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Post by elizar on Jan 14, 2009 19:30:00 GMT -5
It was just by a push of a button.
Harold remembered when he was little, that big things usually came about by a big bang or a show. But in this case, the next indicator of success would be in the news. Yet another satellite had broken down. There were just two more needed according to the model before the stress on the network would do the rest of the satellites in. Then it would be a time to target the military satellites. Even if NASA would fix two-three of the satellites in time, the damage would be done. Distrust would be seeded into the public against the space programs and the satellites that were floating in the high sky above the earth. The information flow would also stagnate, and the traffic on the internet would be limited for the general people. That would seed more distrust, but then against the government that looked like that it wasn’t doing anything to fix the internet.
“I can never get over how anticlimactic this is.” Ursa said as she rolled towards Harold. “At least paint the button red.” Her breath smelled of enough methanol that Harold figured he could lit her breath afire.
“You will learn to appreciate the subtlety.” Harold said. “How’s the kid?” He asked her.
“I don’t know.” Ursa shrugged. “No one’s yelling so I guess he’s still alive.”
Harold sighed. He knew better than to let Ursa be around kids. While she was good at finding beverages with methanol content anywhere, even in a church, she was someone who could be trusted. The US Government had abandoned her, so she shared his same hatred towards it. He still didn’t know what to make of Carl, who had been clever enough to find them. But instead of reporting them to Interpol or the CIA, he had volunteered to be a secondary ship for them. However, his focus was not towards the USA in general, but rather against users such as the kid whose permanent residency was in a converted cargo container.
Harold didn’t like that his entire plan rested on a kid’s hood, but still, it was the best way to accomplish his goals while staying hidden in plain sight.
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Post by Evangeline on Jan 14, 2009 20:21:08 GMT -5
Kam Yung, five years old, crouched inside the container, idly messing about with the broken toy that was the only thing he had to keep him company in a metal box lined with pallets. It was strewn with empty drink containers, as that Ursa woman never bothered to pick them up. She only ever did the least possible to keep the child and his quarters clean. Once in a while, he leaned against the container wall, hoping to hear something that wasn't harsh voices and machinery. He was hungry again. When would she be by with food?
Carl Dietrich thanked the gods that be for the typhoon that had swept through the Marine Offender Holding Facility off San Diego, freeing him and a number of other prisoners about three years after his arrest off of Villa Hermosa. His hidden accounts and old networks of contacts had gotten him squared away again, and he had a new crew of toughs to assist him with his projects. On skillfully-forged paper, he was now M.V. Rolph Koenig, with a whole new paint job and some superstructure modifications to carry off the new identity. It had, he figured, worked a treat. Now, if only Harold and Ursa could be trusted to keep their mouths shut, he would have his ultimate revenge on the humans and their allies who had inconvenienced him so sorely. He could just taste it.
"Lukas, did you see that new sculpture they put out by the gate? That "thing" they call a work of art?" Tom Picard Anderson jabbed rhetorically towards the forklift who was bringing him his drink - little more than the CV equivalent of soda pop, because of his dietary restrictions. Being denied intoxication, or normal flight for that matter, he would have at least the pleasure of needling Lukas for a while.
"No, it was enough for me to see it in the papers." Lukas set the container down before the shuttle. "If I want to see something that looks like modern art, I can check out my little girl's mud pies."
"Good point. Well, anyway, I had to go to the dedication, just to make a good show for NASA. The thing is a damned pile of girders, painted bright safety orange, like it was a warning or something. If I wanted to look at girders, I could stay in my hangar and stare at the rafters! Can you believe they spent $400,000 on that and accuse US of wasting money?"
"They got some screwed-up priorities, that's for sure." Lukas agreed.
Since his birth some twenty-one years before, "Picard", as everyone called him, had been called everything from "the brick with wings" to "damned waste of money", and it all rolled his broad white back. The one thing that wasn't so easy for him was his lack of success with the opposite sex.
