NationStates Jolt Archive

Flight 509 Black Sword winged gracefully high over the oceans, she was a Skylord (http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/21748756/) class strategic bomber cruising gently along at mach 5, a shade under the aircrafts top speed of mach 6. Onboard her four crew were linked into their armoured cocoon seats, surrounded by a shock absorbing amniotic gel.

Flight Commander Francis Deschev keyed in a few course corrections before turning to the pilot, Flight Lieutenant Micheals.

“Ok, we should be entering the test zone, Ill kick Henries awake, take us down to minimum height, and keep your eyes open for any other objects in the air.”

Micheals nodded, and with a few deft touches on the control systems, the big bomber hurtled downwards to a lower altitude, meanwhile the flight commander was comming the mission specialist sat in her cocoon behind him.

“Lieutenant Henries, get yourself in gear, we’re entering the test zone, and I want to complete this one the first run, OK?”

Henries made a face at the back of Deschevs pod, but spoke respectfully.

“Aye aye Sir”

Quickly she brought up her readouts of the new onboard sensor packages, two huge pods hanging off both the wing hard points, each slaved into massive sensor and electronic countermeasure filling both the onboard module areas. With a gentle hum that was more heard than felt, the Advanced Sensor Package came online.

“All systems are reading green sir”

“Very good Lieutenant, we will be at optimal height in five minutes, so hang tight, and the comp systems will give you the countdown.”

Several hundred miles ahead, a lone albatross swung gracefully on the high thermals, its eyes scanning the moonlit water far below, with a effortless flick of it’s tail feathers it swings about and spirals downwards, however, unnoticed a small downy chest feather detaches and hangs almost suspended as the giant bird disappears into the vastness of the night..

Greigory, the sensor operator squinted and read the data streaming before his eyes.

“Sir, I’m picking up a biologic about four hundred klicks ahead..its descending though, should be out of our profile by the time we get there.”

The flight commander listened to this with a calm face, this low there could be all manner of birds about.

“Ok Greigory, keep your eyes on it, at inform me ASAP if any course corrections are needed.”

“Aye Aye Sir”

Far ahead the albatross had descended to near sea level and was calmly drifting along mere meters above the calm flat surface, but its errant feather was still thousands of meters up, circling and drifting, yet so fine as to be unseen.


“Captain to all crew, we will be pushing up to maximum speed before engaging the test modules, stand by…”

The moonlight sparkled on the snowy whiteness of the feather as it spun lazily on a small drift of air.

“Captain to crew, we are now at mach 6, standby to deploy sensor nets on my mark..
5… 4… 3… 2… 1… DEPL..”

The rest was lost, as the feather impacted on the cockpit of the bomber at mach 6, normally such a light thing would go unnoticed, but at these speeds it was enough to vaporize a large chunk of the armour around the view screen, a million to one chance and the white hot vapour channelled down and through the NBC sealant around the armour glass, and in an instant the cabin was filled with droplets of molten armour travelling and hypervelocity. In an blink, the calm flight deck was transformed into a swirling mass of bright flames and carnage, luckily for the crew, the combination of the pressure change and armour vapour ended it pretty much instantly, but the bomber herself, now commandless reverted to her onboard systems, and the auto nav levelled her out and slowed her down to mach two and swung the wings back to cruise mode, keeping her steady and on a straight flightpath, but with no destination, the giant bomber rocketed into the night, not a soul left living onboard.
Her main computer banks destroyed, existing off nothing but emergency systems, the bomber would continue until her fuel was used up.


http://mysite.wanadoo-members.co.uk/totalrandom/Skylord_damaged.jpg

It had been quite a number of hours, and the Blacksword’s remaining emergency auto systems had kept her flying at relatively slow and economical speeds, however, her fuel was beginning to look critical, and the onboard systems, programmed to preserve life, and so basic they never registered there was no longer life within the burnt shell of the bombers cockpit, reduced speed and height even further, and started searching for viable landing spots.

Thankfully the limited computer systems were tied into the vast sensor packages still hanging under the bombers wings, and through the powerful atmo bouncing xidar systems they picked out land ahead, good flat land that could land a bomber, also, nearby were the glittering lights of a massive city, to the low intelligence computer onboard, this registered as possible help, so priority was assigned to landing close.

Reducing her speed to just below mach 1, the Blacksword, crippled, but still active made towards the inlet of a river, the floodplains either side marking it a good space for a landing, and close enough to this massive city for the promise of help.

The sea lapped gently against an endless backdrop of shattered and scorched grey rock. Nothing living moved upon it, no fishing villages dotted it, seemingly only the endless ash grey dunes and scorched hunks of human habitation lay on its coast. However occasionally upon this dead coastline a small concrete brake water and a monitoring station sat, its optics every now again glinting in the moonlight. They ceaslesly watched and tested there surruonds, at there base a duo of tiny drone hangers lay, only basic utility models within there cramped cubical quarters. The next structure however was no mere monitoring station, it was for one illuminated and surrounded in places by the buzz of active hover drives, it was vast and tall but massively built, a sky scraper without windows, lights illuminating its massive evercrete flanks which rose from the grey dust dunes into tiers that rose nearly half a kilometre above the surrounding terrain. Facing the sea the huge brutish forms of bunkers lay, massive ablative sections over there gun ports while upon the tallest tier a veritable forest of antennae and radar domes were spread. .

Defence Tor Fortunes Gift’s command centre was large and for all intents and purposes one of the more boring jobs in the ZMDF. Apart from the occasional re routing of a civilian airliner the complex this room was at the heart of had never been in action. Its missile silos had never fired in anger, its hellbore batteries had never left the ocean surrounding the Tor a boiling steam wreathed mass. This facility was empty, warehouses full of war drones who would in all likelihood never be guided by the sparking fire of an AI , nearly a divisions worth of armoured vehicles lay in its underground garrages and a huge Landcrawler repair depot , its gantries seeming like the ribs of some great dead animal in the dust all lay simply ticking over.

