There wasn't much that we could do in the wake of the event, not without causing panic to the general people. Declaring a public war on a nebulous organization just wasn't a good idea, especially when it looked like there might be more to this puzzle than just a single antagonist. It might even be what they want.
But then, what if they knew that I knew?
...Yeah, let's not play those mind games. I certainly haven't the brain cells to keep up with those high IQ plays. Assuming that there were any instead of mere cross-eyed schizophrenia.
So, as weird as it was to say, I'm putting HORUS to the side, aside alerting everybody to be on the lookout for increased digital traffic. Given how I remembered their entire creed was about the free flow of data, maybe we could pick up on somebody torrenting a whole mech. Or, stars forbid, an entire NHP.
Step aside digital piracy, we've got digital trafficking.
I think though given the lack of screaming rifts in reality, we haven't yet the fortune of an unshackled NHP rampaging about. Let's hope it stays that way, otherwise I might need stronger stomach medication. Something that would probably have Veronica asking all sorts of awkward questions.
With those memos written and sent out, it was time for me to finally turn the other way and- yeah no. Let's go back all the way around and pretend that an upset Lancer isn't an issue for the moment. A bit risky, admittedly, but I've got other fish to fry for the time being.
Speaking of which, aquaculture. Something that I did hint at Apples to look into because, while fresh vegetables and fruits from the hydroponics are nice supplements, there's still a craving for fresh protein in daily diets. We did have things like processed beans to tide us over in the technical nutrition department, though there was always going to be folks who aren't going to be so accepting of veggie patties.
No comment on if they'd eat a burger of synth-meat, because that's a thing. Mystery meat from a printer; how fun.
Thankfully, it sounded like my Director of Agriculture had an idea thanks to his expertise. He asked for a full expansion to the hydroponics facilities, one that included adding aquariums to raise fish in. They'd live and feed in the tanks that also watered the plants, and their natural waste would actually help fertilize the suspended crops by adding supplementary nutrients.
Then, once they were fully grown, we'd catch and dice them up for dinner. So in a way, these facilities would also become fish farms in addition to vegetable gardens. We'd be getting more bang for our buck! But that was also an issue brought up by the clone farmer to me, namely the question of funding.
Cavia I as it was currently had no existing fisheries to work off, and the oceans of Cavia II weren't exactly teeming of life. What previous seafood they had now and currently were imported and bought from traders at a steep mark-up. Starting domestic production would be expensive as we'd need to purchase a species that would be suited for such conditions.
After some thought, I told him to add it to the shopping list, alongside those wheat species he'd been looking for. For now, he had the go-ahead to at least start reaching out to engineers in the corps to figure out the physical construction of this expansion. Might be a little premature as we didn't know when we'd get those fish eggs, but it's worthy portioning a part of the budget for. Plus, it was an easy thing to frame and push in congress if I really needed additional funding.
Expanded domestic food production is a popular agenda with a people who knew how starvation felt. Go figure.
Moving on from meal to metal, my Director of Industry had a promising report for me. The recovery of La Azul was proceeding ahead with the scrapping of John's Widow, though we've had to make do with having to jury-rig some GMS parts instead of the ideal IPS-N replacements. The non-standardization meant that it was strongly discouraged to change currently working systems, out of fear that if we broke them, we couldn't fix it anymore.
In layman's terms, I can't change the configuration of the frigate for now. I was stuck with mounted missile systems alongside the support for the Everest mounted wing chassis.
Eh. A bit disappointing, but it wasn't like I had a vision on a full remodel or anything. It was still another capital ship to add to my currently paltry battlegroup, I could hardly complain.
Feng certainly did with a lot of grumbling, and complained a lot about trying to find 'suitable' officers who could be given a captain's pin to helm this new ship. Though I did direct him to first focus his efforts on just finding the crew for the time being. It was looking like to be a mix of some veterans who were more attached to the ship than the flag it flew, and many fresh faced sailors otherwise. A fairly standard arrangement.
What was wasn't standard though was the fact that we didn't exactly have a plethora of naval pilots to fill the seats of the attached naval wing. We had the Everests with strike loadouts, but most of the pilots we'd taken in as prisoners had been deemed unreliable. They weren't clones who blindly followed authority, but people who had actually signed up to fight with the Half Committee on their breast of their own volition.
