Oppressive, omnipresent, and uncomfortable beyond belief were the waves of heat that one was exposed to on Albegna's surface. The dunes of the world offered no shade, little shelter and what breezes there were usually ended up being full on gusts at high speeds, kicking up sand as they went. Albegna's weather patterns kept a constant east-to-west wind flowing across its surface, and though it was not a strong gale, the sand it kicked up was more than enough to make the experience extremely unpleasant, as the sands of the world tore into exposed flesh with every single gust.
Amalfi Airbase - formerly an Armando listening-post turned contingency firebase - lay hidden at the northern border of Albegna's deserts; at the edge of the more mountainous and fertile polar regions of the world. Towards this location fell a Dromedary; its engines disengaged as it descended in a controlled freefall for a time, letting the atmosphere slow its fall to save on propellant. Eventually the drives flared into life, burning to pick up some velocity again and regain control of its descent. The vessel banked around the highest point of a mountain, passing over the range before descending again into a valley, at the north of which stood Amalfi. After closing the distance, the shuttle touched down on the large taxiway, close to one of the structures of the base- the one embedded into the nearby mountain from which the control-tower protruded.
The Dromedary's exterior hatch opened, and the air-conditioned interior of the vessel was flooded with the scalding, dry air that the world was infamous for. Harry donned his breathing mask- the atmosphere of the world too thin to support human life unassisted for any extended periods of time- and stood from his seat. One of the pilots came out from the cockpit into the ship's hold and approached Harry, nearly hollering to be heard over the noise of the ship's disengaging engines and the outside wind.
"You're going to want to head straight for the main building, and keep your eyes directly forward; your inner-ear probably hasn't adjusted to Albegna's gravity yet."
Callahan nodded, already short of breath despite the breather mask. A check of the tank's readout brought him to realize he hadn't yet engaged the O2 flow. Only a few moments on the ground and already drawing in enough air was difficult- Albegna simply did not have enough air pressure for someone as well adjusted as he was to high-oxygen environments. A few moments after setting the air to flow, he could feel it beginning to really fill his lungs unlike before. He adjusted his mask, grabbed his duffel bag and cane, and made for the hatch, carefully walking down the tall staircase the ground-attendants had rolled up to the side of the freighter, and began the extended walk towards the structure. Between the two main buildings at either side of the massive extended-width taxiway he could see the enormous desert beyond, the rolling dunes just visible on the horizon. It was only his second visit to the world, but the first had placed him in what used to be a landing-silo that led straight into the underground complex in the mountainside- he hadn't gone out onto the surface before but between the excessively high heat, the sand and the air, he was thankful for his limited time exposed to it. What used to be the landing silo was converted into a missile silo a few months prior, leaving all air-traffic for passengers such as himself to walk the surface of the world, however briefly.
The 50-meter walk from the shuttle-landing section and the main building was a long one, but ultimately he made it inside, reveling in the flow of industrial-grade air-conditioning billowing into the airlock after he'd closed the exterior hatch. Once through the airlock, he made his way inside, the recent renovations to the installation had covered up most of the scaffolding and plumbing that had been exposed to the crew areas of the base just a few months prior. An officer in full Maltese-naval dress and bearing Amalfi's lighter colors on her arm approached him, and the two exchanged pleasantries for a moment before he was escorted to his new office on the world.
---
The room overlooked the airfield several stories below with a multi-layered and reinforced plexiglass window separating him and the harsh outside environment. During his tour of the airbase's new administrative wing, a rather sizeable sandstorm had cropped up on the horizon, and the ground below was buzzing with the base's groundcrews scrambling to lock everything down and secure all of the aircraft storage hangars before they were forced to close exterior-shudders when the storm arrived. Every pad except one had already been cleared, and on it was another Dromedary, separate from the one Callahan had come in on and had disembarked significantly more passengers than his.
The rest of the room was furnished with a pair of comfortable chairs opposite his at the desk, which had embedded in itself a holographic display that was presently inactive, only displaying a semitransparent spinning 3D image of Malta. On the wall opposite the exterior window was another large window, making up the wall- this one thinner, and exposed a large R&D lab a floor down from his office, with a separate door that led to the catwalks above the lab. Harry was pouring himself a drink from one of the room's tables when a knock came from the door, and he bade them entry. Paulo Varela, now head of the Directorate entered, and gazed around the room.
"Y'know last time I was here, this entire floor was little more than a few scaffolds and tarps, and just a couple of months later they've already managed to complete the entire lab, all the offices, and the next two floors up."
Callahan chuckled, and handed Varela a drink. "Amazing what happens when programs are properly funded and supplied, isn't it?"
Varela nodded his head, and walked his way over to Callahan's new desk, sitting in one of the chairs as the younger of the two took his place behind the desk, his back to the exterior window.
"So, you're not dead I see. I take it your meeting with our mutual inquisitive acquaintance went well then?"
Harry offered a small laugh at the irony of his choice of words, taking a sip of his favored whisky from the glass and clearing his throat before speaking. "I actually didn't go. I had one of our up and rising agents handle the meet. She turned out just as reliable as expected and returned with no issues."