Flight monitoring officer Philip Samson had for most of his watch been watching the endless flow of civilian flights, three hours earlier he had reason to contact a small civilian flight that was out of its assigned air corridor. Sitting in the eerily smart dust display illuminated command centre in a Hawaiian shirt (definitely against regulation) and a pair of what appeared to be shorts made entirely from duct tape he was not the only odd figure in the control room. Boredom and the fight against it was one of the primary occupations in Fortunes Gift and the base’s commander had long given up the fight to keep things to “normal” ZMDF standards. By Philip’s elbow a cold half empty mug of coffee was unnoticed as said elbow jerked backwards. Slamming down the overrides on the main wall screens which presently filled with a dozen images of a huge dark winged aircraft, its bearing obviously military, side readings showing its minimal radar return and wire frame pointers outlining damage and stress points. Alarms rang and communications shook through the somewhat disused channels as amongst other things the Defence Tors AI wound up a bank of its massed ranks of sky slam missile launchers. The aircraft however was clearly in trouble its plotted course taking it near the banks of the river Solant and the light grey outlines of the shattered old coast road networks. A multitude of communications bands were tried but with no response forthcoming Samson could only watch on in horrified fascination as the bomber began its decent.

The onboard emergency computer systems barely registered the communication flash from the defence station, it was diverting all its resources to landing the crippled Skylord bomber. The ASP system onboard bouncing its xidar across the flatlands ahead picked out many hazards and dangers beneath the dust, but one section, it seemed a long stretch of highway, straight ,and fairly clear, rested ahead, beneath a good foot of fine radioactive dust.
Although the radiation was noticed, the first priority to the simple computers mind was to get the aircraft down, her tanks were almost empty and a chance like this might not come again, so slowly the bomber drifted down, her swing wings extending to their maximum and undercarriage extended, aiming for the invisible strip of motorway.
Closer the bomber came, the various firing solutions kicking off warning lights on now dead computer boards, shattered against the long cold remains of the crew, however, though crewless the auto computer served faithfully, as with a huge kick up of dust that sprays high into the air, creating a grey wall of fog trailing behind the speeding Blacksword.

http://mysite.wanadoo-members.co.uk/totalrandom/SkyLordlanding.jpg

After a good hundred meters, the bomber starts to slow, her scram jets, kicked into reverse throwing up even more of the fine powder.
Jut as the bomber ends her landing run, one of the landing legs catches something hidden under the ash on the motorway and like a car going across ice she slews around, ending up with a massive mound of the dust shovelled up behind her, her nose pointing almost longingly towards home.
After a couple of minutes the auto computer finishes its routines and faithfully starts switching the bombers systems off one by one, as each system closes down and the engines give off metallic sounds of cooling, a thick grey dust shroud settles down like a cloak of gentle repose on the wounded giant.

The sea wind whipped up clouds of dust that glinted in the moonlight as a sky runner Rotodyne painted in garish orange and white stripes of the coastal rescue service lifted its massive form out of the Fortunes Gifts secondary pads, the jets in its rotors tips screeching in the night air until they came up to speed while the huge bulk stood on incandescent blue pillars of fire. A few moments later a flight of three Condor armed transports hissed overhead there more traditional helicopter “whip whip whip” for a moment drowning out the sound of the ocean. It would take them 23 minutes to reach the downed aircraft, now slowly and painstakingly being optically back tracked to its point of origin by patchy satellite imaging.

The Tor was silent for a moment then the massive doors to the Landcrawler garage growled into operation, there massive armoured clamshells swinging outwards. The screech of tracks on evercrete, the sound of a thousand hydraulic systems working, the hiss of steam slowly escaping a dozen cooling towers all precursoured its emergence. Light, intolerably strong flooded across the landscape from inside the doors, it illuminated in stark contrast the dunes, and lumps of shattered concrete or odd tiny thread like blackened tube of metal that stuck out above the dust against the armoured landward facing low bunkers and trenches of the Tor’s defences. Slowly the huge vehicle began to exit, and as it did more lights flickered into life along its vast flanks even as armoured treads higher than a double decker bus compressed the dust beneath it. A horde of armoured crawling and wheeled drones accompanied it, while in front of it rolled two platoons of wolf auto tanks, blinking orange lights tipping there com masts, there hellbore studded turrets probing the night eternally for rogue war forms or worse. It may have seemed a little much but centuries of incredibly toxic conditions had left the biological war forms the other megacities had seeded the terrain around the meg less than pleasant. The mutations could be horrific if one could make a biological monstrosity designed purely for combat worse. From man sized raptor like creatures which could fire toxic darts that could punch through a conventional armoured personnel carriers armour to 30 metre tall creatures straight out of a Tokyo monster movie, only far worse with symbiotic “point defence” and hellish biological sludge weapons that would put a tyranid to shame. This is why the vast armoured behemoth had been sent to guard the crash site.

The Landcrawler’s ability to cleanse huge areas of the dust sea was vital to the companies long term holdings in the dune sea. Before the first module had fully left the last firing arc of the Tor’s light sentry weapons its gamma sweepers were already cooking the first horror to crawl out of the dust. It wasn’t that the company couldn’t have rebuilt the ecological damage its just that to its eternal ire nothing seemed to be able to kill of permanently the anarchic mix of a dozen cities and a thousand companies warform families and centuries of interbreeding and toxin and radiation induced mutations. Add to this a half dozen of the companies “kill or cure” biological plagues and the end result was the present horrible population of the dune sea. Large IR traces of creatures battling in there own territorial conflicts for food which were rather intense given that the only living thing in the dune seas were more of their own kind would draw satellite guided tactical nuclear artillery fire from the nearest defence Tor or the blazing spike of an orbital platforms energy weapons. It still wasn’t enough, the tiniest wonderfully robust engineered spore could reseed the entire sick artificial ecology and try as they might the company with all its fire power had no way of killing it all of it. They could however keep it at an acceptable background. If there was however raw or worse cooked human flesh in the open it wouldn’t take long for gen engineered senses to begin homing, not that genetic engineering hadn't’ created warforms who's’ sole task was symbiotically linking to others and guiding them specifically against aircraft.

All this ingenuity hadn’t saved the offending foreign mega city alliance led by Neo Paré who had planned this biological assault on Megacity one from the exotic high energy weapons the company had employed to rip through there force walls and end them in a orgy of destruction and subjugation and eventual abandonment. Megacity ones populace however still bore the cultural scars from the night when the force walls who normally had nothing to keep out but dust suddenly were holding back and in many cases failing to hold back horrors the likes of which Geiger would be proud of.

In any case as the huge Rotodyne touched down with a thud that shook the downed aircraft’s dust covered form the Condors took up positions around it and the wreck, stabilising themselves and then immediately opening fire there tri barrels blazing into an approaching band of scavengers as snipers with high yield power guns sent blue white flashes that terminated in blasts like 12” field gun shells detonating into less visible targets beneath the dust itself. After a few minutes of cacophonous weapons fire the Rotodynes armoured doors rolled open and a large group of rescue service personnel begain jogging towards the bomber escorted by low slung small tracked armed drones.

