| From: | Brian Angliss <angliss@*****.COLORADO.EDU> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | An interesting meeting |
| Date: | Tue, 16 Jun 1998 12:07:58 +0100 |
>>>>>[The Lincoln Memorial. On either side of the large statue of Lincoln,
gazing out at the Washington Memorial up The Mall are two quotations,
currently being carefully cleaned of the soot and miscelaneous grime of
several thousand tourists a day. The red satin ropes around the statue
are lined with tourists from every part of the world, snapping pictures,
pointing up at the quotes, mouthing them quietly, or just lost in
thought. Wandering through the crowd and standing on the edges are
plain-clothed men carrying or wearing radios, careful not to be too
obvious in thier security roles, but obvious enough to be a presence in
the Memorial.
One middle-aged man, wearing a grey Men's Warehouse suit and appearing
less than happy to be in the memorial on a hot June day in the middle of
tourist season, is standing with his back to one of the outer pillars
which support the roof of the memorial and line the top of the stairs.
He's facing inward, slowly scanning the crowd, almost as if he's looking
for a familiar face. Average height and build, with short brown hair,
he seems to fit in nearly perfectly. Only his eyes, saddened by
something unknown and painful, betray any emotion or curiosity.
People wander in and out of the Memorial, walking up and down the
stairs, sitting and eating icecream or watching the pidgeons.
Occasionally, a homeless man or woman, often orc or troll or dwarf,
wanders by, attempting to panhandle various tourists. Finally, the man
leaning up against the pillar turns to leave, after waiting perhaps 10
minutes, only to be stopped by someone talking to him.
"I bet you that that white pidgeon on the left flies off before the one
on the right." The speaker is an elf, with brown eyes and thin blonde
hair, is sitting on the third step down from the top.
"What did you say?"
"I said that I'd bet you that the white pidgeon on the left flies off
before the one on the right."
"Why would you say that?"
"Because I know things about pidgeons, Director." And, almost as if
commanded, the left pidgeon flys off, followed shortly by several other
pidgeons. "See?"
"Your file doesn't say anything about you being able to control animals,
Dr. Jackson. But I see you, too, like old flatscreen."
The elf stands up and reveals himself to be a little short for a normal
elf. Alexander Jackson, cybernetics implant surgeon and one-time arms
dealer, smiles thinly and says, "Lucky guess, actually. Shall we walk?
I'm a little concerned about being in one place too long."
"Of course," assents Director David Coppinger, director of SIGA. "Where
to?"
"How about up The Mall? I haven't been in FDC for quite some time, and
I miss seeing some of the sights. I'm sorry for the wait, but I was
making sure you weren't followed by someone, just in case our
communications were intercepted. I'd rather be overly cautious than get
nailed."
"I understand. So, am I correct in assuming that we're discussing
Panglobal today?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Your analysts are far too good for my personal
well-being, or for the well-being of Panglobal itself. My problem is
that, if SIGA can project that Panglobal is my restarting an arms
dealing organization, then so can a great number of my close enemies,
such as certain elements from the German BIS and InterPol."
"Relating to your capture by the BIS after your Organization completely
destroyed a BIS secure data cache in Berlin, and Drake, I presume."
"Precisely. In addition, certain old competitors grew very powerful and
wealthy following the destruction of the Org. They moved in to the
vacuum left, and carving my place again is proving somewhat difficult,
particularly here in the UCAS where Maxim corporatized all the Org
elements they could get thier hands on. Other parts of the Org
worldwide were completely destroyed by other corporations or national
governments. Those enemies are still determined to see me personally, in
some cases, or my friends and family in other cases, utterly destroyed.
And at this point Panglobal simply isn't secure enough in our position
to handle the enemies which could come our way if my controlling
interest in the group was known. If SIGA can find out, everyone else
can too, and if SIGA knows and acknowledges that I am the head, it will
eventually leak out and then Panglobal will die a short and extremely
violent death."
"Those who live by the sword, Alex."
"Of course, David, and I expect my history will catch up to me
eventually somehow. It has already begun to do so. But there are two
reasons I need to do this. First, Man UpTown was directly responsible
for the Haven bus attack. He told Abbadon what the schedule was, and
asked only that the words 'No innocents' be scrawled across the bus
somewhere. He also threatened and nearly killed my only friends and
family. Those things I could have forgivin, even if he had actually
killed Slash, Roxey, and Diana. Well, perhaps not forgiven, but they
would not have been enough to pull me back. But that bus attack,
orchestrated by MUT, hit at something that I consider sacred, and for
that he needs to be destroyed. I simply cannot make enough money
through cybersurgery, as lucrative as it is, to fund the war against MUT
that I am going to wage, so back to the world of arms it must be. And I
think that you'd agree, destroying MUT would be good for the world."
