December 25th
8:00 AM
League Executive Conference Room
In a darkened room, with the curtains drawn, a meeting was taking place. Yet, no papers had been set out on the table, the chairs were unoccupied - rather, as the appointed time arrived, a series of screens clicked on, one after another. Each displayed an impersonal, stylized logo, representing one of the League's many components, great and small. While hundreds of these could be assembled at a moment's notice, today only a comparatively small group of less than a dozen had been gathered for a matter of import. The cascade of light ended, as the flag of the League itself manifested at the "head" of the table.
"Let's get down to business."
A man's voice, the picture of professionalism, spoke with calm, confident certainty as he addressed his peers. It was the voice of consensus, gathered in moments from the input of shareholders, stakeholders, and executives. A voice of reason, clarity, and purpose.
"Per our last meeting minutes... We believe a review of the current situation is in order."
The first to speak, to seemingly nobody's surprise, was a woman's, with a faint French accent. Ever the attention seeker elbowing itself to the front of the line, the amount of pride in its words practically oozed out of the monitor and onto the table.
"BFF is pleased to state that everything is proceeding on schedule. The offensive began approximately one hour ago, and the Galaxy is delivering us regular updates. The Jovian Lizards will be brought to heel soon enough. We'd like to thank our partners at Rosenthal for providing logistic and offensive support as well."
The biggest matter of the day, of course, brought no small amount of murmurs of agreement from the board - no voice emerged to challenge BFF, who'd been all too happy to volunteer to lead the charge against the Jovians.
"It's no surprise that such a perverse society could exist without the proper guidance. This is not a war. It is merely a long overdue correction."
Next to speak, jutting into the interplay with a low chuckle that, despite its softness, commanded the most attention of the assembled group, the voice of Omer Science interjected next.
"Keeping the Galaxy in our back pocket paid dividends after all. I think I speak for all of us here at Omer when I say... our partnership with Emperor Mateus will be most fruitful."
The information they'd managed to glean already from Mateus' Mortar Headds had been well worth the trouble already. If the Jokerian Emperor delivered on even a tenth of his promises... Well. He continued, amicably:
"Moving on... We've stonewalled CHORUS' inquiries, as previously discussed. Full embargo, no inspections permitted. Messaging is being spun as we speak to get the public on our side."
"No matter how this situation unfolds, we've positioned ourselves as the front runners for the coming trials. See to it that we keep them at bay."
A somewhat flustered, Slavic-sounding man spoke next, evidently incensed at having been shunted out of line by Omer, but not quite enough to stand up to one of the League's titans.
"As we, the Interior Union, are handling the defense of the Colonies in the meantime... Do you think our enemies will think to move against us? There's the matter of whether we've allocated sufficient funds, given the Arms Fort-"
"Not openly. If they do, it'll be through proxies. We have prepared accordingly for that possibility."
"And, GA..."
All eyes turned, figuratively, to the one spot at the head of the table.
There was a polite cough, and the screen in question darkened into blackness.
"They're... rebranding. In the meantime, we've placed their assets in GAE under your jurisdiction. See to it they are marshaled accordingly."
Seemingly pacified by this unexpected boon, the IU representative fell into a contemplative silence. Next, a Middle-Eastern sounding woman spoke, her tones rich with the traces of farsi.
"On behalf of Algebra... Orphan's rise has been accelerated due to their collaboration with Britannia. Should we be concerned, especially with the destruction of our research pertaining to it?"
One could almost sense the wince from Omer Science's end of the table, masked as it was. The entire lab going up in flames, along with the biological weapons, had been a messy cleanup requiring Omer to bring in Algebra's expertise. They'd have that hanging over their head for years to come - as the united smaller corporations never forgot a favor owed.
"Britannia hopes to make a foothold for itself in space with that creature, but the effects of its ascent are unpredictable at best. For now, it's best we sit back and observe. We'll wait for our opportunity."
"In addition, the Mu are on the move. Something must have happened. We'd like to expand our budget for researching harmonic energy by twenty percent, in order to prepare countermeasures."
"I doubt we're on their hit list. The Mu don't concern themselves with anything but their ancient conspiracies and superstitions. Such backwardness is proof of their failure to evolve."
This statement was met with a contemplative murmur, but it was a tinny, slightly nasally voice that piped up next, eager to get its own pound of flesh as a flurry of graphs and charts began to flood the central display.
"Speaking of evolution... We at TORUS have completely lost track of the Getter on Earth. Losing it is going to set our research back years-"
The cluttered display of data was aggressively shoved off screen, as the chairman reasserted control.
"Good. Let Saotome's Monster be their problem for a while, rather than ours. Once they realize the danger it presents, they'll be begging us to take it back soon enough."
TORUS seemed to have more to say, but it was Omer who spoke up next, in an arresting fashion:
"Lastly, there is the delicate question of Bahbem..."
At this, a silence fell over the table. It almost seemed as if nobody wished to speak first, lest they tip their hand a little too early. Secrets were commodities to be traded, but never revealed - this was more than common understanding. Eventually however, the chairman said, wryly.
"Well... It's rude to talk poorly of others while they're present. Isn't that so?"
