the figure was attainable if one were willing to spend months and months arguing for it. The Royal Family could be persuaded to pool funds (which would amount to a rather considerable sum, considering they had been gathering wealth for two thousand years) - but, being the Royal Family, they would bicker and argue and disagree and evaluate until the trees talked again. Or at least, for a number of months.

"I'm not willing to back you individually, but I will back Imperial Energy in a bid - but not with anything like the amount you're begging after. You'll need to find the rest elsewhere. And maybe you won't need it, if you don't think so big. Twenty billion - thirty if Rivette is willing to pitch in. No more. Even if you come down to Earth and beg on your knees, offering to lick my feet clean and swear fealty to me for all eternity. Twenty-thirty billion - that is all."

She paused a fraction of a second before deciding to cut the communication altogether; let him mull that one over for a while. It would be interesting to read his response. "Rialla out."

* * *

P-Space

Ilyiane was immersed deep into the...

What the hell was it? No way to know, no way whatsoever. Some sort of psionic vision, some sort of...

Was he in the Hells of Iron?

Tortured by Morgoth?

No. Those were mostly tales to frighten children; Morgoth did not send servants in the night to steal away disobediant children; he did not.

Mummy?

The thought was ludicrous. But he had never felt such a connection before...except in the womb, where he had been so safe and warm and oh how he wished he were there again, within the warm soothing presence-

But the presence here was dual, both dark and comfortable. A Human mind and now something else-

"Eh! Catch!" a man's voice sliced through the air. Startled, eyes turned to see a guard toss a plastic water bottle through the air. It was caught deftly by...someone else. Haze was interfering. Having broken his gaze to follow the flight of the bottle, he now saw that Tzu was again - or still - meditatively appraising him, expressionless.

Reality intruded. Which one? Ilyiane did not know if he was Ilyiane or - the name floated up from somewhere in either his mind or the other or maybe the other other (who could tell?)... Fernando. Fernandos. Something...it was hard to-

A kalleidoscopic wave of emotions hit him... the sound of millions of voices at once, voices without words... a single, shrieking melody... loneliness, anger, confusion... growing alertness...

* * *

The High Lord Sir Andhibara Rihad Royal Military Infirmary, High Command Citadel, somewhere in Iluvauromen

"What-"

"Now calm down, son. You're in a Military Infirmary. You know where you are, yes? You were Calling. In a coma." Ax-randiri looked to the doctor for confirmation - he nodded.

The lithe being on the bed writhed, almost as if in agony, but his face was passively calm... "A coma?"

Disturbing man, Ax-randiri decided. He had touched him for a moment there, restraining gently with a hand. Had a funny mentalic taste to him. Like liquorice, mixed with sherbert and...

Plural, somehow. Strange. Very strange. "Are you feeling better?"

Ilyiane stared up at the high ranking military officer, a sudden look of horror passing across his face. Almost gasping for air as the calm air shattered, he gets out before, wide-eyed, before falling back into unconsciousness: "I have...have to find him...them? Them! They're watching...he is...she..them..."

He groaned as his astonishingly bright eyes snapped shut again; they had been open, utterly open - during the day - and Ax-randiri could not help but be disturbed at the sight. That Nenya eyes should be so disturbing during the day when opened entirely to the world, when the nocturnal optic tissue was exposed...

Aghast, he hit the call button for the doctor, ideas already forming but in shadowy, difficult to define shapes. He had to understand...he could feel that now.

He had to know what was going on.
Santa Barbara
10-03-2005, 06:08
MHG HQ Complex (Official)
New State City, Santa Barbara


There were new company guys interviewing - 'grilling' was the word used - and Howard Barnes wasn't going to give them anything.

It was just a matter of time, he'd known, before something like this happened. That's why a man made plans, that's why he didn't even need the job anymore - but you didn't abandon your company either, not one like MHG. No, sir. At least not without some assurance.

He hid that assurance away, burned in his memory, a secret worth millions to the right buyer.

"The Agent will see you now," said the pretty secretary - Donna, wasn't it? He smiled at her and entered the room.

"Barnes, Howard! Good to see you," said a man. There was a woman too. He felt the pressure of being on record and let his salesman side takeover. He smiled easily. "Have a few questions..." came the voice again. "Have a seat."

He sat, and was aware at how easy this would really turn out to be. Despite the advance of technology, there was no certain way to detect lies, and like most financial officers in the company he was an expert at telling them.

"How long have you worked here? Ah-hum. Your first supervisor? Interesting."

The questions came and he shot them down neatly. Fairly standard questions, most of them a matter of company record. He felt relaxed, they weren't worried about what he was going to do, but he made sure not to relax too much and give them anything to suspect him of.

But how many line employees in the city knew there was a real MHG headquarters, and that this wasn't it? Very few, he was certain. And as the interview approached the end he knew some imported company agents weren't likely to know either.

"Well, I think that about covers it," the Agent said, nodding.

Howard Barnes did his best closing smile and exited the room. He never thought of MHG's secret HQ again.
Der Angst
10-03-2005, 14:37
ooc: Hrm. Hope I interpreted your post/ last line of it right, or this one's a tad wanky.

MHG HQ Complex (Official)
New State City, Santa Barbara

Manfred Dexter sighed. He had been lucky. Well, a little lucky. He would have to see if the information was actually useful, or if he was about to follow the wrong track. And even if he would follow the right track... Given the amount of secrecy involved, together with the obvious violence out there, he wasn't sure if he could manage it, or if he would just be shot.

In all likelyhood, the latter.

Jeanne looked at him, mildly amused. "So?"

At first, Manfred didn't answer. Then he gave Donna a quick call. "We're a little tired... No more interviews for the next hour. Oh, and remind me to raise your pay, once this is over." It wouldn't be bad to make a few 'friends'. Or at the very least, bootlickers.

"You can't actually rise her pay, given your position..."

"I can set things into motion, and besides, I might be able to optimise my position, a little."

"Oh?"

"Later, about that. For now..."

"We should have taken a light brigade with us, no?" Jeanne giggled. She was most definitely having the same concerns Manfred had.

"A coffee, perhaps?" Yes. Well, there should be some stuff in the plane... To see a little further, anyway. Not that it would save us if they're aggressive, but...

"Certainly." But it would help us knowing if they're going to take more aggressive means or not.

Exactly. Came Manfred's reply as he prepared the coffee. By the way, did I tell you how annoying it is that you got the same information I have?

Hey, not my fault the firewall around your brain is bugged. Anyway... Are we going?

He brought the coffee over, eventually sipping from it. Yes. But there is one more thing... I want to know just how much chaos is currently residing in MHG. If it is enough, we might be able to strike a deal. For that, we will need Matthew Trenchard's help.

I hate to share.

What if there is more to share?

Point taken. Jeanne nodded. Their audible conversation was about MHG's future.

"The CEO's dead. Organisation? Poor. We need to change this."

Manfred nodded. "Indeed, Ms. Takashima. And right now, we are the ones present, while the other owners are... Elsewhere. Well... We need to reorganise things, seeing as otherwise, MHG will be consumed by chaos, with our investions being sucked into a black hole."