"Perhaps. Our intelligence says that MUT is responsible for providing
several dozen terrorist groups worldwide, and that he's more than happy
selling anything, including weapons of mass destruction, to anyone with
enough cash to purchase them." Director Coppinger and the seriously
disguised Alex are walking slowly northeast toward the Vietnam War
memorial, slowly passing through people whose eyes are wet from seeing
so many names on the buried black marble tablets. "You said there was a
second reason."
"Second, I truly believe that I'm saving lives and helping people with
my clinic in Seattle. My expertise, and that of my fellow surgeons and
medical staff, saved numerous lives during and after the CoT inspired
riots and the attack on Haven itself. I feel we can help even more if I
actually get the clinic fully up and running. For that, I need working
capital, which I'm seriously lacking currently. You might be surprised
how expensive rebuilding a high-level beta clinic is without corporate
help, which I had when I built the last one."
"So you justify selling the devices which kill by saying it will remove
a significantly more evil salesman and it funds the saving of lives?
You have an interesting perspective, Alex."
"I don't like the means, David, but at this point I feel the ends are
justification enough. I don't like doing it, but I do feel that I
must."
The two men, grow quiet for a moment as they reach the flag at the SE
edge of the Vietnam War Memorial. Alex steps forward and walks down to
one of the marble slabs, and runs his fingers over a name, bowing his
head. Director Coppinger starts to say something, but upon seeing that
Alex is somewhat distressed by being here, stops and just stands back a
pace or two respectfully.
"Director Coppinger, I need something from you. I need you to somehow
guarantee that I'm not connected to Panglobal Arms in SIGAs computers or
by your analysts. I understand that this is a serious and difficult
request, and coming from a man who deals in death, indeed inflicts
injury or death just to survive, my request really has little moral
ground upon which to stand, if any, but I still need it done. If SIGA
has the proof that Panglobal is not associated with me, then other
groups around the world will be more likely to downplay the possible
connections. Something like 'SIGA has done the research, and this
evidence, incontrovertibly tied to Panglobal, shows that Dr. Jackson
couldn't possibly be connected to Panglobal.' In addition, I need your
personal knowledge of the true situation to be kept absolutely personal.
That's what I need from you. Now, in return, what would you like from
me?"
Coppinger studies the Wall himself. "I'm impressed that you respect us
so much, Alex. A great deal of our guess was based on personal
intuition, on knowing you and a little of your history, of... personal
style, if you like. Without that, I doubt you could even guess. And
since we have that information, our conclusions can go unchallenged. I
see few problems there.
"As to what we need... information. What else? Look at what was done,
with the data you assembled on the Children of Thunda. Imagine if we'd
had that _before_ their rampage. Hundreds would still be alive. We might
have reached the CoT leadership, instead of seeing them slip through our
fingers. We would want to be able to ask you questions, and get answers.
Not too much, or too often, or the well runs dry: it becomes obvious
that Panglobal are leaky. But when some new Abbadon comes to your door,
asking for a thousand assault rifles, ten tons of Composition 12, fifty
gallons of Seven-Seven and as many ten-kiloton nuclear warheads as you
can supply... we'd like to be informed."
"I have no problem with supplying you with information on who is hunting
for chemical, biological, or nuclear weapons. I have never considered
selling those types of weapons - they're far too indiscriminate in who
and what they kill or destroy, far more so than even a terrorist bomb.
You'll understand that, to protect Panglobal, that information would
have to arrive at SIGA anonymously, or through some other intermediate,
such as a decker or group of deckers."
"Naturally. Alex, I'll be frank and say that I don't like dealing with
a known arms dealer. You deal the weapons that put terrorists in
buisness, that spark violent revolution, that enable violent crimes to
be all the more violent, that keep civil unrest and war a constant part
of some of the world. But being able to know, with a little lead time,
when someone is amassing arms enough to start a small war: that could
have saved lives and that potential is far too great for me to ignore. "
Alex, still bent over, his hand covering the name on the Memorial, says
quietly, "So you'll do it then?"
"Yes, Alex, I'll do it, on one condition. Why did we come here to the
Memorial?"
"My grandfather was killed in the Vietnam War. It was a war largely
fought to test new weapons, and it was dragged on and on, year after
year, because people like myself kept the VC supplied. It serves as a
reminder of the moral quandry I've placed myself in."]<<<<<
-- Meeting Overview <12:07:05/06-16-59>
