Corporate Briefing

* Tokyo. Where west meets east in a clash of cultures and polyglot, the last tenacious tendrils of Japanese Formality clutching to the Industrial Corporate Melange that seeks to overtake it. And where we start our scene focussing on an Arasaka Security Officer now walking up the front steps of the Arasaka Main Towers...

* Ian doublechecks to make sure his ID badge is clipped on in the proper place, which allows him to finish the walk up the steps without incident. He heads through the front doors, and toward the guarded bank of elevators that lead to the upper floors.

* The lobby, of course, is filled with japanese businessmen and others... the guards at the elevators glance at Ian's badge. "Heading upstairs, Mr. Zybsko?"

{Ian} Yup. Mr. Petersberg wants me on the carpet about something, wouldn't tell me what. *faintly nervous look*

* One of the guard grunts, and checks his nearby display. "Well, you're cleared to go up... wouldn't want to be in your shoes, you're going straight to his office, no middlemen."

{Ian} Greeeeeeat, great. *sigh* Oh well, might as well get it over with. *hits the UP call button*

* *ping* The door opens, and a couple gaijin businessmen head out, leaving the car empty for Ian.

* The other guard nods to Ian in sympathy as the doors close.

* Ian hits the button for the 57th floor, which is where Mr. P's office is.

* The elevator goes uuuuuuuppp, nce and quickly. Fortuantely, Arasaka's elevators do not play the Japanese equivelent of elevator muzak, just classical period pieces.

* Ian silently watches the numbers climb.

* 55..56..57..*ding* 57th floor. The doors open.

* Ian steps out and hangs to the right, shortly coming to the destination office and knocking on the door.

{Voice} It's unlocked, Ian.

* Ian hehs a tiny bit and opens the door, stepping through.

* The inside office is large, but feels cramped, thanks to all the security breifs, displays, computers, reports, equipment, and other things strewn around into various piles. Behind the central desk sits a man... going on 60, slightly portly, hair thinning and greying at the top, a pipe clenched in his teeth depsite every reg in the book about the building being no smoking... Ian's boss, Miles Petersberg. And, as Ian knows from long association, a -highly- honorable man, despite all the stuff his own bosses might plot.

* Petersberg takes the unlit pipe out of his mouth and gestures with it at the free chair in front of his dest. "Close the door and sit down, Ian...."

{Ian} Right. *closes the door, and takes the seat* What's up, boss?

* Petersberg pushes a control on his desk, and the heavy THUNK of security bolts activating are heard from the door, as well as the subsonic hum of an exterior sound suppresion field. "... Mmm. Better." He replaces the pipe in his mouth as he starts shuffling around his desk for some reports and a report. "How up t' date are you with current stations in our happy little Solar System, Zybsko?"

{Ian} Well I know where Bernal Alpha and all the Lagrange colonies are, the Moon and Mars bases, and Rhadamanthys out by Europa. Far as I know I'm as current as anybody else around here.

* Petersberg nods. "You, me, and a whole lotta other grunts... but they aren't the only big ones, anymore..." He rummages around some more, and pulls out a remote. He presses a button, and a corporate insignia appears on one of his displays... -not- Arasaka's... instead, it's an inverted triangle with the corners cut off, with nested triangles within it. "You ever hear of TriOp? Corp that came around 'bout 5 years ago? Turns out that -they've- managed to get InterSpace approval to get a station built -past- Jupiter, out by Saturn. They started construction two years ago, and amzingly've been able to keep it pretyt hush-hush."

{Ian} *arches an eyebrow* TriOp? Think I heard the name somewhere a while back but I don't know much about them.

{Petersberg} Yeah. Amalgamated itself outa some smaller companies, the usual deal these days. Focussed on medical and biological stuff, and medical cybernetics. So far, so good, huh? *he starts searching on his desk again*

{Ian} *nods* I'm with you so far, boss. What's up with this station of theirs?

{Petersberg} Well, as you can imagine, they've been doing a bit of belter mining to get raw materials, to refine at Ceres or Rhadamanthys... but some of their more intricate stuff -has- to go through Rhadamanthys proper from Earth. There aren't any other decent facilities around. And as it so happens, one of our agents on Rhadamanthys just happened to get a good look at one of TriOp's shipments and double check with a scan....

