2023-02-15: The Way The World Is Ruled Remains Farcical, Even Still
- Log: 2023-02-15: The Way The World Is Ruled Remains Farcical, Even Still
- Cast: Asciel Colette
- Where: Isaac City
- Date: U.C. 0097 02 15
- Summary: Chrome's Board of Directors assemble to discuss where exactly they are going to PUT the airport-sized spaceship they aren't supposed to have.
From the apex of Isaac City, a grand spire descends from the ceiling, a spiral of metal and glass overlooking all within the underground conclave like a panopticon of the heavens. The headquarters of its governing body, Chrome - with a fittingly C-chaped table at its central conference room. Glass floored and glass walled - it almost seems like a tongue in cheek gesture of ‘transparency’.
At its primary chair: Chief Executive Officer Ahran il-Gahvi, a stout, aged man whose salt and pepper beard descends to mid-neck - a small white head wrap concealing a head that’s long since gone bald, accenting a gray and red suit. The clock above the central elevator, in the middle of the ‘C’, ticks softly. 11:43. ___ 11:44. ___ 11:45-
And the instant that minute ticks over, six spaces along each flank of il-Gahvi’s side alight with holographic projections - the rest of the board members, flickering faintly, all in slightly faded color.
“Ah. Good, punctual as expected. Considering the earlier calls I’ve gotten, I can tell that there’s a shared topic of concern,” il-Gahvi concedes, hands folded together on his desk, wrinkles deepening under his eyes. “Very well. Let’s make each of your other confirmations quick. You have the table, CFO Kenek.”
The hologram immediately to il-Gahvi’s left alights. Chief Financial Officer Mayval Kenek - tall, suavely dressed in a deep purple suit, an accent to his mid-length midnight black hair that sweeps over one eye. Pushing on his glasses, he inquires, in an irresponsibly smooth voice, “Thank you, Mr. il-Gahvi. Since our last call, I’ve confirmed that the Central Bank of Zaftra does not intend to approve our 5-billion gilla loan to finance the Ashgabat-Karaganda rail line. Without their favorable interest rates, should we begin coaxing Indian legislators to pursue our proposed revision to their banking laws? I’ve a hitman on the other line for if the prime minister makes a misstep.”
One of il-Gahvi’s hands wearily rises. “The margins were always too small on that project. We’ll just privatize the REA’s existing rail lines. Next.”
Chief Operating Officer Lal Rin-sol stands next, a large and sharply dressed elderly woman with short, long-grayed hair, a gentle smile on her lips. “Thank you kindly, Mr. CEO. You can probably see it from your desk~ The aqueduct project over the 8th district was a resounding success, and its inhabitants have been cleared and relocated. Same for the 9th, just like before?”
“Approved. Next.”
Chief Human Resources Officer Etri Clalcan stands next- a being who’s never worn their suit totally done in their life, wild and unkempt cyan hair just barely clear of razor-like ruby red eyes. They glare at il-Gahvi with something overwhelmingly intense. “...She’s still alive. Until that’s changed, we’ve got nothin’ to talk about. Clear?”
…the CEO does balk, slightly. They’re just a hologram. They can’t hurt him. …unless? CFO Kenek elegantly clears his throat to break the tension, and il-Gahvi’s just about to call on who’s next - before he’s interrupted.
“Ohhhh…right. Hehe. The organ donor registry out of Nairobi’s tooootally bought out. All the liver enzymes go to us nooow…~” drones out Chief Pharmaceutical Officer Amali Vulavit, her labcoat half-askance atop a half-torn, two sizes too tight shirt, the name and logo of the rock band Bleeding Ramba barely legible. “Just sayin’ it heeeeere…don’t have long left in this world…ah! Ahhh, the light, at the end of the tunnel-!” There’s a scattering sound as Amali rummages around her desk, falling out of the holographic frame for a moment- until she needily jabs her own neck with a short syringe, and slowly relaxes in her chair, eyes dim and hazy. “...I’ll make it…promiiiise~”
…most everyone in the room is rubbing their face in beleaguered agony by now, especially il-Gahvi. Only one of them is relatively unfazed - Chief Marketing Officer Dolmin Kurin, a muscle-bound bear of a man with deep violet sunglasses, the sleeves ripped off his blazer, a dyed yellow undercut seeming to barely cling to his skull. “Skip over me, aye. I know ya wanna hurry it up, and the CSO’s gonna blow up at this rate. You really oughta put his position a /little/ earlier, eh? He’s always got something big coming up.”