"We don't have the votes."

"We have the presence."

Jeanne Takashima smiled. This would be Matthew Trenchard's Part.

A few minutes later, Matthew was included in the bubble of limited knowledge that formed around them. His job was simple, yet insane.

"Myrtle-Hammerstein Genetech is currently lacking a CEO. We're not entirely certain who of the Board of Directors is still alive. If you find one of them, or even the chairman, it would be perfect. 'Normal' officers will work, too, but they are an 'Only if nothing else is available' option."

"What we want is simple." Jeanne continued with Manfred's line of thought. "With no effective 'leadership' present, and the other shareholders being busy buying other companies, MHG is at risk. We cannot allow it to break up. As such, we want temporary control. Absolute control over it, and we want the local officers and the board of directors to agree with it. we're effectively forming a three- person consortium."

"Right now, we're the only 'big' ones present in this very building. The only ones caring enough about the 'company', a company that is vastly more than a company. There is loyality present. It's a micronation."

"It looks like the other owners, whose rights will be fully reintroduced once this crisis os over, and of course, their actual dividends will not be touched by us, are not interested enough. Proclaim that they intend to carve MHG up. That most employees are about to be 'set free', which is to say, to be fired by them."

"We don't intend to do this. Make this absolutely clear. We're here to save MHG. Keep in mind that what we're intending is basically illegal, so there is no point in following protocol or the rules. Offer anything. A ticket out of Santa Barbara, away from the plague. Rapid promotions. Money. Whatever."

Of course, seeing as according to the information we have received, this building is nothing but a fake, success may be impossible. At least here. It doesn't matter. Try. We will try it... Elsewhere.

"Overall speaking... Make it absolutely clear that we're intending to throw in all available resources in order to stabilise MHG. But we can only do so if we're having absolute control. With the help of the anta Barbara employees. it is also their megacorporation."

Matthew Trenchard nodded. Of course, he couldn't tell this everyone. It would be insane to allow this idea to leave this very walls before success had been achived. As such, it had to be relevant people. Perhaps a dozen. And he had to find them.

A minor task. He begun it instantly. Once he would find the people in question, he could begin negotiations.

Oh, and while you're at it, try and continue the basic research. We will organise a flight or two to get a few more personnel from DA Antarctica in. If I remember correctly, they're only shooting at folks trying to get out, not at folks trying to get in. If not, we will organise a few more allowances or something.

Elsewhere

Once out of the building, Jeanne and Manfred had to force their way back to the airport. And apart from a few shootings, a lot of corpses, and a truly vast amount of minor annoyances, nothing too bad was in their way.

Getting the scarily small amounts of DA specific equipment (Of course, nothing fancy, after all, they weren't James Bond clones, and Q wasn't available, anyway) was another mild annoyance, and for a moment, Jeanne wondered just how this things were supposed to help them. "Datapad... Hacking unit... Oooo... A Certificate. I'm sure this toys will impress them. Did you copy all the available data, anyway?"

"Yes. And removed what he didn’t need to know anymore, too."

"Meanie."

"That’s business for you."

"I know, I know. Still. Poor sod. Anyway. When is the help supposed to arrive?"

"Couple hours. If we're lucky."

Jeanne nodded. Then she left. So did Manfred. Now, they wanted to know a little more about Myrtle-Hammerstein Genetech.

And to get want they wanted, they had to try it. Even if it meant playing James Bond, the way they did when they had been twelve.

If this was actually necessary. But they would know soon enough.

Next stop: The real MHG headquarters.
Santa Barbara
16-03-2005, 19:47
Somewhere in Santa Barbara

Shell. That was the name of the place. Wasn't it?

Sylvenna strove with herself, trying to assert reason.

"Okay," she said to no one - Dr Jellico having left a few hours earlier - "I haven't been drugged."

It felt right. She would have remembered up until then. And her memory blank seemed to extend out for days before arriving in this place. She'd been trying to find MHG. She'd found references to a secret facility called Shell after her father died - and something about "L-1218996a."

That old bastard, she thought bitterly. She had wanted, planned, tried even, to kill him herself, to make him pay for his disgusting, slithery loathsome self, his marriage to her mother who would never have agreed without being coerced.

She never found out what that coercement was. Was it simple force? She thought not. Eldebrath Yorn, PCC Financial Officer, was never a strong or physically dominating man. There'd been something else which was just as bad, which had made no acts of love with her still-anonymous mother but some barbaric abuse, some fouling -

No, Sylvenna, no.

She had to focus. Where was she? Did she find the place? She didn't remember it. The last memory she had was in a small, isolated motel in the south-central Goletan Plains. It was night, the moon glowed stunningly. Then - at some point, waking up in this place.

"And I haven't been irradiated," she said. She remembered Jellico with his mask off. They wouldn't do that if there was radiation floating around. But she'd definitely felt sick - the horrible symptoms of radiation sickness, unbelievably but definitely savaging her for what seemed like days. But now she was fine; restrained, but physically fine. And he even said as much, that he'd lied about it.

But she'd felt it... and she could tell when her mind was trying to trick her. It wasn't a psychosomatic reaction or hypnosis.

Could it have been drugs? Her elvenblood protected her from many things, but not all, that would effect a pure human. And they'd been engineering a virus to kill elves - laughably, of course. So many had tried that before and failed. But this one was rumored to be different. It was rumored to be effective.

And she was going to destroy it.

But...

And now she was imprisoned. What had Jellico said? 'It appears you don't want to leave?' Psychological bullshit. But it wasn't what he'd said that shocked her, it was her fragmented perception - she was free one second, locked the next with no continuity. And he'd known. Like he was a magician and had just pulled the whole thing out of his hat. That creepy, oddly peaceful smile. His handsome face.

If not drugs, radiation, then what? The virus? Did they infect me, is this what it's like?

Her reason replied with no answers.

The virus.

Seemed the only possible answer; some virus which no one could have expectations about. Something that attacked the brain, eroding cognitive ability, altering perceptions...

"Bullshit," she spat. "I'm perceiving just fine," she added in a low whisper, dismayed by the loudness of her voice.

Are you?

She looked around, turning her head from side to side on the metal bed. The room seemed clear enough, and it hadn't changed.

"It's okay, Sylvenna. You don't have to talk. In fact, it's best for you if you just listen, for the moment..."


Dr Jellico, he'd called himself. But he'd seemed more like an interrogator... possibly a torturer... or merely a psychologist. It had been hard to tell from one moment to the next.

"My name is Doctor Jellico... I know I must seem impersonal and cold to you, malevolent, even. But it's not my intention.... I'm sure that, by now, you realize the identity of your captors?"

No, she realized. It felt like MHG - and they were the most likely candidates, corporate bastards that they were - but that notion also seemed very wrong somehow. It felt like there was more going on than met the eye at all times, and that it had all somehow slipped beneath her radar was disconcerting.

I must have been drugged, she thought. I couldn't think as clearly as I can now.

So what do you think? another voice in her mind, cool, eternally patient, asked her.

