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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 4 2009, 05:38 PM (310 Views) | |
| Dracosus | Dec 4 2009, 05:38 PM Post #1 |
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For the first time in months, it wasn't raining. Sig Shears pulled his hat down over his ears to protect them from the blistering cold that had descended into the steel canyons of downtown Nu Home. He pulled his pocket recorder out of his long gray coat as he approached the crowded steps of South Congressional Office Building. "Note to self," he said into the business end of the recorder. "Next time, arrive two hours in advance." Journalists were packed onto the stairs, squirming and pushing and writhing like fish desperate to swim upstream. "Press pass," a tall, serious-looking man in a black suit said. Sig looked up at him. "Sig Shears, Daily Independent," he said, flashing his wallet and replacing it in his pocket in a blur. The man grabbed Sig's wrist and pulled it back out of the pocket. He pried the wallet from his hand and flipped it open. Where a press pass would normally be displayed, there was a crude pencil sketch of a man in a hat. The man grimaced at Sig. "Get the hell out of here," he said simply, then went to interrogate the next reporter trying to gain access to the bustling office building. Sig nodded to another government agent and started walking back the way he had come. At the end of the block, he turned right and made a beeline for the rear service entrance to the office building. A teenager, maybe eighteen years old, was sitting on the loading dock, smoking a cigarette. The smoke curled up and encircled his head. A cart was sitting next to him, loaded with cleaning supplies and garbage bags. Sig tossed the kid a small wad of cash as he lept up onto the loading dock. The kid pocketed the money quickly and didn't bat an eyelash as Sig started pushing the cart back into the building. At the end of the hall, a mob of reporters were spilling out of the main conference hall. They were silent, each trying to record every word being said inside. Sig pretended he was mopping the floor as he flipped on his recorder and set it on the cart. "Doctor Moke," a gruff voice thundered from inside. "In your professional opinion, what was the likelihood that the injured crew would have survived without medical aid?" "Their chances were slim to nil, Mr. Senator," a calmer, quieter voice responded. "The chances of a human surviving exposure to a vacuum are, at best, ten percent - assuming they have immediate medical care." "Do you have to keep using that word, doctor? 'Human?'" the gruff voice said again, it's deep tones reverberating off the laminate floors of the corridor. "Medically, biologically, that's what they are, Mr. Senator." "I would be careful using that kind of language if I were you, doctor," the gruff man said. Sig furrowed his brow. He was under the impression that the committee was to hear expert testimony today, not the accused. Something had changed. "Am I the one under investigation now, senator?" There was a long silence. Sig inched the cart closer to the door. He had to hear what was going on inside that room. The gruff-voiced senator broke the painful silence the way one might shatter glass. "And what was the closest medical facility, doctor?" We were roughly equal distance from both Dracosus and Ru'tai." "And yet you chose to bring them back to Drac--" "With all due respect, senator," the doctor interrupted. "That decision was the admiral's alone. However, I do stand by his decision. Failure to act would've resulted in the deaths of 139 people. If you care for my opinion, he's a hero." Sig poked his head around the doorframe. He had to squat nearly to floor level to be able to see through the throng of reporters. Across the room was a panel of senators, all quietly scribbling notes to themselves. The man in the center of the long desk was a fat, balding man with a red face who looked like he was going to explode and if he did, it appeared that the force of the explosion would've been directed at the Fleet officer facing him. "I do not care," Senator Gettes retorted, nearly spitting as he said so. "And the committee does not see it the same way you do. We have laws in this Confederacy and anyone who chooses not to obey them is not a hero, but a traitor. That will be all for now. Let's take an hour recess and reconvene at eleven sharp." The crowd of journalists quickly disbursed, as they went to upload their recordings to their news agency's feed before anyone else did. Sig slid his recorder back into his coat pocket and was about to slip out unseen when a large, heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder. |
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"We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty. When the loyal opposition dies...the soul of America dies with it." -Edward R. Murrow Ohio Is A Myth GOT MUFFIN? http://www.obscurestudios.net | |
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| Dracosus | Dec 5 2009, 12:49 PM Post #2 |