* Petersberg pulls out a sheaf of clipped togehter papers, and hands them to Ian. "...well, I think you can see for yourself."

* The sheaf of papers is a very lengthy bulk cargo manifest, indicating transfer from InterSpace shipping to TriOp's own haulers from Rhadamanthys...

* Ian accepts the offered papers, and looks them over in more detail.

* ... and, to Ian's experienced Malakite Mind, as well as his involvement tangentally with Arasaka's projects.... he can begin to see a pattern. The components and supplies listed, -could-, if assembled correctly... make a station-sized artifical gravity network.

* Ian reads, and reads, and arches an eyebrow. "...well."

{Petersberg} Yup. *he leans back in his chair* Now, -of course-, it -could- be just a coincedence. TriOp could have just -happened- to come up with the same ideas that we did.

* Petersberg doesn't look like he particulary -beleives- this.

* Ian doesn't look like he believes it either. "Yeah, big maybe. Never mind that we got raided and suffered casualties not too long ago. Isn't that just the nicest coincidence?"

* Petersberg nods. "Legal's already pulling out the stops to try and investigate and press charges, but there's a couple of hitches. One, their station, Citadas, goes online the turn of the year. Two, word on the street is that they're -marketing- their station as having many 'revolutionary new features'. *eyeroll* And third... so far, this is the only evidence we -have-.

* Ian nods knowingly. "It would be real helpful if somebody could get -in- there and report back."

* Petersberg chuckles a bit. "You read my mind, Ian...." He shuffles more papers, and passes another, smaller packet to Ian. "We need a man to go in there and fight out wether or not TriOp ripped off our stuff, and you were the first one I thought of. We're ready to give you a quick false Ident and ship you off Coldsleep Express to Rhadamanthys this weekend, where you can rendevous with our agent on the scene, and then ride the rest of the way to Saturn and Citidas."

* Ian looks the packet over for a moment, and nods. "I'm into it. -Somebody's- got a lot of explaining to do and I'd -love- to find out who."

* Petersberg grins a bit. "Glad you think that, Ian. That there's the identity and papers for one 'Brian Scheurs', who's ready to be hired on as a fresh-faced TriOp security guard. You'll be reporting to David Honig, TrioOp's cheif of security on the station..." He presses a button on the remote, and the TriOp logo gets replaced with that of a Russian in his mid-30's, blonde short-cropped hair, grey eyes, wearing a parka. "I've actually had the chance to work with David before... he's a pretty decent bloke. I can't see how TriOp's managed this under his nose, but they might not have told him, anyway."

* Ian nods. "Right. I'll be sure and act as fresh-faced as I can." *wg*

* Petersberg chuckles. "Your flight's due to depart for Bernal Alpha, with Coldsleep prep and departure for Europa following, Saturday November Eight, at Oh-8-hundred. Any other questions?"

{Ian} Just one: how often would you like me to write the folks at home and talk about how cool my new job is? *wg*

* Petersberg hehs a bit, and nods. "About once a week, two at the most. WE've already set up a public ISP drop account that'll forward to us through some spoofing. And if you find anything -truly- definite, don't hesitate to use the encryptors, they'll hide the real message behind innocuous emails."

* Ian nods. "Understood."

* Petersberg nods. "You've got another day to get any stuff you think you'll need packed up to take with you or put into storage... don't mention this to -anyone-, not even inside the company; we're spreading false rumors to see who we can smoke out." HE straightes some of his papers, then looks up at Ian as he gets up. "Oh, and Ian?"

{Ian} Yessir?

* Petersberg looks at Ian, seriously, pointing at him with the stem of his pipe. "Be -careful-, you hear me? We lost good people in that raid those assholes made, they're playing for keeps. I -don't- want to lose another good man."

{Ian} *very serious* I will, sir. Believe me, I -will-. *look of retribution behind those eyes*

* Petersberg nods, equally serious. "Good. You're dismissed, Zybsko."

* Petersberg presesses the button on his desk, and the door and privacy field unlock.

{Ian} Sir. *stands at attention for a moment, then turns to the door and leaves the office*

* Petersberg nods, as Ian departs, and the door closes on this scene.

In Nomine 2070