NationStates Jolt Archive

The F-35 "D" screamed overhead, but was slowing down by the time it was on ingress to LCAX in Allanea. The pilot was Directress Adrianne Cain, the leader of the Grand Unified Federation of Perimeter Defense, and her purpose in Allanea was to conduct some "business" with President Alexander Kazansky.

This "D" variant, the Directress's personal plane, was hand-modified by Cain herself to support true VTOL, supercruise, and carries advanced avionics in which she had a hand in programming. The onboard CPU was replaced with a special setup based on the Nehalem architecture; the natively octo-core die combined with Intel's reintroduction of hyper-threading facilitated the immense multitasking required by the fighter aircraft's micro-adjustments to control surfaces and real-time gathering and processing of battlefield data. It did not receive as much testing as the computer it replaced of course, but Cain did not intend to use her "D" as a true fighter craft.

The plane gently entered a circular path around LCAX, while Cain hailed Local.

"This is PDD1397 out of Westmere WCAR in Perimeter Defense, on approach to LCAX, requesting clearance for landing."

"PDD1397, this is LCAX Local, that a VTOL you're shooting around?"

"You got it, Local."

"Horizontal strips are lined up for the next twenty minutes. Advise you take the VTOL pads over by runway six, approximately...two hundred meters easterly off Hangar 3, marked clearly."

"PDD1397 passing through fifteen-hundred and dipping."

"Roger that, PDD1397. Say, you wouldn't happen to be Directress Adrianne Cain, would you?"

"How'd you guess?"

"President Kazansky left a note with Local. Said you'll be landing here off the radar."

"Well, he's a fine gentleman. Local, any VTOL pad?"

"Affirmative, 1397, anything that's free."

"Thanks. PDD1397 out."

The jet's lift fan doors opened and its engine nozzle rotated downwards, bringing it to a vertical fall, slowly onto the designated landing zone. There was no commotion around; no one cared for a random landing at 0743 hours because no one knew who was flying the fighter. All any observer would see was that the craft bore the insignia of Perimeter Defense, and its fuselage was a rather pale blue.

Adrianne popped the canopy and removed her oxygen hose. She shut off the craft's engines and avionics, then stepped out and clambered down the extended ladder. She closed the canopy and locked it with a small lock that she bought at a convenience store shortly before leaving. Cost her only $10.

She pulled off her helmet, revealing her long, luxuriant mane of blond hair, and her heterochromic blue/green eyes. She looked around in the slowly brightening morning sky, and leaned against her plane on the VTOL pad, waiting intently.

There was a sudden approaching roar, powerful and loud. It was a roar not of an aircraft engine, but of something almost obscene in it's overkill – a Guarita AFV engine, packed under the hood of a car, the President's own Dragon X vehicle.

It broke 300 kilometers per hour as it approached the airport, and already the boy at the wheel was beginning to slow down. It slowed down to a 250 as the airport guards noticed it, rushing to open the gates before Kazansky's vehicle, and 200 as it screamed through the gate.

The open-roofed car was at 100 miles per hour when the F-35 was already looming ahead, and then the Boy-President stood on the brakes, spinning the vehicle. The brakes squealed like a butchered pig, and Kazansky jumped over the door.

He was wearing a set of clothing unusual for him – a three-piece suit – black jacket and tie, with a red rose flickering on the left lapel. His ceremonial weapons – two large, gold-plated officer's pistols -were hidden under the jacket. Only the heavy combat boots with which the President rarely parted, gave away that he was not quiet an ordinary person.

Then again, there's no such thing as an ordinary person in Allanea.

He smiled at the Directress, blushing only slightly:

“Hi, Miss Cain. Welcome to the United States. How was your journey?”

He walked her to the car, opened the door before her, and got in. Then, he floored the gas pedal.

* * *

The National Strategic Highway system is excluded by law from any local speed limits -even when it enters cities. Kazansky took full advantage of that.

Liberty-City is not an ordinary city – rather, it is a conglomeration of 'urban sprawl' communities spread over the entire state of Merkaz, the roofs of millions of family homes stretching to the very horizon on either side of the superhighway, below the level of the road.

Below them, on either side, millions of people slept, dreamt, had fun- each in the blissful privacy of a family home and a lawn. As they sped through, Alex mentioned the names of the counties – Blizzard County, where programmers and hikikomori lived, protected in their homes like underground moles, Haig County, with it's population of upper-class professionals and engineers, Furtown, with it's rumored demented orgies, and dozens of ours, each with their own special world within a world.