Onboard the bomber, even though the ASP sensor pods were slung beneath the wings which were in turn covered in fine grey dust, they registered the incoming aircraft, first the massive Rotodyne, the xidar and sensors flicking over its form, registering combat potential and power, briefly they swept over the following condors. However the onboard emergency AI registered the approach of the scavengers, and turned the sensors on them, unfortunately the computer really had no way as identifying them as hostile, so it triggered the emergency transcom distress beacon, letting most things know there was a downed aircraft here.

The AI was not the most intelligent in the world, but it could reason to an extent, and the huge incoming vehicles would worry it a bit, if it had that capacity, the fact the sensors were now picking up a massive ground based vehicle inbound made it re-evaluate its protocols and it switched off the beacon. After all, the military like craft that were inbound didn’t look to be working in coordination with the approach of the scavengers, and the computer was built for survival, so being caught in a small conflict didn’t look to good in its electronic eyes.

The touchdown of the Condors and their actions confirmed the AI’s suspicions, but its reasoning capabilities suggested the more organized and uniformed forces were from the city, its original destination for aid, so once more it triggered the transcom beacon, directing at them.

The condor sniper crews walked there fire back and forth across the slow but steady stream of targets worming there way beneath the dust, there massively overbuilt powerguns hooked directly into the condors power cores. Every now and again an especially heavy warform would be erased by a blast from one of the huge quad rotered sky runner rotodynes bubble turret mounted infinite repeaters. The rescue crew had spread out, there orange jackets pouring over the downed aircraft. Eventually one of them simply ordered one of the drones to cut clear the still smoke weeping seem in the aircraft’s side all the while monitoring the RF broadcasts emanating from within. The scorched carnage within would be a disappointment with the faint heated wreckage being mistaken for still living casualties. It would take the Landcrawler a further hour and half to cover the distance to the crash site, another half an hour while its massive gantries were wound up into position and carefully linked to the wreck. Then slowly the huge aircraft was lifted aboard all the while to the steadily fading background of weapons fire as the drones steadily expanded the cleansed perimeter. A further hour would be spent by the drones sifting the dust for missed wreckage before finally the armoured Landcrawler’s treads were turned back towards the Gift . The crews bodies and black box unit would take a much faster route aboard a Condor straight to the wall of Megacity One itself. After an exchange to a city air car it would be taken directly to the brooding dark INT-SEC obelisk. A few hours later the black box would find itself hooked into one of the AI combines remote energy state interrogators usually used to question hostile sentient agents that tried to breach into the secure data sphere. The crew’s bodies would be quite literally taken apart down to there last cell then appropriately reconstituted in case burial was requested. The bomber would be tracked to a remote highly militarised Atlantic Island. Several identical aircraft were identified. Moments later the gestalt would authorise the opening of contact and a near by ZMN satellite constellation would attempt to using the communications protocols so far taken from the black box to send a simple clear text message in plain English.


Origin: ZMN Orange Swathe com relay VN:239

++509 Blacksword flight crashed 01:23 GMT location waste dune area grid 232.923.293 neo European coastline, crew dead on impact, probable cause biologic impact, crew bodies and aircraft recovered. Do you wish recovery of aircraft bodies and crew effects ? If so opening of diplomatic contact? ++

Signature: ZMI Office of the Gestalt

Grand Air Chief Marshal Karrol studied the reports in his office, it was unfortunate they had lost one of their bombers, but what was more disturbing, no sign of the bomber could be found in the test zone, which meant something other than a standard air crash had occurred, if it had been a communications failure, the crew would have brought it back by now.
George Karrol sighed and briefly took off his heat, running a hand through the thinning hair, no chance it would be coming back in to land now, best estimates put it at running out of fuel a good hour ago, he’d ordered the search crews to expand their area until they reached ANA’s borders.. but nothing was turned up.
He was about to give the order to call back the search party when his aid knocked on the door with a concerned look on his face.

“Sir.. we have, a development in the Blacksword situation.”

Karrol raised his head and narrowed his eyes, something in the bearing of his aid made him wary.

“Yes Dorrian, what is it?”

“We’ve.. intercepted a communiqué aimed at us sir.. regarding the Blacksowrd..”

Wordlessly Karrol outstretched his hand for the data sheet the aid was carrying, takin it from him, he read through the communications from ZMI.

“Well, at least it isn’t a declaration of war, that’s something..”

Karrol sighed and raised from his desk, multiple links and data feeds clicked in his earpiece as he started to contact the general staff.

“Dorrian, get me the Diplomatic corp online, I’m going to need their input from this..”

An hour later a geopulse message bounced off the planets magma layer and up into ZMI territory.

“ Aqua Nation Atlantica Diplomatic Corp transmission to ZMI Office of the Gestalt

Reference Flight 509 Blacksword.
Recovery of all aircraft and aircraft contents plus crew bodies is requested.
Diplomatic contact a must.
Further communications are invited and recommended.
Our thanks go to you for your aid and delicacy in this matter.

Lord Keranovitch, Diplomatic Office.”

The Ziggarat, Zone One, Megacity One, Earth

Minister of Foreign affairs Peter Hule sat in the depths of a restaurant, a pleasant fake Greek temple in ruins half engulfed in vines, circular dark synth wood tables dotted around the lush surrounds while the sounds of splashing water from the back wall could be heard emanating from a water feature in the shape of a rather nubile venus that fell the full huge height of the vast stain glass roofed room. It was one of thirty or so restaurants in the heart of the Ziggurat, helping to feed the tens of thousands of bureaucrats and government officials. Peter would have before he was a minister have taken the transit line out of the ziggurats confines down to the sea front, probably he thought reminiscing, to one of the small café’s that dotted one of the cities piers or promenades in the old sector.

These days he would be flown directly to his chosen restaurant by armoured air car a flashing escort of M1PD troopers on skimmers flashing the other traffic out of the way. It was not exactly what Hule thought of as a relaxing repast, so he more and more found himself eating with his staff within the precincts of the Ziggurat itself. He had found the restaurants here on the outer tier to be a very pleasant surprise.

Looking up from his work and at this point tepid coffee accented by a few remaining pieces of salad on his plate he saw the table waiter drone begin to quietly clean the table. Its swish matt black form delicately loading plates into its back he spent a moment starring at it without really thinking about anything at all. He then glanced back down and sighed while picking up his silver smart stylus and once more returning to his work, insubstantial smart dust screens slowly moving about the table seemingly playing an intricate game of dodge the waiter drone while he finished the letter.

