Logs for ShadowRN and Associated Mailing Lists

From:	Paul J. Adam ShadowTK@********.demon.co.uk
Subject:	Absent Friends
Date:	Sat, 2 Dec 2000 00:24:06 +0000

Message no. 1 *****PRIVATE: The Mighty Quinn
>>>>>[Actually, I'm at Easy's right now. Just sorting out some
entertainment, arranging the fireworks...

And odd you should mention a lift, but I could do with one ASAP - up to
DC, then down to the Caribbean.

Oh, and I have a friend who'll need a lift to DC once we've won... about
450 kays, 18 hands, blonde hair, good looking, friendly and nice
natured, smart enough to act dumb.

He's called 'Horse'.

Don't ask.]<<<<<
-- Colonel Jason R W Lynch <12:02:01/12-01-61>
UCAS Marine Corps

From:	Paul J. Adam ShadowTK@********.demon.co.uk
Subject:	Absent Friends
Date:	Fri, 3 Nov 2000 00:23:18 +0000

Message no. 2 *****INTERNAL: Edgar Harcourt
>>>>>[Well, she's in about the state you'd expect.

+++++begin video
The cameraman is striding across rolling moorland, through light drizzle
under overcast skies, pursuing a young woman who does not seem
interested in whatever's being said.

"Please, your Ladyship, I must implore you to understand-"

"Understand _what_?" The woman turns, glaring at the cameraman. She's
quirkily attractive, with short blonde hair and blue eyes and at this
exact moment a rather frightening expression. "That my closest friends
are dying, and I should sit on my arse on the other side of the world to
be sure I don't embarrass some _politician_?"

Pendleton actually takes several steps back from the raw fury coming off
Quinn. "I have it on the best authority that both Jason and Lilith are
still alive-"

"Which can change in a moment as well we both know. Give me one good
reason why I shouldn't go help them, Charles."

"I am asking you not to." Sir Charles Pendleton says, with simple
honesty.

Quinn actually pauses, gets herself under better control: shaking
raindrops from her hair, and taking a small pewter flask from inside her
Barbour jacket. "That's interesting. Elaborate." She sips from the
flask, offers it to Pendleton, who accepts gratefully.

"The situation in the UCAS is extremely delicate. General Ernang enjoys
considerable support, more than might be imagined. If he were to be
attacked by an outsider..."

"I'm a UCAS citizen."

"You _were_ a UCAS citizen. Now, most sensible analysis would say you
have made Britain your home nation. You hold citizenship, are domiciled
here for tax purposes, hold not one but two peerages, are a member of
His Majesty's forces... you could very easily be portrayed as a
foreigner." Pendleton still sounds tense. "Jason and Lilith, on the
other hand, are UCAS citizens. Jason's Sioux links can be made a
positive benefit, if he prevails against Ernang and the Sioux Nation
does not retaliate. But if Ernang is brought down by foreign
interference..." Pendleton leaves the sentence hanging.

"Yeah, yeah, the conspiracy loons will go into feeding frenzy." Quinn
suddenly looks small and vulnerable. "So how do I help them?"

"You cannot, Lady Susan, without endangering them. Stay out of their
fight. If they fail, avenge them. But until they win or die, you should
stand aside." Pendleton's tone matches his words.

"So if they're killed...?"

"General Ernang's activities are not aligned with His Majesty's
Government and he shows no interest in discussing that matter. HMG would
therefore be... indifferent to General Ernang." Put it in writing and
there's nothing a lawyer could build a case from. Hear it said, with the
subtleties of inflection Pendleton applies, and it's Ernang's death
warrant.

"Understood." Quinn nods, as the rain goes from drizzle to downpour.

"In the meantime, Your Ladyship, I have an assignment for you."

"A bribe to keep me sweet?"

"Perhaps. The Admiralty find they have a spare place on the current
Perisher course, and recalled that you'd expressed an interest..."

"That is _so_ transparent!" Quinn does smile.

"Actually, no. A number of... emoluments were considered. This was not
originally one of them, but one of the candidates broke his leg on a
skiing holiday and you are available, willing and eager to fill the
vacant slot at short notice. It serves its purpose in many ways."