And finally they were on the promenade, with their speed dropped about by half, with the sea on their left and the enormous city on their right. There were tall buildings here – hotels, casinos, and so on. But Kazansky didn't care for them.

He found a smaller building – only two stories, despite being on the edge of the sea.

The entrance said simple: The Boat.

“Here, Miss Cain. This is a most wonderful restaurant. The inside is renovated like the inside of a 19th-century boat, and the special private room is called The Captain's Chambers.”

They walked in, and he nodded to a servant dressed like a sailor.

“Yes. I reserved the Chambers.”

The room, naturally, looked like a Captain's room on an old ship. Only the round table hinted it was a restaurant, not a real ship.

“So...”- Kazansky's blush returned to his cheek - “What is your poison, Directress?”

"Greets, President Kazansky," Adrianne said with as much of the cordial spirit as she could muster - which meant not much. She peeled her G-suit and stepped out in a long, flowing black dress with a long cut on the left that extended to her thigh. Around her neck was a pendant, a crushed .50 caliber round encased in crystal; this was the bullet that came very close to ending her life during the Mediumtopian War. An osmium ring rounded her right finger, and on her feet were simple black laced heels. She hung the G-suit gently inside her plane's air intake, and allowed herself to be walked to the large Dragon X.

She looked curiously outside the window as the car passed various districts within Liberty-City, and listened to Kazansky's descriptions of the places. She was particularly interested in Blizzard County's programmers' district; being something of a hacker and programmer herself, Cain loved to speak with those savvy in the language and life.

When she arrived with Kazansky at the Chambers, she sat down gently at her designated seat and looked around. She was in the process of taking in the architecture until Alex's question piped in.

"Water, please," Cain said with a light smile, noting Alex's red cheeks. "I rarely take any other sort of beverage. Never know when you'll need to fight."

She sat back. "So, Presi-" She stopped herself. "Alex."

"Water?" – Alex's eyebrows climbed only for half a second – and then he remembered what he had heard about Adrianne's past, and the horrors that she underwent. Something inside him tugged him to say 'no need to worry, you are safe here' – as indeed Cain was – but he knew that this would offend it. - "Very well, water it is. Garcon! Water!"

And, as the water arrived – in a tall wine glass – together with Kazansky's Sam Adams beer, the boy smiled cautiously. "So… Adrianne. I hope you're no longer angry about those planes I trashed."

"Plane?" Adrianne tilted her head to a side. "Oh. UAVs." She frowned and set her chin on her hands. "It took me - yes, me - a while to salvage the craft and repair the parts. Saved the country a lot of money." She showed her left ring finger. There was a dark spot there, which could easily have been mistaken for the mark of a way-too-tight ring. "Solder burn. I was working on the CPU when someone threw up an air burst charge over my bunk in the barracks."

Looking at Alex's puzzled face at her last statement, she said, "What? I sleep in any barracks I find. They're comfortable."

Alex blinked. "I'm so sorry. You were injured, and it's my fault. And… in the Allanean Army, we don't have bunks, we have cubicles – for exactly this reason. It costs a bit more, but it afford people a basic amount of privacy."

"Again… I apologize."

"Oh, it's perfectly all right." She took a sip of her water. It was quite cold. There was quite a pause in the conversation at hand.

Alex, on the other hand, seemed to get a bit relaxed after the last answer. "By the way, what are your hobbies – outside of shooting things and tinkering with them? We share at least two, it seems."

"Also, have you ever tried prairie dogs? Hunting them, I mean."

"I only shoot invading rats and people, Alex," she said in response, smiling lightly. "I don't hunt in general. I prefer to use bullets for things that deserve them." She looked around Alex's body, looking for perhaps a gun behind clothing. "I assume, by the question, however, that you do hunt prairie dogs."

Alex shrugs. "Prairie dogs. Wolves. Bears. Tyrannosaurs. All manner of dinos, actually. Basically, whatever moves, with a preference to stuff that either poses a challenge – like prairie dogs do – or that can tear me up, like wolves and dinos can. It makes sense, and it keeps me ready."

"Ah. Quite interesting." It wasn't really; Adrianne had no qualms about hunting but had no feelings about it either. "Now I may seem like a massive fucking genocidal maniac, Alex, but do you like wars and fighting?" An observer would've seen a twinkle in her eye.