Hule had always preferred to do his own writing, it was a pleasure he said that he would not give up to some jumped up drone or secretary, though in actual fact his secretary Roslin Price was a pleasant woman in her mid fifties who was god mother to one of Hules children. However at this point he was regretting his life long statements as he contemplated the long list of diplomatic communiqués he had in front of him.

On Hules flimsy words and data danced to his stylus while the smart screens showing demographics and possible diplomatic shifts flickered as he used his implant to alter their feeds or occasionally shut them down or open a new one. Far away a re-entry horn sounded in one of the industrial zones, echoing across the hum of the megacity as a freighter started its landing run.


++++++
To: Aqua Nation Atlantica Diplomatic Corp

Suggest opening of diplomatic mission, attached you will find IFF and silhouette of the VF4 diplomatic transport. Aircraft of choice for transport of diplomatic party and bodies and personnel effects of crew. Transit time no less than 38 minutes. VF-4 can launch on your confirmation. Skylord aircraft 509 Blacksword presently being decontaminated after exposure to toxins upon impact. Once decontamination is complete shall be loaded aboard conventional merchant marine cargo vessel ZMIMM Arc. Transit time no less than three days. Furthering of relations is welcomed.

Peter Hule
Minister of Foreign Affairs
ZMI
++++++++

Lord Foster Keranovitch idly swung one soft booted leg off the edge of his desk, he had taken to sitting wherever he felt comfortable in his rather expansive office, and at this moment in time, the neat fifty year old with a grey van dyke beard felt like sitting on the edge of his desk.
It really didn’t matter much, wherever he was he could scroll the data across his vision using the iris projectors dotted about the room, not that it meant much, ANA’s diplomacy had been quite of late.
Chik Chik Kree, Keranovitch’s dolphin pod brother, and an excellent social commentary swam in lazy circles around in the pool centred in the office, beneath him a network of tunnels connected most of the dolphin sections together.

“Chik my old friend…”

Foster narrowed his eyes as something tagged red flickered up.

“It looks like we might have something a little interesting going off here…”

The dolphin squeaked in interest.

“Long time, not work, work now play, big talk to new men? “

The speech variancies of the dolphins led them to speak in a half pidgin English, their actual speech being very visual based as well, made their talk seem somewhat babyish, but this was far from the case where the dolphins intellect was concerned.

“Yes Chik, it seems that bomber we lost has opened up a whole new book for us to read..”

Keranovitch with a flick of one finger transferred the information just received from ZMI to Chik.
The dolphin flicked his tail in excitement, and nodded his head.

“Need open big silver box! Bring special shiny to doors!”

“Yes Chik, we will need to open an ambassadorial residence in Jirocan, you’d best pulse comm. Them and inform them we are on our way, oh yes, reserve one of the medium landing pads at the airport for diplomatic use.”

Keranovitch arched his brows, the Blacksword was being decontaminated,.. ‘hmm’ he thought ‘read that as being gone over with a fine toothcomb, lets hope Milcorp didn’t have anything to valuable still on that thing.

With a word command he brings up a virtual keyboard before his eyes, he was old fashioned that way, and flicks out a reply to ZMI.

To Peter Hule
Minister of Foreign Affairs
ZMI
Sir, diplomatic channels between us, would be a valuable asset to us both, we look forward to receiving your diplomatic envoy, preparations for their arrival are being made, any particular needs that are required, please inform us, and we shall do our best to accommodate them. Attached to this message are entry codes, an IFF signal and landing coordinates to the Royal Airport in Jirocan.

Lord Keranovitch, Diplomatic Office.

Meanwhile in the massive glittering city of Jirocan, the only city that ANA had above the waves, preparations were being made for a new arrival. A small sized arcology, its sides silvered and reflective, with neat gardens was being prepared in the diplomatic quarter, with an excellent view, framed by towering arcologies, out over one of the hundreds of bays and parks that dotted the massive island wide city, it spoke of quite elegance.
http://mysite.wanadoo-members.co.uk/totalrandom/ANAJirocan.jpg

VF-4 on approach to Jirocan

The VF-4 was easily sliding through the troposphere at a just over mach 5.3, its dart like form throwing of a single icy contrail in the thin air the aircraft clawed through. Inside the ride was as luxurious as possible when half the luggage space is taken up by several corpses in refrigerated cold bags and a great deal of paper and smart flimsies. Sandra Carson sat in her somewhat cramped if sumptuously decorated surrounds. A full ambassador at 34 Sandra was considered a solid bet within the ministry, blonde with dancing green eyes and humour lines on her face her well tailored white DOFA pants suit. In front of her seemingly endless lines of reports flew on a thick spray of smart dust screens, she absently blew a strand of errant hair that fell obscured her view every now and again. Across the tiny isle of the passenger compartment one Sergeant Philp Tarrant 28, raven black hair with an almost ridiculous waxed moustache sat upon his upper lip, his black INT-SEC polo neck covered with crumbs from a half eaten sandwich now perched precariously on one of the arm rests. A completely different style of reports filling his surrounds as did the bulky form of a large chromed box which sat on his lap. The two other individuals in the aircraft looked rather unique, twins both in DOFA suits Mary and Louis Harvin were not surrounded by endless piles of data, no half eaten meals lay upon there persons, instead the simple forms of two data jacks lay in the back of there necks, with monitoring holo glyphs making there ghostly appearance above the twins heads every few minutes. They were not merely breezing through the gathered data, they were becoming expert at it.



Megacity One

The bleak grey eternacrete pier was still illuminated by the harsh light of massed halogen lamps even as the sky slowly grew purpled with the beginnings of false dawn. It sat in the eastern half of the Megacities vast sea front, an area long overdue for urban renewal and seemingly endlessly missing it. It was an area that had once been renowned for the dock yard gangs, and indeed even the present criminals in the meg refereed to themselves as dock rats. A single forlorn holographic sign who’s definition was failing vaguely blinked the time 09:34 before hazily advertising some synth pop album, the artists vapid expression barely visible through the fuzz of the badly tuned device matching the general empty aura of the scene as it hung upon a lone crane who’s almost insectile form seemed to loom over the entire scene.

