"Well, in-flight she was like all Colonials, cold and calculating. When we landed on Cambridge though, she really was a pleasure to sip tea with. And a sight for sore eyes." said White.
[color=#FFCC00]"But you know how these things are. She drifted back to Colonial space, never to be heard from again. 'Sides, these Colonials are kinda creepy. Did you know they scan every single 'lifeform' they meet? Talk about a Nomad scare.", he continued.
"So, you remained loyal to yer redhead, eh?" asked Page.
"Ah, it's been so long since I saw that one. I believe her trade route no longer passes Bretonia." White replied.
"So I lost the bet for nothing... By the way, 41 bucks? How many cupcakes did you have?" Page asked.
"Enough for me to have to adjust my Hussar's seat further back from the stick." he replied jokingly.
"As if it could go any further back" Rowser said, teasing White's ample figure.
"Is that an insinuation about my ample figure, Rowser? Don't get me started on yours."
And the evening passed joyfully at Christy's. As everyone was headed to their Hussars to head home, wherever that may be, White approached Page:
"Tell you what, I bet you my tea dispenser that if I find that lass Lena again, I'm taking her on a date.", he said happily.
Page leant back, looking pensive for a moment. After some consideration, he continued the negotiation...
"But what would I have to put up against such a wondrous invention as your tea dispenser? I assume it'd be more than a few cups of tea from here", he said.
"How about... a month's worth of cupcakes?" offered White.
"A month's worth?! Bloody hell, that'd be half my wages knowing you! How about we add a week of my tea on top of your dispenser?"
"Ok, it's a deal."
Shaking hands to mark the bet, the two officers bid goodbye to Rowser as he heads off home, taking the last cupcake with him.
"This bet should be easy, Lena should still be around."
"I'm sure she hasn't changed her patrols out of Bretonia like the last one, Jayne. No need to worry", Page said with a grin. "Now let's get all this paid for and head off, I need a good sleep after all this fighting today. To be honest, I'm surprised your tea dispenser is still working after all the hull repairs on that poor Hussar of yours."
"Don't forget Tom", said White while tapping his nose, "all you need to fix anything is a whole load of duct tape."
The two of them said their farewells to Christy, White heading off to New Scotland Yard to retrieve his patched-up Hussar; Page flying back home to Cambridge.
White entered Christy's. "Greetings Christy!" he said to the woman his favourite tea shop bears its name to. "Get the cupcakes rolling!" he said cheerfully. "Ah, don't tell me I'll be paying those." said Page with a sigh, who was already there, in a table close to the entrance. "Nope, not yet. You really jinxed it by the way. I haven't much as caught a glimpse of Lena on TLAGSNET. And contacting people in Colonial space is tough enough as it is." White said as he was sipping his tea.
He briefly contemplated his surroundings, and was instantaneously reminded why he loved this place so much.
The quaint decoration, the warm and inviting atmosphere, the odor teabags sent out as they were immersed in hot water.
"Anyways, I was thinking of setting up a footy match against the BAF." he continued. "Are you in for it?"
Stepping into the cafe, Page did not even take off his rain-drenched coat before ordering his mug of tea and taking a seat by himself. With a frown on his face, he appeared deep in thought.
Initially headed out to there to escort a couple of survey vessels, Page kept his Paladin in orbit of Sprague to keep civilians away from the area and to keep an eye on the suspicious 'friendly' vessel still there.
He'd already heard a bit about the explosion on the surface, as well as picked up the local news report (and its redaction). He'd even heard from a passing transport of IC's measures regarding the O-3 system.
He'd only been a young boy when the planet was last of any real interest of this sort, with the destruction of the docking ring and rumours from the Freeport of a blast at an old dig-site. This time, the explosion had been much larger, and from what he'd witnessed in space, even stranger too.
Along with the strange message from Aurora recently, events seemed to be getting quite peculiar in Page's corner of Sirius...
Stepping onto the public tram from the launchpad, Page wondered what could have gotten the normally quite cheerful Lt. Col. Tyler in her current mood.
In his casual clothes after some long-awaited down-time, he spotted Tyler outside Christy's. Despite not actually having met her in person, from her dusty flight suit to the worried expression on her face, Page could tell it was her quite easily.
Hmm, younger than I expected, he thought as he made his way over.