To them then, I pointed in the direction of the spaceport with explicit instructions to not ever return. We could only keep the criminal and dangerous behind bars; it'd be better to cut loose everybody else. I briefly toyed with the idea of perhaps a labor corps to payback service against us, then realized just how terrible it would be for a formerly oppressed people to start engaging in similar activities regardless of legitimacy.
So well, off they went back to the stars. Ugh, please take me with you. Then again, they were going out there with only what they carried on them, which probably was just enough manna for a ride to the closest interstellar hub or what have you. Sure, they might find their way back to the Fourteenth and Vice Admiral Ibutsu in time, but it'd be a while. Probably even longer before he cared, maybe.
Shit. I just cursed myself, haven't I?
Right, let's move away from that flag and onto the next one. Namely, whatever media petition Melhof had for me. It...um.
Uggghhhh fine. I guess I'll address the Genghis in the room. At least before it became like a Barbarossa.
So that little hacking incident had indeed been a live broadcast. Which mean that the audience watching got to see all the excitement of Erica going through the paces of her Sherman, highlighting their admiration even more. Then they also bore witnessed to how easily her mech got hacked, which I think was an unfortunate weakness of Harrison Armory machines perhaps. I could be misremembering, especially as HORUS models especially specialize in that category, so it could just be that the mercenary has a poor choice in her preferred chassis choices.
Anyway, it'd been egg on both her face, and that of her company's as well. They were steaming mad, but at least held back from any sort of violent outbursts. Which I did appreciate.
But they'd clammed up and refused to chat with me for a little while as I sorted out Apples' and Nasir's reports, in a way not unlike an angry friend not wanting to talk for a little while. Something that was fine in the short term, but would probably escalate into being a serious issue should it continue. We had to mend that bridge before it fully burned.
Something that Melhof realized, and pushed for on the reasoning that it'd be a spectacular story. About how the Premier-General engaged in a little personal outreach to the local representative of Harrison Armory, a 'symbolic parallel' to the established working relationship between the state and the megacorporation. Which...I mean, yeah. I guess I could see it?
Just that it'd feel weird to go and grab a coffee while knowing so many cameras were on me. It was one thing to be doing a publicity stunt via mech tryout exercises; another to just, I dunno, grab a coffee. It didn't quite feel as natural as I think he was hoping for.
Huh? Wait, it's not going to be a big event? Just you recording from afar?
My surprise at the idea prompted the head of the CBS to launch his whole spiel, which was apparently even more dramatic than I'd anticipated. He actually wanted to make this like a staged leak that then trickled down to the subsidiaries owned by the media conglomerate, turn it into a gossip thing. About how just everyday the Premier could be when 'unaware' of the cameras.
Controlled paparazzi, I suppose. Ones that we could control instead of needing to be always on the lookout for.
Interesting and bizarre. I didn't know what to really think about this. He definitely seemed to aggressively push for it, making me wonder if perhaps this was just yet another quirk of the setting. Maybe this was some GM's whacky idea about a staged influencer stunt? I couldn't say.
But it was awfully tempting. He'd only record from afar, catching just the moment that Erica and I went to a café, then 'panic' to already cut the camera. From there then, it would just be a regular outing. A hangout between a Lancer and I.
Hopefully not ending with me upsetting her even further or anything. Maybe I should ask for secret guards in case she decides to mess me up? No, Rowles has her work cut out for her already from apparently taking in some fresh local recruits. It would be unfair to saddle her with my paranoid ravings. Plus, I really don't think that any number of bodyguards could save me from an angry veteran pilot.
Bleh. Fine, guess I'll ask Veronica to send a message out informing Erica of this staged meeting. Melhof was against it, wanting to keep it hidden, but sorry; I fear her burning me alive more than a movie producer's wrath. It's up to her to decide whether or not she'd respond, let alone show up at all knowing that this entire thing was fake.
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Stories, Melhof had learned long ago, had a wonderful way of turning lie into reality.
Way long ago, humanity on Cradle had written fantastical and far-fetched stories about people in space. Bold faced lies that probably imagined something like alien federations or bug empires that was far from what had been found in reality when folks finally started going beyond the First Ring. But that wasn't what mattered.