Callahan reached into his coat pocket, grabbing the datadrive he had been handed the day prior and showing it to Varela. Though heavily faded, the Mosquitoe logo on its surface was still instantly recognizable.
" -- and it would seem she wasn't the only reliable one. Our old friend kept her end of the bargain. I checked the data when I first got here; everything is still on the drive and no duplicates were made from this one. It would seem your fears of her turning full blown traitor weren't all that well founded - her actions towards Olmos not withstanding."
Paulo's tone shifted, turning more serious and focused. "Her actions towards Olmos involved 3 flechette-rounds being discharged."
"And you know exactly why she did that."
A silence filled the room as the two both took a drink, with only the quiet noise of the wind and the sprinkle of sand pressing on the exterior window to drown out the silence. Harry lowered his voice, matching the seriousness of Varela's tone with a more sincere one. "She held off doing it as long as she could, but for her own and for Cali's safety, she had to do it. You know I'm right. and you know she could be invaluable to Amalfi."
Another pause.
"Let me bring her back, you can debrief her yourself, and afterwards you ca--"
Paulo cut him off. " Her contributions to Malta, the Cross and - now with this drive - Amalfi, have been substantial; and while someone of her talents would probably be of more use to us than she ever was to Tarxien, I can't condone her return - politically - to the Union. There are still a lot of families that would oppose my doing so, and not just because she killed Olmos."
Silence filled the room again for a few moments before Varela let out an exasperated sigh, taking a sizeable swig of the drink he'd barely touched to this point. When he spoke again, the edge in his tone had subsided. " I'll talk it over with Desdemona and some of the other Union members. I can't promise anything but I'll see what I can do.
Now lets get this headache off my mind-- so what exactly was on the drive? Last I remember it was something to do with improvements to the RM-2A Storta..?"
Callahan smiled, both at the response from Varela regarding Espinosa, and at his question. He set his glass down on the desk, and went about bringing the holographic display online, working through menus while he spoke.
" It's far more than mere improvements. An arrangement between Espinosa and the 75th Mosquitoes oversaw their heavily modified Storta-class's retrofits. Said vessel, christened a Misericorde-class, had some severe issues that they had no means of fixing on their own. In exchange for Cross footing the bill for the retrofits and providing the logistical means, the Mosquitoes promised Espinosa the finished schematics, and the plans for converting a Storta-class over to the Misericorde-class. Those plans now reside on that drive. Espinosa carried it with her after her flight, never getting the chance to upload them to the Cross's old database, or hand it off to her superiors."
"That was the Fenice D'Oro... the modified miniature carrier, right?"
"Not just a carrier. With the right resourcing and staffing, it's a mobile attack-base, with enough firepower launched from its bays to deal with much of any threat larger or smaller than itself- and with some modifications, I can probably make the ship itself quite a bit more formidable as a combat vessel on its own. Amalfi doesn't have access to the massive fleet or personnel reserves the Cross did- force-projection isn't just going to be the simple matter of ordering a few battlegroups to a system anymore. We have to be smart with our resources- and the Misericorde has something the Storta doesn't to help with that.
While the Storta has a small hangar of its own, what it lacks is this--"
Harry brought up the schematics of the Misericorde on the display, and highlighted the massive sensor array on its dorsal structure.
"As I said, Amalfi's military assets are limited. Reconnaissance and positioning matter a lot more now, so we have to think more tactically. The ability to pick our battles better with something like this, equipped not on a battleship but on something as small as the Misericorde, will make a huge difference for our ability to operate- both inside and outside of Maltese borders."
Callahan paused, grabbing another sip of his drink while Varela stroked his chin in contemplation. "Long story short; this is enough of a strategic advantage that I've already arranged for the conversion of the Sicily to begin. I'll be reaching out to some contractors soon to begin bringing in the resources needed for the retrofit to get underway. Largely Maltese and junker-based entities, Atlantis has displayed interest in working with us again, the Marauders too. We've even had positive arrangements with some of Rheinland's petty downtrodden that might bite at the chance to impress us. With any luck, we can begin the retrofit process before the end of the month. All I need from you at this stage is the financial support from the Union to fund the project."
Harry closed down the hologram, and pulled a datapad from his bag with the specifications and resources needed for the job, and a formal request for the necessary funding on the next page. He sat back down and finished off his whisky while he let Paulo consider his request.
Varela sat back, thinking for a moment, then looked Callahan in the eye as he stood from his seat.
"You're asking for a lot from a small political alliance like the Union. I'm not certain I share your confidence in the necessity of modified ships like this - especially at this pricepoint - but I'll make your case to the Union's dons. We convene in a few hours on Malta so, if you wake up tomorrow and you see your department's budget suddenly tripled, then you'll have your answer. Now, I have a shuttle to catch if I'm going to make it off-planet before this storm hits. Thanks for the drink."
He simply nodded in response to the elder Varela as he walked out, taking the datapad Harry had handed him on his way out.
[ sci·am·ach ]
/sīˈamək/
A simple, angry man casually working his way through life on a personal quest to acquire copious amounts of street cred.
