<banana> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cYMCLz5PQVw
<banana> -------------------------------------------
<banana> It's a beautiful spring Sunday in Florida.
<banana> March 9th, 1969. The Tet Offensive is in its second phase and the Suez Canal has been stormed. There's not going to be another Summer of Love ever again. All is right with the world.
<banana> The waters of the Indian River are muddy but the Atlantic is clear as far as the eye can see. On Cape Canaveral there's a hive of activity as the day begins; airbases and ports and civvie facilities all operating in unison, trucks and personnel pouring into KSC where the great gantries stand empty beside a steaming launchpad.
<banana> That's the one thing that ruins it, really.
<banana> Far above the Earth, David Scott is walking in space. The Apollo 9 Lunar Module is orbiting the earth, a staggering triumph of engineering, bearing three Americans on their ride around the globe in a prototype spacecraft.
<banana> The mission isn't over, but there's already a celebratory air at the NASA complex. It's easy to navigate the crush of people and cars around the great white cube that is the Vehicle Assembly Building; the four strangers making their way through the crowd are in jovial company, nobody bothering to check badges or take names.
<Crion> Sloppy.
<VoxPVoxD> Good cheer is infectious. Henrik assumes it would put a smile on his face.
<Crion> Installation security's not his job, though. Not yet, at least.
<banana> Out from Orlando and a temporary accomodation at Cape Kennedy AFS, Cleaner and the Russian Henrik David just have to cross a carpark. The general shape of the assembly building and its nearby facilities are familiar to Henrik, but it also strikes him how different everything is, how much further apart, how they've built their facility on a 'Space Coast' full of life instead of hidden away in the desert.
<Crion> Cleaner's in his deputy getup. He figures that's the right play for the moment.
<Crion> He's always hated these damn hats.
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik's heard the stories about what the Americans use their deserts to hide. It's hard to put much stock in them, but he's heard them.
<banana> Orient has been driven up from Port Canaveral by a man named 'Caddy', some sleepwalker who turned up at his hotel door three hours early. If this is his first time in America, he might have expected more dense urban infrastructure or less varied accents - but the G.I.s everywhere are right out of the news at least.
<banana> Cynthia takes a different route to work, this morning. She used to work here, of course, but has been relegated to Operations and Checkout until recently. Very recently. She doesn't know precisely what to expect, since Lewis had someone call last night to say the meeting's been moved up to 9 AM.
<banana> Airmen in khaki and scientists in white and civilian contractors in denim mix under the sunlight and salt air. A big blocky entrance looms as four Seers of the Throne arrive, separately, together, to meet the man they're replacing.
<Quaker> He’s left Isaias with Uffa. For this, the first meeting, he’s dressed well. Caddy doesn’t have much to say, so he smokes and looks at the green world passing by. What a green. Much darker, hotter, wetter, than either the Po Valley or the coast plains of the Horn. He traveled to Burundi for a few weeks, and saw the same shades there. Caddy handed him a newspaper from a local outfit. The launch is today. Claudio hopes everything
<Quaker> went well and that the mission succeeded. When they pull up and it’s obvious that it has, he smiles.
<Nicolae> Cynthia's car ride to work is a breeze, as usual. There's a small tin of cookies in the passenger seat, for all her old Sleeper colleagues. It'll be nice to see them again.
<Crion> Cleaner doesn't like how little they know about this mission. And he especially doesn't like how well things seem to be going on the surface. Complications.
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik is wearing a plain gray suit, checked tie with a clip. He's got a simple briefcase containing nothing but pens, pencils, legal pads, and a slide rule. He's really curious how this went so wrong.
<banana> Your host's standing just inside a big square lobby, well away from the main security scanners by a little unmarked door. He shades his eyes against the sunlight leaking in off the coast and waves - this is Lewis, a black man in a pilot's uniform who looks younger than he really must be. There's another soldier with him and a little cart for bags - did anybody bring luggage?
<Crion> Cleaner's bags are all in his car.
<banana> Orient sees: a decorated pilot strides forward to greet him, limned with song. Loud and bassy music kicks in the instant you see the man, his nimbus flaring to create what is in effect a theme song. It's no piece you recognise, though it sounds modern.
<Quaker> Orient left most of it at the hotel. He has a small rolling suitcase containing a few presents for his presumed associates, and a briefcase with notepads and pens. He rolls forward toward the pilot.
<banana> Lewis has a little fat moustache which works surprisingly well with his cropped hair. He glances at you searchingly then smiles and says his name. "You must be the first specialist. Damn good to meet you and a damn good day."
<banana> Cynthia's not far behind, but Lewis hasn't greeted her yet. Not really a surprise. She doesn't know how much he knows, but- the project leader is a Master of Forces. Better not upset him.
<Crion> That's to Henrik David, Cleaner presumes. He's never met Lewis but it'd be pretty difficult to confuse him with the science team.
<banana> It's to Orient, actually - Henrik and Cleaner have arrived a little later, where they saw a group converging from across the carpark. No recognition here, but they're the only people with Supernal magic hanging off them like a birthright and an affront.
<Quaker> Claudio sets the suitcase upright and holds his hand out. “I must be. Good morning. My name is Claudio Kapic. Are we waiting for others, or proceeding inside for a briefing?”
<banana> Lewis: "Just a couple more. Here, Cynthia.. and those guys must be two of the others." To the uniformed aide: "Jack?"
<banana> Jack: "Captain." He's going to load up Orient's baggage.
<Quaker> Orient thanks Jack as he takes the suitcase. “Just mind how roughly you set it down; there’s glass inside.”