I don't know, she answered tiredly. Who cares. I have to escape.

Maybe you have escaped. The voice was surely her own, but she felt herself losing her grip on reality again. Maybe you're as free as you want to be.

"Shut up," she said aloud. "I'm not into S&M. I don't want to be tied down. I want to be able to move."

So move.

Frowning, frustrated, she yanked her left arm up just to prove the point. It flew upwards, unrestrained by anything.

She stared at her arm. There were no restraints. There had been just moments before. Her jaw dropped. I must be dreaming, she thought. She tested the other limps and found, not quite to her surprise, that she could sit up again. Immediately she began pounding on the large, white cell door.

"Doctor Jellico, come ON!" she shouted, angry. "Get your ass in here and explain this shit to me! I know you know, and I know you're listening, so get the fuck in here RIGHT NOW!"
Santa Barbara
27-03-2005, 04:58
There can be emotion so strong it can kill.

Marcos Fernando felt himself subjected to emotions which, although they did not kill him, struck him with real force. He felt the presence of things that were simply too large to fit in his mind. He felt ideas too great, too vast, too overwhelming. It was a light that was too bright.

The Presence was ... stirring. It remembers. Marcos found himself remembering too.

He sees greenish black fields under greenish yellow skies. Everything is thick, yellowish mist, and that mist comforts and envelops.

He sees an ocean that's like a cauldron of chemicals, bubbling and surely corrosive - but this terrifying gulf is another comfort, familiar, warm. He wants to go out into it, but instead floats along with the mist over the land.

The land is rocky and covered in strange plants. The terrain has unusual rock formations and caves, and he wants to go into one of the caves. He is about to when he feels a surge of intense, brooding, irresistable wave of homesickness crash against him. Never before has he felt anything like it. It screams of a separation of countless ages, countless distances of the stars. It screams of hopelessness and rage, and a memory almost comes to him - he knows this memory will be too much for his mind and cause it to break, shattering like Steuben crystal - but it submerges again.

He looks up and sees a dense cloudy mass that makes him feel as if he's looking up from the bottom of an ocean. Distantly he can see a faint glowing disc. The sight reminds him of another memory, once again not his own but feeling eerily like it: flames and painful, looming blue.

He begins to see what the Presence wants, because he himself begins to want it. To him it's Eden; to the Presence it's home. A better place than this. Thinking this rends his mind again with that emotion-tsunami. He feels trapped, hunted, crouching like a monster and surrounded by hostile beings. He hates where he is now - not in greenish mists but in Shell, Santa Barbara - and hates the hostile beings with a hopeless kind of hatred.

Marcos has to keep himself intact now - the Presence is so overwhelming an ocean it threatens to consume him whole, incorporating his voice into One of Many. He feels like he's moving down that corridor again, following the ghostlike figure of Gonzalo Tzu, only now he's sliding out of control down a gritty slope. He has the sensation of impending doom and tries instinctively to save himself somehow. He tries to wake up, but realizes he isn't asleep. He tries to call out, and he senses something blocking him and ... bekoning to him at the same time. He hears a whining sort of mental noise, the sound he'd associated with intense silence. It's... attractive, really. But a part of him remembers what the Presence wants for itself. For the world. He hangs onto that part and tries to wake up, tries to move, tries to -
Santa Barbara
31-03-2005, 05:59
In the end, only a handful of Santa Barbaran corporate interests would remain in the hands of residents or natives of Santa Barbara...

Alcova Technologies

Sector: Arms Manufacturing
Key Products/Service: Very High Energy Lasers (VHEL)
Employees: 3,198,000
TNE Votes: 29.92 (1.08%)

Autonomous Building

Sector: Manufacturing
Key Products/Service: Robotics
Employees: 2,214,000
TNE Votes: 28.08 (1.01%)

CBM Chemicals

Sector: Manufacturing
Key Products/Services: Chemicals
Employees: 811,185
TNE Votes: 12.66 (0.46%)

Davidius Energy Systems/CC&B

Sector: Energy
Key Products/Services: Solar Power
Employees: 517,289
TNE Votes: 6.56 (0.24%)

Groovelico Fashion Electric

Sector: Central
Key Products/Services: Many
Employees: 11,762,859
TNE Votes: 105.09 (3.79%)

Jayburg AAE

Sector: Energy
Key Products/Services: MHD Systems
Employees: 688,849
TNE Votes: 10.75 (0.39%)

Lace-Tintown Cosmetics

Sector: Central
Key Products/Services: Many
Employees: 2,644,500
TNE Votes: 0.96 (0.03%)

Mechanical Arms Manufacturing

Sector: Biotech
Key Products/Services: Artificial Limbs
Employees: 240,697
TNE Votes: 0.99 (0.04%)

PrattCo

Sector: Central
Key Products/Services: Investments
Employees: 6,224
TNE Votes: 0.22 (0.01%)

Predatory Systems Technology

Sector: Arms Manufacturing
Key Products/Services: Infantry Energy Weapons
Employees: 44,348
TNE Votes: 0.56 (0.02%)

TLA Automobile Mfg

Sector: Manufacturing
Key Products/Services: Civilian Ground/Air Transports
Employees: 1,292,238
TNE Votes: 3.91 (0.14%)
Vrak
01-04-2005, 07:55
The Economic Affairs Minister looked across his desk at Rex Yuuley, CEO of Apollo Group and 12% shareholder of MHG.

“I don’t like it, Minister. We don’t have any control over the company.”
“It does not matter, Rex,” replied the Minister, “We will get access to the technology. And that does mean something.”
“Not for what it’s worth. Surely there are other targets that Apollo could be best used for.”
“It’s part of the risk at the moment. With Santa Barbara floundering, we ought to scoop up as much as we can. In their own interests I might add. For the good of the Order.”

Rex pursed his lips at the last line. Although unconfirmed, wasn’t it true that the implosion in that nation was due to betrayal? He did have friends in Hyperion Transport. And they did, until recently, make cargo runs to Mercury.

“Besides, if MHG provides to be too troublesome, I have another plan.”
“Oh, Minister? And what is that?”

The walrus slides a slim binder across his desk. Rex opens it up and looks at the wish list. It was quite a fantasy, thought Rex.

The Minister carefully scrutinized the CEO’s face. He shook his head to one side and then said,

“You don’t seem completely convinced, Rex. But as you know, this is all a game of smoke and mirrors. We don’t have all the information. Workers from Santa Barbara are still being checked for diseases, in keeping in line with the information we DO have.”

Rex perked up at this. Diseases? The hell? What are we getting into?

“Don’t worry, Rex. This will all work out.”
Valinon
09-04-2005, 16:30
OOC: Tag for future post once I read through the thread. Although, SB, are the companies still in your citizens' hands up for grabs or are they locked down?
Santa Barbara
15-04-2005, 02:02
Doctor Jellico appears instantly before her. Blink.

Marcos Fernando finds himself on his hands and knees on a plastic floor. Blink.