Endless warehouses stood on this seafront backed by an unremarkable grimy industrial zone who’s rumbling massive stationary mechanical denizens saw fit to make their presence known by a cacophony of hums, alarms and hisses. The warehouses walls were bearing an almost arcane mass of 2 metre high barcodes and numerals, the spartan nature of the buildings were occasionally broken by a fleck of colour in the form of faded posters advertising bars and clubs that in some cases had gone out of business decades ago. Interposed everywhere were the white spindle like supports of maglev lines, who’s gleaming features seemed in conflict with the ever present grime of the area. Upon their rails glided the seemingly out of place smooth orderly aerodynamic forms of passenger trains, seemingly processing in the almost religious act of delivering the vast work force to there chosen tasks. These almost delicate white trains plastered with almost living advertisements were occasionally joined on the rails by the ugly brutish forms of cargo transports, some of which would stop above or enter into the masses of the industrial conurbation’s. A single rail from this network led to the pier in question and upon it the black mass of a cargo transport came its sides emblazoned with company logos. It pulls slowly up the pier before stopping just before it hits the buffers set in its end, the zipping form of drones already emptying from one of its cars while more joined their growing activity from dark almost rookery like storage units dotted around the area. Finally a dozen men in black Int-Sec great coats swung out of the train at various points, the long broken forms of neural stripper rifles slung over their backs, a few with the masses of sniper scopes ominously attached.

Half an hour would pass as a large group of Dockers made their appearance in a single yellow port service bus, while a mild drizzle began shrouding the whole city in a thick grey lack of visibility, the mass of advertising hanging above it seeming faded, as from the pier making the distant gleaming towers of the central zone vanish into the swirling masses of grey mist like rain.

Foghorns began to sound, echoing across the pier where the Int-Sec men were now strung out as the dockers supervised the drones in preparing the cargo and checked and powered up the cranes archaic grav lifter. One foghorn grew closer, and the form of a cargo ship broke through the mist, its massive bulky form and bulbous body bobbing along the water as if there were all the time in the world, the dull rush of its water jets barely audible the vessel bore the name “Arc” in bright white scuffed lettering across its bow. It was a standard cargo vessel in places its paint advertised as impenetrable to the elements peeling or stained with tiny lines of rust. It slowly manoeuvred its way into the pier. The dull wash of the sea and hum of the city behind them was joined by the new sound of cargo being loaded. Heavy cargo units were one by one unloaded from the trains flat cars by the crane who’s humming and hissing would mirror its larger mechanical brethren in the industrial zone even as the drones checked everything constantly.

After another half hour the loading was done and the “Arc” would placidly begin her voyage, the broken carcass of flight 509 blacksword lying inside half a dozen crates.

VF-4 on approach to Jirocan

The cabins atmosphere was growing slightly close as the pilot finally spoke,

“Please stow your equipment now, were about to commence landing approach”.

The VF-4 begain to bank and decelerate, ahead of it radio messages dancing down to the air traffic controllers of Jirocan.

As the VF-4 made its final approach into Jirocan central Airport, the receiving party were already waiting, seven black air limos were parked to the side of a hanger that was separated from the rest of the airport by a patrolable fence, the hanger itself was large, and painted in the ANA diplomatic colours, as with everywhere else small canals of fast running deep water ran alongside the human walkways, from one of these Chik Chik Kree looked over the edge, his bulbous dolphin head following the reflection of the ZMI aircraft as it past the gleaming towers of Jirocan arcologies.

“Small white to big shiny box?”

Lord Foster Keranovitch looked down at his pod brother with a raised eyebrow, he looked clean cut in the traditional black suit, however it was cut to fit over his Skin Suit, a survival suit that all ANA citizens have, for surviving the cold of the deep waters, making him look like a man dressed in a formal black suit, but instead of a white shirt, it appeared he had on a soft grey polo neck of some indeterminate material.

“No, I think its fine, besides, you know what they say about first impressions, and ZMI from what our intelligence service has gathered has over 4 billion population wise, and I’d like to stick to the protocols we developed.”

The dolphin trilled a semi agreement, then looked around the greeting party, several administration personnel, made up of two females and two men, all dressed similar to Lord Foster stood around the first of the Limos, their eyes also on the aircraft as it touched down. Amongst them a single man who’s skin suit was a deeper black, carried himself with more of a military bearing, standing a good couple of inches higher than the admin personnel around him, occasionally his eyes flicked this way and that, checking points around the compound, on his chest he carried discreetly the rank of captain and insignia of the Royal Honour Guard, anyone looking closely enough would be able to see pictures and information scroll across his pupils occasionally. Nearby, as a more physical display of the protection of the Royal Family, two Dragonfish power armour troops, in the red and gold of the honour guard stood at ease.

As the VF-4 taxied on guidance from the air tower, the greeting party took up positions, the two power armours snapping to attention as the first of the diplomats appear at the aircrafts door, the admin diplomats cordially shaking hands and greeting, Lord Foster himself making the introductions, the quite tall man amongst the diplomats being introduced as ‘James Rosie, Personnel Management’

After cordialities were exchanged, Lord Foster comes forward again.

“Welcome to Jirocan, ANA’s primary surface city! From here we pretty much coordinate the majority of our surface world contacts and trade, you probably saw the docks on your way in and the transport aircraft in the commercial quarter of the airport.

Now, if you could follow me, we shall take you to your diplomatic quarters where we can relax a little better and get you settled in!”

The group is taken in to the limos, who with but a whisper of a purr twist gracefully into the sky and accelerate gracefully towards the Eastern Coastal region, along the way Lord Foster animatedly makes small talk, casually making references to the points of interest as the limos glides through traffic, several hover bikes riding escort. Soon the cavalcade arcs over an are somewhat less busy than the majority of the city, an area where glittering white arcologies pierce thick wooded parkland, in the centre of this is a great building somewhat reminiscent of Sydney opera house, but on arcology scale, Lord Foster nods his head towards it.

“That is the Central Forum Diplomatica, its pretty much where most of our surface world diplomacy is centred from, and where we shall most likely be doing our main business from, but I think it would be better to get you settled in, I’m sure it was a long flight”

Foster smiles as the air limo turns and follows a surface road that bridges out over the sae to a collection of large gleaming white edifices.

“Ah, the main Dipomatic Quarter, as a Nation with your sizeable population one of these will be your residency.”

With that the Limo curves round giving the occupants a close view out over two of the massive constructs.

http://mysite.wanadoo-members.co.uk/totalrandom/Arcexterior.jpg

Foster turns back to the passengers and graces Sandra Carson with a smile, his stern 50 year old face cracking into a glinting half apologetic grin.

