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A Corsican's Gift - Eppy - 07-04-2009
Sarah joyfully popped her Admiral's bars from the collar of her uniform and slid them across Amirraglio Barilla's desk.
The Amirraglio chuckled. Thankless task, Senorita Dattaglia? He passed her the single silver pin an open cylinder that labeled her a Special Attache to his personal staff, essentially giving her a Captain's authority in all branches of the Navy. I've prepared your next assignment, pending authorization from the full Council.
She sat down in the chair facing the Ammiraglio's desk. So, when am I taking over this outfit? I'll need to review the current structure of this intelligence outfit ahead of time if I'm going to get it into shape. I tried to access it, but apparently an Admiral's security clearance doesn't go as far as it used to around here...
Barilla maintained his old man's smile, sliding a datacard across the desk. Everything about the structure and physical assets are in here. There are also a few items not on the list, some of which I think you'll remember from your duties administering Corsica.
She slid the card into her jacket pocket. I'll review that on my way out. Where am I going to be based out of? It isn't exactly made public knowledge where the director of Maltese Intelligence bases his headquarters.
Barilla stood up from his desk, stepping over to the glass wall that separated his Destroyer-borne office from the cold vacuum of Omicron Alpha. That is a point of interest. Santiani headquartered himself on his private yacht; however, I never considered that a suitable base to begin with, and his dependents- Barilla scoffed -are fighting over the blasted thing. So, we've got more appropriate options available for your selection. We'll review those once we make port at Corsica.
Understood. I take it the Director was not very good at his job. She stood and joined him at the window as the MNS Tolouse knifed into the cloud.
No. No, he was not. Barilla sighed. Last year, I was in the field in Eta on the bridge of the Sarah Caruso. That day, I watched three RM-1 Destroyers, twenty-four fighters, and the first two production run Tridente Gunboats all disappear into flaming hulks of superalloy and plasma. We dispatched that force on the expectation that the Corsair fleet on its way was based around two Osirises. Under normal circumstances, the Sarah Caruso's heavy weaponry, in conjunction with the Destroyers, would have been more than effective enough to take both Osirises out of commission very quickly without any losses. As it turned out, that information was two weeks out of date; because Santiani didn't bother to get up at a reasonable hour that morning and read his reports, we were two weeks behind on fleet data, when we could have had a report from the night before, and we showed up undergunned against a Corsair Dreadnought. The Dreadnought broke the line and the Sarah Caruso barely got away after losing her entire battlegroup, all because Santiani drank too much the night before. He turned back to his desk and sat down. I hate to take much pleasure from one of my colleague's death, but in this case I have to say it's going to be a welcome change of pace. Competence is rare; excellence is rarer still, and your performance as a staff officer in the Hellfire Legion was exemplary, as has been your organizational control of the 101st. I firmly believe you're the best person for this job; you're experienced well beyond your years and you're qualifications are outstanding. I expect your analytical skills will be a great asset to the effectiveness of the Intelligence department, not to mention you already come with the Council's approval.
Thank you, sir. She sat down again. I aim to please.
Oh, I know you will, Senorita.
*****
Sarah pored over the organizational informatino Barilla had given her, and she was displeased.
In fact, she was VERY displeased. What the hell was a 'Waterfowl Acquisition Officer?'
She tapped out the entire system (if you could call it that) onto the holopad she'd had delivered from the Captain's quarters to the ready room she'd acquired for her private use while on the Destroyer. A mess of text and lines appeared in three dimensions over the large center table, which she stepped upon, raising herself into the mess. No, this wouldn't do at all. This thing wasn't an intelligence network, it was essentially a massive money laundering scam mixed with a party-making and alcohol-gathering engine. She swept her hand through one corner of the holomap and instantly eliminated a $450,000,000 black hole in the annual Coucinl of Don's budget.
Now, what do we have here...