"What the-" Marcos begins, but hears his own voice. Or rather, doesn't hear it, as it doesn't reverberate off the walls - or in his ears, except as a muted, underwater sound far away. He sees Gonzalo Tzu sitting where he was, still staring at him, only now everything else is as strange as he. There is a shiny yet somehow dull brightness to everything. If he'd had the personal experiences, he might have thought it was a high level dissociative psychoactive.

"This is a dream," he says.

"It's not a dream," Sylvenna says, startling him. He had hardly noticed her. Her voice is louder than his, seeming to come from within his own mind. He recognizes her, of course - an also-ran for the Presidency of the proto-CoFedCo government. And of course the hated target of Abadas's wrath... an elf socialist... possibly soulless...

"I am not a socialist," she objects.

"Stop reading my mind," he says, annoyed.

"You can do it too," she replies with a shrug. "I'm not stopping you."

He ponders this, and then listens intently. He shakes his head. "You're insane."

"Well, maybe, asshole. But I'm not a socialist. You actually believe that crap you CoFedCo goons spit out for us?"

"I wouldn't-"

Dr Jellico, seemingly forgotten until then, snaps his fingers. Everything seems to shift. Gonzalo Tzu is still there, but now to Marcos they are in what looks like a medical lab or prison cell. To Sylvenna, this is not an unfamiliar territory, but the quick change disorients her as well.

"Now that I have your attention," Gonzalo Tzu suddenly says. "You should try to habituate yourselves to your situation. Debate and argumentation will solve no problems for you."

Dr Jellico, as if on the same train of thought. "And I wouldn't get too comfortable. It won't last forever."

"What the hell - ?"

Gonzalo raises one hand to Marcos's objection. "I will answer your questions in time, but you cannot both be plunged into the water at once."

Sylvenna: "Who the hell are you?"

Gonzalo smiles. "Gonzalo Tzu, Sylvenna. I'm surprised you don't know about me. I knew Bob Pratt."

"Cut the shit! Who are YOU?" she glares at both Jellico and Tzu.

"If you're going to pretend to be rational," Fernando suggests, "Introductions come first."

Tzu shrugs. "Don't believe me, then. I'm the same man as I've always been. In many ways, I'm still my own man..."

"I am Doctor Jellico," says the doctor, "and Sylvenna is my case."

"And what is her condition?"

But the doctor only smiles. There is a faint touch of sadness to it.

Tzu says, "She and you are in the same boat."

"Yeah? Then why doesn't HE get the good doctor?" Sylvenna insists, thrusting her jaw angrily in Marcos's general direction.

"Because this is a dream," Marcos replies grimly. "Our bodies aren't here. They're somewhere else, and we're under some kind of..." he searches for the word, not wanting to say it. He thinks it anyway: some kind of witchcraft.

Doctor Jellico: "Not a dream. But it would help for you to think of it that way. You are essentially correct..."

"...but it's not witchcraft," Tzu completes the thought.

"Ozzie and fucking Harriet," Sylvenna grumbles.

"Huh?" Marcos asks, not understanding the reference.

"So why are you all helpful and talkative now, huh?" she continues. "Now all of a sudden? And what's with this guy? You say we're in the same boat, but things couldn't be farther from the truth. I fucking hate this guy. And everyone like him. His main goal these past few years has been to help exterminate-" she breaks off, glaring at Dr Jellico - but seemingly there is some kind of nonverbal communication going on, just out of Marcos's grasp.

"My goal... has been to... preserve the Conglomerate and the people from..." he falters, knowing full well that he's guilty of what she accuses.

"I know it has," Gonzalo Tzu says. "And lucky for you, we will help you realize that goal." He turns to Sylvenna. "Both of your goals."

Sylvenna pauses, as if frozen.

Marcos, warily: "How are we going to do anything down here? Or up here, or wherever the hell we actually are?"

Dr Jellico smiles again. "We will rebuild."

ooc: all of those megacorps are 'for sale' though with the usual stipulation that you're grabbing chunks/shares of ownership. You'll get more the fewer are also trying for the same megacorp, but basically sellers are panicking throughout the nation and, well, selling out. have at 'em!
Sketch
15-04-2005, 05:44
It was nearly noon, and he wanted be gone before that man came back. Thomas Peckham paced around his office nervously. Normally, hewould be able to catch any flight he wanted within minutes of making the decision. But a quick consultation with his security team advised him against dong so. It wasn't so much a consultation as the security head simply refusing to comply. Thomas remembered what the man had stated quite bluntly - do that, and you'll never make it out of here alive sir. Apparently these things had to be arranged quietly and discretely, and that took time. Time that Thomas ended up spending in his office, fidgeting, waiting.

It wasn't simply the fact that his life was being threatened; it was his empire, his legacy. That man, and the people he represented, stood poised to dismantle everything he had built with his own hands. They only sought to take a little now, but would that be enough? Once the taking began, it would only stop when there was no more left. And what would happen when he had no more to give? The simplist solution remained. No, it was the principle of the matter, Thomas Peckham would not be giving in to the demands of these brutes. That meant escape and survival. For himself, and his family.

The door creaked open to his office, Thomas turned to see the security man let himself in, a veritable mountain of biomechanically enhanced muscle. Sir, your transport is waiting downstairs, we're moving the rest of your family right now. Finally, time to leave. It was starting to get claustophobic in his office. The security man waited patiently as Thomas went to his desk to pick up a small portfolio. Steeping away from his desk, he looked at the office one last time, I'll have my next one made just like this one. It was nice.....

Thomas never got to finsih the thought as he was suddenly thrown across the room. He landed in a tangle under a lounge chair that some how ended up flipped over him. In his attempt to extricate himself, he heard the security man shout out Stay down sir! That was right before the world exploded into a glittering rain of glass.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Security agent Kurt, ten years experience as a bodyguard for the Peckham family, just promoted to personal bodyguard of the head last year, was well experinced in the art of protecting his charge. His sensitive "metal" eyes detected movement through the windows, seeing appraoching shadows before the bodies were even there. Reacting in anticipation to violence, he quickly heaved his charge up and over to the far end of the room with a instinctively calculated throw designed to land him as safely as possible and give him cover. The double thump of Thomas landing and the chair flipping over him assured Kurt that that particular objective was completed. Satisfied that his charge was now safely out of the way, Kurt prepared himself for the intruders. Barely a second had passed, but his hieghtened awareness made him feel the passage of time as if it were a crawl.

He faced the window as two black clad intruders burst through it, showering Kurt in a hail of glass shards. Unblinkingly he dashed foward, unmindful of the biting glass; minor lacerations, unimportant right now. The intruders fired on him as he quickly closed the gap between them; slugthrowers, low velocity stunners, nonlethal; their want their target alive and unharmed. The stun slugs, designed to disintegrate upon impact with a hard enough material; such as bone or dense muscle mass, puffed harmlessly off of Kurt's body. With blinding speed, Kurt grabbed the first intruder by the gun arm; having knocked away his weapon, and with a swift jerk, executed a perfect triple dislocation of the man's shoulder, elbow and wrist. Not even giving the man time to cry out in pain, Kurt quickly snapped the body towards himself; using it to shield against the other intruder. A grip on the neck and a twist ensured that the man was no more than dead weight in his hands. Throwing the now limp body, Kurt sailed through the air behind it; giving the impact against the other man the double blow of two bodies. Untangling himself, Kurt rolled himself over and ontop of the other man. Stradling the guy, he delivered a devastating two fisted blow to the man's chest, collapsing it with a wet sounding crunch of bone and tissue.