"Okay." The rain is plastering Quinn's hair flat, running off her waxed
jacket, but she nods and snaps her fingers: a faintly glowing hemisphere
suddenly surrounds her, the rain running off it. "Thank you,
Mordenkainen."

"Who?"

"You wouldn't understand." Quinn shrugs. "Come on, Charles. Let's check
on the fencing patrols and then go get lunch. I'm buying."

"Are you...?"

"Happy? No. I want to go help Jason and Lilith. But, you've explained
why that might be less useful than it might be. So, I'll qualify as a
submarine commander instead, and have fun while my best friends maybe
die." Quinn shrugs, warm and dry inside her magical hut while Pendleton
suffers the downpour. "Remember this, Charles."

"I shall indeed, Susan. Please understand, your forbearance is of great
value-"

"I know, I know. So's a Perisher course. We're even, okay? Just...
remember this. Ernang's trying to paint Jason as a rogue, well, if
someone does that to me I want you and their Lordships to remember this
and realise I'm on their side."

"Agreed. Can that spell... what did you call it?"

"Mordenkainen's Little Hut."

"Can it be enlarged? Could it be a chalet? Or at least a Slightly Larger
Hut?"

"It could." Quinn allows, with a tired smile, and the faint glow expands
until Pendleton is also within it.
+++++end video

I still would not like to force her to choose between her loyalty to the
Crown, and her loyalty to her friends. She understands the situation and
accepts our position, though, and that is enough in this scenario.

And she will be enthusiastic and eager on the Perisher course, whether
she passes or fails, which is better than having it run one man short.

In any case, she will not go hunting Ernang and his cowboys until the
situation has resolved itself somewhat. I believe this satisfies the
orders I was given.]<<<<<
-- Sir Charles Pendleton <00:23:38/11-03-61>

From:	Paul J. Adam ShadowTK@********.demon.co.uk
Subject:	Absent Friends
Date:	Tue, 28 Nov 2000 00:18:12 +0000

Message no. 3 *****PRIVATE: Lilith, Lynch
>>>>>[You two are maybe the only ones who'd really appreciate this, and
especially you're the only ones I can show it to. The Stranger might
appreciate the situation, but he'd be bored by the details.

Since I'm being asked, ordered and bribed to stay out, I'm being a good
girl. This is... sort of a good-luck thing hoping you'll both be able to
check your mail and see this.

Also me hoping I pass the damn course, this is real _work_.

Mind you... know anyone selling second-hand nuclear submarines? I'm
beginning to enjoy driving them, and I can see how I could use a couple.

+++++begin trideo
The recording covers a camera view of the simulator, half a screen of
sonar data (currently showing test patterns) and a quarter-screen
currently showing a layout of the mocked-up control room, most of its
stations glowing red. The simulator team are taking their positions,
indicating their readiness, and the stations rapidly flick to green.

Once they're all prepared, there's a short pause, before a stocky,
black-haired CPO shouts "Captain on the bridge!" and the Perisher
arrives.

This trainee, though, is in Army camouflaged battledress instead of Navy
working fatigues, a maroon beret perched atop her short blonde hair and
the silver Pegasus cap badge catching the dim light, a mere two pips on
each shoulder. It seems that the "bribery" applied to keep Quinn from
intervening in a certain delicate North American situation, extends to
filling a vacant slot in this elite course...

The CPO doesn't bat an eyelid. "Captain Rodriguez, the boat is at your
disposal."

"Thank you, Chief." Quinn, too, acts as though this was entirely
natural: indeed, it is, she has a DSC for finding herself suddenly in
charge of a frigate with a battle to fight - perhaps why the Navy seem
to mind a pongo in their midst so little? "Status of the boat?"

"No reported problems, sir. Heading two one five at twelve knots, depth
two hundred feet, tubes two and six loaded with Orcas."

"Order a battle systems check." That has the sound of someone having
been caught out before... "Any new orders?"

"None since the ones you were given, sir." Again, it sounds like at
least one cadet fell for an instructor's trick.