She stared at what was left. Oh, this was a mess. He had everything delegated off to about 14 subordinate managers. Never a good sign, knowing Santiani there was nothing wrong with letting subordinates run things, but you had to micromanage the subordinates directly below you to make sure THEY made sure the people below them were doing their jobs, and, with Santiani's reputation for leaving what he thought was well enough alone and enjoying his lucrative Cardamine plantation's profits, this whole thing was probably not going to do. There were four levels of communication between Santiani's lieutenants and the handlers on the simplest of the trees, nine of them on the most complex, and between Teirs 9, 11, and 4 there were these strange lines where they intertwined at their fifth and sixth levels, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but they were essentially unrelated the Internal Economics department, the Tau Espionage department and the Liberty Economics department, which really wasn't justified at those levels that kind of transmission should be handled higher up. She shuffled these around before merging Teir 5 with Teir 7, and reorganized each into one to four levels of communication between the departmental heads and the handlers and organizers.
The door hissed open, flooding the dimly starlit room with a bright, syntheitc tone from the bridge as the Ammiraglio stepped in. How many people have lost their jobs today, Senorita? The door hissed closed, reverting the room to its dimmer natural state.
She jumped down and saluted. 192, sir. I'm assuming some of them are good people, we should reassign the personnel drawn from the military and evaluate all of the rest. If they prove worthwhile I can find places to reintroduce the best of them, and the rest should be reassigned to some menial managing position. This was a tad arbitrary, but this thing is a mess and I think you understand more than most how important the efficiency of this apparatus is.
Barilla nodded gravely. Indeed. Not a pleasant thing to do, but such is the duty of an officer. I have your Special Commission papers ready and your revised personnel file for the Council of Dons. If we need to make any changes, now would be the best time to do it, Senorita. He placed a datapad down on the table; it flickered to life, displaying her personnel information.
It looks appropriate, sir, she nodded. Sarah Clairon Eliza Dattaglia. Age: 24. Height: 155 Centimeters. Hair: Mahogany, 25.3 Centimeters. Eyes: Medium Blue. Skin: Pale, Unblemished. Rank(s): Special (NAVAL), Director (INTEL). From thereon it detailed her history, born to the rich Eppstein-Whitacre family that had originally made a fortune in Planetform before becoming involved with the Maltese somewhere back a hundred and fifty years and intermarrying, and how she'd run away to join the circus, so to speak, at the age of thirteen the Lane Hackers had been happy to take her organizational skills, where over the next five years she worked her way to the Second in Command of the Hellfire Legion, in command of a brilliantly hijacked Mako-class Battleship, and how said ship had been subsequently destroyed along with its entire battlegroup by some kind of rogue AI vessels, how her fiance' had died that same day in the attack, and how she had shortly thereafter been spirited away to Malta to fly with her full-Outcast cousins as a member of the 101st, and, after four more years, taken on the unfortunate position of Admiral on the understanding that it would be temporary after the unnanounced suicide of the previous commander, as all the officers above her had managed to cycle through command at an alarming rate.
Everything is correct, Senorita Dattaglia, I trust? Barilla smiled his characteristic old man's smile.
Hm, she mused for a moment Change one thing. My name should be Whitacre. Sarah Clairon Eliza Whitacre. People will know me here as a Dattaglia.
A true statement. Barilla tapped in the change. Three hours till we make port, Senorita Whitacre. I suggest you get some rest, you've done more than enough here today. He gestured at the hologram floating above the table. She saluted and he left promptly.
At that she pulled out one of the chairs around the table and dropped herself in, pondering what had compelled her to change her name once again.
A Corsican's Gift - Eppy - 07-08-2009
Sarah stepped off of the shuttle craft onto the deck of Corsica's Shuttle Bay Nine, right behind the Ammiraglio. She was no longer garbed in Naval attire; it was a simple black ops uniform, skin tight, shock absorbing, layered with neural circuitry on the inner layers and displaying nothing but rank insignias. Very austere next to the traditional red-and-gold travelling greatcoat of the Ammiraglio and the other officers, but it certainly implied as much purpose and was considerably more lightweight. She followed Barilla towards the lifts as the honor guard flanked them silently, nodding her head as he spoke.