Alex smiled. "Well, I would not wage a war for the sake of waging it... but let us be frank with each other. I do enjoy the process."

"If I had a cut on my leg for every OpFor warrior I've killed, I wouldn't have a leg." Adrianne smiled. "I understand the pain and suffering that war brings, but it's a sight to behold, a six-pack of nuclear rain - MLRS splashing down upon a worthy but soon-to-fall adversary. What a loss of life, what a gain in glory!" One of the things that Adrianne had always hid was a very long gash across her jugular, on her neck. This was a bullet scrape that would've clipped her and left her dead. But this time, she bore it without the obfuscation of makeup; she was not proud, but she was in the presence of a man who knew war.

Kazansky nodded. “Quite. And quite apart from the sheer power of weapons you yield and command – it creates an illusion. It tells you – you can change everything. If you just take that hill. If you just win this battle. You can change the world. It just takes a bigger hammer, you keep telling yourself. It isn't true, of course – but part of why people always return to war is because they keep telling themselves that they just need a bigger hammer – and then they can change everything. Sometimes it's even true – but the reason it's so seductive, so powerful – is because it's beautiful, even when it [b]isn't.”

He smiles, sadly. “You're also beautiful, Adrianne.”

"Why, thank you Alex. You're beautiful yourself." Adrianne laughed openly. "I disagree, though. I don't think people fight wars to change the world. I think people fight wars to change themselves. You take that hill, you prove your own godliness. You hold this position, you hold off hundreds of men who could possibly be better than you, but aren't. You pick up that bigger hammer, and you prove that you can lift it." She swung her arm as though truly using a hammer.

"Um. Warfare as a test of the self? A Montaigne (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montaigne) throwback, as it where. " - Alex beckoned a waiter - "Waiter, Dersconi champagne, please. One for me and - Adrianne, are you sure you're not going to let me try and get you drunk?"

"Please, Alex," she smiled as she spoke. "No alcohol. I almost never drink. And even if I did," she added, "My tolerance for the stuff is very high. I doubt you'd be able to get me drunk." She didn't laugh, but snickered - rather unladylike in her fashion.

Alex's face suddenly lit up. "I have an idea! You may not drink, but have you considered ice-cream?"

Adrianne blinked. Ice cream? Of all the things to ask-

"Ice cream?" she echoed her thoughts. "Yes. Absolutely. Ice cream!" She smiled brightly as Alex's face lit up.

"Garcon!" - the President's voice reverberated through the entire floor - "Double-dutch ice-cream for the lady, and a simple vanilla for me!"

Within less than two minutes, ice-cream - in glasses, of course - appeared.

"Is that level of vocal authoritarianism over the servants...necessary?" Cain said while smiling at "Garcon," thanking him. She tapped at her glass with a spoon. "Services-based occupations like domestic help and servitude are well-respected where I come from. Self-sufficiency is part of our culture after all, and to labor to help others is a nicely regarded vocation."

“Well, way we see it here, to earn money, you must do what other people want you to do – and then, when you've done wiling away your hours of work, you get other people to do what you want with all that money you earned. Besides, every place has its etiquette. Here they like the guy to be called “Garcon!”, with shouts that imitate a bistro at the turn of the Twentieth Century – there's a place I know where you lie down on a giant puff that nearly swallows you whole, and two servants bend over you, and you have to whisper” - Alex's voice actually drops to a whisper - “very very sotftly and gently what you want... it costs a pretty penny, though. Mostly because of the two servants – one client thing.”

Adrianne tilted her head to a side, and her hair fell in a golden sheet. "Hmm. A series of curiosities. It reminds me of Sexual Services Administration back home. For a place of such chaotic encounters, it is perhaps the most structured government organization."

"Your prostitutes are the best-organized part of your government?" - KAzansky raises an eyebrow.

"Very possible. While the rest of the hierarchy is already well-organized, SSA takes it a step further by bringing supreme order to the chaos of, well, prostitution. Evaluation tests every year, systematic education of proper techniques...I was a Guest Servitor there thrice, and I was impressed by how well they dealt with clients."

“Oh I see.” - Kazansky looked completely unfazed by the revelation - “Order through efficient bureaucracy. That seems... foreign. Mind, there are people and agencies here who offer courses both in prostitution and in sex techniques – but then, this is Allanea, there are also people who offer courses in opening your ninth chakra.”

Adrianne laughs. "That's a curious course." She takes a bit of her ice cream in.