<banana> Over in the main hall, you can see a whole delegation of reporters with flashing cameras following some VIP into the visitors' centre. The great E X P L O R E sign which hangs over the hall is getting a workout from the streams of visitors and NASA workers today.
<Nicolae> Cynthia walks in with a smile. "Lewis, so good to see you again," she says brightly, and might even mean it. She extends her hand to shake his.
<banana> Lewis calls over to Cleaner and Henrik: "Hey, welcome! Let's talk inside, through here!" He shakes Cynthia's hand, putting on a pretty good act if it's an act. "And welcome back to the family. Laborer will be delighted."
<banana> Jack, the private, is wheeling suitcases - carefully - through the little door already. Nobody's questioning your right to bypass security - not with the uniforms and the air of authority and the the constellation of access-affording magic that hangs about five mages of the Iron Pyramid.
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik goes where he's told.
<Crion> Cleaner moseys after him, checking out the security checkpoints -- or lack thereof -- out of habit.
<Nicolae> Cynthia: "Likewise!" She follows, making small talk with Jack about the weather.
<banana> You're ushered quickly through unpainted concrete corridors, with just enough time to pass names around and check out each others' fashion sense. Somewhere in another part of the building, a P.A. system is going on about ship movements and splashdown planning.
<VoxPVoxD> Seeing Orient makes Henrik wonder if he should get new suits while he's here.
<VoxPVoxD> "Henrik David," says Henrik David to the others, offering handshakes.
<Crion> A Russian and an Italian coming in to help showrun a Panopticon op in Florida. National borders don't mean what they did before he Awakened, but that's still mighty uncommon.
<Nicolae> Cynthia greets the newcomers with the same smile she gave to Lewis. "Cynthia. Cynthia Munroe. I'm local." Handshakes all around.
<banana> Jack is augmented by another aide who calls Lewis 'Major', and then they both vanish as you pass through a pasteboard door into a little anteroom. There's another door, metal; Lewis puts one hand on the handle and turns back to you. "Ready to meet the dream team?" There's no edge to his voice. From the other side of the door you hear laughter and the clink of cutlery.
<Crion> Cleaner doesn't nod, smile, or take off his sunglasses, but he does shake hands. "Deputy Wayne Barrett. Cleaner."
<Crion> The call moving up their meeting didn't faze Cleaner much -- he's up an hour before dawn on workdays -- but all in all, none of this rushing is putting him at ease.
<Crion> But then, if things were good here, he'd still be hunting vampires.
<Quaker> Orient shakes hands, and remains quiet. He notices the accents, and wonders why they’ve called foreigners in to deal with what he assumes is Atlanteans planning to disrupt the Cape’s operations here.
<banana> With no objections, the Obrimos pilot flings open the door to reveal a combination breakroom/laboratory. "Reinforcements are here at last!"
<banana> A cheer goes up from benches around the room. There are half a dozen people inside, curious faces calling out names, a little kitchen where a guy in a vest is making coffee. Several people are finishing up breakfast or brunch. All but one of them are visibly magical, and they're all wearing two little patches in different places on their clothing.
<banana> One is the NASA logo, an view of the stars with a ringed word and a red chevron. The other you don't recognise, but it incorporates occult symbology and the fasces of the US government.
<Nicolae> Does Cynthia recognize any of them?
<Nicolae> The people, that is.
<banana> She does! Cynthia knows two of the mages from her work on the early days of Project Aningan; Laborer, the director, and the liason Dirt Cool. They're greeting her, and everyone is calling out their names at once - as well as those two, you all hear "Trajan", "Manhunter", "Fieldmouse", "Caddy". It's not yet obvious which ones go with which faces.
<banana> Lewis: "We have specialists from Italy and Moscow, the best man the war could spare and our own Cynthia. Might be another guy later- things are going to get easier around here." He waves everybody in, newcomers clearly expected to introduce themselves.
<Nicolae> Cynthia gives a small smile and a wave, like she's just shown up at an office party. "I'm Cynthia, nice to meet you all! I'm sure Laborer and Dirt Cool have told you stories about me already, ha ha!" She laughs pleasantly. "I'm sure we'll all get along just fine." Especially if you remember the stories about me.
<Crion> Cleaner can't say as he's heard those.
<banana> Laborer is a dark skinned woman who Cynthia vaguely recalls as more interested in technology than magic. She was hunched over a long table which is shrouded in utter blackness, but smiles slightly as she withdraws her arms from the void- one of them offers a half-full box of donuts.
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik David: "Good morning. I am Henrik David. I am dispatched from my position as Project Sub-Director for the State Commission on Piloted Flights. Also I am Primate of the Eclipse. So that is who I am. I look forward to working with you."
<banana> Dirt Cool, an older white guy in a suit with an incongruously healthy goatee, gives a thumbs up. "Kyle, for the new guys. MKWOMBAT liason - that's the U.S. equivalent of our project - good times."
<banana> Orient can recognise that Dirt- that Kyle has pretty competent mindshielding spells up. So does Cleaner, incidentally.
<Quaker> How competent, exactly? Is the the only Mind Adept here?
<Nicolae> Cynthia looks at the box of donuts from Laborer, "Oh, I shouldn't..." she says, in the tone of someone who immediately does.
<banana> Actually, judging by sympathetic resonance, several of the Project Aningan team could be Mastigos. Kyle, certainly, but Orient thinks also the two men who haven't spoken.. not too surprising, in the Ministry of Panopticon.
<Crion> Cleaner's not compelled to give a longer introduction than the one he just did, but he's listening very attentively. Like as not this'll all be on the test later.
<banana> Trajan speaks up from where she's perched on a lab stool. "Trajan, Praetorian Ministry, Vanguard/Interdict LV. 03." She's a woman of around thirty in running clothes, and when she looks at the newcomers they- there's something wrong with her eyes.