"Hey there. I guess it's ok to call you Melanie while we're planetside?" asked Page with a smile. "Shall we head in and find out what the message is? Tea and pastries are on me... this time."
The woman, identified by her tags as Melanie Tyler nodded sharply, throwing off a dusting of the ever-present New London rain. It was only midday by planetary standards but warships, including her own command, operated on different day-night cycles to civilian installations, which were normally synced to their host planet. It was partly for security reasons, allowing military officers to sleep while planetary defense batteries stood guard, but was mostly imposed for the sake of maintaining some sort of regularity while they were in transit. Larger ships often operated crews on several differing cycles. Which went part of the way towards explaining what one of the few remaining Air Force senior Officers was doing off the flagship. The other half of the official explanation was sitting on one of the military landing pads being swarmed over by Bretonian technicians. Normally Melanie would have preferred her own people get the Guardian back in working order, but its systems needed to be mated with the Bretonian's if the fighter was going to have a chance of operating with the Armed Forces. Her fighter would be among the last to be converted to operate off the Bretonian's database.
Not that it had been an inconvenience, if she was brutally honest with herself. Since the disaster that had bought down General Winter's shuttle she'd barely left the carrier, a junior scrambling to fill a rank that should, by all rights, have belonged to a far more experienced Officer. The text under the Guardian's cockpit hatch still identified the pilot as one Captain Melanie "Harpy" Tyler, a rank and callsign that hadn't been applied to her in what felt like years, even though she knew it had only been a few months. They felt like they belonged to a different person, someone without the responsibilities of managing a task force. Someone who flew simply because she loved it. When she stopped to think about it, Tyler missed that person horribly. She made a mental note to get the identifier repainted before the crew finished repairs. Circumstances might confine her to the Ravenswood's CiC more often then she liked, but she would at least do the fighter the dignity of keeping her in working condition. That was, of course, if Congress let her keep that. Ever since the attacks on Air Force command, budget cuts had been running rampant. Half the Government was convinced that the Air Force was misusing its assets in Bretonia and, ultimately, was redundant as an organisation and the other half were well on their way there. Winters had been able to maintain the political niceties to keep money flowing into the Force but without the General to maintain those relationships, her Task Force's readiness had dropped through the floor. She simply did not have the fuel to maintain the Ravenswood at operational readiness for the periods that planetary guard duty entailed. When Leeds was attacked, and Tyler was certain it was a matter of when, the defenders would have to wait precious minutes while the big warship fired her reactors. Now, it looked as though even that might have been deemed 'too expensive.'
Thus, her presence here. A collapsible projector bulged in the pocket of her grey flight suit as she patted the uniform down, pulling the creases out in a manner that had been drilled into her since basic. The projector was an electronic courier, a device intended purely to carry and play a single message while simultaneously scrambling any electronic bugs in the area. Not that it always worked perfectly, much to the derision of the personnel tasked with their use. She had once known a Commanding Officer that had preferred to distribute his orders by old-fashioned printing. Tyler had the look of someone who had simultaneously had too much rest and too little actual sleep, a product of acting as commander of a warship with shifting schedules. At the least, she'd remembered to tie her black her back this time. Her old Skills Instructor would have ripped strips off her for the state of her uniform, but that had been a long time ago.
Traffic parted as a figure moved maneuvered his way through the pressing crowd, shaking Tyler from her contemplation. Even from the doorway, the Lieutenant Colonel had to admire the way he worked his way through the sea of humanity without prompting major reactions from any of them. It was, she'd concluded, a skill specific to metropolitan police forces, and the former BPA Constable on her ship had shown a similar aptitude for maneuvering through the mess. She'd have to learn how to do that sometime.
The man spoke once he reached her, confirming what she'd already guessed about his identity. Constable Thomas Page, Bretonian Police Authority. Not that he was here in an official capacity. Officially, neither was she, but she at least had the fighter excuse to work from. You had to win some of them.
"Thanks Thomas. Sure, call me Mel." It felt odd not referring to him as Constable, but it seem that that would just have to be something for her to work on."I appreciate you coming down on such short notice to deal with my problems. I'm sure you've got things you'd rather be doing on your leave."
The smell of fresh baked cake greeted Tyler as she opened the teahouse's door, moving to a shaded room at the rear of the building. She couldn't help but smile a little at her choice, not sure if she'd chosen the corned because it offered the best view, or the best escape route.
