The old man in the corner coughed. He leaned up and took his glass of rum.
"Senor, yes, this is a good idea, let us have Doc and the OSI come here and discuss it. It only makes sense.
With that Sephardi took a drink of the run and leaned back in his chair again, a lazy look rolling over his face.
Jose reached across the table to pick up a bottle of Espi's rum. Having picked up a bottle he proceeded to pour a measure into 2 glasses. One he handed to Chico, the other he sat down with.
Taking a sip of the gently glowing liquid Jose savoured the exquisite flavour. Raising his glass to Espi, Jose said 'Espi my friend'¦. This is very possibly the best rum I have ever tasted. You are going to have to tell me your source.'
Looking across to Silvan Jose continues 'Senor Argus, I agree with your proposal to request the presence of the leadership of both the OSI and the TAZ. In the event that we are all able to reach an accord then it would send a very clear message that the agreement represents the desires of the vast majority of our two peoples.'
Sitting back in his seat Jose took another sip of the intensely flavoured rum.
Chico takes the rum presented him and stares at it nervously, waiting for Jose to finish speaking.
Then, "Senor Argus. We are all omicroners, even the Corsairs of Crete. I would know however of the compliment of Freeport 9. Just how many are Omicroners?"
He places the still full drink on the table infront of him, watching a small spill run down the side of the glass and touch the varnish of the table, slowly crisping and then burning it off....
"Our intel suggests their numbers on the station account for only a small proportion as their influence is centred mainly in Omicron 74".
Vincent glanced over to Sephardi sitting back lazily in his chair and smiled. "Si Senors, I agree, let us then get the representitives of the OSI and TAZ here. With all Zoner groups here, this wil truly be negotiations for the majority of the zoner people." Vincent refilled his cup with rum and sat back enjoying the rum. "And Espi, this rum of yours is truly magnificent."
I am glad that the idea was met with such enthusiastic acceptance. I shall leave the actual transmission to you, Elders, seeing as it is your home they being invited to.
Silvan looked at Chico
My apologies if my tones or inflections made my words difficult to understand. I meant to say that the other residents of Freeport 9 were mostly made up of Zoners affiliated with the group the Omicroners. While it is true that the majority of their influence is based in 74, they hold some influence outside of 74 as well.
A thought came to Silvan
And if I read the situation correctly, The Omicroners may be more willing to persue peace. Seeing how they have not attacked any Corsair assets as aggressors with their allies of late, as far as I am aware. Perhaps this is a good sign?
But, at any rate, our immediate concern should be the arrangement of the meeting with the Zoner Groups. That would be a logical first step.
Omicroners being silent only makes me nervous. Espi leaned forward and looked at the men sitting in the room. After their recent stunts in Theta and on that station we called a Freeport... I don't like them being around. I keep turning around to see if I'm about to get backstabbed. One more group at our porch to worry about. It's bad for business. And that means bad for the Cretans, their sons and their daughters.
He looked around the room again, finished his cup, and pouring a new one, he asked:
Silvan looked around the room. Some time had passed since elder Espi had spoken, and none of the other elders had answered. The silence was making him a little nervous, so Silvan spoke.
Elders, perhaps Transmission's aimed at Mr. Doc Holliday and Mr. Gabriel Caudill would be a good starting point? I believe that they are the leaders of the TAZ and OSI respectively.
Silvan hoped he had not spoke out of turn, but the silence was maddening and progress needed to be made on the matter.
After a long flight from Omega 5, a man in his early thirties requested an entry permission from Crete's docking ring. He was assigned to a station not far away from the Council chambers. "Convenient.", he thought, as he was setting up his sleeping bag in the Titan's cargo hold once again. It was getting late, and the Council would not be in at this point anyway. He would wait for the next meeting and announce his intentions.
The next day, he entered the Council building - the place where some of the toughest decisions were made... Or so he'd been told. Despite this being his first visit, he would know where to go - he heard a lot of the place from his father. After moving through the entry hall through a coterie of security staff, he would check the schedule board - the Council was in session.
He walked towards the session room directly, stopping next to a desk a few rooms away from the Great Hall itself. He looked at the person sitting behind the desk. They looked in the eye, and the man spoke with a confident, yet humble tone:
I wish to speak to the Elders. Announce me whenever possible. Anibal of Cadiz.
Anibal was quite astonished by this situation. He was walking up and down the hall, occasionally popping off to get something to chew on and hydrate himself. At night, he would go to the ship to sleep, only to return in the morning and request an audience - to no avail. This was quite disturbing, but also insulting. Anibal wasted two weeks waiting for an audience with someone who apparently can not care less about what he has to say. If that's how the Council would want it, that is what they would get.
He turned towards the exit and started walking with a face of determination. As he was walking by the desk, he briefly stopped, and said: "If the Elders manage to shuffle their butts our of that room, tell them I was here, and that my time spent in this hall was quite insightful and inspiring. Adios."
Immediately afterwards, he headed to his Titan. "Two weeks of docking fees in this hellhole... For nothing. Excellent!", he thought. He walked out of the Council Hall building. The wind picked up sand again and the streets were almost empty. No matter. He put the scarf on his face and started walking to the dock. An hour walk or so. He didn't need to be reminded of why he hates this place, but the sand needles made it easier to sink in. Besides, some more time to think will do him good. Well - truth be told, he had two weeks to think, but that was a completely different train of thought. Knowing that the Council does not care about the "common pleb", so to speak, made him think about something else. Something he did not consider before, but we'll see where will it take him. Perhaps to his death? Who knows?
And so he walked...
Arriving into the docks, he shook off most of the sand and some contempt off himself - just like a wet dog. He paid the dock crew the fees for his ship, dropped them a box of rum and food from the cargo pod and queued for the undocking sequence. After exiting Crete's orbit, he looked at Sparta's sun once again, and swore to never come back. He flew past Kalhmera and Tripoly for one last time. Jumped through the hole beyond them, and set course for Andalusia, to dock Cadiz.
The room was dark.
This chamber had been used once... at another time it had been filled with light, with argument, with alcohol, with smoke.... it had been filled with life.
It had stood still for some time. Matters had continued - there was urgency somewhere. But not here,
The terminals that circled the room lay quiet. Grey brown dust covered their screens.. a layer of dirt and dust filled the gaps between screen, between keyboard terminal, between drink holder.
All was silent. No one had entered this room for some time. While life offered many disturbances... those instances had not disturbed this room for a number of years.
*Beep"
Somewhere in the room, a single terminal awoke.
If someone was there to watch.... which there was not, they would have seen a faint white glow emanate from beneath a layer of dust on a monitor on one of the screens that circled the room.
For a few seconds, a silent stream of text and numbers could have been seen beneath the dust... rapidly flickering in dust covered lines and dust covered graphs until finally the flurry of dancing text and symbols stopped.
There was a silent, white square cursor who, from beneath the dust, blinked a last few final flickerings of light and then....
Darkness returned to the room,
Its terminals fell silent, returning to their slumber, this sudden blinking of light and sound but a momentary interruption to the quiet within this place..