It was over almost before it began. Two bodies lay twisted and broken on the floor, a testament to the fighting prowess of Thomas' security man. It wasn't over though, not by a long shot. Kurt half crouched, half stood, with cat like awareness, watching the door intently. two, no, three, standing by the door.....explosives...3...2...1 As if on cue, the door blew inward, followed immediately by a set of flashbangs. Peckham, having lived a pampered lifestyle, was no doubted rendered completely helpless by the sensory assualt. Kurt on the other hand, was well prepared for it. With a full set of milspec filters and the ability to shut off sensory input to prevent overload, he was more than ready to meet the new group head on. And that he did. Before the second man had even entered the room, Kurt had already dispatched the first with a quick slash to the throat. The second fared no better as he was literally disembowled. The third, where is the third? Spinning wildly around, Kurt scanned the room, seeking out the target his instincts told him was there. There, footprints.....active camo? Lashing out against a foe he could not see, Kurt delivered a series of calculated thrusts and slashes. Over there.....behind me...right... His vision flickered as he tried to lock onto the shimmering phantom flitting around the room. Something isn't right, the shape...not human...too big...too fast Knowing he wouldn't be able to keep up with his faster foe, Kurt deliberately slowed his next thrust. Straight, slow, perfect target...grab me He felt the hand grab him before he saw it, a sense of victory surged through him, it was over for the invisible fighter now. His fist surged toward his target, enough power behind it to dispatch even the most implacable of foes, victory was his. Conatact, a dull thud, the wet sound of bones shattering and tendons snapping. His elation ended when he realized the pain shooting through his arm. Kurt looked down only to see his fist stopped in midair, crushed against a shimmering barrier. Looking up, he stared into the armored faceplate of a battlesuit, definitely military, no question about it. Like an emotionless automaton, it crushed Kurt's other arm and held him up, dangling him like some broken rag doll.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you want something done right, you just have to do it yourself. Don't you think so Kurt? That was quite a number you did on our hired work over there. A man walked through the blasted doorway, stepping over the bodies strewn across the floor, favored Kurt with a long, hard, measuring stare. Not accepting defeat, Kurt lashed out with his still working legs, trying his best to take out the man, resulting him him being slammed against the wall. Death loomed over him as he watched the armored gauntlet draw back for the killing blow. Don't kill him! The fist lowered. Just break his legs and leave him over there. Maybe we'll pick him up latter, talent like that shouldn't be wasted. Walking over to the overturned chair, the man hualed out a shaking Thomas Peckham. Still woozy from the flashbangs, he staggered to his feet, threatening to collapse at any moment. Now, now Mister Peckham, did you really think we would not notice? chided the man as he dusted him off. Gently guiding him to the door, I think its time to leave Mister Peckham, your wife and kids are already on their way to catch their flight. And we still have some business to conduct.

All Thomas could manage was a feeble groan as he was led out the door.
Santa Barbara
19-04-2005, 17:08
Conference Room 229

The important ones had been gathered. Mostly the Old Owners. They'd held the company for generation after generation, and without baking in the limelight of public scrutiny. But there were New Owners, too, present. The ones that had passed the multiple security checks, some covert and some obvious, some past and others yet to come. The ones whose interests were now inexorably tied with the fate of the nation. The room was only partially lit. The half light reflected off the smooth table.

"Status?" one voice demanded quietly.

"As predicted," another answered. "We are in possession of both keys."

"Then it is time to advance to the next phase," the first voice concluded.

There was some shuffling around. Someone turned on what looked like a holographic display. Then gloved hands began manipulating the glowing polygons with fine, swirling motions. The display showed views from orbit, magnified, of Santa Barbara. White clouds obscured much of the northern and coastal areas, but then seemed to disappear with the application of various filter and scopes, leaving just the land and the sea.

"Distribution will be in this pattern..." a muffled, busy voice said, and then red dots began appearing all over the map. Some were large, but there were many smaller ones.

"The foreign reaction?" the first voice asked.

"We predict no direct reactions which would impede the plan. But there is still a possibility."

"We've taken measures to deal with any reaction," said another voice with a chilling confidence.

"Status of MP1?"

"MP1 is go."

"Execute. We will reconvene in 30 minutes."


OOC: You may or may not have someone at this meeting... if you own some of MHG... but keep in mind theres nothing official about this. TG me if you are unsure about having someone present and want to.
Der Angst
23-04-2005, 20:51
Parts of this post have been arranged between me and Vrak

Santa Barbara, Conference Room 229

The two figures watched the other people present, intensely. It hadn't been all that easy to get in, but they had managed it, although they had been sweating more than once.

Still, what counted was the final result, and so far, it looked reasonably good (Despite having no clear idea as of what exactly was going on. Getting in was one thing. Getting someone to tell them everything was an entirely different matter).

For now, they were content to watch, and eventually, learn. It would be interesting enough.

Equator

Yamato was busy, creating money (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=8728623&postcount=69). He loved it. Of course, he knew that the economy would actually suffer from this, but hell... He would make a profit, anyway. And so he smiled, continuing, creating the resources needed to... Mix up some things.

He watched gleefully as another billion was created. *

Official MGH Headquarters, Santa Barbara

Thinks were beginning to roll. The call had been done, not in too secure a way, but reasonably so. Vrak had had the idea, and he was going to implement it. Confirmation had come from DA, the necessary monetary resources were about to be 'created'.

Of course, this money could never actually be used. The scandal, and the direct and indirect effects on the economy would be disastrous.

As such, the... 'Bidding' wasn't supposed to be successful. He wanted to raise the costs for any and all megacorps available without actually buying anything. To have the overinflated bubble of imaginary money implode into nothingness once this particular piece of action was over.

So he bid for all of them, by way of Antarctica and his local liaisons there.

For all of them, except Intelligent Systems.

ooc: * In Euro, it would only be ~ 5 mio
Ma-tek
27-04-2005, 02:12
Imperial Palace, Nenya

He sat silently before a terminal - one of the few old-fashioned types, without a holographic interface. Trimensional interfaces were the same thing as a holographic interface - though referred to as a 'visor in the shorthand - but that old name was being replaced by the foreign term: holovision.

Strictly speaking, however, the man noted silently to himself, a holovision transmission occurred on a different frequency. Trimensional was higher frequency and required a significantly stronger signal for extremely high resolution transmissions. But despite the higher power requirement, it was more effective - slightly. This difference was beyond Human eyes, but just about detectable to a Nenya (or an Elf) used to examining such images. A professional, an afficionado if you will, would pick out the difference between the image produced by a high-res holovision signal and a high-res trimensional signal immediately.