"Well then, who's your young lady friend you've got there, Tom?" she asked with a smile. "I haven't seen you bring anyone else here, normally just the other officers you're with." With a slight sigh, Page explained: "My friends from university all still stay on Cambridge, so I'm normally at one of our places there when we meet up. As for Melanie, she's an... acquaintance of mine. This is the first time I've met her face-to-face, but I suppose defending against centuries of pent-up aggression together can build something of a bond."
"She seems nice Tom, but something is troubling her from what I can see."
"That's why I'm here. Thanks again, mi- eh, Christy."
Sitting down, Page laid the crockery onto the table, he looked towards Tyler while passing over a china cup. Now that she was inside and seemed to have gotten comfortable, her regular happy demeanour had returned somewhat.
"I assumed you'd prefer coffee, but can get you something else if you like. I've also got us a plate of cupcakes and scones, which are lovely no matter the occasion. And, of course, tea for me," he finished with a gesture to the large Cambridge University mug he was holding. "As I was about to say outside, it's no problem me coming down to see you. I get a bit more time off as a Sergeant than I did starting out, and meeting you is... a fairly good use of my time," Page said with a shy smile, before taking a sip of tea. "Of course, any excuse to come to Christy's is welcome in my books."
Peeling off the paper casing from one of the cupcakes, Page got back to the main topic at hand, "So, about this message of yours..."
"Sergeant Page now then?"She asked, her left eyebrow creeping up. Tyler had no doubt that he deserved it. He was a good kid. Stars, had she just thought of him as a kid? The man was practically her age. She really needed to get off the Ravenswood more."Congratulations! Sounds like I should be the one buying tea."
Coffee was fairly common on-ship, but most of what the Logistics Corps provided them with was of the shake and bake variety. Suffice to say, it was great for the kitchens, if only because the crew preferred something, anything, else. As X.O, she could have ordered personal supplies in fairly easily, but she'd heard that General Winters had refused to eat better then the crew and it was a trait she thought was worth developing. She stared at the cup before her for a moment, savoring the smell. Actual honest-to-god coffee. Melanie raised the cup, taking a sip of the bitter liquid. "Thanks." It didn't seem to quite express her gratitude, but it would have to do. Little luxuries went a long way. She watched Page take a sip of his tea, noting the insignia on the cup.
"You went to Cambridge? What did you do to end up here? I always thought Cambridge students were more..."She paused for a moment, trying to think of a polite way to word the sentence. There was a divide between civilian desk jobs and military roles that just didn't seem to want to be filled, no matter how much the politicians pushed it."Inclined to other pursuits." Spoken like a true politician. Perhaps she should reconsider her career. Then Page said something that bought her mind crashing back to the present.
The message. That little device that contained - Well, who knew what? It was sealed with a high-level military encryption, which was enough to make Tyler cautious in itself. Not to mention the fact that it had come by courier, rather then through the usual channels. Data stores like the one it was stored on were in routine, but irregular use. They typically carried strategic orders or some other form of high-level data that command couldn't afford falling into enemy hands. She briefly wondered if she were mad for bringing it to Christy's. Then again, the place had more BPA Officers then New Scotland Yard, and if she couldn't trust the Bretonians then there weren't a great many people she could. Besides, she and Page had been shot at enough times to have at least a basic understanding. Without a word, she tugged the device from a pocket in her flight suit, depositing it on the table.
"It came in around 1100 hours Leeds time yesterday. I've been putting off opening it. With the noises Congress've been making..."She let the sentence hang. With the losses the Air Force had been taking, there was the very real possibility that the projector contained the details of her retirement."I don't want to open it Thomas. I don't want to have to leave them here."
Seeing the look of contentment on Tyler's face as she took a sip of coffee, Page knew he'd made the right drink choice, even with her slightly masked gratitude. Thankfully a mouthful of cake somewhat disguised the rather silly smile he likely would have shown.
However, any happiness dropped from her expression at his mention of the message from her commanders...
"Hey, come on now - no need to think like that, at least for a bit." Concern written on his face, Thomas tried to switch the topic back to something easier for Melanie: "At least get some cake in you before you have to deal with that sort of thing, for now we can just relax and have a chat."
Tyler gave a dejected nod and a weak smile, still obviously troubled by thoughts of the message's contents.