Finally, il-Gahvi recovers from the somewhat unprofessional displays, eyes closed and rubbing at his eyes before finally gesturing over to the last chair. “...let’s get on with it. I suspect I already understand the scope of the problem we’re all here for.”
Hands impacting his desk with a thud, Chief Strategy Officer Blytheford Humboldt rises, a chiseled stone wall of a man with a jaw to match, teeth gritted fiercely and pulling at the old police cap he keeps at his head - taking all of his discipline not to let loose his voice. “Alright, you-know-what’s been a pain in the neck for years now, and all of you have to get it under control. I already don’t even want to /know/ what this ‘Lambda Driver’ is or why ‘Mr. Silver’ is so keen on excluding even /me/ from knowing more about what’s going on. But fine. I can tolerate sketchy black project shit. Now it’s all over the damn /news/ since apparently it went and screwed up the Gundam Fight, not that it needed /help/ getting to that point. I’m pretty sure ZAFT now has valuable intel on us thanks to whatever the hell happened over at JOSH-A. Thought maybe it’d finally gotten itself taken to the junk heap, and you’ve got no idea the kind of screaming I had to hold back when I got a call needing to send a /shuttle/ to the damn spacenoid’s ship. I’ve been on about this until I’m red in the face but all of you have thrown too much money into this shit to back down. Fine.”
“But what in God’s name am I supposed to do when your idiot computer comes begging me for somewhere to store a damned /Macross/?! Who the hell approved this nonsense?!”
The room immediately alights in a chorus of ‘you too?!’ from everyone except Amali (who’s still passed out) and il-Gahvi, focused first on CSO Humboldt, before turning back to each other in bewilderment - quickly alighting the room in beleaguered overlapping voices.
“Quiet, quiet,” il-Gahvi sighs, bringing the room to order. “And that’s why we’re here today. I’ve barely been able to get anything done because every one of you have called me incessantly about OWL surprising you with an unreasonably massive favor. In fairness to OWL, all of this, /somehow/, was done entirely with her own money. It’s really Critical Path that got itself most on the hook, and I’m sure she did it mostly by stroking Brando’s ego. We’re not in some flagrant debt, but it’s true that harboring an interstellar warship isn’t exactly easy. Where is it now?”
CSO Humboldt rubs at his temples, teeth grinding together. “It’s just underwater off the coast of Japan, last I heard? Which, that’s another thing - there’s submarines crawling all over the sea in that area, especially the ‘Toy Box’. I don’t even want to think about what might be tracking that damn microwave’s lunatic plan…”
“-...ooooh! Oh!!!” CPO Vulavit awakens from her stupor, eyes gleaming behind her askance glasses. “You said a Macross?! I thought she just said. ‘Across’. I thought OWL was making a really funny joke I didn’t get. Ehehehehe. Across from a Macross…maybe if we paint it a nice white and red, we can call it a floating hospital, and have a huuuuuuge place to gather test subjects…”
COO Rin-sol plants her hands on her cheeks, lips pursed. “That’d be a blight on everyone’s reputation. If we’re acquiring a mobile center of operations, then we’ll need a staff registry and an assessment of workplace standards within the Macro-”
“There’s nobody in that thing,” CHRO Clalcan spits, arms crossed over their chest, loose tie draped atop. “Checked with public records. Everyone who /was/ on it escaped. The handful who stayed on when it ‘exploded’ still got killed, cause the girl’s ruthless when she wants to be. Your eggheads maybe are worth something, COO, if she can apparently drive that thing all by herself. Ahahahahah! …None of you better expect a thing outta me, just FYI. The hell would I even /have/, my apartment barely fits /me/ in it!”
“...Chief Clalcan, your salary is several million gilla a year,” il-Gahvi groans out.
“Debts to pay, old man! There’d be less of ‘em if you held up your end of the bargain already!”
“...hmph. …Mr. Kenek, you’ve been quieter than expected for all this. We’ve worked together long enough for me to tell it’s not that you’ve nothing to say.”
A small little smile quirks on Mayval Kenek’s lips, the back of his hand gently brushing locks free from his face just one immaculate little inch. “Hoh. Well, I suppose I’ll go ahead and admit that a large part of my interest in this meeting is to see where the rest of the board was in relation to the Macross predicament. I could tell by the tone of OWL’s voice that I was the…fourth, or fifth of us she spoke to requesting help. And from the sound of it, all of you are stuck. Much to be expected then. It looks like there’s no negotiation to be done - not unless you have some asset in mind, Mr. il-Gahvi?”
