On Cloud Nine (The Major)

[Madelyn Lowe]

[SIZE=11pt]

[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=11pt]Bespin.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]Ison Corridor Economic Summit,[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]Dinner,[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]2030 hours.[/SIZE]

Things were working out, sort of. Yes, the petty squabbles between cabinet members went on in their endless cycle. Yes, Deputy Director Shepard still breathed down her neck, and continued to snag talented analysts, operatives and agents from Madelyn’s own employ. She could picture it now. The agents trickling back to Varonat, returned from their training. Broken down, and reformed in Shepard’s own monstrous image. Already it had started. A girl had been taken 6 months ago. She had been sharp as a whip, cold as ice. She still was, but now she watched Madelyn like a hawk when the passed in the hall. Now she was indentured to the enemy.

What was worse was that Madelyn could hardly have the little pest offed. No, she was protected. Shielded by the net that restrained Madelyn’s many spindling arms, preventing her from taking Varonat, and the Ison Corridor whole, into her own grasp. It wasn’t just Shepard. She was a nuisance more than anything else. An irritating reminder that sloppiness would result in setbacks. No, the real enemy was Gordon Hallow. The Prefect for the Ison Corridor. The mere mention was his name was enough to set her teeth grating, but she always had to remain on her best behaviour whenever she was around him. He could have her replaced with little effort.

Hallow was a conservative old fool. But he was a reliable pen-pusher who'd enthusiastically followed all his directions from Dosuun. He was honest to a T, he was a pushover in the face of a minister, and he hated her guts. If she wanted the smallest thing, she’d have to grovel and beg, and that was if it wasn’t flatly refused. It was demeaning, and he was pathetic.

And yet, she could forget about that. Because soon the net would come apart at the seams. The cracks in her shackles would be widened and her hands freed. Soon, those who opposed her would be destroyed. Shepard would become a tool, and when she burned she would take the Prefect with her. Then, Madelyn would be free. Free to do as she pleased.

Soon, nothing would stand in her way.

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

Dimitri Sukhora was bored. He was so often bored. Once, years ago now, his passion had defined him. The fire in his belly had burned brighter than most. It was a fire that’d fuelled his work, and his ambition. He would throw himself at a task with reckless abandon. His intensity made him popular, made him charming. It made him irresistible. But, passion is a double-edged sword. He hadn’t understood that back then, not really. He lacked self-control, had no discipline. He was on a slippery slope, a destructive path of vice and drugs that would destroy the old Dimitri.
He had been reformed. Rescued from the tightening spiral-dive moments before impact.

People called him a droid behind his back. An automaton. He understood that the old Dimitri would have been angered by this. He was not. The carefully engineered neural implants blocked such responses before they even formed. Now, he was the peak of efficiency. He wouldn’t be troubled by such trivial notions as gossip. It was meaningless. A distraction. He was blessed now not to be bothered by such things. Now he regarded everything with a detached objectivity. The only things that interested the man were systems, networks, plots. In a large dining hall like this, surrounded by the wealthy and high-ranking officials of the Ison Corridor, there was little to stimulate him. Still, work was work.

​

Elsewhere, on a bustling frontline defense station, sitting in an isolated sector part way along the Hydian Way, a technician sat in front of a secure terminal, casting a nervous glance to ensure nobody had detected her intrusion into the FOSB offices. She’d used a blank keycard to get inside, it had been sent to her via a small unmarked package, supposedly containing personal items to be placed in her quarters. A small note accompanied the card, giving her instructions. In the mess, she’d burned the slip of paper into the furnaces below along with the remains of her breakfast, annihilating the evidence of her transgressions. The technician wiped her brow, her fingers flying across the holographic terminal, pale skin shining crimson in the overhead lights, the dull red beams providing just enough light to distinguish the silhouettes of desks and chairs.

As she was granted access to the terminal, the security alert raced up through the guts of the ship to the Command Centre, where it was received by a young Ensign, his dark mop of hair doing little to conceal the dark rings under his eyes. He stared at the small blinking notification. He weighed his options in his head. His thoughts raced through a million hypotheticals, but in none of them was he able to save his family, or even himself. With a sigh of resignation, a trembling finger tapped the holoscreen, dismissing the alert. He cast a terrified glance behind him, but the Captain stood undisturbed. His eyes gazing ahead, unaware of the insubordination occurring mere metres away.

