OBT Forum

I'm not entirely sure the Taurians will buy this. I like the Foxhounds though and it is a tough decision for Hanse to make.

If the Protector didn't then it would be war with the Federated Suns and probably everyone else

If he does and Liao/ComStar or anyone else attacks then the Taurians potentially have an ally

Sneaky Sneaky Sneaky

Ivan Patrice Computer Sciences Center, University of Taurus
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 9, 3025

“Doctor Mosley . . . .,” the guard dressed in the uniform of the Taurian Defense Force muttered as he scrolled through a computer pad.  “I’m sorry, sir—you aren’t on the authorized list for entry.”

Karl Mosley gritted his teeth and bit back his initial reaction; the myrmidon was just one of five stationed at the main doors of the PCSC, all of whom were armed with battle rifles and wearing combat armor.  “My office is inside this building, son,” the doctor sputtered.  “What do you mean I can’t go in?”

“Sir, this area is off-limits for all but authorized personnel—and you are not on my list.”

“This is ridiculous!” Karl snapped, as the new pair of female post-graduate assistants that trailed after him exchanged glances between them.  “I go to Jamestown at the request of the government to examine the artifacts we recovered from that SLDF cache on . . .,” Karl paused, and he managed to recover his composure.  The Celano cache was classified, and he had almost blurted out its actual location.  “Never mind.  Call Doctor Snyder.  He will correct this misunderstanding.”

“Yes, sir; Dr. Snyder is on his way down,” the guard answered as the main doors buzzed, and then opened, and another tall man wearing a lab coat exited the building.

“Karl?  What are you doing back here?  My god, it is good to see you again—you’ve got to see what we are working on!”

“Matt,” Karl snarled, “these idiot guards are saying that I don’t have authorization to enter my office!  Or even the building!”

Matt Snyder blushed and he nodded.  “We thought you were going to be on Jamestown for the next two weeks—I’ll get everything cleared,” he answered as he turned to the guard.  “Put Dr. Mosley on the list—my authority.”

“Sir,” the guard began.

“He’s one of the foremost experts on pre-Star League computer technology in the Hyades, Corporal!” Matt barked.  “If he hadn’t been on Jamestown when our new project arrived, he would have been the one we assigned to unlock its secrets.”

“Unlock?  Matt, did you people recover a Core?”

Matt grinned.  “That ain’t the half of it, old friend.  We have a Data Core—an intact Data Core—from 2596; untampered with and chock full of information that we have to decrypt.”

“The fail-safes?”

“Bomb disposal has deactivated all three of the explosive charges and we have drained the cylinder of war gas—we think we got them all.  It’s a Mark XI . . . a Naval Core, Karl.”

“Mark XI, hmmmmm,” the scientist pursed his lips.  “There should be one more fail-safe—a second pressurized reservoir containing a chemical agent.  We have to disarm that one before we can begin trying to break the encryption—I don’t suppose we were lucky enough to recover the keys?”

“No, not that lucky, but the government has given this top prior-. . .,” Matt Snyder began.

“Doctors, please.  This is not a secure area for this conversation,” the guard snapped.

“Sorry, Corporal,” Matt said as he blushed again.  “Get Karl cleared—I want him to start his examination of the Core immediately.”

“And my assistants,” Karl muttered.  “And get my luggage moved to my offices at once—there are some fragile things in there, so handle them with care.”

“I can admit Dr. Mosley on your authority, sir, but protocol says the post-grads stay out here—along with the luggage until we do a full security scan.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Matt.  “Corporal, people who work for the PCSC have already been cleared by the government; I know Karl, and if he says he needs those two women, he needs those two women.  And his bags.  Get them to his office and put all three of them on the cleared list—my authority.”  Matt paused.  “Unless you want me to contact Colonel Lopez?”

“No, sir,” the guard said as he snapped to attention and saluted.  He then lifted a phone.  “I need . . . three security and a carryall at the main entrance,” he ordered after appraising the pile of luggage.  He racked the phone.  “If I can scan your IDs, sir?  Madames?”

Karl passed over his University ID, followed by the two very lovely women, and the Corporal uploaded them into his computer.  “Wear your ID at all times—you will be detained if you are not wearing your ID in plain view or if you misplace it,” he warned, then he shrugged and stepped back, opening the doors.

