08-15-2013, 08:51 AM
Takeo's beer was getting warm. Imported from his homeland, the Kirin label had been peeled off in one expert show of boredom, revealing the familiar smiling chibi face of the company's founder, flashing the ubiquitous two-fingered peace sign of his generation. It was supposed to signify that the bottle had in fact been molded and filled in Japan, though Takeo knew of at least two counterfeits in Moscow alone. He took a long drink and set it down silently on the almost black petrified table. Drops of perspiration twinkled in the amber glow of ancient chandeliers hung low over the elevated deck and splashed cooly against the back of his hand.
The building had once been an opera house. Another import, this time from former Germany. Before that, however, it had been a mansion, a decadent palace all but ignored by the powers that be. Fallen into disrepair, the Germans had plucked it up for a steal before losing their heads in the Dominance stock race. Now the building was a vintage monstrosity of its former glory. Divided and parceled to a half dozen boutique sharks, Takeo sat in a loft built over the old stage, which currently held a quartet of nude performers. Two were singing a cover of a current chart-topper Takeo had never heard before. The other two were either dancing or having sex, he couldn't quite tell.
"We're in," Kasumi said, her voice little more than a groan. The girl - technically a woman at 22, though Takeo never thought of her as such - sat crouched over a pair of custom computer cubes and enough cords and wires to pacify all four of the performers downstairs.
Following the cables to a monitor showed little more than static signals and shards, but, as Takeo watched, the screen skipped a beat and the void was replaced with Nikolai Brandon himself, speaking into camera at what was soon revealed to be the American President. There could be few others who would earn such an instructor's backhand from Brandon.
The President did not take it well, as was no doubt the plan. Takeo raised his mostly empty bottle aloft and one of his kids - Haji, this time - skitted off down the stairs. Only the Privileged's people were allowed up that grand inclination.
"He's nervous." Jun was one of those people. His false blue eyes were transfixed on the screen. He had an awkward profile with those odd blue irises and that too-round nose, but a square jaw clenched in nominal compensation.
"Obviously," Kasumi hadn't looked up from her own miniature dual screens, green-lacquered nails flying over her instruments. Whatever she did, Takeo was glad to have her doing it for him. "Wouldn't you be nervous talking to Bra--"
"Not the gaijin!" Junichi barked, shooing her words with an absent wave of his hand. His eyes flashed to Takeo, and Takeo met them, curious, then watched the screen with him. "The Ascendancy..." Jun said, pointing at the hacked footage not four feet from his fingertip.
Takeo accepted a cold beer from his winded assistant and watched his old friend Nikolai. Jun was perceptive about people. It was one of the reasons he was on Takeo's payroll. But, Takeo did not think it was nerves that had the most powerful man in the world straight-backed and straight-faced.
He's excited.
Takeo eased back in the relaxed leather loveseat he occupied by himself. Nikolai had reason to be excited. The President had walked into this trap willingly; only he could walk himself out. It seemed so obvious, though. The man knew he couldn't keep his head around Nikolai. So why agree to this 'private' conversation? Nothing was private in this Age.
Or had he agreed? Takeo took a closer look at the American. He could be an actor. That could be CG or makeup or some other illusion.
"Get confirmation from the President's office," Takeo said to his staff. He looked across the table, specifically at Sergei. Kasumi nodded to herself, and Takeo added, "Legitimate confirmation." She grinned to herself, nodded again, and turned off one of her monitors. After the world leaders' little public tiff was over, she put on a collage of news screens. Takeo ignored them for the moment. He watched Sergei as he made a few calls. Kasumi would get him what he needed, but he wanted to see Sergei's process.
"The Whitehouse confirms there has been a breach," Sergei said, his crisp accent a mix of German and Russian that always made him sound harsh somehow. He spoke forcefully into the phone, rattling off his identification and demanding to speak with the Press Secretary in person. A moment later, a wallet sprang on and a miniaturized projection of the Secretary stood on the table next to Takeo's beer.