"I've had a collection of Santiani's entire information library organized and packaged for you as soon as you have time to look at it. We're touring his yacht right now, and then you can have that look at his corpse in the morgue immediately after. Acceptable?"
"No objections, sir," she said as the guard broke away and opened the door to the lifts.
"Good. We'll be there shortly." They stepped in and the lift began to accelerate upwards towards the greater internal drydocks. He handed her a pad.
"This is a list of all the available vessels in dock or under construction. Review them at your leisure; you can have anything on that list as a private command and any Naval personnel to staff it you desire. If you feel any support craft need to be added to your staff you can request those as well, but don't go calling for any capital warships as hitsquads," he chuckled.
"No sir," she grinned as the lift doors opened and exposed them to the cool atmosphere of one of Corsica's massive Internal Drydocks.
Internal Drydock Two (of six) was a large room, a 450-meter cube. It could barely fit four Outcast Destroyers at once; one end was a clear repelling force field to keep the techs from flying out; the others were covered with, bluntly, whatever was necessary for the task at hand. The Internal Drydocks were good for doing lots of fine, detailed work on a ship's external components - something that would be difficult in a spacesuit - and for detailed go-overs of a given ship. Today, though Internal Drydock Two only had three ships in it - the lower third was occupied by the MNS Sicilian Gold, one of the prototype RM-2A - and an unusual one, in that its engines were doubled up - in conjunction with the AQS Indirect Ion Ignition engine it had a fully functional conventional fusion drive - which was in for some moderate work on her power grid, notoriously finicky on that particular vessel; the second ship was a Tridente, nothing special, in for, of all things, a paint job.
The third vessel, and their point of interest, was the 794 A.S. Democritus-class Yacht, 350 meters long, sleek, fast, luxurious, and the scene of the not-necessarily-unfortunate death of one Arturo Santiani. Sarah stepped over towards the edge of the Internal Drydock Two's observation deck and, foregoing the walkway extending to the Yacht's moorpoint and hatch, stepped up onto the rail and used the burst antigravs in her black ops skinsuit (hence the flared calves) to propel herself upwards to the top of the vessel, landing gently and promptly striding over to have a look at the sensor equipment.
"Senorita Whitacre, really now!" Barilla puffed as he climbed up the side of the vessel "I am not as young as I used to be."
"We have a dozen Lane Hackers on staff to enhance our sensor equipment for us, and this vessel doesn't even have full Discovery-rated suite," She frowned angrily "No wonder we've always had problems. They're not even trying."
"I will not disagree, Senorita...a man of pleasures, eh? This hulk" he kicked the ship's hull "is not suitable for his position at all, but eh, he was an independent entity with Carte Blanche'. Why exactly is it you wanted to see this ship and the body?"
She started towards the ladder where Barilla had climbed up. "Simply put, I don't like the look of the coroner's report." She slid down the rail with an 'mph.' "It lists the cause of death as a coronary, but why did the ship's internal health sensors not report anything? The coroner also doesn't list what caused the coronary - there should be a broken clot somewhere." she stepped inside the hatch, surveying the opulent corridor. "The coroner rules out poison or other unnatural cause of death - no needle punctures, abnormal compounds in the tox screen, no hypospray compressions, and nothing out of the ordinary in his internal circuitry, what little there was. I'm expected to believe his heart just seized."
Barilla strolled close behind her as they headed towards the bedroom where Santiani had died. "These are true points, Senorita, but such things have been known to happen. I wouldn't put so much stock in them."
She stopped cold and turned. "Sir," she said "That's my job."
He laughed. "Good point!"
She pressed the door lock and they stepped inside.
*****
Brother Bonello finished reciting the last stanza of the Rosary and placed his beads inside the volumes of his robe as he stood back up, backing away from the large crucifix on the cathedral wall. He started out of the apse, heading for the door into the dedicated monastery when it happened again.