“Picked up two new assistants on Jamestown, eh, Karl?” Matt whispered as they entered the building.  “Easy on the eyes—but can they actually read and write?”

“Oh, they are bright girls, Matt.  Very bright—and very motivated to secure a letter of recommendation from me when they move on to their own careers and research,” Karl said just as quietly with a smile on his face.  “I cannot believe they were working for Paterson just cataloguing the Celano artifacts—wasted they were, working for that hack.”

“Paterson is a serious researcher, Karl,” Matt chuckled, “and he doesn’t fool around with his post-grads.  Which is why he is in charge of the Jamestown Institute and you still work for me.”

“Politics,” Karl spat.  “If there was any justice in the world, I’d have your job and you’d be slaving away for me.”

“No, it’s not politics, Karl; it’s you thinking with your zipper.  I’m not going to have any complaints from these two, am I?”

“I didn’t make the first move—they came on to me, Matt.”

“I hope you are right, Karl,” the administer of the research facility said.  “God knows, I can’t save your ass if one of them decides to file a complaint—you’ve had too many of those in the past decade as it is.”

“No worries this time, Doctor Snyder,” the scientist answered.  “Now when can I see this Core?”

“Soon as we get you settled and you go through decon—I’m not taking any chances of someone wrecking the artifact before we get that information.”

“Good enough—you think this one is the Grail?”

“Karl, I believe this one is the Grail, the One True Cross, the Spear of Destiny, and the Ark of the Covenant all rolled up into one technological prize.  If the précis on the contents are correct, this is the motherlode of all discoveries.”

Karl smiled as he pulled off his suit jacket.  “Then let’s get to work—girls?”

The two nodded, one of them taking the jacket and the other handing Karl his lab-coat.  And they followed behind the two scientists, exchanging another glance with each other. 

“The guards are in better shape,” one whispered.  “At least they are not fat and entirely unskilled like that buffoon.”

“Yes, but the guards can’t get us direct access to the Core, Sandra.  This buffoon can—and you’ve had worse.”

“Don’t remind me,” the second agent from MIM drawled.

Quick Pick Convenience Store #1173
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
November 9, 3025

“What the hell is a taquito?” Phil Sheridan, field agent for MI-4 muttered to himself as he watched the long crispy-appearing cylinders rotate over a heating element.  It looked like a stick of rolled tortillas—and just about as hard, but a pureed filling leaked out from the ends, the scent of beef, beans, and spices filling the air.

He grabbed a pair of tongs and lifted one—and he took a sniff.  He winced.  But then he sighed and he opened a bag and put the nasty greasy item inside, followed by another dozen.  Along with all four of the sausages that had rolled on the machine beside them.  He put several packets of salsa and more of sour cream into the bag as well and set in within the shopping basket he carried, and then he walked over to the chillers containing cold drinks.

Energy drinks in a dozen flavors all in metal cans, cans of distilled water, canned iced coffee, canned sweat tea (cans, what the hell was it with Taurians and cans?) . . . but almost no carbonated beverages.  And the few imports that were present were three times the price a drink would normally be worth in the heart of the Federated Suns.  But liquor?  Beer?  Wine?  That covered three-quarters of the wall . . . along with an entire freezer just containing glass bottles of MILK.  Almost the only item NOT in a can, at least, Phil thought with a shudder.

Sighing, he began to put an assortment of the multi-hued cans into his basket—not even looking at the labels—and then he froze.  Son of a . . . !

Standing four feet away from him (and looking just as shocked) was Victor Li . . . a Maskirovka agent with whom Phil had often sparred in the worlds of the Capellan March and the St. Ives thumb.  Both men reached for their waist-bands—for the concealed weapons each carried under their jackets—but then they stopped at the same time.

Victor shook his head.  “Long time, Phil,” he said.  “What brings you to sunny Taurus?  The food?” he said, pointing to the basket.  “I’ve got to warn you—those are a bit spicy.”

“I’m on vacation,” Phil answered.  “Yourself?”

“Strangely enough, so am I,” Victor replied with a smile.  “I heard that the fishing is good off-shore.”

“Fishing?  I’ll have to look into that.”

“Never know what you can catch if you spend an afternoon just casting lines, eh?”