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The sleek, boomerang shaped craft dropped out of warp. After just over a day's travel, it now found itself in a busy space lane, clogged with large barges, cargo carriers, and bulbous passenger liners. The much smaller Dracosian vessel wove through the sea of starships on its way to one of the planets orbiting the bright green star directly ahead. In the lower decks, President Mira Sallas was pacing as she read the letter, the one she had read countless times over the last week. Still, no matter how many times she read the letter, probed and interrogated it in order to find its motivation for appearing now, after all these years...she couldn't bring herself to accept it. I am so sorry for all the pain I am sure that I have caused you, it began. The handwriting was nearly illegible. The hand that had held the pen must have been shaking the whole time. The writing was also incredibly faint, as if the author barely had the strength to press the pen to the paper. I am so sorry for not being there, it continued. "The hell you are," Mira replied, cursing the letter under her breath. She tossed it down onto the mahogany writing desk and walked over to the far wall for a glass of water. She leaned against the wall, wrinkling her wool business suit, and stared at the letter. Why now? Why not ten or fifteen or even twenty years ago? What did he want from her? "Madam President," a voice said. She turned to face the door, where one of her aides was standing, peering into the office. "We're in orbit." "Thank you," she replied, not remembering his name. Something with an 'R.' He nodded and left. She straightened her collar as best she could and looked over at the letter one more time before walking out of the office. A few minutes later, she was on the Bridge. It was a marvel of technology and engineering brilliance - a testimony to how far her people had come in just five short years. Screens displayed data and sensors beeped and hummed and Mira didn't know what any of the devices in this room did. Not that it mattered. The captain noticed her presence and stood up from his command chair. "President on the Bridge," he announced. He crew rose to their feet in recognition. "Thank you, Mr. Bonav, but that's really not necessary," she said courteously. She still didn't really feel like the president, even though she had been serving in Ferab Ak's stead for a little more than a year. The press and many of her detractors had backed off months ago, but she still felt as if her office was...illegitimate. "You just do your job and I'll do mine." Captain Bonav dropped back into his chair. He was a heavyset man in his late fifties with a short, but unkempt gray beard that Mira really wished he would shave off. He looked like a caveman had been squeezed into the tight-fitting uniform of a Fleet officer. "Cut engines, standby thrusters," Bonav instructed his crew. "Ready the landing gear and keep us the hell away from that transport, ensign. Open a channel to Ru'tai ground control." Mira was always in awe of the efficiency of the Fleet's power structure. It was simple and effective. One person made a decision and the rest didn't question it or ask to open a debate on the issue - they just got the job done. If only the government was so simple. "Channel open, sir." "Ru'tai Control, this is DC-1," he said, making sure to accentuate the registry that proved his vessel was carrying the President. "We have the President of the Dracosian Confederacy aboard. Requesting permission to land." "DC-1, permission is granted," came the mechanical reply. The controller didn't sound as starstruck as Bonav had obviously intended for her to feel. "Landing pad 42-J is all yours. Members of the Imperial Diplomatic Corps will be there to meet you. Control out." Mira took one of the empty seats the far left side of the Bridge as the USS Fortitude - DC-1 - started its descent into the planet's atmosphere. She closed her eyes as searing red heat lit up the viewing screen, reminded herself to breathe normally, and tried to convince her breakfast to stay put in her stomach. With her eyes closed, all she could see was the letter burned into her retina and the signature of the one man in the world she did not want to hear from. |
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"We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty. When the loyal opposition dies...the soul of America dies with it." -Edward R. Murrow Ohio Is A Myth GOT MUFFIN? http://www.obscurestudios.net | |
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| Neo Moon | Dec 5 2009, 02:25 PM Post #3 |
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The dignitary's ship decsended into daylight as it approached the spaceport. The approach paths were clear over the typically clogged interstellar point of entry. A visiting head-of-state called for extra security precautions, which granted the environment an atypical respite from the demands of utilitarian use. For a moment, a few hours at most, the skies over the capital city of Danu'ta were as they were before colonization as the bright sun slipped gently over the horizon. The ship made a steady approach, slowing as it neared the ground until it came to rest just above the surface of the landing pad. Wash from the engines caused riples of gravel and plasma to eminate from below the hovering ship. The engines, at last, were given rest from thier labors against gravity as the ship transferred its weight to the landing gear. The wind stopped, the noise subsided, and the gangplank was lowered. A throng of press, baricaded at the side of the landing pad, began to record images for use in the daily newscasts. The welcoming party which consisted of a few officials and a squad of Republican Guard approached the resting craft to greet the arrivals as they exited, and to escourt