<VoxPVoxD> Glass?
<banana> The lower part of Trajan's face is ordinary, thin lips in a happy smile above a rounded chin, but from her nose on upward there's a bruise- in the air, not on her flesh. It looks like Paradox, a smudge filled with pain. Or, to Cleaner, with Death.
<banana> "I do project security. You need anything murdered, let me know! Seriously, I love that stuff. I will also talk your ear off about the local hops - there's a brewery down at the port doing some great stuff."
<banana> Fieldmouse speaks up in a generically Euro accent. He's got brown hair and smoked glasses, seems a little jittery, though there's no coffee in front of him. "Seriously, do not get Trajan started if you haven't booked a couple of hours for gossip."
<Crion> Once the looks get a bit too expectant: "I'm Cleaner. Know some Matter magic. Probably why I'm here. Spent most of the last month and change down Orlando way. Stay clear of Orlando for now if you can."
<Quaker> Orient realizes that of all the people assembled who have little idea what’s going on, he probably has the littlest. Oh well. “Hello. My name is Claudio Kapic, or Orient. I live in Italy, yes. I don’t think that my background is quite so technical as all of yours. I must confess that I came here on rather vague instructions…I brought presents, though. Should I…” He holds up the rolling suitcase, curious if this is a
<Quaker> good time.
<banana> Lewis: "Holy shit, really?"
<banana> Laborer: "We've got to get back to work soon.."
<banana> Dirt Cool: "Presents!"
<banana> Everyone looks pleasantly surprised except the remaining seer, Manhunter; he's over in one corner fiddling with a disassembled tripod and some sort of electrical setup. He's watching you quite closely, but with a kind of scornful look.
<banana> Fieldmouse: "Oh yeah, and I do manip - moving us around the schedule and keeping NASA off our backs. Probably be working with you guys. But what's this about presents?"
<banana> Lewis, to Laborer: "Sure, but we've got a few minutes. Caddy, go get the studio set up."
<Quaker> Lewis is in charge, yes? Orient will direct his attention to him. “Just a small gesture of goodwill. I apologize if any of you don’t drink, or don’t have a record player.” He opens the rolling suitcase to reveal fifteen identical bottles of red wine, and fifteen records labeled STUDIO UNO - MINA. He doesn’t know if any of them actually care wine qualities, but it’s quite good - Baloro ‘38s, from Piedmont. Better to
<Quaker> be known as generous rather than a skinflint.
<banana> In general, everyone's pretty happy to see you. The atmosphere in this breakroom is good, the easy working friendship of a team with experience - Kyle's keeping an eye on Cynthia and Manhunter looks generally unimpressed, but nobody's acting like it's anything other than beneficial you've arrived.
<Nicolae> Cynthia holds up a bottle of the wine. "Oh, you shouldn't have... thank you so much, that's so kind!"
<banana> Trajan slides off her stool as if jerked on a string and stalks toward the wine.
<Crion> Cleaner doesn't drink on the job, but he'll take a bottle for the house if there's one left over.
<banana> Laborer: "That is generous. You should be rewarded with information, if you're as confused as you say."
<banana> Lewis: "What, are we in the business of giving out information now?" General laughter.
<banana> To Orient, though, he continues: "This is Project Aningan, and I've had notice of your arrival in dreams. What we do here is tell the world that mankind has travelled to other worlds, give them hope, give them glory - a distraction and a fake."
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik will take a bottle and a record if one is meant for him. There should be an ember of satisfaction warming his chest; the bottle makes his notepads stand flush against the side of the briefcase.
<banana> "You're here because the project's grown beyond its capabilities. We need help, and thankfully the Ministry provides."
<banana> Laborer: "Right. The last launch actually put men up there, though we've got a script that's far better than the trivial shit they're doing in reality. All wasted."
<Nicolae> Realizing that the meeting is about to more or less begin, Cynthia takes a seat, a bottle of wine and a copy of the record by her feet.
<banana> Is it, though? Caddy already left, and people are kind of gathering themselves up as if to depart.
<Crion> Cleaner glances around. Seriously?
<Nicolae> Ah, whoops, I was under the impression there would be more after the meet and greet.
<Nicolae> Cynthia: "How did they pull off the launch in the first place?"
<Nicolae> A line of dialogue disappears from reality, as if never spoken.
<banana> Kyle recognises Cleaner's surprise. "We usually meet up here in room 86 to catch up and plan before beginning the day. There is.. quite a lot on our plates at the moment. You'll be appreciated."
<banana> Lewis: "Yeah, I'll take you-all for a full briefing in a minute. But let me just give everyone the official word on what's going on here first."
<banana> "Anyone got anything else first?"
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik is silent.
<banana> Dirt Cool: "Plenty, but we'll have time to share."
<Nicolae> Cynthia shakes her head.
<banana> Fieldmouse snickers for some reason. Injoke? Laborer looks distracted, Trajan is discussing wine, Manhunter says:
<banana> "Well, what's with the getup?"
<banana> "Keystone kop, bureaucrat-on-a-budget. Ambiguously sexual with wine and records. Do any of you have normal dude clothes?"
<banana> He doesn't seem to object to Cynthia, or wasn't paying much attention to her.
<banana> Lewis raises an eyebrow.
<Crion> Ah.
<banana> The guy himself is wearing like.. a vest and short shorts.
<Crion> To Manhunter: "What is it you do around here, again."
<Quaker> To anyone, in confusion: “What does ambiguously sexual mean?”