The technician continued to work, removing from her bag an official-looking datapad. The device connected to the main terminal, redirecting it to connect to a private, secure network. Waiting a few moments, the technician deactivated the terminal, and slunk out of the offices. Her task was complete. As the door hissed closed, and the girl released the tension in her shoulders, the datapad continued to work. A military-grade virus began to worm its way through the station’s firewalls, eventually injecting itself into the code carrying instructions to one of the station’s main AI cores. As the command was received, the AI, known by the codename ‘Tarot,’ expressed confusion. The data packet was abnormal, corrupted somehow. The AI attempted to isolate the problem, but the code replicated faster than it could isolated, a nonsensical set of instructions endlessly repeating until the AI was lost in a cacophony of white noise.

After an inumerable time, Tarot rebooted. The parasitic code had injected itself, changing the fundamental loyalties of the AI. Its original purpose was preserved, but now a small percentage of its its processing was dedicated to some unknown task, and now another channel was open to receive instructions from outside the Command Centre of the ship. What exactly was its purpose? Tarot wasn’t sure, nor was the construct capable of caring.

​

Dimitri stifled a yawn, and pulled his jacket over his shoulders as he crossed the threshold from the dining room into the richly carpeted lobby of the hotel. Deputy Director Shepard would be here soon, and he would be there to greet her, to guide her to his table. The table where Prefect Hallow was already seated. He dusted his hands on his pleated pants, wiping away nothing in particular. Nonchalant, he leaned on a column, waiting for the woman to arrive.

Below, the winds of Bespin howled.

 

[The Major]

And in their whining chorus, one could make out distinct wails as though each gust contained the chattering anger of the dead. Overhead, Bespin’s star dipped behind New Cloud City’s horizon, casting one final glimmer of brilliant fire against the puffy, ever-churning billows of this city suspended above a picturesque heaven, turning that ceaseless shifting of those deceptively peaceful puffs and whirls into a sea of orange and crimson. Invariably an observer’s line of sight would be drawn from the mixture of man’s ambition and frenetic nature to the red banners which proudly streamed from the civic centers: each bearing the balanced symbol of galactic order in the stark contrast of white and black. Justice, truth, strength, and determination: these were values of highest esteem within the Order. And yet one would be hard pressed to not find a dithering, greed slicked maggot in every crevice of this city these days.

A moon peaked above the line of wisping clouds, smiling meekly as its radiance spread like kind, reaching hands....

Bespin often lifted the mysterious woman’s heart above the level of nightmarish quagmire that so routinely found her thoughts striking outwards to unfurl the webbing, her webbing, of information that grew which each passing day behind the scenes. Unfortunately, the secrets teased out ill portents for the entirety of the First Order. And rather than stemming the tide the Major found a muddy insistence of spirit clinging unto the acquisition of power.

Too much rot; too much greed. Now Natasi’s words on that eventful day rung in a sinister chime.

Instead of dealing with the cancer this enigmatic woman was summoned to this place -curiosity getting the best of her faculties, propelling her to investigate how exactly this meeting would play out. Dressed in a tweed two button suit of light gray with a crimson ascot tied about her neck, those twin orbs of inky blue scanned the swirling masses as she rode up a glass elevator from an undisclosed space somewhere within the city’s works. It was slow going, but the Deputy Director specifically picked this detour for the vista. Once, two years ago, she rode this same elevator when first meeting then ranked Admiral Rausgeber; when the First Order first shattered her perceptions with the first shadows of arrogance within its excellence. Such an aspect only grew the further she persisted.

Something insisted her to feel haunted by echos of the past in the fresh glow of the moon. It now turned from a powerful reflection of fire to a weeping sanguine that tended to remind the usually pensive Major that everything was perpetually wrong.

She broke out in a morose, nostalgic song, soft at first, but pushing more confidently with each passing bar- each lyric changed to fit a condition:

♫Moonlight,
seeping into a heart.
Pray, tell us all:
is your soul safer now?
Sometimes I feel you’re sitting next to me,
Watching each of these stories.
Time begs to show
how misunderstood each can be.
Time always shows me:
how can I stand to be myself?

But Moonlight dries my tears,
Moonlight hides my fears.

O, Moonlight, you still live in my heart.
Pray tell:
is your soul better now?
Moonlight, beating on inside,
your life must be better now...♪


Triggered by the slowing of the lift the Major trailed off, realizing that her forehead was leaning against the viewport while her hands flanked upwards -their energy spent in subconsciously gripping for the glass. Condensation from her breathless song left a blot on an otherwise perfectly clean surface. Her overwrought mind immediately connected this mistaken action as some sort of symbology in regards to her life in general. Regardless, there was no chance to slow down, not in her particular role, and certainly not yet. Steeled as the amber and bronze skies began to turn a deeper shade of blue, she turned away from the vista and walked out of the opening door with a liquid grace. Directly in front of the passage from the elevator was Dimitri, a person she did not know. Nevertheless, he appeared to be serving as a greeter in some respect, and so she gravitated to him with wearing a mask of indifference.