“Right,” Phil answered, glancing to his left and right—and noting that Victor was doing the same.  The store wasn’t—quite—full, but it was far from empty . . . and Phil nodded.  Starting a gun-fight here and now would just bring the local Constabulary down on their asses—and pose questions that Phil really didn’t want to answer.  Nor did Victor, it seemed, because he nodded and slowly lowered his gun-hand; Phil did so as well.

“Another time, eh, Phil?” the Capellan asked with a grin.

“Be seeing you around, Victor.”

“Not if I see you fir- . . . SHIT,” the expletive was not shouted, but was heartfelt all the same as Phil felt the barrel of a gun prod him in the back.

“Okay, both of you—why are you two on Taurus?” a harsh voice asked.

“Who are you?” asked Victor.

“I’m asking the questions here, Cappie,” the man spat in a thick Marik accent.

“Wait just a damn minute,” Phil said as he half-turned in recognition of the voice, and then sighed.  “Victor Li, meet Walter Krogh—the SAFE liaison at the Marik embassy on Taurus.”

“SAFE?  SAFE?” Victor asked in disbelief.  “What are you planning to do, Mister Krogh?  Shoot us down in the full view of the customers of this store?”  Some of which were beginning to notice the whispers—and drawn gun—and began to back off, a few dialing numbers in their mobile phones.

“Both of you are coming back to the Embassy with me to answer questions,” Walter answered.  “If you try to run, I’ll shoot him dead.”

Victor laughed, and Phil groaned.  “Did you just tell me—a Capellan—that if I run, you will, as means to stop me, shoot a Davion?”

Krogh didn’t answer, he just jerked his head to one side.  “Let’s go.”

“Excuse me, are you paying for those?” a woman asked.

“What?” Krogh said as he half-turned—and grunted as a petite red-haired woman swung a fist clad in brass knuckles into his jaw.  The SAFE agent dropped like a sack of bricks, and the customers began to applaud—two even gave wolf-whistles.

“That’ll teach you for trying to rob my boy-friends!” the girl shouted, and she winked at Victor and Phil before lowering her voice to a whisper.  “Time to run, boys.”

“WHAT THE HELL?” hissed Phil—and then he saw Victor cradle his face in both hands. 

“Phil Sheridan, meet Nicky Kirkland—of the Magistracy Intelligence Ministry.”

“MIM?  Oh could this cluster-fuck get any worse?” moaned Phil.

A siren sounded outside and flashing blue and red lights began to dance off of the glass.

“You had to ask?” said Victor.

“There’s an exit in the rear,” Nicky said.

“I’ll bet there’s an entrance too,” Phil muttered, drawing a harsh glare from the Magistracy agent as the three of them left the Marik spy unconscious on the floor and headed into the backroom.

“HEY!  YOU HAVE TO PAY FOR THAT!” the clerk shouted.  Phil threw a wad of 20-Bull notes into the air in answer—and the crowded store erupted as people started to grab money.

The fire-door opened to an alley way—and a spot-light illuminated the faces of the three agents.

“HALT!  SAMANTHA CITY PD—HANDS IN THE AIR!” a voice amplified by a loud-speaker called out.

“Well isn’t this lovely?” asked Phil—and then five gun-shots rang out and the spotlight died away, leaving two officers bleeding out on the ground next to their car.

Phil, Victor, and Nicky drew their weapons—but none of them fired as a fourth man exited the shadows.  “I’d advise you to run; they’ve got your faces on video,” the stranger said, lowering his hood.

“Oh the shit has hit the fan,” muttered Phil.  “ROM.  Victor, Nicky, meet Adept Robert West—what the hell did you shoot them for?”

The ROM agent smiled.  “Because they have your pictures—not mine.  And while they are chasing you, they aren’t chasing me.  But I do believe,” he said stepping back into the shadows and into a doorway set in the wall of the alley, “their fellow officers are rushing through the store to get back here to the sound of those shots.”  He then closed the door and locked it.  “Good night and good luck,” Phil faintly heard after the lock clicked.

“Suggestions?” he asked.

“Running sounds good,” replied Victor as he put his words into action.

“Yeah, don’t have to outrun the local cops, FedRat,” Nicky said as she took off, “just have to outrun you.”

Damn it all, Phil thought as he too began to run into the night—and I still didn’t get any food!

Sneaky ROM

Doctor. Doctor.

Glad I'm not sick.

 



Fantastic stuff MA, looking forward to a Big Mac chapter.