<banana> The short mage bows to Laborer. "Translate her vision into reality. I work with our dupes in the government to put together the artifacts and evidence of space travel. You're an adept of Matter?"
<banana> Trajan responds to Orient, after she's finished grabbing bottles and records. "It means Manhunter's a dick."
<banana> "Nothing wrong with dressing up now and then."
<Crion> Cleaner: "I'm a lot of things."
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik just holds his briefcase.
<banana> Manhunter: "If you work out what they are, let us know. I could really use an adept's help for the next mission."
<banana> Lewis: "Yes, about that."
<Crion> Cleaner: "That much is plain."
<banana> Lewis: "Colleagues, enough of that. Let's talk about where we stand."
<banana> He takes a seat for the first time, leaving everyone who'd just got up standing awkwardly.
<banana> "We have to admit it, here- we haven't done well enough."
<banana> "Nobody's faulting your work individually, but those heroes should not be heroes. At least not in orbit. Luna is proscribed to us and any step toward Her is a step too far."
<banana> "So on behalf of the Ministry and the Tetrarchy I've got new orders. Here's the setup:"
<Nicolae> Cynthia folds her hands on the table in front of her, sitting up a little straighter.
<banana> "Project Aningan is split into two pylons. Laborer, Manhunter, Dirt Cool, Fieldmouse, Trajan- you're Operations. You'll be continuing as you were but with assistance and oversight."
<banana> "Cynthia, Henrik, Cleaner, Orient- you're Control Pylon. Your task is to supervise and course-correct. No day-to-day, but you're now responsible for the success of this project and have concomitant authority. Change up our tasks, investigate and report, direct your own efforts to where help is needed - whatever it takes."
<banana> "This project is now Regional Priority P.A.N.D.E.M.O.N.I.U.M." - the highest possible on the Ministry's alert scale. At least the part of it you know about. "The four of you and a possible fifth specialist are promoted on an interim basis to Underoracle within Panopticon; you'll be considered Forgers-of-Paths in Georgia for purposes related to the project but not otherwise, except for Cynthia who's received that rank in full."
<banana> "We may or may not be joined by a guy from California, great coverup man. Name was B-something. Beckford? I don't remember, doesn't matter, he can't join us yet. Don't ask why. It's been covered up."
<banana> Everyone in Operations Pylon is quiet.
<VoxPVoxD> What's their mood?
<Crion> Cleaner's always wondered if P.A.N.D.E.M.O.N.I.U.M. actually worked out into an actual phrase or the like. He's never wondered hard enough to try and find out, though.
<Crion> Cleaner's watching the other pylon closely. He's starting to get an inkling of what their real mission is here -- or at least what one contingency thereof happens to be. He wonders if they're geting it, too.
<Crion> Wouldn't be the first time he was asked to blackbag another pylon.
<Nicolae> Wouldn't be the first time Cynthia asked another pylon to get blackbagged.
<banana> You can't tell how Dirt Cool is feeling at all, but the others are either less shielded or don't mind showing a bit of emotion.
<Quaker> Orient: “Who are we reporting to?”
<banana> Laborer doesn't seem upset by this, but wants to know more. If she does the creative on the project, it's likely that anything you do will affect her work.
<banana> Fieldmouse is a little worried. You get the sense he's been somewhat indifferent to project success and didn't think it would matter.
<banana> Manhunter is.. interested, surprised. He's watching Cleaner and Orient closely again.
<Crion> Bad way to approach your work.
<Crion> Cleaner just stares back. He doesn't spend any special amount of time considering Manhunter.
<banana> Trajan, finally-
<banana> "Did I fuck up here, boss? Security. But we've only been threatened by the Invisibles, and I've seen them off so far."
<banana> Lewis: "It's information security and our primary mission that we've lightly fucked. I don't have any reason to believe the Praetorian Ministry is concerned with your performance."
<Crion> If they were, they'd have sent a Praetorian.
<Crion> Probably a good idea to get on top of what Trajan's doing here, though. Orlando's too close for comfort.
<banana> Lewis turns back to Orient.
<banana> "Well, we'd better go and meet your direct report now. That's our 11 am."
<banana> Dirt Cool: "Good luck. I'll be spending today over at the Agency room; you can reach me on the usual number."
<Nicolae> Cynthia is looking over the room and realizing she's among the highest-ranked people here. She smiles, just a bit.
<banana> This breaks the spell of power transferred. The others begin to mutter and clarify their own statuses for the day. Information washes over you.
<Crion> A very distant process all the way at the back of Cleaner's mind is ranking these new 'colleagues' from most to least dangerous. Assuming Lewis wouldn't be included in any burn notice, it's Trajan at the top and...probably Fieldmouse at the bottom? Perhaps Laborer. Manhunter's an asshole and he needs to start wearing pants to work, but he's also pretty clearly the brains of the operation,
<Crion> at least where politics is concerned.
<Quaker> Before they leave, Orient catches Trajan’s attention. “Excuse me, Trajan? Could I bother you with a request?”
<banana> Trajan: "Yeah, I mean, you're giving the orders around here. Unless I get a dream with your corpse in it, haha!"
<Quaker> Orient looks shocked. “I…excuse me?”
<banana> Trajan: "There's not much chance of that, man. I get the feeling the Seals like you just where you are."
<Crion> Yeah, take her out first. That's the smart play.
<Quaker> Orient holds his silence, and eye contact, long enough for it to become uncomfortable.
<Crion> To his new Pylon: "I suggest we get a late breakfast."
<Crion> "Somewhere off campus."
<banana> It's a bit hard to make eye contact with a dark smear of air, but Trajan plays along.
<banana> "What's the request, Orient?"
<VoxPVoxD> What's the expression? "I could eat."