“It might seem a bit empty at first, but ANA provides dispensations for foreign diplomats at most of the major trade houses and markets in Jirocan for decoration purposes.”

With that the Limo gently enters one of the large internal parking bays at the base of the Arcology, those with a sharp eye could notice on top of the arcology proper were several bays for airborne vehicles and a small dock on the seward side.

Getting out of the limos, Lord foster allows the party to stretch its legs, before leading them up to the entrance foyer, beyond this inside the arcologies dome is a lush sub tropical environment, built with several tiers of gardens and grottoes, a series of winding streams and rivers travel from pool to pool, falling from each tier to the lower one via gentle waterfalls, here and their can be seen tasteful statues.
The general feel of the place is white marbles, reflective metals and lots of gardens, all well tended by a team of various hover drones.
Te walkway from the main entrance foyer leads up the tiers, following arcing marble steps in the grand design to a giant construct shaped like a four sided hourglass that reaches up the ceiling of the trapezoid dome.

http://mysite.wanadoo-members.co.uk/totalrandom/arcologynt.jpg

Lord Foster turns to the party as Chk Chik Kree leaps and splashes around in the clean waters of the curving lake into which all the streams and rivers flow on the lowest tier.

“Well, I hope you will be comfortable, there is a full staff within residence, but of course at your discretion and need we can remove replace, or allow you to staff with your own people. Now, my personal attendant and the diplomatic aid that will be attached to you will take you around and help you get settled in, later on in the evening, perhaps we could have a sit down and leisurely discussion over dinner?

Ocean Approach to ZMI Mega City

Diplomat Yuri Henrison swore under his breath, unlike the ZMI diplomats he didn’t have the luxury of a jet, instead ANA had sent him via a diplomatic submarine, one of the Stormjack subs of the Deep Range project. Oh he was comfortable, but considerably bored, Yuri suffered from an incredibly hyper active mind, and the information on ZMI that would have taken the entire journey to process he’d chewed through in a matter of hours, people joked he had the mind of a computer.

The Sub itself the ANMS Selturn surfaced a good distance out from the ZMI shore and transmitted its ident codes before edging in towards the massive city.

Megacity One


Lidar visibly illuminated the water around the sub in an eerie display as other more exotic forms of observation quickly scanned over it. A holographic 40 foot wide STOP sign appeared at the sub’s bow, then the somewhat odd sight of a huge yellow smiley followed by GO!. Then a tidal wave of almost intelligible messages washed over the craft as the datasphere reached out. It came from a million microwave and laser link arrays on the cities tallest towers, from thousands of sonic com units on the great ocean platforms, hundreds of green blue com lasers from the MegaCity zones under the huge artificial bay, and from a portion of over a billion drones that filled the air above the city. It was a cacophonous roar of data, everything from entertainment feeds, and adds, live camera feeds beyond count to the cold march of financial data. As a finale a spray of holo adds began to flicker around the sub before seemingly being chased of as the AI commune finally clamped down. A wash of intense active radar came down from an eternally watchful array of military satellites and battle platforms before abruptly cutting out. Finally a dozen datasphere access companies sent brief adds advertising there rates, this too would fade as if a cone of silence was placed around the craft. A single message now peaked through government flags clearing the heavy security the datasphere was now laying down around the subs real and as of yet unoccupied possible virtual locations.


To: ANA Diplomatic Transport
From: Blue Two Traffic Control
ZMI territorial entry clearance granted please find attached course to Sub Dock CN:230 and standby for escort.
Attached:
Route Map
One animated advertisement for Happy Honcho’s Haddock Breakfast Bars featuring Happy Honcho ™ and the Funtime Rangers ™ versus the manicly depressed Mullet ™ at the bedtime of joy from Happy Funtime Fish 4 Kids! Ltd.



As the sub progressed twin aerobots dived, streamers of fog ripping out from there unpainted stubby energy weapon dotted winglets, the weapons clearly still in there dull somewhat stained plastic weather proofing. Across the aerobots bodies the delicate instruments and trailing antennae were withdrawn into there hulls. Subsonic, they still through up considerable spray as they released there payloads which seemed to unfold as they hit the water. The escort drone sub fighters thumped under the ocean wave large police blue and red strobes starting up on there outer sections while there em impeller and conventional water jets manoeuvred them somewhat noisily, there baffle fields ofline as they took up position flanking the diplomatic submarine. The aerobots too took up position, police holos and flashing lights flaring over there bodies as they made lazy slow circles about the subs line of progress. Underwater the ambient noise would reveal the thumping hearts of factories and machines and odd rising hot currents from the megacities vast heat sinks, the crenelated complex forms rising out of the sea bed like huge upended victorian jello moulds, the water columns rising from them just below boiling point, with waves of mist rising from the columns emergence on the surface. If the stormjacks sonar was good it would begin to pick up the roar of drone cargo trains moving in the tubes beneath the detritus covered sea bed, the sound of the millions of drones eternally repairing or picking over the carcass’s of the modular constructions and machines that lay below. As the sub grew nearer the rearing vast form of the blue platform which for all the world looked like someone had super sized an oil platform and tacked on a few office blocks and warehouses would appear. The number of drones would slowly increase and now for the first time the odd air car would dart overhead, warned out of the subs close path by somewhat irate short messages sent from the now growing swarm of aerobots. As the dock came into view, and the distinct sound of a brass band warming up washed across the waves from the bulky form of the crane dotted evercrete peer. Closer still and a block of the ZMN 33rd marine detachment (musical) would brake into a complicated piece of jaz before sliding into a pomp filled piece that would have done Suza proud while a small DOFA delegation could be clearly seen infront of the mass of naval dark blue, there white suits rustling in the sea breeze. A thin line of police could also be seen standing in a line in front of a pressing mass of reporters, flashing camera drones engaging in what looked like dog fights over there heads as the rival data providers clashed for the prime images.

A number of air car’s including what were clearly limos lay silently at the end of the peer there head lights reaching over the sea at odd crossing angles.