The other shuttlecraft were half-grown kids, none older than twelve. When they came of age, their romantic interest would go to their peers, not the old man of the bunch, which left him no choice but to flirt with jetliner girls, most of whom were amused (but not taken in) by his wit and charm. But Picard, the eternal optimist, was here at the air section of the officers' club for another night, hoping some woman would at least give him a bit of her time, if nothing else. Flattery and a sense of humor helped, at least for that much...
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Post by elizar on Jan 14, 2009 20:41:52 GMT -5
"And Ursa." Harold said as she was leaving. "Do feed him, I believe that this blast wasn't as powerful as usual."
"Al right fine!" Ursa spat out and went towards the mess. At least someone else got the cans ready and waiting for her. She quickly took the one in the front and carried it over to the container. She wasn't happy with being chastised in front of the others, and Harold blaming her on the kid's inability to power the deathray up.
She opened the doors and pushed the can inside. "How about next time you gather those leftovers by the entrance next time? Would make it better for me to clean the mess you're making." She said, her mood growing foul. "Oily Japanese kid, can't understand a word that I'm saying." She said as closing the doors. She had been told that the kid did come from Korea, but she had never bothered to commit that to memory.
Christine rolled inside the bar and saw that Picard had arrived before her. She sighed and looked around for a second, not seeing too many stares, just the usual ones that came with being a female and a mix. While it was clear she had airbus in her family lines, it was also obvious that she had some traits from here and there.
And she had an attitude that most learned to avoid if trying to bed someone. The bar was a place for her to relax. She didn't have any vomit comet ride coming up in less than 72 hours, so that meant this was the last day that she was able to get drunk.
After getting her drink, she rolled up to Picard. "Hey Tom." She said, she had learned to call him that as a signal that she was not up to be flirted at and get shot down, even though Picard already knew that it was always going to be with her, no matter how pissdrunk she was.
"How was that bigwig party?" She asked Picard.
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Post by Evangeline on Jan 14, 2009 20:51:15 GMT -5
Yung didn't comprehend much of English, but understood the import of Ursa's words despite his tender years. He took one of the empty cans and flung it at her, only to see it hit the door as she closed it again. The little yellow Kia boy hated these people who had snatched him away from his parents, but effective resistance was as yet beyond him. Hunger took over as he snatched the new can and retreated to the back of the container.
Carl made his coded radio transmission to Harold, then waited.
"Booooooorrrrrinnnng." Picard grimaced. "And that "sculpture" they presented to us - "Ad Astra", they call it - was an atrocity. What is it that they have against good art these days?"
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Post by elizar on Jan 14, 2009 21:02:29 GMT -5
Harold saw that Carl, or Rolph as he liked to call himself now, had tried to contact them. With most people, it would be a question if today's launch was successful, but Harold knew that Carl was not like most people, and he could easily get offended if he just assumed what he was going to ask and give that reply instead of listening to him first.
"Misha here." Harold said, using one of his identities that Carl was familiar with. "How is it going?"
"Art is the reason for why I choose not to say the word 'art' to describe something." Christine said. "I like pretty pictures, good music and nice films, but I wouldn't go so far as calling it art, knowing what kind of stuff from the junkyard qualifies as art."
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Post by Evangeline on Jan 15, 2009 16:25:50 GMT -5
"Well, thank you." "Rolph" answered. "And I assume your plans are also going well so far?" The ship hoped that his new associates had made some concrete headway since their last face-to-face meeting.
Picard chuckled. "Art" has almost become a dirty word to average people." That he himself was far from "average" didn't escape him, but his tastes, as he perceived, were with those of normal, rational people. "It's not just that it's ugly, it's offensive, especially when you think about the pennies stolen out of everyone's paychecks to pay that grant whore for his so-called "work". At least the space program has spinoffs - new materials and technologies - that will ultimately benefit even its harshest critics, with not a word of acknowledgment or thanks from them." That the same people unblinkingly forked out taxpayer dollars for a pile of glorified scrap rankled him.
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Post by elizar on Jan 15, 2009 16:54:54 GMT -5
"Everything's solid right now." Harold answered. "No troubles as of yet."