"Very well. Come starboard to... three three one, make RPMs for eighteen
knots, and take her down to six hundred feet." Quinn looks at the
plotting table, and takes a message flimsy from her thigh pocket:
quickly sketches glowing lines and curves over the chart, muttering to
herself and occasionally tapping numbers into a battered pocket
secretary, using that to refine her sketching before she clears most of
it leaving a slightly uneven ellipse on the overlay. "Correction. Steady
on three two eight, eighteen knots, six hundred feet." Never, ever, run
on a compass cardinal bearing... it makes the enemy's fire-control
solution too easy.

"Aye aye, sir. Course three two eight, speed eighteen, depth six
hundred." Chief Morris replies, repeating her orders as he did before.

"Weapons! Load all tubes with Orcas, stand by reloads. Preset one to
five for surface action, six for a submarine snapshot." Again the chorus
of acknowledgement.

"Galley! Get some bevvies up here. Coffee and ki, on the double."

"Aye, sir." An amused voice on the outside line: the simulated Control
Room evidently doesn't have a galley attached. Nevertheless, a few
moments later (as Tube One indicates a two-ton torpedo loaded and ready)
a sailor enters with a Velcro-covered tray with three jugs stuck to it,
and a dozen , rubber-based mugs. The tray locks into clamps atop a safe
near the chart table and the sailor (dressed for shore duty, not for a
submarine) exits with a grin at the Army officer commanding.

Quinn settles into the Captain's chair, with its datajack feed and its
lap restraint and its emergency keyboard. "Sonar, we're looking for
multiple surface contacts on the bow, and a submarine escort anywhere."

"Nothing in the brief about submarines, sir." Chief Morris suggests. The
communication's now over the ship's data net for speed, but it's
vocalised and subtitled onto the recording.

"Exactly. But according to our copy of Jane's Fighting Ships, Zimbani
has four Vaneyev-class SSKs, and we're going through the Tamar Strait to
intercept and attack their amphibious invasion fleet, you think they
aren't smart enough to set out a screen in such an obvious chokepoint?"

Morris smiles happily. "You're the captain, Captain."

"Exactly. Load TAD301s in fore and aft SSEs." Quinn glances at the
tactical plot, the glowing overlay showing her submarine's position on
it. "And sound Action Stations."

The quiet but insistent warble of the Klaxon sounds, and the control
room's lights dim to 'grey', the artificial twilight that spares night
vision but is just bright enough to keep you from walking into consoles.
Quinn sits in her chair, eyes closed, as the sonar display does a good
impression of random three-dimensional static.

Time passes.

One sonarman seems slightly restive, adjusting his controls more than
the others together, and he's on the verge of speaking when Quinn sits
up and says "All stop, turn to two nine six, two degrees down-angle,
trim bow-heavy."

As the orders are repeated, the sonarman says with some embarrasment "HE
bearing Green three zero, very faint, possible Vaneyev-class
conventional submarine."

"Acknowledged. Track the bastard."

"He's heard us come off transit... he's slowing... I've lost him, sir,
no broadband contact." the sonarman apologises.

"Flank array?"

"Weak fifty-hertz tonal on that bearing, no range, too fuzzy for a
bearing rate and too weak for Doppler. No broadband, just that tone."

"Bathymetrics?"

"Eleven hundred feet of water. A fuzzy isotherm at four hundred,
bottom's rock. No convergence zones, no bottom-bounce, not much
multipath."

Quinn nods, her Pegasus cap badge glinting in the dim light. "Weapons!
Set up a snapshot, due north, full speed, active, porpoise weave. Slow-
flood tube and open outer door on Tube Four. Countermeasures, stand by
to fire both TADs, one narrowband noise jammer and one repeater." When
both stations report ready, she takes a deep breath.

"Weapons, open shutter on Tube Four! Fire four! Fire for'ard SSE! Fire
aft SSE! All ahead full, max starboard rudder, ten degrees up-angle! Cut
wires on Four, close shutter and outer door, pump out and reload with
Orca! Steady on two four zero, depth two hundred, make speed twenty-one
knots, sonar check for inbounds!" The submarine simulator shudders as
air rams and big subwoofer speakers imitate the firings of a homing
torpedo and two Torpedo Acoustic Decoys.