them to the seat of government. As the Dracosian president disembarked from the spacecraft, the first Arkian dignitary approached and gave a short, but respectful bow. "Greetings, and welcome to Ru'tai III, Madam President. I am Consul Polao of the Arkian Imperial Consulate." Gesturing to the man next to him, Polao continued the introductions. "This is Minister Enjooi, representing Ru'tai IV." Enjooi's translator conveyed him the introduction, and he spoke some words to be delivered back to the guests. "Welcome, I am honored." Polao continued "May I also present Atos Thelor, Premier of Ru'tai III." Thelor reached out and shook President Sallas's hand. "Madam President. I am glad we can meet. The Imperial Consulate wanted to handle this meeting by itself, but I insisted that we should do things together, from one president to another. I cannot express how important the dealing of the Confederacy are to the lives of my citizens here and througout Ru'tai. We have much to discuss. Let us go to where that may be expedited." The welcoming party walked away from the spacecraft as maintenence crews approached to tend to its needs. They slowed to wave at the reporters and then decsended into the railcar that would take them to their destination. |
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Rith Temmos Ny's Emperor of the Arkian Empire "You shall not follow the masses in doing evil, nor shall you testify in a dispute so as to turn aside after a multitude in order to pervert justice." Exodus 23:2
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| Dracosus | Dec 10 2009, 10:58 PM Post #4 |
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It was several hours before Sig was allowed to leave the police station, after interrogations, searches, and after his recordings were confiscated. The sun was starting to set over the capital of Dracosus, sucking any residual heat out of the air as it went. It hadn't been a totally wasted day, Sig thought as he quickly scribbled down the notes from the hearing that he had been mentally keeping all day. Gettes was stepping up his game. It would've made big news...five hours ago. But no matter, he was sure that his hunches were going to lead to the biggest expose of the decade. If his informant came through. He checked the time and figured that he still had time to make his meeting if he grabbed the train. He pulled his hat low over his face to shield it from the cold and walked briskly to the nearest underground station. The train ran through the poorest parts of the city, and this was reflected in the poor maintenance of the station, the graffiti covering the cylindrical train cars, and the dirty heaps of rags that slept in the dark corners and used garbage to keep themselves warm. Sig was careful not to make eye contact with anyone as he boarded the train. He sat down at the end of the car and kept his head down. It was best not to draw attention to yourself in these parts of the city. Thankfully, the ride was short, and Sig was able to breath a little more deeply after escaping from the grimy train. The station he arrived at was little better than the one he had just left - a long cement area just below street level, supported by cement pillars and crowded with people. Indeed, the only real improvement was the smell of melted processed cheese wafting in from a street vendor on the street above. Sig looked around for his informant. In the sea of disheveled, grimy people, he finally spied a man in brown plaid jacket, staring at him. The man was slender and almost grotesquely tall. His Adam's apple jutted out further than it should. The man nodded with his head, indicating that Sig should follow him as the man ducked into the men's public restroom. Sig stood there for a minute, and when it was clear that the man was not joking, then followed his lead. The men's room was even worse than the station. It was dingy and poorly ventilated, with cigarette smoke hanging in the air and mingling with the stench of vomit and human waste. At the far end of the cesspool, the man was standing at a urinal. He nodded for Sig to come over, which the reporter reluctantly. He stood at the next urinal, took out his notebook, and tried to ignore his gag reflex. "I was afraid you weren't coming," the man said. He looked directly ahead and whispered as he spoke. The other men in the bathroom continued to smoke and paid them no mind. "Gettes' committee has found a bigger target." "Bigger than Nicter?" Sig hissed back. He thought the investigation committee was solely focused on bringing down the Fleet. "Bigger," the man assured him. "Someone in the administration is going down next. They're just building up now." "How do you know this?" Sig asked. This was huge news, but he couldn't print it without having something to back it up with. The man slipped a plastic key card into Sig's coat pocket. "He knows more," the man said. "Who?" Sig asked, but the man had already turned and made for the door, using his long legs to quickly close the distance to the door. Sig ran after him, pushing a man aside who was washing his hands. By the time Sig burst through the door, the man had disappeared into the crowd of commuters. Sig stood in the doorway. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the plastic key card. It was plain white except for small black text along one of the short sides. Squinting to read it, he made out two words: "Strunk Penitentiary." Edited by Dracosus, Dec 16 2009, 08:04 PM.