What mattered more was that the small push, that tiny nudge, it had propelled them to come this far. So who knew what the next great story would bring?
Maybe something quite dull and mundane. Or perhaps a spectacular sight that would inspire more down the line. One never knew but, as the man had learned living under a regime that oft 'vanished' dissidents, opportunities were sometimes a bit too fleeting.
He glanced across the empty table and, for a moment, thought he saw him there. His partner. Chuckling at the handheld camera he was using and telling him to correct the color settings. They were off.
Melhof checked. Indeed it was. He quietly corrected it and thanked the man who set him down on this path. Somebody who proved that stories were still worth telling, still worth making despite the struggle sometimes.
And if it need be, worth sometimes rigging a little.
All good drama, of course. Like how awkward the Premier-General was. Not that one could tell, given that Moores was dressed quite differently from the very impressive uniform he usually was seen in. It was almost like a costume, one that he apparently donned everyday with little complaint or issue. Maybe it was just a noble thing that Melhof didn't get.
But at the same time, the man seemed rather out of place in a more casual attire. Not uncomfortable or unused to it, curiously enough, but more like stepping into a role that one hadn't donned for a long time and needed some time adjusting to. Maybe he previously had flings in his youth, sneaked out of the family to run wild in the local town equivalent? His looks certainly could catch more than a few heads.
Not Melhof's though. He preferred his men a bit more burly, but well, to each their own.
For what it was worth, Moores already was getting a few interesting glances from nearby pedestrians on the streets. Not from the way he waited, but more the fact that he had a cleaner and more well-kept appearance that couldn't be hidden no matter what. Seriously, the producer had watched him try, only for it to somehow just return to being that groomed look. It might be something genetic and for a few tense moments, they wondered if this plan of going mostly incognito would fail.
Thankfully, the gazes were only in passing and people moved on, thankfully somehow not recognizing their Premier-General. That was a good thing, as being swarmed would absolutely ruin this little plot. Though arguably, that still was on the brink of disaster as the time was drawing very near and there wasn't a trace of Miss Erica. Not a good sign.
Though really, the two men could hardly blame her if she didn't show up. As she didn't even seem to respond to the message that the Premier-General's aide had sent. It had been confirmed read at least, according to the NHP, but as for if she'd actually show, that was still in the air.
Moores had wanted to wait, but Melhof insisted otherwise. Sometimes, one must seize the artistic inspiration when it presented itself. Should it be a failure, then that was just a tragedy instead of comedy. Plus, one who sends the invite should never be the one who arrives later!
That being said. He checked the time and winced. The time had gone and went; it looked like the Harrison Armory representative was an apparent no-show. He glanced up and noticed Moores had seemingly come to the same realization, shoulders slumping every so slightly. Ah, he felt for him- staged or not, being stood up was never pleasant.
Especially when one's partner never came home afterwards.
The movie director exhaled, forcing the memory to the side, and moved to rise from his seat. Perhaps he ought to take the commander out to a bar to make up for this disappointing encounter. He took his eyes off briefly off the man to make sure his chair didn't bump into the nice table next door.
Then when he next spied him, he was stunned to see Moores talking to a woman. One whom...wait. Yes, that was her!
Erica, the mercenary from Harrison Armory!
It was almost impossible to recognize her at first, a similar case to where she ordinarily was in combat gear even for formal occasions. Seeing her out of uniform as well, her own set of casual clothing that complimented Moores' own too- it was certainly a sight. Almost automatically, Melhof's hands raised up to do the promised quick recording.
The greeting and pleasantries couldn't have been longer than a few minutes, then Erica began to look around. That was the sign, so the Director of Broadcast hurriedly cut off the video there. His job was done. After making sure the tape was secured in his jacket, he looked up and nearly froze when his eyes met the heated glare fixated his way.
The promise of a Lancer's violent retribution should he fuck this up.
Melhof shuddered and gave a little nod before hastily departing, heart pounding just a little. At least his own partner had been like a big teddy bear at heart. In comparison, it was almost like the commander liked his very dangerous, and very lethal. Well, to each their own.
He'd let them be. For now, he had a story rag to write.