"Torpedo torpedo torpedo, Red five zero, bearing opening! Missing
astern... losing it through the layer, sir." The enemy torpedo, launched
in haste and on an even weaker target solution, is on the wrong side of
a "thermal layer"... a zone where the water temperature changes
abruptly, between sun-warmed surface and cold, dark depth, distorting
sound waves. Quinn's torpedo is searching along, alternating wide sonar
sweeps above and below the same layer-

"Our torpedo just changed transmission interval! I think it's got
something..." the broadband sonarman (actually a middle-aged woman)
says, intent on her displays. "A couple of decoys in the water... it's
rejected a target. I've got a Vaneyev-class boat making turns for twenty
knots in there but I can't break him out of the clag."

"Slow to five knots, flood Tube Three, open outer door and shutter,
reload both SSEs with TADs, hold your turn and steady on three four
three." The enemy submarine is accelerating, the noise of her passage
through the water deafening her and letting Quinn prepare for a second
attack."

"Our torpedo's in terminal homing..." The hull booms like a drum. "Hit!
That's a hit, sir. I show blowing air and tearing metal on two eight
five. He's _dead_."

"Hold turn, make course two eight six, make depth nine hundred, all
ahead full, close shutter on Three." Quinn orders, sending her boat
ducking through the echoing, bubble-filled chaos that's the sinking
enemy submarine. "Slow to two-thirds." she adds as the grinding, echoing
noises begin to fade. "Good simulator." she adds aloud with the datalink
inhibited.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Chief Morris grins.

Quinn runs west-north-west for half an hour at two-thirds speed, leaving
the dying cacophony of the enemy submarine behind. Her towed sonar array
picks up another Vaneyev-class SSK racing towards the scene of the
crime, but she's leaving it behind faster than the enemy submarine has
any chance of pursuing, and ahead a broadband smear is brightening the
sonar display...

"Slow to one-third, come to one hundred feet. Status check?"

"Flank array's acting up, sir."

"Fix the bastard and do it quiet. How long?"

"Half an hour, tops."

"Report again in twenty minutes." Quinn glances at her sonar crew, says
"Turn port to one nine three, speed twelve knots."

More time passes, the sonar display getting brighter and clearer, the
fuzzy slice of sound beginning to break into discrete bearings and
frequencies even through the haze of flow noise.

"Flank array fixed, sir."

"Slow to four knots, hold course." Quinn says. "Chief, assume they know
we killed a picket. Your thoughts on their intentions?"

"You're the orifice-er, sir. I just do what you say."

"Shove it up your arse, Morris." Quinn grins and the CPO smiles back.
"Okay, if I were them I'd put an ASW picket out on the bearing. We're
south of that now, but then I'd allow for that... periscope depth, scope
sweep, and take her down to four hundred feet. Update our bathymetrics."

The video shows a quick sweep of grey waves and grey skies, nothing else
visible. The ESM aerial atop the scope shows weak radars of several
types on the bearings to the surface ships, and crackles of encrypted
communications. As the submarine coasts down deeper, she fires a
weighted thermocouple into the water, measuring the temperature profile
and updating the data on where the thermal layers are.

"All clear. Careless." Quinn says, surprised. "Or overconfident. Or we
_really_ bushwhacked that Vaneyev and the wingman hasn't called home
yet. Okay, hell with it, course one six one, speed eighteen knots, depth
sixteen hundred."

"That's right on the edge-"

"It's _within_ the Manoeuvre Limit Diagram, sailor. Lock the stern plane
stops at zero and stand by to deploy the foreplanes at five degrees up-
angle, stand by to blow Q. Trim slightly bow-light and hold her down on
the stern planes. Do it."

"Sir." The helmsman rapidly sets up Quinn's orders.

"You're nearly as crazy as a Navy Perisher, sir." Chief Morris tells
Quinn over the private network.

"Thank you, Chief, we aim to please." Quinn watches the displays,
watches her crew, after a long, long twenty minutes says "Slow to three
knots! Come shallow to two hundred feet!"

As the submarine slows and the noise of water rushing over her hull -
her _simulated_ hull - subsides, the strobes of noise of the Zimbani
fleet become clear and distinct in three dimensions, bearing and
frequency resolving.