***follow***
***brightmind follow***
Will groaned, blinking his eyes hard, and pushed his way towards his small, bare room on the next floor.
A Corsican's Gift - Eppy - 07-09-2009
Sarah stepped over to the bed and smelt the unpleasantness. Santiani had not been alone in bed shortly before he died, that was for certain. Not judging by those sheet stains. She made a note to see if anybody had bothered matching the DNA on the sheets against the database, and figure out who it was. If he was murdered, whoever she was would be a prime suspect. The Ammiraglio watched silently as she combed the bed and the room, checking under objects, in drawers, cabinets, closets, in clothing, everything. Eventually she moved to the bed itself and discovered nothing out of the ordinary.
"Damn it."
"Nothing, Senorita?"
"Nothing at all, sir. I suppose I could just be being paranoid."
"Eh, think nothing of it, Senorita. As you said, it is your job, yes?"
"I suppose that's true. I think we can forego our trip to the morgue. Let's get back to work organizing a staff and setting up a few control ships." She headed for the doorway and keyed on the pad.
"Tell me when you see something interesting, Madam Director." Santiago nodded, following.
She first checked the vessels already assigned to Maltese Intelligence. It was...sparse. A Scimitar, four Sabres, a Tridente, an old, decrepit Lane Hacker Gunship once used by Dennis Jameson for his research, and the 'flagship,' an old, old RM-1, which the roster listed as no longer functional.
"Sir, what's with this old Destroyer on here? It's listed as inoperational."
Santiago peered over her shoulder at the pad. "The Carvadena? She was scrapped six months ago. I have no idea why that's on there."
"Joy. Not a single real warship."
She began to scroll through ship lists. She'd need several smaller ships, of course; she scrolled through the list of available ships and selected, first, an Arrow; one of the fastest, most agile ships on the market, she wanted a vessel for reconniasance; she had a project in mind for it. The Corsair systems, the deep ones behind Gamma, were still a mystery; most of the data they'd managed to gather was from agents within the Corsair population on Crete, and that simply wasn't enough. She wanted to know exactly what was back there - whether by invasion or sabotage, there had to be something worth taking down, if it was behind the Corsair curtain, and a hyperagile ship like the Arrow, modified for increased sensor performance by the Hackers, would be ideal for dealing with such a thing.
"I want that Arrow we've got in deep storage, sir..." she absentmindedly let loose as they exited the lift and headed for the conference room.
"Yours, Senorita."
She went back to browsing. A couple of dummy transports would be required for observing things in Corsair space, Miner space - even House Military systems. Of particular interest was that infernal black hole of information Alaska. The Order, the Bounty Hunter Core and the Navy all seemed to have their fingers in there, but amazingly enough - the BHG were involved, after all - relatively little managed to come out of it. She requisitioned two Borderworlds Transports, the S.S. Jameson's Way and the S.S. Casavant~Freres'. They'd need to be refitted, of course, but that could be dealt with later.
She then moved on to the matter of a capable base for herself. Her first thought was one of the eight available Stortas, but she quickly abandoned the idea of a Destroyer. They were modular and fast, she'd give them that, but they didn't really have the frame she needed; there just wasn't enough space for the kind of facilities she'd need for a base. She considered a Battleship; the Sarah Caruso had been pulled from the front lines a week earlier; she was as modular as the Destroyer, large enough, and fast, certainly; one major problem occurred to her. The Battleships were gas hogs of epic proportions, and they were NOT stealthy; in fact, they were basically built to accelerate towards a target, lay down a huge volume of fire on said target, and leave at speed once said target was destroyed. Not good for hiding or sneaking; converting it for intelligence use would be monumental.
She looked at the spare Barge they used for hauling Niobium from 81 to Corsica. It wasn't being used, the fields had run dry recently. She balked. No. Definitely not.
