The Ctan
16-07-2008, 23:01
The briefing room was a large austere chamber in the windswept isle that was the home of the chief C’tan intelligence agency. A dark flint colour, the walls were featureless and undecorated, itself a form of austere decoration. “This briefing is classified under standard procedures. You’re aware, Blackadder, of affairs in the ‘Haven’ region of Earth; I think you should be bearing in mind your aides…”
Lord Senator Edmund Blackadder grimaced at the mention of the staff he was coerced into dealing with on a daily basis. He nodded, grinding his teeth.
“So, therefore, it’ll be no surprise to you that the regional interests of the C’tan require a little further intelligence, based on the recent build up of paramilitary assets by the Midlonian Church. Now, we’ve already been careful to make ourselves aware of a good quantity of this, via the usual methods, to be honest, we don’t have any human intelligence, and really, we don’t need to know it, it’s not our business. But it’s in our regional interest to let the Church know that groups outside their own nation are bothered by their build-up. We don’t want them getting too active and de-stabilising the nation, and thus, its main trading partners. While the impact on our imports from that would be limited,” Though, the moaning about lack of tea from George and Percy, Blackadder thought, would probably get intolerable. “another religious regime could impede regional freedom of action overall, which would inconvenience our markets and operations Earthside…
“Consequently, I’ve put through a request to have you assigned to go on a little trip, to visit a diplomat in Midlonia,” suddenly, Blackadder had a premonition, of fifty men with enormous handlebar moustaches, monocles, bowler hats and umbrellas, talking about sending ‘the working class back to the mill where they belong,’ “known for links to the church, for a ‘goodwill visit.’”
Blackadder didn’t much care for goodwill; he knew his voters weren’t generally amused by the kind of things Percy had blithely and obliviously informed him were the norm in certain Midlonian colonies, though to be fair, in reality, they weren’t so bad (Percy was, to Blackadder’s mind, much more rational than George in such things – he’d once overnight increased his melanin production just to see if he could give George a heart attack, alas, it hadn’t rid him of that lunatic, but George had most gamely attacked him, screaming ‘theif.’)
“And am I actually expected to take notes?” Blackadder asked
“Oh, not at all… If you see anything terribly interesting, otherwise, just subtly hint that they’re of interest to us, that’s all you really need to do,” the grey haired man sitting opposite him on the table said.
---
Blackadder’s home contained many comforts, a sizeable neo-rustic mansion, it currently had a number of servants, and terrifyingly, his three ‘aides.’ The man he’d just met, for a tooth-snapping, palm-scarring meeting had arranged for all of them, all immigrants. The most sane of them, by a very narrow margin, was Percy Percy, the most foolish fool ever produced by the Midlonian upper class. Closely following him in the long grope towards having a clue, George Colthurst St. Bartleigh, whose past, beyond ‘Questarian’ Blackadder had never discovered, and wasn’t sure he wanted to know about. Most foolish of all, and to Blackadder’s despair, longest emplaced, lowest intelligence, and smelliest, was S. Baldrick, (he didn’t know what the S was, he suspected it was something to do with the smell that accompanied the latter) whom Blackadder viewed as the worst and most cretinous of his ‘highly trained diplomatic team.’ Baldrick probably, Blackadder thought, ultimately came from Kalessin; he wasn’t sure, the descriptions of feudalistic field toiling, and muck-slopping sounded right, but Baldrick was too stupid to remember where precisely he’d been born, or how he’d come to leave. Or where he’d been in the meantime.
They were all inflicted on him as a tremendously sadistic punishment for a social faux pas he’d made years ago, and he was forced to accept by the grim prospect of his greatest fear, an audit, should he dismiss them (he’d long ago decided that remaining in his job, and rather rich, was far ahead of the removal of title and judicial punishment that would come with a conviction for… appropriation of funds). The trio had all been granted Asylum from some past misfortunes, and found gainful employment, thanks to Blackadder’s enemies, in his office.
---
Blackadder sighed in resignation as he returned home, the displacement depositing him in an open area at the side of the house he used primarily for just such a reason. He frowned, waving a hand at an ornate carved door with his family crest, passed down for dozens of generations at least, on it. It opened, to reveal, sitting by the fireplace, Baldrick. “Baldrick…”
“Yes My Lord?” he said, sounding hopeful.
“Baldrick. Go and cut your hair, and then get George to show you how to use the bath again. It appears we’re going on a trip.”