These flat screens were still good, but obviously two-dimensional. Semir, however, had never quite gotten used to these screens - let alone a person thousands of miles away being visible right in front of you, or data scrolling through thin air. So, in private at least, he retained three such screens - two were packed away as backups, in case they finally ceased production of such models.

He stared at his financial information, details gathered in from thousands of investments and purchases, even a count of all the platinum and gold stored in the large vault at his personal residence at Barad Aelin (although he only visited there, these days); he had not known the full extent, as much of the investment had occurred...many years earlier.

He had accrued far more wealth than he realised.

This decision to - finally - bother to evaluate such matters had several roots. Firstly, he intended to use his own funds to run a little covert campaign of sorts; one that would not be traced back to the Commonality or himself (if things went to plan), but would be rewarding in ways far more of worth than mere political gain.

That was the primary, most important reason. Second - he wanted to reinvest what had sat fallow for a while now. He had spotted a prime target; something that, if he could possess it, would be invaluable.

The unfortunate matter was, it was by no means a certainty that it would be invaluable at all. He was seeing with long-vision, as ever; he saw many many years ahead, and had a strong feeling that a certain nation would prove...

Useful. Somehow.

It was a faint tingling; a vague impression. But those were not very common; Semir did not suffer epiphanies. This, perhaps, was one.

But at the least, his investment would be valuable to the people who worked for...

He peered at the name. "Groovelico Fashion Electric," he murmoured.

Too large for even his now vast wealth to purchase alone; but he could foot part of the bill. Rialla had already put it to the Board of Control; the ITC would muster again, and now, into a new fiscal year, it had restored the majority of its former brute force. Indeed, it had turned over the loss produced by the previous years investment; the economy had grown, after all, as had imports and exports.

So, as a silent partner, he thumbed his acceptance of the bidding conditions layed out in the proposal hashed out by the Board of Control. Then, however - they had already planned ahead by some way - he thumbed another, different object. The object in question was the enter key, which fired off one single e-mail - encrypted using a governmental 'covert' 1kbit one-use key - to his rather expensive brokers, who, at this command, would proceed to begin buying up stock in GFE.

He smiled. The ITC would already be doing the same, he knew...

[OOC: The ITC plus Semir (Semir using a new setup, NenInvCo-Op, which is listed on the Imperial Trade Conglomerate Register as a financial investments co-operative running out of headquarters situated in Shelbattanu-Rhia, in Ax-turath) are aiming for a majority stake, and, as the ITC has decided that this is going to be it's primary goal - for reasons that will come to light later - it is bringing considerable muscle to bear. The Iluvauromeni fiscal year runs April-April - so the ITC just took in taxes of several trillion US dollars equivalent in Relhames. Profit for the ITC this year would be in the region of US$4-4.5T (total income somewhere around US$8T, which is somewhat down on the previous year, but still (obviously) rather considerable in size. Total funding alloted for investment in this attempt at a buyout of GFE is capped at a whopping three hundred billion dollars. That's not necessarily what will actually be used - but is the absolute maximum they're willing to spend, overall. Not knowing the volume of stock and stock price is the primary reason I'm going into such detail OOCly rather than ICly. I can be a bit more vague OOCly. :p]
Vrak
30-04-2005, 05:52
The news of the Angstian bidding reached the ear of the Economic Affairs Minister. He inclined his ear to hear of such tidings and frowned slightly at the movements made by the other bidders. He sighed as he reviewed the options before him. To follow through, he send word that would filter through to various Vrakian companies to follow the Angstian lead. Some companies certainly would not be able to keep pace and would perhaps drop out. Certainly Hyperion Shipping was happy with its latest acquisition and saw no need to be involved. Some, such as Power Corp, the largest Vrakian conglomerate, might still get lucky. And he did promise Rex to try and acquire a low key company such as Green Cola in exchange for his MGH stock. The Minister was also careful not to attract too much attention to Predator Systems, making sure that Gargantua Manufacturing not become overly zealous.

In truth, Vrak could still compete with some of the heavyweights in this…competition. But merely one state could not acquire them all. In fact, it was doubtful that anyone could, although the possibility of tenuous alliances being formed during this event was want to escape him. Der Angst had been useful and will be rewarded for their service. After all, their cooperation would go a long ways in mending the relationship between them and the Klatch.

Now it was time to bring in the second phase of the plan. Time to fall back on those who are most close to Vrak. And, of course, that meant utilizing the economic might of other Klatchian states.

There was a danger, of course, in proceeding along this course of action. The FKC was, as a whole, a loose confederation and sometimes proved to be unwieldy in direct action. Such is the price of great autonomy, he thought. Yet, when it was united, as it always was in defense of the homeland, it proved to be…unrivalled by all except the most powerful of military or economic alliances.

Would this bring closer unity among the states? Would each state be reduced to petty economic warfare in the acquisitions of new companies? The Economic Affairs Minister sighed. He did believe in a Greater Klatch, stronger and unified not only in defense but in all aspects of life for its citizens. He drew in his breath and looked thoughtfully at the names of the states that showed interest in this latest venture.

Alcona & Hubris
Ilek-Vaad
Tanah Burung

Yes, this should do. More may be needed. But this should send a message to all.
Santa Barbara
01-05-2005, 02:12
New State City

"...and so you see, Mr Peckham, you are not alone," the ITDO officer - a bureacrat, as so many of them tended to be, was annoyed with his PR job.

"Not alone," Thomas repeated dully, blinking rapidly.

"That's really all I can tell you. The country is very impatient. You're not the only one to call with 'important needs.'"

Anger. He tried not to flip out on the phone. "I know that, but what am I supposed to do what you people are 'reorganizing?'"

"Listen to the CoFedCo public announcements, they are there to help guide you. There's nothing more I can do for you, sir."

The line went dead. Peckham let it slide. Finally. Let it all slide. The military had it's own problems, that's what they meant by him not being alone. He wasn't the only one getting the shaft. He didn't even need to be reminded by ... them. He'd hit a perfectly natural brick wall in the ITDO.

But he'd hit such walls before, and what this told him was that public channels and common plans were out. There were still some of the ITDO leadership who hadn't bugged out, and who knew how to accept bribes. In this day and age, that was probably the only thing keeping it all going. Certainly, there weren't any CoFedCo announcements. The TNE was immobile. His personal shares of MHG had become theirs as well.

There was a knock on the door. He'd been 'given' this apartment after they took over, nearly killing Kurt and usurping his fortune. Although he was fairly confident his call to the ITDO had been monitored, he figured there wasn't much they could do to punish him about it, since it had had no effect at all and indeed, made their job much easier.

He wasn't alone... but his wife and children had been taken away. No one was coming to rescue him. And the nation was going to hell. Being merely alone seemed a blessing in comparison. He walked to the door to let the visitor in. He knew it was them merely following the functions of etiquette. If he didn't open the door... well, they already knew ways around minor obstacles like that, didn't they.