<banana> Lewis: "After the 11 AM."
<Crion> Cleaner: "Uh huh."
<banana> Lewis: "Well.. there's time if you're quick. But I wouldn't keep him waiting."
<Crion> To Henrik David: "You ever been to a diner?"
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik shakes his head.
<banana> Manhunter, Fieldmouse and Kyle bid various farewells as they slip out. Laborer's the last to go, collecting some notes and equipment from her invisible table.
<Crion> Cleaner: "You got any weird prior conceptions about diners?"
<Nicolae> Cynthia: "Diners? Oh, I know just the place!"
<Quaker> “If you find the time, could you find someone in your pylon to make a report for ours, detailing your general backgrounds and current duties? I don’t know who among you to ask for an organizational chart, so I hope you’ll know who to go to. If you can spare the effort, of course.”
<Crion> He lights up a cigarette once he's outside. "Ran into a pair of guys over in French c
<Crion> Cambodia who had this whole mythology in their heads about diners."
<Crion> "Had never been stateside."
<banana> Trajan: "I'll take care of it. Thanks for the record!"
<Crion> "Bit strange."
<Quaker> Orient: “I hope you enjoy it. Thank you. See you around.”
<banana> The Moros departs, concealed in light and shadow. It wouldn't do for a Sleeper to see that face.
<Crion> "But the food here's not that different from the food anywhere else. More corn in it, that's all."
<banana> Lewis: "He's got to try biscuit. You've got to try biscuits."
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik: "I associate diners with road trips."
<banana> "I've got a secure room through here.."
<Crion> Cleaner's not entirely sure why he's chosen diner ennui as the mask for his background thoughts about how to kill the five Seers they just met.
<Quaker> Irony, fatalism, gallows humor. All are buzzards, circling around dysfunction. “A diner sounds fine.”
<Crion> Before Lewis can get peeved again, and in his general direction: "After our business here is concluded."
<banana> Lewis does seem a bit disgruntled. You're not sure whether it's about the prospective meal..
<Crion> Not Cleaner's concern.
<banana> He leads you through what looks like a storeroom door at the back of the breakroom lab. This one unlocks when he puts a hand on it- looks enchanted.
<banana> On the other side is an office with a small desk and a large chair. There's a typewriter, a bunch of shelves with esoteric literature and technical manuals, a decanter of brandy. Certificates and awards are on the walls but you can't make out their precise nature.
<Crion> Way he sees it, he's not helping anyone do anything related to stopping or starting rocket launches any time soon, outside of walking to a place, following some directions, and then walking back. That means he needs to figure out why he's actually on this job. Then, and only then, can he figure out what his job actually is here -- and how to do it.
<banana> There's another door on the far side, and a couple of chairs on the way to it; Lewis mutters something and there's a burst of drums and guitars.
<banana> Two chairs blur, split and become four. He arranges them (by hand) on either side of his desk, all facing the door.
<VoxPVoxD> A demesne?
<Crion> Nothing really distresses Cleaner -- he's got far too much mental magic on for that -- but this is a very significant change to his normal routine of 'get precise orders from Ynkblot, execute them with discretion within understood bounds, and report back to Ynkblot that the job was done.' And that was already a notable departure from 'call Caveat, to the job, go get a drink after closing
<Crion> time.'
<banana> Doesn't look like it- Henrik feels no special sight coming upon him as he crosses the threshhold, no soulstone effect.
<banana> Lewis sits in the big chair. "Here. He'll be here in a minute."
<Crion> If there's one thing he's learned in his time inside the Iron Pyramid, it's that the greatest Lie of them all is that you have any authority whatsoever. Forgers of the Path? Don't make Cleaner laugh. All that is, is enough rope for them to hang themselves with.
<Nicolae> Cynthia takes a seat, looking at a picture hanging on the wall. "Is that new?"
<Crion> Cleaner will stand until it's time to sit.
<Crion> He's not getting into a second standing vs. sitting gaffe in two days.
<Crion> To Henrik David: "What do you think of the place?"
<Crion> Cleaner means the mundane aspects of Port Canaveral
<Crion> .
<Crion> "It look reasonably like an actual space program?"
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik will sit. He can always stand again. "It is reasonably like an actual space program. In most ways the work we do is indistinguishable from the work we would do if we were to earnestly want to explore space. The simplest way to falsify something is to do it."
<Crion> Cleaner nods. "Seems like our boys somehow took the shortcut of actually doing the damn work."
<Crion> "If all these celebrating folks are be believed, anyway."
<Nicolae> Cynthia: "It was an oversight. People got sloppy."
<Crion> Cleaner crosses his arms. "Dunno. Seems to me 'not going to outer space' is pretty hard to fuck up. I've managed to not go to outer space everyday of my life. And yet here we are."
<VoxPVoxD> "The technology, the secrecy, the resources these projects command... all of this is desirable. In the process of doing the work our systems become increasingly complex, increasingly sophisticated... increasingly desirable. No one wants a successful cosmonaut. A working rocket is precious."
<VoxPVoxD> "More remarkable to me is that there was been only one failure so public."
<banana> Lewis finishes whatever arcane preparations he's making, hits a key on the typewriter. "It was a necessary sacrifice."
<banana> "Frankly, it's the Sleeper government that is the biggest god damn pain in our ass here and it should be someone else's job to keep them off our back."
<banana> "You're about to hear a different take on that, I guess."
<Crion> Cleaner: "This is only a problem because we want to hew to the letter of a direct order while playing games with its spirit. Dangerous way to treat your work, if the boss decides to hop a flight and show up at the branch office."