Meanwhile a single figure strode from the DOFA group, Peter Samson was an odd looking individual, utterly bald on top a huge streamer of grey hair seemed to sprout out at ear level surrounding his shining cranium, reaching all the way down to his shoulder blades it flapped crazily in the light ocean breeze. His white DOFA suit was immaculate save for an odd black square pin in one lapel, two blood red lines slashing through its matte and scuffed surface. He awaited the ANA representative at the end of the prepared docking ramp, his support team spreading out behind him like so many gaggling geese, conversation darting about office gossip to the latest slam ball team to hit the majors. He grinned slightly at an overheard joke before watching the ramp slowly extend to the side of the subs hull as overhead the whine of the aerobots faded as they went back on there endless patrols or to there dark rookery like hangers amongst the massive ugly girder like construction at the heart of the blue platform. The two drone sub fighters surfaced briefly as with a dull almost silent thud the docking ramp made contact with the sub the water around it now artificaly calmed as unseen force walls danced outward. The sub fighters let out a wash of bubbles before vanishing from sight, the glare of there strobes causing many on the pier to wince before the salt water covered them once more. Peter waited, his hair still blowing crazily for the representative.

Jirocan


“Well, I hope you will be comfortable, there is a full staff within residence, but of course at your discretion and need we can remove replace, or allow you to staff with your own people. Now, my personal attendant and the diplomatic aid that will be attached to you will take you around and help you get settled in, later on in the evening, perhaps we could have a sit down and leisurely discussion over dinner?

Sandra smiled gently her gentle Nordic accent just identifiable as she glided between sentences her eyes taking in the glittering walls of glass and the stretch of greenery.

“ I have to say I am somewhat overwhelmed by your peoples generosity Lord Foster, and I hope we can do such a building justice as a humble embassy”.

Sandra ambled, she did not stride, she did not process, and she never ever stalked, scurried or erstwhile moved in an ungainly manner, she ambled in a gentle slow stately fashion that for all the world looked as if she were going for a walk in the local park.

“I simply hope your colleague receives such a warm welcome on his arrival, I have to say Jirocan is a lot more restful than the big meg.”

Mary and Louis scurried, or seemed to as their luggage bobbed along on its integral suspensors behind them, there heads were like traversing turrets scanning back and forth in an almost mechanical unnatural fashion as they absorbed the whole scene and committed it to memory. The wore faint grins on there faces, this is what they lived for , what they had joined DOFA for, an endless sea of new experiences, new places entire new ways of life and of thinking. Occasionaly something would intrest them about the most mundane things such as the make up of the floor tiles or to the most fantastic such as the influences of the artist who created the statues gracing the view infront of them and a brief string of probeing questions would flow out of the twins mouths like a damned river being released from its bonds before being firmly closed behind sluice gates.

Meanwhile his wetware informing of the groups fields of view Philip scuttled out of it and had installed himself behind a large plant while he industriously prodding the glass walls with what for all the world looked like a stubby black marker, occasionally muttering to himself as he watched the ocean waves dancing a few dozen metres away, his moustache dancing with each quivering movement of his upper lip.

Megacity One

Yuri Henrison was quite disappointed when the AI’s blanketed a quite zone around the Stormjack, he’d already started categorizing and filing all the various advertisements, posts and placards that had flashed through the comp, rating them by type, nature and usefulness, ready to be called up from the recesses of his extraordinary mind. Data and information were like air to him, he needed to breath in and savour every tidbit, formulating ideas and strategies at a rate that was astounding.

His eyes flickered and instantly focused back to reality, absorbing the message that flicked up in front of them.


To: ANA Diplomatic TransportFrom: Blue Two Traffic Control ZMI territorial entry clearance granted please find attached course to Sub Dock CN:230 and standby for escort. Attached: Route Map One animated advertisement for Happy Honcho’s Haddock Breakfast Bars featuring Happy Honcho ™ and the Funtime Rangers ™ versus the manicly depressed Mullet ™ at the bedtime of joy from Happy Funtime Fish 4 Kids! Ltd.


The advertisement for the restaurant was of interest to him, briefly he absorbed and digested it, noting how it was targeted specifically for a sea going nation, a smile flickered as he noted they hadn’t got it quite right, there were no kids on board. But a thought flickered through his mind, what the great money making machines tried to sell to children was very telling about a society, he flicked through his memory conferring with examples from other societies, comparing them to support this probability, and came up with a positive answer. Briefly he made a mental note to visit Happy Honcho’s Haddock Breakfast Bar.

This had all taken but a quarter of a second, after which he turned to the sub captain and smiled.

“OK Commander, take us in”

The Subs own sensor suite replied to the various em waves and other sensor waves playing over her body, likewise reading and collecting data, of course in a polite non invasive way, after all, this was a first contact situation, and its always better to know how big the toes are before you accidentally step on them.
Considerable interest was shown to the sub fighters though, curious lidar and passive systems querying them with the interest of a long lost relation finding a fellow in a different land, more importantly, having the ability to compare specifications to their own.

Upon reaching the dock, Yuri was pleasantly surprised by the band, mentally recording their music and filing it away. Allways working away his mind took in the darting aerobots and reporters, quickly filing the bots and matching them to their respective reporters, then breaking those down into classifications from Major international Newspapers to College rags.
It took mere moments for his eyes to take in details of the police, their handling of the crowd, their equipment and organization. Having already earmarked the DOFA delegation, he walked towards them smiling, his stride confidant and open, that of a statesman, something he automatically fell into, adapting to the situation.
As he got closer he spied Peter Samson, his brain taking in all details, without breaking stride he angled towards him, thrusting out a hand in greeting, a genuine smile cracking his features.

“Diplomat Yuri Henrison of Aqua Nation Atlantica, requesting permission to come aboard and be recognised!”

The naval terminology was something peculiar to ANA, Yuri had thought about siphoning it out, but felt the human element here would react better to a slightly quirky character.




Jirocan

Sandra smiled gently her gentle Nordic accent just identifiable as she glided between sentences her eyes taking in the glittering walls of glass and the stretch of greenery.

“ I have to say I am somewhat overwhelmed by your peoples generosity Lord Foster, and I hope we can do such a building justice as a humble embassy”.
Foster had the good grace to look slightly bashful.
“Well, in truth, we were expecting maybe a slightly larger delegation!”

Sandra ambled, she did not stride, she did not process, and she never ever stalked, scurried or erstwhile moved in an ungainly manner, she ambled in a gentle slow stately fashion that for all the world looked as if she were going for a walk in the local park.
Foster joined her, the interior of the arcology was after all, pretty much a park, and he decided to enjoy it in her company, and get to know her

“I simply hope your colleague receives such a warm welcome on his arrival, I have to say Jirocan is a lot more restful than the big meg.”
Foster chuckled, he knew Yuri, and was a personal friend, if you could call it a friend, of ‘The Yuri Machine’, he knew the odd man would be salivating at the amount of information and data that would constantly meet him at every corner.
“I wouldn’t worry to much about it, Yuri absolutely loves different cultures, no matter how different they are.”