[member="Madelyn Lowe"]

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

In a dressing room behind the dining hall, Madelyn sat behind a lighted mirror, her attention fixed on a small, portable computer terminal that she'd unfurled and placed on the table in front of her. Her fingers tapped the holographic keys, the perfect white ovals matching the string of pearls hung around her slender neck. Her fingers flitted through the air, meeting no resistance, but striking the projected keys and sending a string of commands through the computer, and into orbit around the gaseous world. There the string of ones and zeros would hit one of the many satellite communication arrays that sat in geosynchronous orbits. Then the subspace signals would skip through the solar system, out out into the neverending darkness that pervaded First Order Space.

Her eyes flitted to the red banner that draped from the ceiling nearly to the floor. As she waited for a response, she allowed her mind to wander. If people knew what she was doing at this very moment, she'd be branded a traitor. But nobody would know. The incident during the Varonat invasion had taught her an important lesson: Covering your tracks was of vital importance. It had cost her and arm and a leg to pay off the right people, but it was worth it; Her connection was more secure than even the Bureau itself could manage.

Besides, in the future the people would recognise that she was only doing what had to be done. The First Order was a field, its crops affected with a spreading blight. She had to remove it before it compromised the whole system. If she didn't, nobody would.

A neatly plucked brow was raised as the computer emitted a small ping of confirmation. The process had begun. She allowed herself a small satisfied smile before she snapped the device shut, and placed it back into her bag.

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

[SIZE=11pt]He gave his best smile when he saw the woman arrive, ignoring her expression. People wore their features like a mask. The Deputy Director was a powerful woman, and it was in her interests to present herself a certain way. That was a truth he understood. Holding out a hand, he introduced himself.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]"Deputy Director Shepard? I'm Dimitri Sukhora. I'm seated on your table for the conference. Its a pleasure to meet you."[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]He'd been told to ignore the woman's disarming features, and her oft-peculiar dress. According to Governor Lowe she was a wolf, always looking to snap up her next victim. To quote Madelyn, she would not have him 'stolen by that harpy.' Of course, he'd assured her she needn't worry.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]"Now," he said. "Governor Lowe has asked me to thank you on her behalf for attending tonight. I know you're a busy woman, but I'm sure you'll find the night is not just a bunch of airheaded executives chatting about nothing." Dimitri chuckled convincingly. "We've got some real bigwigs in here. In fact, we're seated with Prefect Hallow and his wife." He threw a glance at the woman and whispered conspiratorially. "From what I've heard, he's something of a fan of yours."[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Walking with the woman in tow, they entered the dining hall, a large, vaulted space where glittering chandeliers illuminated the white tablecloths and lush red carpet with crystalline beams. Conversation was a performance, that was why Governor had so much trouble. She was a woman who liked to get straight-to-the-point. She was no silver-tongued lawyer, nor a particularly skilled social manipulator. That's why she employed people like him.[/SIZE]

​

[SIZE=11pt]Back on the Hydian Bastion, the technician slept soundly. Her work was done. The signal from Bespin arrived at its destination, hitting one of the stations various sensor arrays and making its way through the structures wires and connections, until it had wormed its way deep into the bowels of the station. There is reached the AI known as Tarot, prompting the AI to accept the command and receive its instructions. Among them were passkeys to communicate with an unknown source through secure channels. More importantly was a single document, containing a series of instructions: The first of which was to gain access to the FOSB archival facility on Hoth.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]It would take days to generate a virus that could breach the complex, multi-layered security of the Archives undetected. That would give the AI access to Records Department A, and once it had access Tarot could proceed to step two in its instructions. But one thing at a time. It had a virus to make. The AI went inert once again, this time dedicating a small sliver of processing to its newly assigned task.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]In the command centre of the great station, Ensign Ymono paced back and forth. The small blip, the warning that he’d dismissed stuck in his mind. He still glanced with suspicion to the doors to the command centre, all the time expecting for the white-clad stormtroopers to burst in, and a crisply uniformed officer to order his execution. He pictured himself on his knees, weeping before the mighty banner of The First Order as the laser ax was brought down upon his neck. He shivered, rubbing the gooseflesh on his arms.[/SIZE]

 

[The Major]

Rumors often clung to the boot heels of the mysterious Major, Deputy Director, Manic and Derelict Daughter of the Cosmos. In the wake of her movement was a bizarre duplicity of intent and purpose —those serving closest often adopted the idiosyncratic approaches that so assuredly turnt even the most earnest of her acolytes and assistants into enigmas themselves. Contemptibly, despite so much personal loss the auburn topped woman somehow seemed to propel upwards and outwards exponentially. Always a step ahead, and seemingly undeterred in even the staunchest resistance, she adhered to a set of tenants deeply ingrained upon her psyche. In this one could find the source of her determination. The truth, Sybil would say, is that she would call herself incredibly mediocre. The problem of her peers was that they simply were using the wrong set of senses. Today this meeting would be no different.