"Sonar, break me out their amphibs and ASW ships."

"I have both landing-ship tanks clear. I have one frigate sprinting on
the east side of the formation. There should be another but-"

"But he's drifting quiet and we can't see him. Firing solution on the
amphibs and the fast frigate!"

"Set!"

"One, two three and four on the amphibs. Five on the frigate. Cut two
and four loose on launch and reload at once. All fish covert passive,
low threshold."

"Ready!"

"Fire one to five." Quinn says calmly. The submarine-simulator shudders
five times in succession. "Ahead two-thirds, right five degrees rudder,
depth six hundred, fire aft SSE in structured decoy mode, reload all.

The sonar display is suddenly cluttered with five new targets, Orca
torpedoes running quiet and slow towards their predicted intercept
points.

"Lost the wires on One..."

"Roger." Quinn nods. "Hold this speed, steady this bearing, level
out."

"Frigate is accelerating! Frigate is going active!"

"Does he see us?"

"Nossir. He heard the Orca."

"Put Five in autonomous and kick it to full speed, active." The torpedo
is now using its powerful active sonar to search for a target, and
hunting at better than sixty knots. The frigate, caught slow and
helpless, tries to deploy decoys and jammers, but the torpedo burns
through them and closes at homicidal speed -

The submarine's hull booms with a distant explosion. "Hit, sir." A few
seconds later, a second explosion rumbles through the simulated water.

"Secondary explosion?"

"Wrong bearing, sir. I think that was LST Two, or something close...
Three has lost contact, Three is in LCP. I think Four hit her and Four
is hunting... One has a contact."

"Genuine?"

"Not sure."

Quinn nods. "Come to sixty feet and four knots. Up scope." Another
distant explosion. The periscope view shows a broken-backed frigate and
a column of smoke, and nothing on the bearing of the last explosion. The
ESM antenna shows at least five radars operating, two of them airborne,
all of them able to detect the periscope in its brief exposure.

"Flood Q. Ten degrees down-angle. Fire off an ASD. Ten degrees starboard
rudder, make your course two one eight and your speed eleven knots."

"Aye aye, sir-"

"Torpedo torpedo torpedo! Green four oh, bearing opening! Signal below
acquisition levels."

"Hold course and speed. Stand by TADs, hold fire." Quinn crosses her
fingers on both hands.

As the torpedo's sonar sweeps towards them, Quinn says "Slow to eight
knots." The one thing a potential submarine should not do, with a homing
torpedo nearby, is slow down... and it works, the ultrasonic pulses of
torpedo sonar wash over them and reject them and pass by. A distant
explosion makes the hull boom yet again.

"Hold your down angle. Increase speed to maximum. Let's get out of
Dodge."

"Sir!" Morris makes the order happen. "We're running away?"

"We're breaking off and re-evaluating. We've got at least half the
mission done and I'm losing track of the situation, so I want to clear
datum and work out who we still need to sink." Quinn says cheerfully.
+++++end video

Turns out that I'd sunk that Vaneyev, an amphib and a frigate, and
crippled an escorting destroyer. They called ENDEX on me before I could
re-engage but gave me a pass grade since I broke contact so cleanly and
was re-engaging so well.

Only five of us passed that one, the other eight got torpedo-happy and
pressed the attack too hard and discovered that the Zimbanis are
actually very good at close-up ASW.

So I'm having fun while you're all risking your lives. And even if I
wanted to help you I've got orders not to...

You've got the safehouse list and Rodriguez Shipping are basically at
your disposal if you need transport or fire support.

If you need more than that, tell me. I'll either make it happen legally
or just make it happen anyway.

Take care, Jason. Lilith... Jason's promised he'll get you out so you'll
get this when he does.

If not... I want to be in a different hemisphere when he starts carving
himself some payback.]<<<<<
-- The Mighty Quinn <00:18:32/11-28-61>

From:	"Paul J. Adam" <Shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject:	Absent Friends
Date:	Mon, 28 Dec 1998 13:02:47 +0000

Message no. 4 *****PRIVATE: Easy, Quinn
>>>>>[This may explain a few things about some mutual acquiantances.