Mary and Louis scurried, or seemed to as their luggage bobbed along on its integral suspensors behind them, there heads were like traversing turrets scanning back and forth in an almost mechanical unnatural fashion as they absorbed the whole scene and committed it to memory. The wore faint grins on there faces, this is what they lived for , what they had joined DOFA for, an endless sea of new experiences, new places entire new ways of life and of thinking. Occasionaly something would intrest them about the most mundane things such as the make up of the floor tiles or to the most fantastic such as the influences of the artist who created the statues gracing the view infront of them and a brief string of probeing questions would flow out of the twins mouths like a damned river being released from its bonds before being firmly closed behind sluice gates.

Luckily two rather attractive secretary / information specialists were assigned to them ,and were more than happy to answer their questions, but they also followed through by asking about the comparisons to Mary and Louis’s own homeland, gathering as well as giving information.

Meanwhile his wetware informing of the groups fields of view Philip scuttled out of it and had installed himself behind a large plant while he industriously prodding the glass walls with what for all the world looked like a stubby black marker, occasionally muttering to himself as he watched the ocean waves dancing a few dozen metres away, his moustache dancing with each quivering movement of his upper lip.

James Rosie’s head swivelled slightly a small quirk in one eyebrow signalling his interest in Philip, he decided to hold back to consult with two of the honour guard on security, handily keeping Philip in view.

The glass itself was not glass but some for of extremely sophisticated polymer, shot through with micro strands of single atomic fibres, not only making it strong, but capable of withstanding pressures from depths as low as 2000 meters, after all ArcoTech, the premier arcology designers in ANA also builds the arcologies for the giant sub aquatic cities, and this model, the Pavona type could be used both above and below the surface. In the foyer were several tables, all showing discreet and appropriate advertisements and details of the city, there is however one oddity, several pamphlets for ArcoTech, all written in long flowing calligraphic script, beautiful and perfect but obviously done by human hand, glossy holos of their products shimmering into life from micro-projectors hidden in the illuminated script.

Above, dinner was being prepared, a great table had been laid out with all the bounties of the sea, calculated to show off the culinary delights of ANA, this had been placed on the sunward side of the top floor plateau, a massive square expanse, walled by huge sloping armoured windows and a ceiling a full three floors high, supported in the middle by the access column, holding the lifts and other general amenities, this itself was encrusted with flowing sculptures and scenes from the sea, through which tinkling fountains flowed into a series of pools round its base.

Megacity One

Peter smilingly grasped the proffered hand his erratic hair waving about his head in the brisk sea breeze.

“Welcome aboard Blue Two and Megacity One Diplomat Henrison”

Peter gestured to the reporters

“I’m sorry about that but they do seem to have a way to pop up no matter how one places such events, the gestalt bids me to say that you are granted full ambassadorial privileges”

As he spoke the limos warmed up throwing up the odd bit of detritus from the dock as the band neatly filed into a waiting bus.

“My name is Peter Samson and I have been assigned as your liaison, now is there any cargo you wish to move to the embassy …

The air cars barely travelled 3 kilometres and were in fact still inside the monumentally dull evercrete confines of Blue Two when they reached the first gleaming spike of a monorail line. They stopped, offloaded there passengers and continued on, the errant press would hopefully be side tracked. The station bolted to the side of the line seemed to be too whisp like. It was surrounded by a bustling garish corona of holo adds that permeated the air around it for around 20 metres. The train waiting was a solid black wide windowed dart of a thing, a simple ZMI logo plastering its nose cone. Inside it was plush, definitely not regular service, a well appointed bar taking up a wide slice of the cabin and a set of dapperly dressed servitor drones standing by. The train was also fast, soon it was darting over the water of the bay, which was in many spots bubbling or illuminated from below heading over a slowly winding up warehouse district before slamming into a mind bending series of metallic tunnels, a dart of white and more garish adds as another train is passed and flashing stations suddenly stop leaving the train seemingly hanging half a kilometre up on one side of a truly vast urban canyon, another track taking up the opposite side.

If one looked above and below a staggering network of interconnected rails with a mass of air car traffic which darts in delicately AI tended lanes above and below, as they pass occasionally the form of a huge local tram slams past on the surface of one of the buildings endless glass surfaces. What permeates all of this is an almost eye searing mass of advertising which as the DOFA train passes ripples to show a dozen adds targeted at executives and government officials. The train decelerates as a vast conical tower comes up. What appear to be huge holographic “search lights” visible even in daylight encapsulate it in a light show which is occasionally covered by a darting red and white holo sign with “WARNING FORCE FIELD IN OPERATION” and “DIPLOMATIC ZONE ENTER ONLY ON BUSINESS” ever few metres as the train hisses to a stop. The roar of wind at altitude is audible as the doors slide open to a wide open glass station, ominous automatic scanners now obviously turned off mark the doors. A further cluster of drones hover and variously wheel about proffering yet more drinks and a variety of snacks as above it all several large holo screens display “Transit/net, taking you there” and a series of endlessly rolling times”.

Peter almost reverently takes out a large solid state optic data spike.

“Mister Ambassador the tower utility control codex, please think of it as your key to the city and our data nets, a hard program etcher is in the ambassadorial office some three floors down, I’m afraid the internal navigation and tower SI won’t come fully online till you have ah programmed it to your satisfaction and entered it into the towers control core so we prepared this guide.”

A small white folder is proffered.

“The codex also contains the only quantum encoded copy of your embassy force wall code key.”


Jirocan

“I wouldn’t worry to much about it, Yuri absolutely loves different cultures, no matter how different they are.”

Sandra’s smile dappled as they passed under the trees

“I can say that the meg is fairly well divided amongst the old ethnicity’s, we even have a new sizeable china town growing.”

A breath and she twirled taking in the glass surrounds before continuing.

“Well I must say lord Foster this will be a most pleasant environment to work in”

Mary and Louis were in heaven, there darting minds filled for once with new experiences as they gained yet more information from the types of questions the secretaries deemed most important. As they scurried they made sure to keep there distance from Sandra. There was history there.

Philip hummed as he gently slid the pen sized object back into his suit and stalked to the nearest security guard, his fussy little moustache darting as he approached.

“Could you lead me to the security room please?”