“Yaay.” Baldrick said, standing up, treating Edmund to the unpleasant sight of his current mode of quite scandalously indecent dress, “where are we going Mister B?”
“We’re going to enjoy a nice trip to Midlonia in order to meet some more religious fanatics, these ones, actually somewhat competent, which means, you’re going to have to get George to find you something to wear, too.”
“Why?” Baldrick sounded disappointed…
“Because, for the hundredth time, a leather posing pouch isn’t appropriate attire in my house, let alone when we’re going to meet rabid Christian Fanatics whose strange notions include suffer not the indecently dressed to live.” He proceeded to walk off and ignore Baldrick until the latter went away, taking a bottle of brandy from the bar in the next room, and head to his bedroom. He closed the door, and locked it. His residence was structured to allow him a modicum of peace when he was in that room, with most of the amenities on the ground floor, the servants’ bedroom, itself semi-separate from the rest of the house, and some recreation and health facilities in the basement, and his mandatory crew of contemptible aides confined to the first floor, Baldrick in a set of living quarters that were almost a house in themselves (unfortunately, he didn’t stay there, which had been the intent).
Of course, they never stayed there, hence the reinforced, treble locked, doors, and their leeringly gothic frames (he’d found that gargoyles scared Baldrick).
---
“Hup!” cried Percy, smashing the ball with the racquet. It sailed over the net, and George flailed at it with his own racquet. It sailed past Percy, who turned and watched it go over a wall. “What’s the score?” Percy asked.
“Two… plus five, carry the one…” George stammered, “LOTS!” he shouted, having apparently lost count.
They both laughed uproariously, and Baldrick hoved into view at door, “Mister George?”
“Yes, Balders?”
“Mister Blackadder says you’ve got to tell me how to look decent when we go to Midlonia…”
“I say!” Percy said, “back to the old country! What a Lark!”
“You could call up your friends…” George said.
“Oh yes… Because I have lots of them,” he said, with a forced smile, which completely fooled the other man.
---
Blackadder looked at his wretches. Baldrick had been dressed up in the same way as the other two, black and white suits, bowler hats, umbrellas.
He sighed, “Pathetic. Simply pathetic,” he said, looking at his watch, “On the other hand, we’ll be late, so, tell me you have at least packed changes of clothes…”
“Don’t be silly, Edmund, of course we have…” Percy said, picking up a suitcase, “Ready?”
Blackadder didn’t reply. He tried not to encourage them…
Lord Senator Edmund Blackadder grimaced at the mention of the staff he was coerced into dealing with on a daily basis. He nodded, grinding his teeth.
“So, therefore, it’ll be no surprise to you that the regional interests of the C’tan require a little further intelligence, based on the recent build up of paramilitary assets by the Midlonian Church. Now, we’ve already been careful to make ourselves aware of a good quantity of this, via the usual methods, to be honest, we don’t have any human intelligence, and really, we don’t need to know it, it’s not our business. But it’s in our regional interest to let the Church know that groups outside their own nation are bothered by their build-up. We don’t want them getting too active and de-stabilising the nation, and thus, its main trading partners. While the impact on our imports from that would be limited,” Though, the moaning about lack of tea from George and Percy, Blackadder thought, would probably get intolerable. “another religious regime could impede regional freedom of action overall, which would inconvenience our markets and operations Earthside…
“Consequently, I’ve put through a request to have you assigned to go on a little trip, to visit a diplomat in Midlonia,” suddenly, Blackadder had a premonition, of fifty men with enormous handlebar moustaches, monocles, bowler hats and umbrellas, talking about sending ‘the working class back to the mill where they belong,’ “known for links to the church, for a ‘goodwill visit.’”
Blackadder didn’t much care for goodwill; he knew his voters weren’t generally amused by the kind of things Percy had blithely and obliviously informed him were the norm in certain Midlonian colonies, though to be fair, in reality, they weren’t so bad (Percy was, to Blackadder’s mind, much more rational than George in such things – he’d once overnight increased his melanin production just to see if he could give George a heart attack, alas, it hadn’t rid him of that lunatic, but George had most gamely attacked him, screaming ‘theif.’)
“And am I actually expected to take notes?” Blackadder asked
“Oh, not at all… If you see anything terribly interesting, otherwise, just subtly hint that they’re of interest to us, that’s all you really need to do,” the grey haired man sitting opposite him on the table said.