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"We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty. When the loyal opposition dies...the soul of America dies with it." -Edward R. Murrow Ohio Is A Myth GOT MUFFIN? http://www.obscurestudios.net | |
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| Dracosus | Dec 27 2009, 04:53 PM Post #5 |
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Mira was relieved to be in the safety of the railcar, away from the prying eyes of the press. Still, it was strange to be surrounded by so many Arkians. It was silent for several minutes while the car carried them to wherever it was that these talks were going to take place. She looked out the nearby window at the city as it streaked by them. Every building was like a monolith, rising out of the ground like a field of monuments to science and the technological supremacy of the Arkian Empire. Finally, she tore her eyes away and remembered why she was there. She remembered her manners and got right down to matters of state. It was important that these talks went well. The Confederacy needed these trade agreements to hold up. And it was always good to have friends out here. "Thank you for having me, gentlemen," she said to the three of heads of state occupying the car with her. "I'm glad that we can have these talks. I just wish it hadn't taken a tragedy to spur the process on." |
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"We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty. When the loyal opposition dies...the soul of America dies with it." -Edward R. Murrow Ohio Is A Myth GOT MUFFIN? http://www.obscurestudios.net | |
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| Neo Moon | Jan 16 2010, 02:18 PM Post #6 |
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Premier Thelor nodded his head thoughtfully. The railcar dropped into a dim tunnel as flashes of light from lamps in the tunnel briefly illuminated the dignitaries' faces. The soft cabin lighting of the car, though hardly noticible before, became the most important source of illumination. The consul was about to speak when Thelor raised two fingers of his hand, signaling Polao to be quiet. "Tragedy is always regrettable," he said, breaking the silence. "I know we have much to discuss, and there will be time for many of the diplomatic pleasantries that my friend here loves, but I want to ask that which we consider to be the most urgent." Thelor paused for a short breath. "What is to become of our merchants? Are they well?" |
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Rith Temmos Ny's Emperor of the Arkian Empire "You shall not follow the masses in doing evil, nor shall you testify in a dispute so as to turn aside after a multitude in order to pervert justice." Exodus 23:2
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| Dracosus | Jan 23 2010, 07:46 PM Post #7 |
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"They are all recovering well. My chief of staff has letters from them to their families that I would like to pass on to you," Mira replied. However, there was still a furor in both the press and the Senate over the fate of the Arkians on Dracosus. There was no point in pretending that there wasn't a bigger issue to be resolved here. "They are under quarantine at our most advanced hospital," she continued. "And I, personally, would like to have them transferred to you as soon as possible. However, there are significant elements of the Senate and the media who don't agree with me. I hope that our meeting here can change that feeling among my people." The railcar slowed so smoothly that Mira didn't even know they had stopped until the doors opened at their destination. She stood and graciously exited first. Straightening her suit coat, she was relieved to see that the journalists from the spaceport had not followed them. They were at an impressive government building, a large building shaped like an enormous half-sphere. It glistened in the morning sun like polished glass. Arkian aides were there to lead the dignitaries inside so that they could get their meeting underway. Mira did her best to make sure her shoulders were back and her steps were deliberate. At least half of her visit here was to send a message to the empire that she and the Confederacy were political forces to be reckoned with. She was determined not to be outdone by the Arkian administrators or the shadow of her predecessor. |
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"We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty. When the loyal opposition dies...the soul of America dies with it." -Edward R. Murrow Ohio Is A Myth GOT MUFFIN? http://www.obscurestudios.net | |
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| Dracosus | Jan 26 2010, 11:14 PM Post #8 |
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It was early in the morning - before dawn - when Admiral Claren Nicter woke up. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet as he wandered into the bathroom. He didn't bother looking into the mirror anymore. He used it to shave the white stubble on his face, but he couldn't be bothered to take any time to scrutinize the old man in his reflection. He knew there were wrinkles, but he'd rather not know how many there were or how deep they were etched in. He simply pulled the brown skin taut enough for the razor blade to slide over. When he returned to the bedroom, a faint gray light had crept into the room from outside. A beautiful woman, whose dark hair had long since given way to white, was still sleeping peacefully in bed. Claren smiled and slid open the door to the closet as quietly as he could. This part of his routine was solemn, as he pulled on his white dress shirt, tight-fitting blue overcoat, and matching pants. He slid the knot of his necktie up to the collar