Christine sighed. "Yeah, and those are the same who look at the satellite troubles as a minor hiccup." She said. "You see more of your crew than me, but from what I could see, they're really feeling it. I heard Miles tried to get the team at least two weeks vacation, but got shot down by the same that tell the media that there is no trouble up in orbit." She finished from her container, but even for that, she still had the feeling of that she was being checked out. She ordered another drink.
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Post by Evangeline on Jan 15, 2009 18:00:58 GMT -5
"Ingrates." Picard sighed dismissively. "Yeah, you're right about the crew. The alternates won't be ready for another few months, so they're under a lot of pressure. I've learned quite a few Spanish swear words since Pilar joined us. She's still just a kid, for Chrysler's sake, and the others aren't much older except for Lionel. He's as new to space as anyone, but the B.S. is all old paint to him."
The 787 was not of NASA or the air force, but an employee of a civilian contractor, and they had officer's club privileges while they were here. He eyed the "mutt girl" from a distance, assuming that a mongrel like her would be flattered with a purebred's attention, and maybe she'd leave off being a dyke once she knew what a real man could do for her. "Real men" apparently didn't include the shuttle, for he didn't regard the "mutant" she was talking to as anything resembling one of his own kind, notwithstanding Picard's parentage. Therefore, what club etiquette had to say about approaching a woman who was already talking to another man didn't apply, as far as he was concerned.
The 787 closed the distance, coming up just short of the mix and her unusual companion. "Hey, babe."
"Can you meet me at Pier 15?" "Rolph" asked. He didn't trust to say anything more of his plans over the radio right now.
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Post by elizar on Jan 15, 2009 18:14:09 GMT -5
Babe. Christine sighed inwardly. While at the start of barhopping, she had been clueless of what constituted as flirt and what was just someone trying to be friendly, she knew that that particular word was used by pickup artists, or someone who didn't know what it meant. She could nearly smell the confidence of the visitor, so she assumed it was the former.
Giving Picard a JUST-A-MOMENT look, she turned over to the newcomer with a sweet smile. "And who might you be?" Her tone however indicated that this was as close as he could get.
"On my way." Harold said and turned off the connection. He looked up in the sky. He had already had his fill with newbies thinking they could call the shots. That was the disadvantage of communicating between different types of vehicles. Cars and ships and airplanes literally didn't share the common ground.
"I don't think this will take long." He said to his second. "Get the ray down into the hold."
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Post by Evangeline on Jan 15, 2009 19:04:08 GMT -5
"I'm Rick." the 787 smiled. "You know, you're pretty good-looking, even for a mix and all. I heard you don't swing for guys, but my girlfriend is here for the weekend. She's gorgeous, and you know... bi-curious. The three of us could really get something going together, you know?"
"Rolph" waited at the designated pier for Harold to show up, playing idly with his mooring ropes like any other bored vessel. He sighted the car approaching, and smiled politely. "Good to see you, finally. Is everything in order?"
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Post by elizar on Jan 15, 2009 19:25:20 GMT -5
Christine was practically floored by how forward he was. But that only quickened her distaste for him. And his confidence was frightening for her. He wasn't the guy to take no for an answer. Some would just resort to yelling, others would wait until their object of desire was alone and then seize the moment.
Christine was aware of the filled container beside her, but was put off on drinking anything more.
"A lesbian doesn't go bi on command." She said. She had learned to be quite careful with her words. Never had she said directly that she was a lesbian, so she had never lied about being straight either. But a simple statement as that was not going to help her inner anger towards him. "Last time someone propositioned that to me, the girlfriend was in fact looking for a way to dump the dick. I heard it went quite well for her." She said cooly.
"Yes, as I said on the radio." Harold said. His old EV1 body had long time ago been changed to appear as a sports car of unknown origin. It was known for various types of sports cars to get together in order to create the perfect street racer car. He simply posed as one. His engine was even modified, putting him in tuner society, but it had been made so he would actually be able to use gasoline to supplement his original electrical engine.