Somewhere Else

Sylvenna sensed it first. The look in Jellico's eye. The unreality of it all. Her mind wasn't as slow as she'd always pretended during the Pratt administration - old Bob liked to think he was quicker than his secretaries, so she let him and others believe it. Now her mind had achieved a clarity beyond what she normally recognized, illuminated by the absolute craziness of what was going on.

"Rebuild, huh," she repeated Jellico's promise in a deadpan.

"It will be a new birth for all," Tzu confirmed.

She'd suspected ever since they'd chosen to parade this Marcos Fernando before her. What other use was he?

"No," suddenly Jellico said - reading her mind now, she saw. "You only understand such minor aspects without seeing the whole situation."

"I see clearly enough," she said, favoring Fernando with a cool stare. Fernando seemed distant somehow, silent and immobile, but still within her senses. Still within her grasp. She looked back to Jellico. Was that fear she saw? "I see your fear."

So they wanted Fernando as another of their puppets. Her, too. Well, she could solve that. And as she finally firmed her will to do so, she saw that Jellico did indeed have fear - she knew now she had power to harm the plans of this creature. Marcos clearly didn't, he was clearly falling under their spell - not that he had far to go to be a pawn of others, she reckoned. And with that, she merely willed the knife into existence, the cool grip pressed within her palm. Then she willed herself closer to Marcos Fernando.

---

For Marcos Fernando, he was content. The grand beauty of the plan was really remarkable. It wasn't malignant. It would save the lives of many, and save the power of the nation - at least some of it. And that was, after all, what he had come down here to try to do. He allowed the presence (TzuJellicoPrattManningVance) beyond the outer defenses of his will. In a real sense, he saw at once, they already had, and his role was now one of acceptance. He was one of two keys, he saw - and Sylvenna, unique as she was, was the other. Try as he might, he wasn't allowed knowledge of her role.

Not yet, Mister President, it/they murmured in his mind. Not yet, that information is not yet of use to you...

The voices and thoughts crowded in his mind until he thought he would have to scream. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, but new and chaotic and alien. Parts of his mind revolted against this external presence, and cried to God to save him, to save the nation and the souls of it's helpless inhabitants. But these parts were like the violent urges of a half-tamed animal, quieted with smooth echoes of comforting commands. Relax... relax... relax... open... open...

It didn't have to be this way, he knew. He sensed the power of it even as the images and sounds of Gonzalo Tzu, Dr Jellico and Sylvenna faded. It could crush him instantly, could completely devour his self, like Anubis - but he had a new role, and the new role was the old role of President - this time with the authority and wisdom to do great things.

But he found himself growing increasingly agitated nonetheless, and he remembered Sylvenna again. What had she said about reading minds? He still couldn't. Hers was a lost voice in a sea of millions, and his hearing wasn't too good. The voices seemed to grow louder, and he had trouble relaxing and opening. The commands, gentle yet strong, were weakening and becoming intermittent. Something terribly wrong was going on, but -

- and then reality intruded again, harshly. Now for the first time he felt actual pain, within his body, and the memory of his body seemed to bring him back into it. He was in a small submarine-like room, and Gonzalo Tzu was there, and the two IIA agents as well, and he remembered this as his point of departure. The sensations of bodily pain continued, his internal organs seemed seemingly pierced with invisible shards of hot metal, and, gasping and clutching at his chest, already on his knees, he felt himself slipping to the floor again. His heart, thumping madly, tried to restore order now totally lost. His confused mind realized this was a heart attack, and yet some part of him insisted that that wasn't so, that it merely appeared that way.

It didn't matter. They won't get me, he realized through the pain, which was now so intense that his entire body jerked and spasmed and his eyes had shut tight. They won't get me. I'm free, he had time to think, before at last the pain subsided and darkness took him forever.

----

Sylvenna stood crouched over the body, blood along her arms, entirely coating her hands. Knowing the miracles of modern medical practices, she'd intended to simply do as much damage as she could - the less chance of successful resuscitation. She'd stabbed him, more times than she bothered to count, in the torso and chest while he screamed and writhed underneath her, his mouth open and filling with blood. It wasn't enough though, it was mere superficial damage, so she slashed at his throat, and blood from the severed artery spurted upward. For some reason this reminded her of Bob Pratt. The image of his looming face, his egg-like head and the look of his greedy eyes... the memory of his foul touch... Bob Pratt fueled her rage now and she abandoned herself to it, as she had once abandoned herself to him. Marcos Fernando himself ceased to be the real enemy - perhaps, as a pawn, he'd never truly been - but she continued to destroy him anyway. She stabbed at his eyes, gouging them out and ruining them. Artificial eyes, she thought, and then stabbed into the sockets, hoping to eliminate the brain function. As a final measure, she cut his throat again - the bleeding had stopped - and she pressed the blade down, down, sawing past cartiledge and flesh until it hit bone. Then she placed her hands on the head, now almost entirely severed, and gave a sharp twist that left the corpse, surely, beyond hope of medical science.

Her task complete, panting with the effort and rage and bloodlust, she looked up to see it was all gone. Dr Jellico was nowhere in sight, and she didn't sense any other presence. She looked down, and was not surprised that Marcos Fernando's body was gone - as was the blood - as was her pseudo-physical self.

She floated in complete nothingness, once again a prisoner.

Conference Room 229

"Gentlemen... we have a problem."

"Release the remaining key."

"No... it may prove ineffective..."

"Now is the time for decision. If we announce it now, MHG will become the source of power."

"He's right. I never saw the need for two keys. How difficult is it to find... someone suitable?"

And someone laughed, because the land was full of puppets, and it had always been easy to pick one to front the world.
Vrak
02-05-2005, 06:42
Information filtered down to the Economic Affairs Minister. More states were eager to jump on and now some early problems rose to the surface. Clearly, the Vrakian Minister did not have the authority to direct the capital that was currently being thrown around from the other states. All he really could do is cajole some major Vrakian conglomerates to pony up some cash. But he did hear some interesting developments coming forth from the Wittelbachs.

-Patch me through to Wittelbach-Bathway. I need to talk to their chairman.
Alcona and Hubris
02-05-2005, 16:00
Port Olympus, Captial of the Klatchian Federation

The Port Olympus offices of Wittlebach-Hathaway were abuzz with activity as people moved about. The United Duchies largest Commodities trading firm had branched out a few years earlier by orginizing the take over of Appollo Motors and using it as the core of a new company, Olympic Motors.

The company chairman was William Wittlebach, Landgrave Wittlebach and brother-in-law to Alexander III of the United Duchies. He had gone through three wives so far and was presently looking at a young assistant with eager eyes and a hand up her short skirt. Of course they were discussing her latest venture.
"So the Royal Land Trust is looking at generating what off that bond sale?"

"Well with stable revenues from land rents we've been able to offer a bond of this much." The Assistant Royal Treasuerer looked down at the man taking liberties with a look in her eye as she pointed at the figures on his desk. And we will be putting about half aside for attempting to buy out Cold Star."

"You'll be going against the Melkie's and Ma-tek...but that is one hell of a war chest."