She wasn't speaking specifically to them, of course. She was fielding probably hundreds of calls. In fact, after a few minutes it was obvious she was only a recording. On a loop. The President has no comment at this time but is deeply upset by the behavior of the Ascendancy - funny how he remembered Nikolai's title this time. The President would address the press at 2000 PST. Others added it to calendars. Takeo took a drink and turned to watch the performers. There was time.
The building had once been an opera house. Another import, this time from former Germany. Before that, however, it had been a mansion, a decadent palace all but ignored by the powers that be. Fallen into disrepair, the Germans had plucked it up for a steal before losing their heads in the Dominance stock race. Now the building was a vintage monstrosity of its former glory. Divided and parceled to a half dozen boutique sharks, Takeo sat in a loft built over the old stage, which currently held a quartet of nude performers. Two were singing a cover of a current chart-topper Takeo had never heard before. The other two were either dancing or having sex, he couldn't quite tell.
"We're in," Kasumi said, her voice little more than a groan. The girl - technically a woman at 22, though Takeo never thought of her as such - sat crouched over a pair of custom computer cubes and enough cords and wires to pacify all four of the performers downstairs.
Following the cables to a monitor showed little more than static signals and shards, but, as Takeo watched, the screen skipped a beat and the void was replaced with Nikolai Brandon himself, speaking into camera at what was soon revealed to be the American President. There could be few others who would earn such an instructor's backhand from Brandon.
The President did not take it well, as was no doubt the plan. Takeo raised his mostly empty bottle aloft and one of his kids - Haji, this time - skitted off down the stairs. Only the Privileged's people were allowed up that grand inclination.
"He's nervous." Jun was one of those people. His false blue eyes were transfixed on the screen. He had an awkward profile with those odd blue irises and that too-round nose, but a square jaw clenched in nominal compensation.
"Obviously," Kasumi hadn't looked up from her own miniature dual screens, green-lacquered nails flying over her instruments. Whatever she did, Takeo was glad to have her doing it for him. "Wouldn't you be nervous talking to Bra--"
"Not the gaijin!" Junichi barked, shooing her words with an absent wave of his hand. His eyes flashed to Takeo, and Takeo met them, curious, then watched the screen with him. "The Ascendancy..." Jun said, pointing at the hacked footage not four feet from his fingertip.
Takeo accepted a cold beer from his winded assistant and watched his old friend Nikolai. Jun was perceptive about people. It was one of the reasons he was on Takeo's payroll. But, Takeo did not think it was nerves that had the most powerful man in the world straight-backed and straight-faced.
He's excited.
Takeo eased back in the relaxed leather loveseat he occupied by himself. Nikolai had reason to be excited. The President had walked into this trap willingly; only he could walk himself out. It seemed so obvious, though. The man knew he couldn't keep his head around Nikolai. So why agree to this 'private' conversation? Nothing was private in this Age.
Or had he agreed? Takeo took a closer look at the American. He could be an actor. That could be CG or makeup or some other illusion.
"Get confirmation from the President's office," Takeo said to his staff. He looked across the table, specifically at Sergei. Kasumi nodded to herself, and Takeo added, "Legitimate confirmation." She grinned to herself, nodded again, and turned off one of her monitors. After the world leaders' little public tiff was over, she put on a collage of news screens. Takeo ignored them for the moment. He watched Sergei as he made a few calls. Kasumi would get him what he needed, but he wanted to see Sergei's process.
"The Whitehouse confirms there has been a breach," Sergei said, his crisp accent a mix of German and Russian that always made him sound harsh somehow. He spoke forcefully into the phone, rattling off his identification and demanding to speak with the Press Secretary in person. A moment later, a wallet sprang on and a miniaturized projection of the Secretary stood on the table next to Takeo's beer.
She wasn't speaking specifically to them, of course. She was fielding probably hundreds of calls. In fact, after a few minutes it was obvious she was only a recording. On a loop. The President has no comment at this time but is deeply upset by the behavior of the Ascendancy - funny how he remembered Nikolai's title this time. The President would address the press at 2000 PST. Others added it to calendars. Takeo took a drink and turned to watch the performers. There was time.