There was a soft click, as the last monitor activated. How long had they been listening? A thousand questions ran through the mind of those present, as the Foundation Man spoke, smoothly:
"We couldn't agree more."
8:00 AM
League Executive Conference Room
In a darkened room, with the curtains drawn, a meeting was taking place. Yet, no papers had been set out on the table, the chairs were unoccupied - rather, as the appointed time arrived, a series of screens clicked on, one after another. Each displayed an impersonal, stylized logo, representing one of the League's many components, great and small. While hundreds of these could be assembled at a moment's notice, today only a comparatively small group of less than a dozen had been gathered for a matter of import. The cascade of light ended, as the flag of the League itself manifested at the "head" of the table.
"Let's get down to business."
"Per our last meeting minutes... We believe a review of the current situation is in order."
The first to speak, to seemingly nobody's surprise, was a woman's, with a faint French accent. Ever the attention seeker elbowing itself to the front of the line, the amount of pride in its words practically oozed out of the monitor and onto the table.
"BFF is pleased to state that everything is proceeding on schedule. The offensive began approximately one hour ago, and the Galaxy is delivering us regular updates. The Jovian Lizards will be brought to heel soon enough. We'd like to thank our partners at Rosenthal for providing logistic and offensive support as well."
The biggest matter of the day, of course, brought no small amount of murmurs of agreement from the board - no voice emerged to challenge BFF, who'd been all too happy to volunteer to lead the charge against the Jovians.
"It's no surprise that such a perverse society could exist without the proper guidance. This is not a war. It is merely a long overdue correction."
Next to speak, jutting into the interplay with a low chuckle that, despite its softness, commanded the most attention of the assembled group, the voice of Omer Science interjected next.
"Keeping the Galaxy in our back pocket paid dividends after all. I think I speak for all of us here at Omer when I say... our partnership with Emperor Mateus will be most fruitful."
The information they'd managed to glean already from Mateus' Mortar Headds had been well worth the trouble already. If the Jokerian Emperor delivered on even a tenth of his promises... Well. He continued, amicably:
"Moving on... We've stonewalled CHORUS' inquiries, as previously discussed. Full embargo, no inspections permitted. Messaging is being spun as we speak to get the public on our side."
"No matter how this situation unfolds, we've positioned ourselves as the front runners for the coming trials. See to it that we keep them at bay."
A somewhat flustered, Slavic-sounding man spoke next, evidently incensed at having been shunted out of line by Omer, but not quite enough to stand up to one of the League's titans.
"As we, the Interior Union, are handling the defense of the Colonies in the meantime... Do you think our enemies will think to move against us? There's the matter of whether we've allocated sufficient funds, given the Arms Fort-"
"Not openly. If they do, it'll be through proxies. We have prepared accordingly for that possibility."
"And, GA..."
All eyes turned, figuratively, to the one spot at the head of the table.
There was a polite cough, and the screen in question darkened into blackness.
"They're... rebranding. In the meantime, we've placed their assets in GAE under your jurisdiction. See to it they are marshaled accordingly."
Seemingly pacified by this unexpected boon, the IU representative fell into a contemplative silence. Next, a Middle-Eastern sounding woman spoke, her tones rich with the traces of farsi.
"On behalf of Algebra... Orphan's rise has been accelerated due to their collaboration with Britannia. Should we be concerned, especially with the destruction of our research pertaining to it?"
One could almost sense the wince from Omer Science's end of the table, masked as it was. The entire lab going up in flames, along with the biological weapons, had been a messy cleanup requiring Omer to bring in Algebra's expertise. They'd have that hanging over their head for years to come - as the united smaller corporations never forgot a favor owed.
"Britannia hopes to make a foothold for itself in space with that creature, but the effects of its ascent are unpredictable at best. For now, it's best we sit back and observe. We'll wait for our opportunity."
"In addition, the Mu are on the move. Something must have happened. We'd like to expand our budget for researching harmonic energy by twenty percent, in order to prepare countermeasures."
"I doubt we're on their hit list. The Mu don't concern themselves with anything but their ancient conspiracies and superstitions. Such backwardness is proof of their failure to evolve."
This statement was met with a contemplative murmur, but it was a tinny, slightly nasally voice that piped up next, eager to get its own pound of flesh as a flurry of graphs and charts began to flood the central display.
"Speaking of evolution... We at TORUS have completely lost track of the Getter on Earth. Losing it is going to set our research back years-"
The cluttered display of data was aggressively shoved off screen, as the chairman reasserted control.
"Good. Let Saotome's Monster be their problem for a while, rather than ours. Once they realize the danger it presents, they'll be begging us to take it back soon enough."
TORUS seemed to have more to say, but it was Omer who spoke up next, in an arresting fashion:
"Lastly, there is the delicate question of Bahbem..."
At this, a silence fell over the table. It almost seemed as if nobody wished to speak first, lest they tip their hand a little too early. Secrets were commodities to be traded, but never revealed - this was more than common understanding. Eventually however, the chairman said, wryly.
"Well... It's rude to talk poorly of others while they're present. Isn't that so?"
There was a soft click, as the last monitor activated. How long had they been listening? A thousand questions ran through the mind of those present, as the Foundation Man spoke, smoothly:
"We couldn't agree more."