---
Blackadder’s home contained many comforts, a sizeable neo-rustic mansion, it currently had a number of servants, and terrifyingly, his three ‘aides.’ The man he’d just met, for a tooth-snapping, palm-scarring meeting had arranged for all of them, all immigrants. The most sane of them, by a very narrow margin, was Percy Percy, the most foolish fool ever produced by the Midlonian upper class. Closely following him in the long grope towards having a clue, George Colthurst St. Bartleigh, whose past, beyond ‘Questarian’ Blackadder had never discovered, and wasn’t sure he wanted to know about. Most foolish of all, and to Blackadder’s despair, longest emplaced, lowest intelligence, and smelliest, was S. Baldrick, (he didn’t know what the S was, he suspected it was something to do with the smell that accompanied the latter) whom Blackadder viewed as the worst and most cretinous of his ‘highly trained diplomatic team.’ Baldrick probably, Blackadder thought, ultimately came from Kalessin; he wasn’t sure, the descriptions of feudalistic field toiling, and muck-slopping sounded right, but Baldrick was too stupid to remember where precisely he’d been born, or how he’d come to leave. Or where he’d been in the meantime.
They were all inflicted on him as a tremendously sadistic punishment for a social faux pas he’d made years ago, and he was forced to accept by the grim prospect of his greatest fear, an audit, should he dismiss them (he’d long ago decided that remaining in his job, and rather rich, was far ahead of the removal of title and judicial punishment that would come with a conviction for… appropriation of funds). The trio had all been granted Asylum from some past misfortunes, and found gainful employment, thanks to Blackadder’s enemies, in his office.
---
Blackadder sighed in resignation as he returned home, the displacement depositing him in an open area at the side of the house he used primarily for just such a reason. He frowned, waving a hand at an ornate carved door with his family crest, passed down for dozens of generations at least, on it. It opened, to reveal, sitting by the fireplace, Baldrick. “Baldrick…”
“Yes My Lord?” he said, sounding hopeful.
“Baldrick. Go and cut your hair, and then get George to show you how to use the bath again. It appears we’re going on a trip.”
“Yaay.” Baldrick said, standing up, treating Edmund to the unpleasant sight of his current mode of quite scandalously indecent dress, “where are we going Mister B?”
“We’re going to enjoy a nice trip to Midlonia in order to meet some more religious fanatics, these ones, actually somewhat competent, which means, you’re going to have to get George to find you something to wear, too.”
“Why?” Baldrick sounded disappointed…
“Because, for the hundredth time, a leather posing pouch isn’t appropriate attire in my house, let alone when we’re going to meet rabid Christian Fanatics whose strange notions include suffer not the indecently dressed to live.” He proceeded to walk off and ignore Baldrick until the latter went away, taking a bottle of brandy from the bar in the next room, and head to his bedroom. He closed the door, and locked it. His residence was structured to allow him a modicum of peace when he was in that room, with most of the amenities on the ground floor, the servants’ bedroom, itself semi-separate from the rest of the house, and some recreation and health facilities in the basement, and his mandatory crew of contemptible aides confined to the first floor, Baldrick in a set of living quarters that were almost a house in themselves (unfortunately, he didn’t stay there, which had been the intent).
Of course, they never stayed there, hence the reinforced, treble locked, doors, and their leeringly gothic frames (he’d found that gargoyles scared Baldrick).
---
“Hup!” cried Percy, smashing the ball with the racquet. It sailed over the net, and George flailed at it with his own racquet. It sailed past Percy, who turned and watched it go over a wall. “What’s the score?” Percy asked.
“Two… plus five, carry the one…” George stammered, “LOTS!” he shouted, having apparently lost count.
They both laughed uproariously, and Baldrick hoved into view at door, “Mister George?”
“Yes, Balders?”
“Mister Blackadder says you’ve got to tell me how to look decent when we go to Midlonia…”
“I say!” Percy said, “back to the old country! What a Lark!”
“You could call up your friends…” George said.
“Oh yes… Because I have lots of them,” he said, with a forced smile, which completely fooled the other man.
---
Blackadder looked at his wretches. Baldrick had been dressed up in the same way as the other two, black and white suits, bowler hats, umbrellas.
He sighed, “Pathetic. Simply pathetic,” he said, looking at his watch, “On the other hand, we’ll be late, so, tell me you have at least packed changes of clothes…”
“Don’t be silly, Edmund, of course we have…” Percy said, picking up a suitcase, “Ready?”
Blackadder didn’t reply. He tried not to encourage them…