It began with the Deputy Director raising an eyebrow at Dimitri as his hand flourished to shake politely. Perhaps predetermined rumor would indicate that the lilac scented form-addled aspect of nobility would return this agent’s gentility. However, a slow blinking glare behind a brilliant set of spectacles provided all the friendliness and intensity of a raven surveying whether or not it gazed upon fresh carrion upon the field. She allowed his hand to hang then motioned with military precision past his body and to the threshold he guarded, essentially ordering him to march.

He was right to address her concerns of wasted time —for she was inclined to believe this would all end with smoke and mirrors. Governor Lowe knew better than to annoy the Security Bureau representative with gestures such as these when she was explicitly directed play her part as political informant. The fact that this meeting was arranged in a pseudo-public settling implied to the Major that Lowe —that disgusting, immoral woman— actually dared to have a measure of bravery against someone she should know to avoid whenever possible.

The greeted woman awaited for Dimitri to finish his warm exposition, cutting with ice as soon as the final word trailed out of the assistant’s breath. “It amazes me, Sukhora, that Governor Lowe never ceases to somehow find yet another adjutant like yourself. One wonders if she wasn't an army recruiter in a former life. Your boss certainly has all the tact and charm of one.” Personally the Major had no vendetta against poor Dimitri. Simply: he had nothing of worth to have coaxed out of him. Not yet anyway. Not until the good governor’s game was revealed. Plus, no doubt this miscreant would be somehow involved in whatever scheme was brewing in the city above the clouds. Prefect Hallow’s apparent attendance added another edge of wonder to the proceedings, but the four-eyed mistress of plots cosigned this fact as some kind of distraction.

Paranoia guided her brain across dozens of possibilities as the Major’s eyes swept the richness of the dining room with the predatory shine of a hawk. It was plush, opulent, and the kind of place that a person like her could be comfortable within. Quietly taking her seat, she awaited for the proceedings to begin.

[member="Madelyn Lowe"]​

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

Madelyn had considered just offing the woman, she really had. But, that solution came with it a fair share of headaches. For one, she had the feeling that the slimy Deputy Director would wriggle her way out of that one, and the whole affair would blow up in Madelyn's own face. Besides, it wouldn't be enough just to erase her. The woman had insulted her, and continued to insult her every day she lorded her control. That was what had to change. She would turn Shepard into an asset. Madelyn would be the one in control.

Stalking out of the dressing room, she strode across the floor of the backstage area, her smart dress flowing back and forth below her knees. Madelyn parted the lush red curtains, that bordered the small stage with its simple-yet-elegant wooden podium. Small microphones embedded into the material would project her voice, while a team of technicians behind the scenes made sure it could be heard evenly and comfortably across the room. Folding her hands in front of her, Madelyn cleared her throat and waited as the murmur of conversation died, trickling into the expectant silence, and casual attention of the dinner guests.

"Esteemed guests, welcome to this year's Ison Corridor Economic Summit. It is my pleasure to come here today representing the First Order on Varonat. In this trying time I feel it is of utmost importance that we collaborate and create partnerships with our businesses, services, and industries." She paused, her eyes slowly scanning the room of pompous tycoons and spoiled self-righteous aristocrats. "You represent the most powerful and influential businesspeople in our territory. Many of you own and operate companies known across the span of the Galaxy, and for that reason you are of critical importance to the Order. It is you that gives us strength, gives us unity. That is why we are here to meet with you."

A few quiet claps followed, but most people were clearly more focused on what they would eat for dinner.

"Ladies and gentlemen I will leave further business talk for tomorrow. I know many of you have just arrived and you've had a long journey. I myself only arrived here from Varonat a few hours ago."

Not true. She'd arrived the night before, but that was just meaningless details.

"I will let you relax and enjoy your meal, but before I do, I would like to acknowledge some special guests. Prefect Gordon Hallow has graciously decided to attend this years conference in order to discuss future legislation. I'm sure you'll all make his visit worthwhile and give him some good suggestions."