"You said you had some new information for me?" Harold asked. Though Carl hadn't said exactly that, Harold wanted to remind Carl that he wasn't as high on the foodchain as he would want to be. Having something other than new information would mean a waste of time for Harold.
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Post by Evangeline on Jan 15, 2009 19:46:54 GMT -5
"I have information from my contact at Canaveral, about when the window for the next shuttle mission starts, as well as everything I have on the crew and alternates." Rolph/Carl spoke in hushed tones. "I'll transmit the files with the full information over to you." All the while he was reading whatever he could scent off of Harold; it was telling him that how this "gentleman" appeared was far from what he originally was. He'd be curious to know why this worthy had such a motivation against the U.S. Even the damned Avro Arrows eventually got over their hate-on for Canada and the U.S. after some decades, though the ship had absolutely no desire to see anything of them. Their most powerful user, Zoe Floyd-Gordon, was in tight with the human users who had been responsible for his spending such a long spell at the prison port. "I'll need to know your cooridinates, though."
Picard came up beside Christine, glaring at the interloper. Rick looked over at the shuttle. "Oh, and what's he, your "beard"? The human slang term for one posing as a romantic partner to deceive others about the true nature of one's preferences had made it over to the Carsverse, displacing other terms that hadn't been quite as succinct. "Mila and I could show you a really good time as opposed to spending your evening with Mr. Brick here."
Picard bristled, but kept his silence so far.
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Post by elizar on Jan 15, 2009 20:02:05 GMT -5
Very well then, he may turn out useful after all. Harold thought. "That's some very well known individuals." He said, in reference to the futuremod and the humans. "Keep having contact with your informant. If you do, I can see what his usefulness really is." And yours as well. "I'm transmitting the relevant information to you." He said as bringing up the interface, and seeing Carl's own information coming through.
"He's a co-worker." She said firmly. "As for your proposition, I would die of methanol poisoning before coming drunk enough to even consider it!" She said firmly and bristled. She knew that she was under the three strike rule from the barkeep. One more 'needless' fight inside the bar, then this civilian could kiss her rights to the bar goodbye. She hoped that the threat of going into physical combat would deter him enough. It looked like he wouldn't take a verbal no for an answer.
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Post by Evangeline on Jan 15, 2009 20:27:04 GMT -5
As the voices in the corner grew louder, other eyes in the bar turned towards them. A pair of F-16's who often served as escorts for the shuttle when he did test landings turned their heads to keep an eye on the situation.
However, Rick was oblivious. He gave Christine a rude bunt. "Go ahead and pretend with Little Brick Boy here, you stupid dyke! You wouldn't know a real man if he shoved it down your throat!"
Picard growled. He was aware of Christine's marginal status at the bar and he had no "strikes" as yet. He came forward. "Leave her alone, a**hole."
The Boeing's face contorted in anger. "Freak like you doesn't belong here. You can't even take off without strapping on boosters, you pathetic little b*tch."
There was a quick movement, a snapping sound, and curses as Rick drew back with teeth marks in his left wing. Picard smiled mirthlessly. "I didn't need boosters to do that to you."
"You little b*st*rd!" Rick lunged.
"Thank you." Rolph-Carl smiled. "Much obliged." He looked over the files coming into his own interface, beamed onto his retinas by tiny projectors and controlled by his eye movements. "And yours is very informative. I hope the little fellow works out for you - and us."
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Post by elizar on Jan 15, 2009 20:41:02 GMT -5
Christine saw the oncoming attack on Picard and knew that if something happened to him while she had been around, she would be chewed up the most. Picard was not supposed to be the one getting into brawls.
She lunged forward between Picard and Rick. "I thought I misheard your name." She growled as she bodydecked Rick. "I guess it is Dick after all, describes you perfectly."
Harold suddenly had the feeling he may want to change his plans. Even though he had just given Rolph temporary coordinates, there was something that raised his hackles. "Thank you for the information." He said. "Is there anything you need?" He added. Most would have demanded some compensation for the information. The fact that he hadn't held it hostage like Harold's usual associates was different enough to warrant the question.
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