of his shirt and clasped the coat shut with polished brass buttons. He pinned his numerous medals and commendations to his coat with care. This could perhaps be one of the last times he was privileged to wear this uniform. It meant the world to him and he wore it as a badge of honor with his war scars and the memories of friends lost in the service of the Confederacy. Before leaving, Claren bent over the bed and kissed his wife softly on the cheek. He then stopped to grab an apple from the kitchen and his black leather briefcase on his way outside. The Nicters were a minority on Dracosus - they actually lived in a house in the outskirts of the city. Not too far off, the sun was rising over the weather-worn mountains, warming the air slightly. A layer of frost clung to the sleek, silver hovercar sitting in the courtyard. It was only a moment before the admiral was behind the controls of the vehicle and rising slowly off the ground. The car sped off into the distance, toward the gleaming towers of the capital city. Sometime later, the Admiral met with his aides in a government building. In stark contrast to his quiet home away from the bustle of the city, the building was crawling with pages, politicians, and press. Claren almost felt claustrophobic, which was odd for a man who had spent much of his life in the confines of small Fleet starships. Then, even more terrifyingly, the sounds started to die off as the hearing was called to order. The loud voice of Senator Uro Gettes made the announcement. "This hearing of the Senate Committee on Corruption is now in session. The committee will now hear testimony from Admiral Claren Nicter, Commander-in-Chief of the Dracosian Fleet." Claren took a deep breath, pushed his shoulders back and thrust his chest out and nodded to is aides before he opened the door and entered the conference hall. |
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"We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty. When the loyal opposition dies...the soul of America dies with it." -Edward R. Murrow Ohio Is A Myth GOT MUFFIN? http://www.obscurestudios.net | |
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| Dracosus | May 9 2010, 02:00 AM Post #9 |
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Sig dug through his drawers for a clean outfit to wear that day, but all of his clothes were spilled around on the floor. All of them were dirty, but he had no choice. He grabbed his recorder and switched it on. "Note to self: do laundry." Some time later, Sig was making his way to the train station amid the morning foot traffic. As he boarded a northbound train, his phone rang. "Shears," he said, flipping the small cellular device open. "Where are you, Sig?" a woman's voice snapped at him. "Deliah," Sig said. He shook his head and berated himself for forgetting that it was the second weekend of the month. "I'm sorry, but I can't pick Ria up today." "That's real freaking convenient, isn't it, Sig?" Deliah replied. He could tell from the tone of her voice that she was not happy with him. "Goddammit, she's been asking for you and I have to work." "I have to work, too, Deliah," Sig replied. The train pulled out of the station as he sat down in a mostly empty compartment. He took off his hat and tossed it up into the overhead luggage rack. "I'm serious. I have a lead and I can't afford to let the trail go cold. Tell Ria I love her and that I'll see her next weekend, okay?" "Maybe you should stop coming, Sig," Deliah said. Sig was silent for several seconds. "I don't want her picking up any of her father's bad habits." "You don't mean that, Deliah," Sig started to say, but the feed had already gone dead. Closing the phone and stowing it back in his pocket, he noticed a few of the other passengers looking at him. "What's you're problem?" he asked them indignantly before turning to face the window. Outside, the train emerged from its urban tunnels into the vast desolation of the Dracosian ash plains. The flat, gray landscape stretched on for miles and miles in every direction and it was more than an hour before any man-made structure appeared out the window. Sig got off the train in the small rural town of Bescor. Wind blew gray dust and ash through the streets as the reporter made his way to the opposite edge of town, where an imposing modern fortress stood as a monolith over the frozen desert. Small signs near the outer walls identified the complex as the infamous Strunk Penitentiary, a high-security prison. At the gate, Sig avoided chitchat with the guards and simply handed them the swipe card. After checking it, he was admitted into the complex. "Your card is good for two hours, sir," the guard notified him."It will open only doors which are necessary for you to reach your destination and only works going in. Guards will have to let you out." Sig nodded and continued inside. Swiping the card at the next set of doors called up a holographic image of his route. He followed it carefully through nearly twenty doors and five staircases before he finally came to a cell door. He stopped to slow his breathing before he went inside. He had no idea what awaited him inside this cell, but his informant had never let him down before. He held the card up to the scanner by the door. There was a deep thud inside the door before the steel panel slid aside to admit him. Sig removed his hat and stepped inside cautiously. Handcuffed to a metal table in the corner of the small cell was a grizzled-looking man in his late-50s. At first, Sig had no idea who he was, but then he remembered seeing his face before on the newsfeeds, without the beard and with less wrinkles. "Good morning, Mr. Gorezath," Sig said with a courteous nod. He placed one hand in his pocket and, as quietly as he could, switched on the voice recorder. Edited by Dracosus, Sep 10 2011, 10:06 AM.