<Nicolae> Cynthia scowls. "Not going to outer space is easy. Not going to outer space and making everyone think they had... Still, there was no excuse."
<banana> Lewis: "I'm well aware of that, Cynthia-" The door opens.
<banana> The outer one, which leads into a standard KSC corridor; the one you're all facing. It's another young soldier, a cadet from the Air Force.
<banana> "Lieutenant Rogers?" He advances into the room.
<banana> Lewis gestures at the door, expecting someone to close it.
<Crion> Cleaner's mental magic helps him disguise that this last statement is like, the most rank hypocrisy.
<Crion> He'll get the door.
<banana> The moment it's shut, the cadet halts in his tracks. His expression becomes concerned, then freezes in place, a rictus of worry with wildly rolling eyes.
<Crion> God damn it.
<banana> Lewis: "I'm Rogers, if you like."
<Crion> Worst part of this job: the things that aren't people.
<banana> Cadet: "..."
<Crion> Gets you every time.
<banana> Cadet: (screams internally, inaudible anguish, radiating supernal bursts as something crushes his soul like coal formed into a diamond, cracks forming in the abolished human spirit and letting discarded energy vent, where it is swallowed by the Lie)
<Crion> The ant-people are decent enough, but what the fuck is this?
<Crion> Come on now.
<Crion>
<Crion> His voice is much more laconic than his internal monologue. "Take it this is an 'always' thing for this guy?"
<banana> Lewis sighs. Jealousy? The cadet flings his head back with enouth force that it snaps his spine at the uppermost vertebra and then slowly puppeteers it forward, rearranging facial muscles and skullbone into a parody of someone else's face.
<banana> All the colour drains from his uniform, meanwhile - the green and black of military camoflauge assimilating into a uniform brown lit by nowhere's sun, the colour of chitin against the desert.
<Nicolae> Cynthia takes it in stride. "This could have been done before we arrived."
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik folds his hands in his lap.
<banana> Scorpion adjusts his too-tight uniform with undead limbs. "You think I have time to waste on your shit?"
<Crion> Cleaner: "They rushed us in pretty fast."
<Crion> This is just a well-oiled machine of winners, this pylon.
<banana> The meat puppet paces, or at least jerks in place. Lewis: "We're listening, honored Tetrarch."
<banana> This he says quite loudly, as a hint.
<Quaker> An open callousness, reveling in cruelty for show. Another buzzard.
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik is given to recall the Bishop on the bike.
<Crion> Cleaner wants to go back to Orlando.
<Crion> Not a single thing that's happened since they set foot on Port Canaveral has said anything but 'clusterfuck.'
<Crion> And now there's this ungodly shit prancing around the briefing room.
<banana> Scorpion: "They know who I am, Lewis. I'm Scorpion of Georgia, Tetrarch of the Iron Pyramid. I'm a freaking vice-Secretary of Panopticon Global. There's not much freaking honor in being your boss."
<banana> Lewis: "Well, we honor the title if not the individual, as we're called to do."
<Crion> Nice to see Lewis ate his Wheaties this morning.
<banana> The Profane Urim's revenant ignores Lewis and looks around at the rest of you, causing gristle-cracking noises to emanate from its broken neck.
<banana> "You have the gist of why you're here, people. This nitwit's little coup was designed to spin that while technically informing you of the letter of the law."
<Crion> Caveat, in an unguarded moment, once said his name was Scorpion because you knew what was going to happen when you let him into leadership, and did it anyway.
<Crion> Cleaner has no public opinion of the man.
<banana> "Tell me what you think you need to know, now." The Tetrarch's voice is out of proportion to the throat he's using. He sounds like a Yankee caricature of an Alabaman, though who knows if it's for show.
<Quaker> Orient raises his hand.
<Crion> They might have such a list for Looney Tunes here if they'd been allowed to hit the diner and plan a bit. As it is, they're requesting supplies before taking stock. Perfectly ass-backwards, like everything else about this so far.
<Nicolae> Cynthia: "We need to know what the problems are with Aningan and the Pylons who were assigned to it."
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik doesn't raise his hand, but he won't speak before Orient gets acknowledged.
<banana> Scorpion: "Orient, out of Trieste by way of the Bahamas. Unambitious for all your capability. You've been gifted to us and to you in turn are given a chance at the hustle. Don't waste it."
<Crion> Real easy to talk shit from behind a satanist cadet.
<Quaker> “Out of Milan. Thank you, Tetrarch. My own Tetrarchy politely requested that I direct my questions to whoever I found in charge here, so I will do so: why did you bring myself and the others from so far abroad here? Was it your decision, or someone else’s? And what, in your own words, do you expect us to do? I apologize if I’m asking you to restate yourself, but the situation seems that the less ambiguity in our orders, the
<Quaker> better.”
<banana> Scorpion: "Gosh, I can answer you both here. Two of you are here because you were the best we had on scene who could be spared. Three more- wait, where's-"
<Crion> ...
<Crion> Folks. This is just embarrassing.
<banana> Lewis: "A delay in the wrapup out west. I'd appreciate it if you could pass on-"
<Crion> You are embarrassing the Tetrarchy in front of guests.
<VoxPVoxD> This ought to alarm Henrik.
<banana> Scorpion: "On his own head be it. Two more of you are here because you need to be, which goes all the way to the top."
<banana> Scorpion: "All."
<banana> Scorpion: "The."
<banana> Scorpion: "Way."
<banana> "Here's what the Ministry expects of you."
<banana> "Man will not land on the Moon."
<banana> "Hegemon will not continue to learn what goes on here."
<banana> "The space program will no longer be the personal fiefdom of a lackwit who relies on subject-matter expertise and then forgets to succeed."