"Ok then. Well, I suppose I have... deviated somewhat from the usual Cambridge graduate prospects," answered Page, looking down at his mug as he set it back on the table. "Four years of mathematics doesn't normally lead to the BPA but, with the invasion of Gallia, I thought I should do my part to keep our people safe. The degree might be useful if I get much higher up the ranks, you never know... at least for now it helps me count out fines and contraband."
What about you Mel; I assume they don't just give the keys to a carrier like the Ravenswood without at least a bit of training first?" he asked, taking up his mug while he waited for an answer.
Tyler nodded, biting back the sudden urge to laugh. Here they were, sitting around with a plate of pastries, discussing universities, all the while with the Gallics almost on the doorstep. It sounded like something out of a horrible joke. Tension slid off her as Page talked. It was such a trivial thing, just to sit down and talk, and yet she'd almost forgotten just how important the seemingly trivial could be. So, she sat and listened intently, occasionally taking another sip from her mug. Mathematics and the BPA. It wasn't exactly a match made in heaven, but she couldn't deny Page's reasons for enlisting were honorable. Moreso then hers had been, at any rate.
"Oh, Ravenswood doesn't have keys. She's an old girl, you have to wind her."It was an atrocious joke, but not too far off the truth. From what she'd seen of the fleet records, the Ravenswood had been in service a long time, even by Liberty's standards. Not that it stalled her affection for the warship one ounce. "There was some training. I started off flying atmospheric fighters down on Houston before the Air Force thought about going into space. You know how expensive learning to fly is. A friend and I hoped that we could convince the Defense Ministry to pay for it." Tyler grinned wryly, remembering scores of applications and countless interviews. Officer selection board had been the most stressful two hours of her life. She'd never expected anything to hold a torch to it. Then again, she hadn't expected to end up in a carrier group either.
"We wanted to get into the airlines afterward.She added."Long story short, I made it into he LAF and he didn't. We sort-of lost contact when I went into basic. When that finished and I got back in contact with everyone, I heard that he'd elbowed his way into a cadetship with one of the airlines. Determined guy.
Anyway, a few months after training finished up the C.O put up the call for volunteers for the space scrap- Sorry, space combat wing - And I put my hand up. I'm still not sure why. It was one of those things that just seemed like a good idea at the time, and we were bored of sitting around on Houston waiting for the Rheinlanders to hit us. They ran with the applications, and a few of us got assigned the United.States when it was still an operational warship. I was just a Lieutenant back then, and I managed to scrap my Executioner on the way up from the airstrip. I'm not sure if he heard about it, but someone told me that General Winters was pretty pissed. Since I didn't have a ship, the biggest thing I ended up doing for a couple of months was organizing dinners."Tyler poked the cake on her plate as though it were personally responsible for her catering skills."Once they did get a ship in for me, we were just about ready to go to Bretonia. There were a lot of people talking about riding in on the white horse to save you guys, you know, playing the hero. It ended up being stalled for some reason or another, and we got stuck on patrols close to home. Probably for the best in the end, since you know what happened when we finally did move. I was a Captain by that point."The shuttle convoy carrying Air Force Command had all bit disappeared, escorts and all. Tyler had been through basic with one of Guardian pilots, though remembering her didn't hurt as much as it once had. Now it was more of a sense of resignation then one of mourning.
"There were a lot of promotions after that. Colonel Comstock and I sort of ended up on the Ravenswood as a matter of course. Not that I had any idea what on Earth I was doing."The memory of the early days commanding the carrier tugged her lips into a grin. If there was one thing Junior Officers learnt, it was how to look like you knew what was going on. When you pulled that off convincingly enough, it was amazing what you actually picked up. "I'm still not sure if Comstock had any more idea then I did. If he didn't, he did a better job of hiding it. Guess that's why he's the C.O. Let's say that Ravenswood's Navy personnel worked overtime for a while."
Tyler stopped for a moment, suddenly aware that the cake in front of her was still untouched, and her coffee cooling in its mug. Across the table, Sergeant Page was still listening politely, even as she talked. She felt a momentary pang of guilt for having rambled on as she had. It really wasn't professional in the slightest, a senior military officer raving on about her life story in the middle of a public club. Teahouse. Whatever the Bretonians called them. Some of it must have shown in her face, because she found herself staring at a panel on the wall slightly above and to the left of Thomas rather then watching him directly.
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