"Buying all of Xanthal's Earth possetions for a mere 1.5 Trillion was the deal of the century. Hell, they got a repayment of their investment with just meger starting rents in less than two years. Now that serious agriculture has taken hold in New Crawfordland and industries are paying good rents out of New Knotoss they have a reliable stream of income. Over seven hundread billion a year. Add to that the international desire for Bearer Bonds..."

"Damn, well I assume this number here is how much my project my brother in law is going to front."

"Yes..."

"Well that is a nice round number..."

They were interupted by a secretary on voice phone.

"Sir, the Vrakian Ecconomics Affairs Office is on the line, the Minister would like to speak with you"

"Fine, fine...patch him through...." He pulled his hand from the brunette's body and said, "Go see if you can flaunt some more New Crawfordland bonds and get me Pauls estimates on the damn Vrakian Herring Catch" he ordered as he adjusted himself and looked.

He picked up the phone on his desk, took a deep breath and replied in Vrakian
-Good Day Minister, what can I do for you?....
Ah my project...simple Minister were going to form a company which will pool the resources of Klach members as one...
-I do need your office's assistance, some help navigating the Santa Barbra markets would do wonders for the new Klatchian International Opportunities Fund, KIOF.
-Priorities will be decided by the board...but tell all Vrakians to hold any shares of Cold Star...Yeah, the Crawfords are going after that...trust me they have the cash reserves to play.
-Everyone has been quite generous, especially Ilek-Vaad and Deylli Beybi

OOC: Well using some good old fasioned financing tricks I've been able to cobble a few trillion or so in investment funds for the United Duchies Specifically buy floating a bond. Now with the rest of the Klatch the KIOF has quite a large initial captitalization...presently about 3.6+ Trillion Krondors.
(I can go into more detail if asked...)
Santa Barbara
18-05-2005, 15:36
Bennings Enterprises Corporate Security Vessel Barracuda

Sonya Chang answered the phone with what was, for her, an amused smirk and what was, for anyone watching, merely neutral, slight surprise. Expecting it to be Julia, she was indeed slightly surprised (but not too much) and found it was Gonzalo Tzu.

"Tzu. So, you're alive." She managed to sound (slightly) disappointed.

"Yes. I've no time for the usual pleasantries, my dear Chang."

"I imagine not. How are things down on the surface? Had your flu shots?"

"Events are progressing as to be expected."

"Delightful. What's this call about, Gonzalo."

"You, Sonya," he said, mirroring her switch to first-name basis with alacrity. Her curiosity was piqued.

"Could you get anymore vague? Talk in specifics, or I hang up."

"Hang up, then. I'll await your return call - unless you've somehow managed to escape the human tendency of curiosity..."

Of course, she didn't hang up. It hadn't even been a true bluff. "I've heard hundreds of millions are dead."

He didn't answer with anything but a mild lift of his eyebrows. "You should be down here."

She laughed. "And give up this scenery? You must be joking, Gonzalo Tzu."

"Marcos Fernando is dead," he continued, and the laughter faded. "And so is Heinrid Abadas."

"I see. And who's the next President - you?"

"I've never wanted the job," replied Tzu. "I lend my assistance to those who do."

"Yeah? On what possible basis? You're trying to tell me you have no ambitions, Gonzalo Tzu, you might as well stop."

"Oh, ambitions, certainly I have. I want to stop this disease, and get Santa Barbara under control of law and order."

"Very noble. So, stop the disease then."

"Law and order must come first."

"So find yourself another President, and don't try to tempt me with your silly offers. I don't want the office either."

"Of course. Bennings. How is that coming along?"

She paused. Things weren't going as planned there. Julia Bennings wasn't one to change her mind after making a decision, and her last decision had been telling Sonya to get off the ship ASAP. "Miss Bennings and I are working out our character differences," she allowed.

"And after you work them out. You'll persuade her to...?"

"This is no concern of yours, Gonzalo Tzu. This has really been one of the more pointless of your cryptic calls. I'm disappointed."

Gonzalo seemed to have no typical response. He was acting strangely, but she couldn't put her finger on why. All he said now was: "You can have it all, Sonya. All you would need to do is come down here."

"Right. Like Marcos Fernando? When you and I work out our character differences, somehow I don't think I'll be in a position of having it all. Not if I'm to come walking into whatever trap you've got down on that rathole of a planet."

"I've got the cure," he said simply.

She tried to tell if he was bluffing, and decided he might not be. "A cure for a viral contagion," she repeated dully. "No vaccine, no treatment, but a cure?"

"I know you believe me, and I believe you know why it is to be believed. Where do you think it all came from? I am at the source. We could distribute it immediately, but without centralization, without assurances, nothing might come of it."

It was the most he'd said so far, and now for sure he was acting strangely. How secure was this channel? Not very, she estimated. Gonzalo would have taken steps, but they were both limited by the fact that she was aboard a private military vessel, with no access to the security of quantum computing, as with the ITDO warships.

"Think about it. For now, you have company." And he signed off.

She turned around. Julia was standing behind her, and she didn't look happy.
Santa Barbara
03-06-2005, 02:52
BUMP for updates. I'm only updating it once more. I think a lot have lost interest in this thread, including myself, but ah well.
Alcona and Hubris
03-06-2005, 15:50
OOC: Er well...I haven't just was trying to work out stratagy with my 'partners' in this.
Der Angst
03-06-2005, 16:15
And in some cases (Specifically me), well... I have no idea whatsoever about what's going on. Kinda prevents me from reacting o.O
Vrak
15-06-2005, 08:58
The Economic Affairs Minister was giddy. He just got off the phone with a certain, nay, a very powerful Alconian who assured him that there were literally trillions of Kronors ready to gobble up more Santa Barbarian companies.

He nearly dropped the phone. Trillions? He couldn’t believe it. The sum alone was staggering and, he was assured, could grow. Especially with more FKC states wanting to get in.

Course, that would present its own problems as he was wont to point out. The Klatch was famous for banding together like a pack of wild dogs at any external attack. But left to their own devices, they would fight over the juicy bones like the greedy dogs there were – Vrak included.

So, how to best put this together. Certainly, the newly created fund could tilt the advantage to the Klatch. What was needed were some clearly identifiable targets. And his long term strategy which he didn’t trust anyone else with right now would hopefully play out as well.

He cautiously sent out signals to the various Santa Barbarian corporations that the Klatch was most eager and, unlike the others, provided a new opportunity to set up shop in a well established and safe region.

He only hoped that long time ally Sketch would not be too upset.
Santa Barbara
09-07-2005, 18:23
Distribution of TNE Voting Power (http://www.freewebs.com/santa_barbara/ownership2.htm)

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MHG's voting power leapt due to a mass buyout of Extraplanetary Mining, GladBurger Inc, Green Cola Company, Kako Habitat Construction, Lace-Tintown Cosmetics and Utopia Mining Company. In addition, the death toll due to plague and chaos is levelling off at around two billion and employee lists have been updated. The end result is about half (49.58%) of the TNE is now controlled by foreign investors through corporate ownership. Almost all of the rest is under the control of the various regional and urban governments within Santa Barbara.