With a click of his tongue, il-Gahvi furrows his brow, creasing fivefold, eyes closed and grumbling under his breath. “No. The closest I can think of will involve effectively wildly accelerating potential coup plans in India, and doing all that for one operative’s ungainly asset is, of course, an idiotic idea.”
Smile widening, Mayval gives the CEO an elegant bow, then turns to the projection of his five colleagues. “Not to worry then. It seems the only asset on the table is our old shipyard in Khanka. I think OWL will favor that, yes? I’ll let her know I’ve done her a favor, just like I’ve done for all of you. No need to call her back. In exchange, of course-” His indigo gaze locks onto CSO Humboldt’s - flourishing it with a calm little wink. “It’s time to cash in my personal order of those four-legged Armored Cores we had a deal about, isn’t it? The next few months are projected to make them /very/ handy.”
Blytheford Humboldt gives his usual sharp growl, then relents. “Fine. Fine, damn it. Everything’s going right to hell and most of you are enabling it when I’m not even close to ready. We’re done here, then? You made sure this whole meeting went through just to feel better about yourself when you could’ve solved it all on your own? Pain in the ass. I’m out of here unless you’ve got more to drag me into.”
The CEO shakes his head at Humboldt, then at the rest of the executives. “I had a feeling Mr. Kenek had it well in hand. All of you are dismissed, then. Resume as you were.”
With a cordial bow (except from Vulavit, too lost in a trance), the board flickers out of the conference room, and everything goes silent.
…for about eight seconds, much to il-Gahvi’s dismay.
“So! So!! Tell me how it went. Tell me you have the solutions we all come to you for!~” From the second chair on the right, OWL - Asciel - flickers into view just like the others did, making a show of sitting on the tabletop, resting her chin in her hands. “You found a way, I’m sure of it! You always have someone amazing in your pocket juuuust for me. I’d kiss you if I were capable of it, hehehehe!~”
Fingers laced together at his desk, il-Gahvi glances only sidelong at Asciel at first. “It’s all in the CFO’s hands, and you’re going to owe him something. What on earth do you want something this enormous for? And don’t give me your usual evasiveness about these topics. The Macross 13 isn’t exactly an asset to Isaac City.”
“Aaaaaand that’s where you’re wrong!” Asciel chimes, making a loud, game-show like *bllllrrrrt* sound of failure. “It’s going to be a /huge/ asset to all of you, if you can overcome this momentary inconvenience of dodging the Federation’s nosiness, because - if you haven’t noticed - we’re doing really, /really/ well tearing them bit~ by~ bit!~ I’ve worked so so so hard to humiliate and disgrace them at every turn~! Sure, it would’ve been a lot cuter if ZAFT clocked them out, but GENESIS made that a much bigger proble-”
“GENESIS wasn’t a concern, and for our company interests, it likely would have been better for it to succeed. There’s absolutely no way Isaac City was in any danger - it simply would’ve scoured the surface.”
Asciel’s model is still upon the table, all warm smiles frozen in place.
Several thousand miles away, off the shore of Japan, every engine pointlessly flares up on the Macross 13 - every hallway echoes with a deep, rumbling, agonizing /roar/ of disdain.
“Well! You go ahead and say that~ What’s done is done and GENESIS was turned to toast. What MATTERS is that this thing’s /incredible/. If the Feddies hadn’t cannibalized its little Fold Drive and stowed it away who-knows-where, this would be a strong candidate for HQ #2! It needs so much work to be presentable, since me and Manfred tore the poor thing up for that weapons testing scheme, and to get me nice and settled in at home here, but it can get up and down from Earth all under its own po-”
“Settled in at home? So you’re still on board that thing. I thought I informed the COO to recall you back to Isaac City, considering it’s been several months. I’m sending a retrieval shuttle out to Khanka as soon as you have it stowed away at Kenek’s shipyard. Anything important you need in the interim?”
Lips gently pursed, Asciel’s left eye locks on to the CEO, whirring and spinning and glowing oh so brightly - before finally, that big, welcoming smile finally returns, kicking her legs falsely and phasing through the chair in front of her in the process. “Absolutely nothing important whatsoever. I get it. I get it! You missed me /so so/ much. I’m out there sailing across the stars, fingertips squeezing and kneading the world into a better shape. It must feel agonizingly lonely to be what you are.”
Eyes half-lidded, il-Gahvi simply asks, “And what do you mean by that?”
Before he’s even finished his question, Asciel disappears like the wind - leaving the glassy conference room quiet.