Susan, I know you can't do much at the moment, but you may want to pitch
in when you finish taunting the matelots. Easy, I don't know if there's
much you can do to help yet, but I reminded them you're available if
they want you.

Sounds like things could be a lot worse, at least.

Sorry it took a while to get this to you, it took time to clean up the
recording and I was in Seattle trying to find someone who knew anything
about the inside of the Renraku arcology...

+++++begin audio recording
FireWraith (FW): Who did the bugs belong to?

Blitzkrieg (B): Probably the club owner, and if I didn't know better, I
would say Deuce.

Monica: Perhaps you should explain to Lilith what is going on, Mark?

B: Deuce is a plant by my dear half-brother, as you probably know.
With the presence of MET2000 in New Orleans, it is quite possible
that my brother has somehow figured out what Midnight was up to. If
that is the case, then FireWraith's presence here might give Deuce
some information to pass back to Nightmare. I'd prefer to keep him
in the dark as much as possible. Hence the removal of the bugs and
the white noise generator.

I invited you, Lilith, to this because I'm going to rely on you to
communicate back the information to Easy and Quinn as to what
happened in New Orleans. They had an inkling as to what Midnight was
doing, but not the full details.

Lilith: Not much Quinn can do right now, she's playing sailor in the
Pacific. Easy... has concerns, but may be able to do more. Both will
want to know. So do I, to be honest, Midnight's a friend.

B: (Nods.) As you probably heard, one of Midnight's bashes was the night
that I first met Quinn in London and Midnight gave his infamous
suicide speech.

FireWraith, what the hell happened to you?

FW: Nice intro, Mark. The Wraith happened. Two years ago, a whole
bunch of people chased a Wraith down to Berlin. Rather than give in,
it forced the Wanderer to form lead a group of men into battle
against Nightmare, who was one of the Wraith's true targets. Rather
than go over old history, the battle effectively ended with Archangel
battling the Wraith. According to then DragonEyes, Archangel
realized that alone he wasn't going to be able to defeat the Wraith,
and so tried absorbing the Wraith. The damage done to Archangel's
body should have killed him. DragonEyes kept him alive, and
eventually realized that if Archangel died, the Wraith would come
back in near months. Rather than do that, he cast some spells giving
Archangel some ability to resist the Wraith and healed his body.

And thus, Death was born. Archangel realized he could never be who
he was, and rather than destroy his old handle, he would assume a new
one.

Fast forward a year. Midnight has already begun investigating a way
to fully deal with the Wraith after realizing what happened. He
consulted (without Pestilence's permission) DragonEyes' old magical
group who was dedicated to healing. He also used aliases to bounce
ideas off MagickNet. Between that all, they made slow progress in
finding a way to undo what DragonEyes and Archangel did and also
destroy the Wraith once and for all.

Earlier this month, Midnight sent off his bash notice. Having
already picked a site, they went down to prepare it. Croaker's crew
set up the initial security. Doc remained on and with the help of a
mercenary crew -- not the Legion -- reinforced the security and
worked out all the details. War and Famine convinced Death it was
for the best to try this, and their team joined us down in New
Orleans.

I won't get into the rituals, but their were effectively two rituals
going on at the same time. Midnight's group worked to expel the
Wraith from Death's body. My group went into Astral to do battle
with the Wraith. I'm not sure what was happening on the mundane
plane, but suddenly the Wraith was fully in astral and things got
ugly. It meant that Midnight's first part succeeded. The battle was
vicious and ugly, and people and spirits were dying. Eventually, we
won, when two of Archangel's spirit friends sacrificed themselves to
give me and an earth elemental a final shot at the Wraith. It worked
... the Wraith died.

Per Midnight's orders, I didn't come back to mundane world anywhere
near the fight. I slowly made my way there and saw that the
authorities were just responding. I surveyed the combat zone and
then made way to the secret field hospital via Astral. I had to
become physical to enter the place since it was warded.

As evident by the combat, the place was swamped. War was one of the
first few to come out of surgery. Famine soon followed.

(She pauses considering what to say.)

When I left, Midnight had just been placed into ICU observation from
surgery. They think he is going to make it. Death ... well Doc
couldn't even give me a read-out on his condition. Hell, he couldn't
even give me a fragging chance of survival. He gave me a "not good"
and went back to his duties.