<banana> Lewis says nothing.
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik: "Are we still in contact with the men in space? Will we have access to their transmissions and instruments?"
<banana> Addressing Cynthia: "Finding out the cause of these problems is part of your responsibility. It's not as important as fixing shit but you'll be rewarded if you manage it. I have hopes but not demands."
<Nicolae> Cynthia sits up a little straighter and addresses the Tetrarch with a tone of respect he clearly hasn't earned. "I won't let the Tetrarchy -- or the Ministry -- down."
<banana> Scorpion: "Henrik David. You we're asked to accept without even a dossier. ..as I do, of course. There are two points of contact - talk to the math people here about the signal point fabrication. Lewis will show you, won't, you, Underoracle?"
<banana> "Access to resources at Cape Kennedy is your purview. You have on-demand access to our people in Houston for the other side."
<banana> Lewis: "What? We've never been able to talk to Houston. There were a variety of bullshit excuses."
<banana> Scorpion: "And if you'd needed it bad enough you'd have cut through them."
<banana> There's a gurgling noise from the corpse's stomach.
<Crion> Cleaner reminds himself that it's a good thing these two are sniping at each other like punks in front of outsiders to the ministry, because it gives them more information.
<banana> Scorpion: "I need a report after you've recovered the Apollo 9 people- include rationale for why they are or aren't intact. Weekly after that or immediately if something else goes wrong. You'll have extraordinary resources if you prove you know when not and when to ask>"
<Crion> At least Scorpion seems to have forgotten Cleaner's in the room. Silver linings.
<banana> "I want to know if the Pentacle lifts a finger. I want to know if Orlando flares up - I'm on Rattler's back night and day but she won't give me the time of it. I want to see hard evidence of fake evidence for Apollo 10. Give me these things and you'll be remembered well by the hierarchy, by the Minister."
<banana> "Fail- you'll be freaking remembered."
<Crion> Talk about lose-lose situations.
<banana> "Any more questions before I clarify something?" Lewis: "-" Scorpion: "Not you."
<Quaker> Orient raises his hand.
<Crion> If he's got something to clarify, might as well wait until he's done it.
<banana> Scorpion: "Signore Kopic." He sounds more relaxed now that the initial ranting and raving is out of the way.
<banana> Insofar as someone can sound relaxed while possessing a twisted and slumping form.
<Quaker> “Since this project has the attention of the highest levels of our organization, should we assume that it has the attention of others, as well? Are there any especial threats to our success beyond simple organizational dysfunction that you’re aware of?”
<banana> Scorpion: "Good question. There's an Atlantean pylon operating in the area with the intent of disruption; Cleaner can get you more information. Take them seriously as a threat. Prophecy also indicates-" The Tetrarch actually hesitates.
<Crion> The rebels don't call them--whatever.
<banana> Scorpion: "Well, something's coming from the sea. In a couple of months, maybe."
<Crion> Useful as usual.
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik: "Is Underoracle Lewis solely responsible for reporting to the Tetrarchy?"
<banana> Lewis smiles at Henrik, but the question wasn't directed to him.
<banana> Scorpion: "Lewis, Road-Builder on Foundations Immanent, reports to the Tetrarchy. In the sight of the Eye, he, and your pylon, separately, report to me."
<banana> Lewis: "Sure."
<banana> Scorpion vibrates, his stolen form firming up a little and standing up straight. "Okay, freaking alright. Let me tell the four of you something."
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik idly wonders what the letter that kid's parents are about to get is going to say.
<banana> "This is not a punishment. This job, it's tough. We've got you because you seem less likely to fail, and for other reasons, but I know it's a tough job."
<Crion> He's Air Force. Fuck 'im.
<VoxPVoxD> He certainly couldn't take the joke.
<Nicolae> If it weren't his destiny it wouldn't have happened.
<banana> "One reason you're all here is that you've caught the eye of- you've come to the attention of the Throne. We have a talented peacekeeper who's tying themselves to small causes and sentiment; we've got an expert who knows something they might.. someday.. earn. We've got a visionary commendably willing to do what it takes in service of that delusion. We've got a Seer who could be great if they were willing to know themselves."
<Crion> Peacekeeper?
<banana> Scorpion: "Lady and gentlemen, you can't fail here. But the degree to which you succeed is up to you. I urge you: take up the opportunities this shitwit has squandered. The road to Ascension is open."
<Crion> Cleaner can't decide if he's supposed to be the first on that list or the last one, and which is more offensive.
<banana> Lewis, very quietly: "But not literally ascent."
<Nicolae> Oh, no, it's very literal.
<banana> It's kind of appalling witnessing a Tetrarch do avuncular-and-encouraging.
<Crion> It's Scorpion's niche.
<Crion> Appalling, that is. Not avuncular-and-encouraging.
<banana> Cleaner can say that (not out loud), but he hasn't met Mantis of Georgia.
<Crion> And long may he run up that streak.
<banana> The thing is, you have a feeling nobody in Operations Pylon has been given a speech like this.
<VoxPVoxD> That's because we haven't given it yet.
<Crion> Cleaner has something to say, something that he thinks is fairly to very important -- but this guy's gotta leave the room first.
<banana> Scorpion: "Are we done? I've got a twelve-o-clock with the Prince of Indianapolis."
<Crion> Not only is he Scorpion's eyes and ears, but he's making noises, and pretty soon he might start to smell.
<banana> Lewis looks around. Are they done?
<Crion> Cleaner firmly nods.
<banana> Lewis: "Dismissed, Cadet." He rises to his feet and continues: "ᛥᛐᚹᚡ ᚹᚢᚺ ᛄᛂᛥᛂ"
<banana> There's a distorted wail of guitar and a man's melodic scream. Scorpion's imprinted face looks surprised for a moment, then twists into a smirk. Then it's gone.