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"We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty. When the loyal opposition dies...the soul of America dies with it." -Edward R. Murrow Ohio Is A Myth GOT MUFFIN? http://www.obscurestudios.net | |
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| Dracosus | Oct 23 2011, 06:25 PM Post #10 |
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Sig sat down at the table across from Gorezath. He had long since disappeared from the headlines, but six years earlier, he had attempted to plunge the Confederacy into interstellar war. At the time, the papers and news feeds had branded him "The Most Dangerous Man Alive," and "the Most Insidious Terrorist of Our Times," but today, he was just a bitter old man in an orange jumpsuit. Sig would've killed for this interview years ago, but now he just wanted to get the information he had promised and get home. "People used to ask before sitting down," Gorezath said in a voice that was low and gravelly from disuse. It was doubtful he had many visitors these days. "Times have changed," Sig said. He knew what the ex-Secretary of Intelligence was up to and he would be as rude as he needed to be to get the upper hand. He leaned his chair back against the wall and put his feet up on the table. "Do you have any idea who I am?" Gorezath growled. "I know who you used to be, but to be honest I'm not very impressed," Sig said. "Sig Shears, newspaper man extraordinaire." He extended a hand, knowing full well that both of Gorezath's were chained to the table leg. Gorezath narrowed his piercing blue gaze. "Charmed," Gorezath said. "I would catch you up on everything you've missed while you've been in prison, but the word on the street is that you still hear a lot for a man doing life in the most secure prison in the system." "I have no idea what you're talking about," Gorezath said. He was starting to look bored. "You're awfully uncooperative for a man with literally nothing to lose," Sig replied as he rocked back and forth precariously. Gorezath looked back at him. Maximum security had not been kind to him. The slick politician who ha walked into this cell six years ago had been torn down and replaced by a man who looked like he had just wandered out of the jungle. Deep wrinkles had climbed over his face like vines over an old wall, clustering around his eyes. His hairline had retreated a ways up his forehead and a thick salt-and-pepper beard masked the whole lower half of his face. Only those psychopathically calm, pale blue eyes were unchanged. "How gratifying it must have been to hear that Ak was dead and that you're beloved Rogues had succeeded where you had failed so miserably," Sig said. "What kind of amateur reporter are you?" Gorezath asked. "I didn't bring you here for some pathetic excuse for reverse psychology." Sig allowed the chair to fall forward and he leaned over to the table. Face-to-face with the man who had once tried to bring his own people to their knees. "You have my undivided attention," he said. "What do you know about the Senate Committee on Corruption that I don't know?" "The Committee on Corruption? Nothing," Gorezath said, shrugging. Sig sat back in the straight back metal chair. "Nothing? What the hell the matter with you, dragging me all the way up here—" "How about you let me finish, Mr. Shears?" Gorezath asked, his voice steady, his face a blank slate that did not betray his hand. "How about he re-institute the death penalty?" Sig shot back. Gorezath was quiet. His poker face was perfect. Sig took a deep breath to collect himself. "You must not think so narrowly," Gorezath continued, as if Sig's outburst had never occurred. "Gettes' aims may be unscrupulous and his methods questionable, but he's not the one you should be investigating. What do you know about the president's assassination?" At first, Sig thought it was a rhetorical question. Then, he saw that Gorezath was serious. "He was shot by Rogues, rushed to a hospital where he stabilized until about a week after the election, when he suffered a brain aneurysm and died." "And do you believe that's what happened?" "Well, sure. It seems plausible," Sig said. What did all of this have to do with his expose on the Corruption Committee? "Have you seen the autopsy?" "No, of course not." "Did you see any photos or videos after the shooting?" "No. What does this have to do with—" "Forget what you've been working on," Gorezath said, his voice suddenly loud and alive with emotion. "Ferab Ak did not die ten days after the shooting. He died four days later." "Four days?" Sig couldn't believe it. It was either a stunning revelation or a fanciful story concocted by a man with all the time in the world to dream up imaginative conspiracy theories. "But that would mean that he—" "Was dead before the polls closed on his 're-election,'" Gorezath finished. "How's that for a game-changer?" "But, why would the government lie about that? Why not concede the election or reschedule or something?" Sig's mind was moving a million lightyears a second, trying to put the pieces together. "Because the government didn't know," Gorezath filled in again. "Then who covered it up?" |
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"We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty. When the loyal opposition dies...the soul of America dies with it." -Edward R. Murrow Ohio Is A Myth GOT MUFFIN? http://www.obscurestudios.net | |
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