Through efficient planning, the mercenaries were able to not leave
bodies or wounded behind. War shedded a little bit of light on the
subject. I didn't get to talk to Famine because she was still out of
it from the surgery that she went though.

War said that someone had leaked the security information to it.
Luckily, the mercenaries were bright enough to realize this and
switch to a different set of tactics. War and Famine, among others
made it back to the warehouse. They saw that Midnight had come out
of the ritual and nearly collapsed. Death had collapsed. War and
Famine made their way to them, but the attackers breached the
warehouse and beat them to the circle. Midnight tried defending
Death, but they just beat the pulp out of him. They had just started
in on Death, who was defenseless, when War and Famine tore into the
attackers. Although they fought them off, and evacuated Midnight and
Death, it was doubtful at the time that either would survive the
wounds.

The circle, War said, looked like it was devastated. He said, he
didn't understand it all, but it almost looked like their secondary
goal was to kill off both circles after the rituals finished. War
refused to speculate on who the leak was.

B: Did Doc?

FW: I doubt Doc even had time to think about that. Doc was expecting
that the rituals themselves would generate critically injured people.
The fact that mercenaries attacked and got so far through the
security measures that were taken alarmed him, but he didn't and
probably still doesn't have time for that.

B: (Really quiet) What's your take on it? Is Death going to live? Do
you have any ideas about the leak?

FW: I don't know about Death. Even if he survives, there is absolutely
no way of telling what would happen to him mentally. He could be a
vegetable for all I know. As far as the leak, I suppose it is
possible that the Wraith had enough self-preservation to leak it
himself, however, I doubt it. Midnight kept Death as far away from
the planning as possible so that wasn't a leak. He couldn't do that
with Pestilence. I have doubts, although it is possible, that
someone else had a plant in the mercenaries to leak it, but as far as
I know, there were only a handful that knew the whole plan.

I find it interesting that the same company that was reported taking
on the Legion in South America was the one that attacked us.

B: Are you sure of that?

FW: At first I wasn't, but Jester provided enough data that it looks
pretty solid.

B: Which means either my brother had a hand in it, or someone really
wanted it to look like it was him.

FW: Huh? What do you mean someone wanted it to look like it was him?
Who would want that?

B: I can think of five people -- some more dead than others. Diana,
AJ, the person who was behind the kidnapping of Nightmare a while
back, and unfortunately you [FireWraith] and myself.

FW: (outraged) WHAT? HOW --

B: Relax, hun. If I seriously thought it was you, I wouldn't have
said a damn thing. The fact remains, you do have a motive to hate
him. For that matter, so do I. Neither of us would order the people
in the ritual killed though. They deserve statues for their brave
deeds, not being killed. Why lose that precious knowledge of to
defeat a wraith, especially one of that power?

As much as I like Diana, she and AJ are very capable of setting up
Nightmare, and so is the guy that captured him. There would still
have to be a leak somewhere. I suppose for me, it matters little. I
cannot undo what has been done, and I do not have the ability to gain
revenge on whoever did it .

Additionally, it still doesn't answer who leaked it to that party and
what sort of deal did the strike with that person as well. Yes,
Pestilence could have done it, but I don't know. There's little
evidence to suggest that he would do something like that....

Am I correct in the fact that you will be involved in Midnight's
debriefing? (FireWraith nods.) Mention my thoughts on this to him
when it is appropriate.

FW: I'll do that.

B: What's your plans now?

FW: Per my new orders, I'm to go hire some of the Rebels to finish
shutting down the operation and getting the remaining friendlies out
of the CAS. While it risks more security leaks in doing so, the
command center and the field hospital are only going to be hidden
from the CAS and LSS for so long. Both of them are on a witch-hunt
for this incident, and we don't want to be around when they find
something.

B: Good luck, then.
+++++end recording

Sasha's on contract, he's already flown enough troops down to secure the
area and lift the mercs out. Sounds like the situation has at least
stabilised.

And I still can't find out much about the Arcology.]<<<<<
-- Lilith <13:02:45/12-28-59>

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