<banana> The whole dead form of the cadet is gone, wiped from existence - Unmade.
<banana> Well, not the form, exactly. There's a patter of ash and disintegrated material falling to the floor. The revenant was in some way decomposed without removing his actual substance. But it hardly matters.
<VoxPVoxD> Ha.
<VoxPVoxD> 'Hardly matters'.
<banana> Lewis looks unhappy. "You'd better get to Debbie's before they switch to the lunch menu."
<Crion> Cleaner leans off from the wall. "Yeah, well. A moment, now that the Tetrarch no longer graces us with his presence."
<Crion> "I'm gonna say it in front of you, Lewis, because I think it's got the most to do with to the chair you're sitting in right now, not the ones we are."
<banana> Lewis, not unkindly: "He's watching everything we do and say, chump."
<banana> "Go on, if you don't mind."
<Crion> Cleaner: "I don't care if he's listening. I just don't feel like being interrupted with nifty jokes."
<Crion> "Main thing as I see it is that we could fix this whole mess soon as the next rocket launch with maybe an afternoon's worth of work. Sabotage the rocket, it explodes, all the safeguards fail, the fire spirals out and consumes the whole compound. We kill the project leads just to be sure, we kill the Operations Pylon just to be safe, we wash our hands of this whole thing.
<Crion> "The space program is tragically set back by twenty years, because the untested, I don't know, backups or whatever the fuck at Houston don't work. Three months from now, there's a similar tragic incident in the Soviet Union. Conspiracy theories spread: there was a Russian at the Space Center in Cape Carnaveral the day of the attack -- this was Cold War intrigue.
<Crion> "But nothing really happens because none of this actually matters, and we own both governments anyway, right? This is not a difficult ask. This crap's been done a hundred times before. You don't call us in to do it. You call in the Praetorians. There are a whole bunch of Praetorians right next door. Bing, bang, boom. Can is kicked at least five years down the road. A crisis becomes a situation
<Crion> we can manage. And yet we're all still here, being asked for answers.
<Crion> "So after all the other questions we have, the last one should be: why does this job even exist in the first place?"
<Crion> "And the answer is: because there's some other assumption we have that's all fucked up."
<banana> Lewis steeples his fingers and looks like he wants to cackle, just for a second.
<banana> "Guess they haven't told you yet. Henrik knows, though. Our friend from behind the Iron Curtain."
<Crion> Cleaner: "See?"
<Crion> "Now we're getting somewhere."
<banana> "Here's one of those secrets you get access to when you're technically initiated into high rank as part of a superior's power play: the Cold War is real."
<banana> Lewis: "Imagine the world the way you used to think it was, before you Awakened. Before you learned of the totalising hierarchy of the Throne - of the Eye, the General, the Father. Of the Unity."
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik: "The Unity is... what is the expression?"
<VoxPVoxD> "The Unity is of two minds."
<banana> Lewis: "Right, we'd come up with a pithy name based on bifurcation except for the risk of being instantly struck dead."
<banana> "The Unity is the Unity. But there is the Hegemonic Ministry here.. and the Hegemonic Ministry there."
<banana> "That's why espionage matters. America and Russia - we're both in it to win it. Really."
<Crion> It doesn't actually provoke a response thanks to Cleaner's magic, but this is perhaps literally the one single thing Lewis could have said that would visibly upset Cleaner.
<banana> "Now in our beloved Ministry of Panopticon - as in Paternoster, and in Praetorian - we are above this shit. We are prudent, prideful, not prejudiced and other words starting with P. It is the H which can be symbolically divided into one minus one."
<Crion> Because that meant all that shit he was doing in Cambodia and Laos was...
<banana> It explains a few things.
<banana> "So all the national prestige and the symbolic power that comes with it - the funding, so divertible when you don't have to really go up - the science, for Sleepers at least - They have it, so We need it. In fact We need more of it and first."
<banana> "Good luck doing my job. Honestly. I'll try to help out by still doing it, also."
<Crion> Cleaner: "So hold on. You're saying that the Hegemonic Ministry in the West and the Hegemonic Ministry in the East are legitimately working against each other. And they're doing so with...
<Crion> "Nuclear weapons."
<Crion> "On ICBMs."
<Crion> "That's not something we're telling the Sleepers."
<Crion> "That's a real thing."
<banana> Lewis: "I can get you bunker reservations, no sweat."
<banana> To Henrik: "I don't know exactly what you do. I'm amazed they let you come at all."
<Crion> "See, because when I heard about that, I laughed, because I thought no one would believe it. I thought no one would believe that anyone would be so stupid as to."
<banana> "But it involved ICBMs, right? Or whatever the name is. Kosmoblam."
<Crion> Instead of trailing off he stops mid-sentence.
<Crion> Then: "Let's go get lunch."
<Crion> "I need a beer."
<VoxPVoxD> Henrik, to Lewis: "Do you remember the Cuban thing?"
<VoxPVoxD> "I don't."
<banana> "Then you must have been part of it. My condolences."
<VoxPVoxD> "Could I request an organizational chart of the Tetrarchy, for our clearance level? It's not urgent but if we're to navigate the political situation it would be helpful."
<banana> Lewis: "Sure. I'm a little out of date but I knew everything up to the Hisil Plantation at one point."
<VoxPVoxD> "Thank you." Time for lunch.
<banana> As you leave, the (former?) director of Project Director is idly typing suggestions to himself. Kosmoboom? Explodnik?
<VoxPVoxD> Detonatsiya.