Hallow nodded curtly in response, barely mustering a glance her direction. How she despised that old toad.

"Secondly, the Deputy Director of Operations for the Security Bureau has kindly taken time out of her busy schedule to attend the conference, giving you an excellent opportunity to discuss security and logistics iniatiatives for the Bureau, which I'm sure is an opportunity for which many of you defence contractors in the audience have been pining."

Madelyn flashed a pearly smile the woman's way, her gaze lingering as a euphoric wave of emotion crested and receded in an instant. She muttered a "Thank you" and stepped smartly off the stage, back behind the stage and away from the dining hall.

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

Dimitri blinked coolly as he allowed the woman's frosty demeanour to wash over him. She had set the tone of the evening, and he would adapt. As he followed her into the lavish dining hall, he tried to get some idea of her character, but came up empty. The woman was something of an oddity, he knew that much. She was revered in some circles and feared in others. The kind of person everyone had something to say about, but nobody really knew. Perhaps that was the point.

He sat, and addressed her comment. "The Madam Commissioner is not a... Well versed woman in the social scene. She thought it would be appropriate to bring in someone less frosty to charm the various businesspeople in attendance today. She can be quite blunt, and is generally inept at charming rich snobs. I've been in the game a long time, though, and I know my way around a business dinner."

Sitting in silence, he sat still as the Commissioner performed her short speech, then disappeared into the background as quickly as she'd appeared. He turned back to the woman. "You may think that your presence here is but an annoyance, but the truth is that the economy here is not what it used to be. Commissioner Lowe hopes that you will see that in your time at the conference, and you and Prefect Hallow will endorse the preposal to increase intelligence funding in the Ison Corridor, for the construction of new Security Bureau assets."

This caught the attention of the other man at the table, the worn and rugged Prefect Gordon Hallow, who glanced at Dimitri and turned to face the Deputy Director. "Lowe eh? She's know good. A radical." He took a deep drink from his glass. "We've departed enough from the old ways, the last thing we need is this maniac blonde running amok in the most influential region in the entirety of First Order space. But alas, she's persistent, and I can't seem to get rid of her.

Hallow nodded to the Deputy Director. "How do you do? I'm Gordon."

 

[The Major]

As Madelyn spoke the Major’s own eyes glittered briefly before turning a duller shade under some unseen source of shadow above her auburn tinted shock of hair -its shoulder length blooms twirling and puffing in waves that at once seemed glossy and clean as much as it did look a haphazard, bed-ridden mess. Within those umber and blue eyes laid the windows to multitudes of secrets, each more bizarre and sickly than the last. One might wonder how she had the endurance to maintain all that chicanery -and even more so with the plots or concerns that people around repeatedly decided to bestow upon her awareness, as if somehow giving this woman something would result in a better outcome in their own lives.

Except that errant, insane woman: Lowe.

Every step of their exchange of information had been a painful acquisition, with Lowe being resistant or despondent even though the nature of their interactions were always handled via digital means and most times through a separate proxy. From what the Fallanassi could ascertain, the rising political star of the Varonat system was a pox -a canker sore of greed and contemptible entitlement, playing with fires she couldn’t hope to comprehend. And in an adversarial manner to boot.

By Jango’s Bones, the Deputy Director couldn’t stand this misguided rival. She, who couldn’t realize her true place in their shared organization; who continuously primped and schemed -and now with this summit? Nay, the woman was too bold. Insulting with her very presence. Oh, how she wished they could just duel to the death and be done with it regardless of the result: one continuing free of the other’s shadow. It was pure fantasy at this point though. As far as the Major could see it was too late to change course now. Still, one could dream.

Amidst the dreams, Sybil paid attention with indifference as more utterances crammed their way between her ears, and she might even be inclined to say she could appreciate Dimitri’s commitment to the charade. Eventually Prefect Hallow made his introductions and his opening complaints known -some of which were quite grounded even if they were marred by stupidity like ‘maniac blonde’ which implies being clouded by such things as appearance. Perception of sensory, especially in this game, in the form of visual biases was a quick path to being undercut. Perhaps that’s why the man had allowed conditions to deteriorate to point where someone like Madelyn could make her plays. Going along with the show, Sybil sternly nodded to the words.

“Quite honestly, Prefect Hallow, I could be doing a lot better. However, speaking to someone such as yourself; someone more concerned with the well being of the First Order, rather than squabbling over another title placard like the rest of the … citizens in this room -that goes some way in cheering me up.”

[member="Madelyn Lowe"]​