Then her eyes fell on the sole Dreadnought in dock. The MNS Bordighera was a second-generation Dreadnought; she wasn't one of the original models, formed with the bulbous, solid-cast hull plates, so difficult to maintain and harsh on the eyes, that had graced the first generation, but she wasn't up to standards anymore; the third generation had been optimized for power efficiency and dispensed with the old conventional fusion drives; instead, the entire stern assembly of the second-generation had been converted into a Direct Artificial Quantum Singularity Propulsion and Power Generation Assembly; an upscaled version of a single Destroyer core had been re-engineered with a solid neutronium assembly to support an exponentially larger singularity - the production process was laborious and expensive, as it involved an incredibly complex cocktail of heavy metals and gases mixed and compressed to enormous levels whilst being bathed in radiation from the Razgriz - and, as opposed to the destroyer where the singularity simply acted as a sparkplug to increase the efficiency and cleanliness of an array of conventional plasma rockets, the singularity itself provided the propulsion with a direct pulsar powered by solid lithium injection. It emitted an abnormal radiation signature, like a temporal anomoly, making it very difficult to focus on; it was not at all a conventional Deuterium fusion drive. It could even be completely 'shut down' simply by cutting the flow of lithium into the event horizon, reducing its energy signature to zero instantly without the complex, energy-consuming process of starting up a Dreadnought's conventional fusion engine. The entire ship, with its optimized power grid, could essentially be blacked out - a perfect ship, capable of running completely silently for extended periods of time, but quickly mobilizing (albeit only in one direction) and delivering devastating firepower to a target; moreover, it was very large, capable of supporting both the facilities she needed and the highly enhanced sensor systems already native to the third generations, which she would be further enhancing for her work. An invisible, floating fortress.
She liked it.
*****
***find lightbringer corporeal***
***find***
***locate***
***conjoin***
Brother Bonello lay on his back, gasping for breath in the sparse infirmary. The sedative and analgesic in his IV kept him drowsy, but he was still conscious, and the voices were loud, very loud. He wanted to get up, to find whatever corporeal lightbringer the voices kept pounding into his brain, but he couldn't. Father Vigaro appeared over him, reciting dim verses from his bible and waving an incense burner over Brother Bonello. The sickened monk recognized it as an exorcism; he prayed to God as best he could that it made them stop so he could be well again.
A Corsican's Gift - Eppy - 07-29-2009
Alceste Gaspare set the fifth shot glass down on Alfred's ebony countertop, shimmering in the light filtered from the transparent water-filled floor of the Quasar's upper level. "Alfffred!" he slurred "More!"
"That's quite enough, Flight Lieutenant Gaspare," the elderly bartender chided, removing his last glass and pointedly refraining from replacing it "I really suggest you take a walk back to your quarters and have a cold shower, you're quite smashed."
"Gorrah, fugg you, Alfffrud," he spouted, forcing himself up from the bar and stumbling across the starlit pavilion towards the side door. He'd gather more booze from the more willing bartenders three decks below. It would stop eventually. It always did.
Sarah watched him pass from Mia's old booth. "Who was that? I feel like I've seen his face before."
Claire sipped her ale. "Flight Lieutenant Alceste Gaspare. He made a name for himself in Eta; an ace with 45 kills." She adjusted her blue blazer. "Then he lost his entire wing. Apparently Intelligence sent them into a horde of Gunboats; due to a clerical error they reported them as bombers." She sipped further. "I don't expect that to be quite as common an occurrence from this point on."
"Not a chance," Sarah spat. "I'm not an idiot like Santiani. This damn thing still smells, though. I mean, he just keeled over dead. How often do people's hearts completely fail for no reason?"
"It's unusual, I'll give you that, but it does happen. I know it's your job to be paranoid, but this really looks like an-"
The resounding bang of a pistol discharge rang through the Quasar. The two ran out of the balcony door onto the catwalk above the main hall, to see Gaspare vomiting with a gun in his hand, next to the lifeless, bleeding body of a security officer.
"Speaking of falling over dead..."
"Oh, shut up, Claire."