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[right][hr][color=gray][b]Smith's Rest, New Anchorage | Convention Center[/b]
March 26th, 2677[/color][hr][/right]
[indent]It had been an exhausting month, that much was for sure.

Following the infiltration of New Anchorage by forces unknown and a siege that came at the cost of several deaths and internal damage to essential facilities, Commander Michael Graham wasn’t sure what to think. He had done like the people of Smith’s Rest asked of him when they recruited him several months prior—he had reorganized the defense forces, financed several repairs and upgrades, arranged a recruitment drive for capable pilots, and brought on staff that worked with their allocated budget as well as held no real loyalties to the corporations who may have seen New Anchorage as a threat. But after doing that and preparing the pilots to start working in the field he never would’ve suspected the destructive onslaught that came from what appeared to be nowhere. It nearly drove him into a fit of madness; a reaction that while understandable still had shaken things up on base after he personally interrogated every single pilot, soldier, engineer, and scientist. The most frustrating thing about such ruthless questioning was the fact that every single person checked out and at the end of it Graham just felt like a complete asshole who had only achieved making his pilots think he was unreasonable and delusional.

A thought that he couldn’t blame them for in the slightest. Though it wouldn’t be the last time they’d be put under a magnifying glass. This was all the more obvious when Celina Jackspar appeared in Graham’s office the week after the attack. She was just like a [i]ravenous vulture[/i]; ready to pick the meat off the bones of the wounded... or at least that is how Graham percieved it. Celina offered a solution to reaffirming the people’s confidence in Graham’s leadership—New Anchorage was going to hold a Press Conference and the chief staff were invited; including the NC pilots.

Whilst Graham wished he had a choice in the matter he knew that the idea was sensible from a business perspective. However, if Graham could have he would’ve stayed at the operations headquarters and ordered his pilots to ignore Celina’s request for their appearance at the to-be conference. He knew as soon as Celina came into his office how it was going to go down. Once his background checks were over with and the repairs were done they were to do as she [i]recommended.[/i] She branded it as a way to make the raid on the base seem like a minor inconvenience — a open-invite press conference so to speak.

The location for this event?

[i]The founding site of Smith’s Rest.[/i]

If Graham had a sense of humor he would’ve laughed at how clichéd and blasé it was to host the chief minister’s big conference at such a location. He wasn’t a bleeding heart or attached to a name of a fading colony named after a waster who left the Burrow of Calgary to stake out his own claim a millennia ago. Though he could easily see why retrofitting the old building that was the centerpiece of the settlement into a city hall and conference center was a good move for Celina. It was certainly a step up from the pre-war library she had pretty much lived for her entire life. But to go to this kind of extent? It was just so overblown and self-congratulatory to him. 

The date?

[i]Today.[/i]

Michael Graham let out a heavy sigh as he exited the transport, his chief staff, pilots, and personal retinue in tow. With his hands buried in his pockets he looked at the building in front of him and gave a brief comment to the men and women behind him.

[color=556B2F]“Keep your wits about you. We’re about to enter a den of vipers. Let’s get to it.”[/color]

In the back, Graham could hear Joshua Ray remark to his fellow pilots about the situation; Graham didn’t need to reply but mentally he was smirking from the remark. [color=75906C]“I prefer a den of wolves, personally. Wolves are a lot less... I don’t know — virulent?”[/color]

[color=556B2F][i]Wouldn’t be politics if you couldn’t get poisoned.[/i][/color]

Once he entered the building, he was unsurprisingly met with the presence of the woman who organized all of it: Chief Minister Celina Jackspar.

[color=556B2F][i]Of course.[/i][/color]

[color=crimson]“Ah, Commander Graham. You’re early, that’s good.”[/color]

He nodded. [color=556B2F]“Yes. How long until you want to begin?”[/color]

[color=crimson]“Whenever you and the pilots are ready, of course.”[/color]

Graham’s reply ended with a smile—harmless and polite enough yet he knew it; he had seen a thousand of smirks, grins, and smiles like it before during his time with Denver-Vegas and he knew it well. It was a expression that was [i]fake[/i] and ultimately a front for the truth. He had become accustomed to it being Celina’s favored weapon.

As he nodded he took the next few minutes to acquaint himself with the functions of the conference—a canteen, trade vendor, and other features littered the conference hall before leading to an open platform with two rows of desks with names written on it with a podium and microphone at center stage. Graham let out a light breath of disapproval as he swiped a drink from the canteen to the back before deciding to meet up with Alvarez in the back near the platform and their assigned seats.

Celebratory grandstanding, political intrigue, militarized politeness, snake-like maneuvering, arrogant posturing. It was all something Graham had seen before and his time away from Denver-Vegas had not changed his opinion on it. Whilst he didn’t believe in the concept of morals, it was this anfractuous behavior that made him sometimes question that belief. It was the work of executive arrogance. However, Celina Jackspar had been [i]elected[/i] as the chief [i]minister[/i] of New Anchorage by her peers and fellows, so it wasn’t exactly that absurd that it led to this. Regardless of that fact, Graham would’ve preferred not to have a front row seat to the newly appointed minister making games with [i]his[/i] pilots and possibly opening them up to a public interrogation in the guise of a press conference and banquet. 

[color=556B2F][i]All ego and leash holding—just like Vegas.[/i][/color]

Graham crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall behind him as his right hand held a metallic container with a blue-green colored liquid that was alcoholic in origin. The forty-three year old military combatant had never been one for alcoholic concoctions but for an occasion like this he was happy to oblige.

His eyes moved from person-to-person; the pilots, some of his essential staff, his personal retinue, and denizens of New Anchorage who held comfortable positions in the settlement. Based on the dossiers he read and the people he had met in his first week he recognized a few noteworthy individuals that were invited to this little party of Celina’s—all of them with the biggest shit-eating grin curled on their lips like they had gotten the best payout in their lives. Graham had a lot of experience with reading people, though he admitted he was always more soldier than administrator, and these were the sort of looks people who were promised profitable insurance policies gave; it was that combined with Graham’s experience in DV territories that made him believe Celina had played every card she had in her deck.

Graham rose the container of alcoholic liquid to his lips, taking a slow but steady drink as his eyes stayed on the audience.

[color=556B2F][i]The executives back home would be impressed that a waster organized and played the game as well as this.[/i][/color]

That thought aside, Graham felt like an idle compliment is all they would’ve given and the nature of it would be backhanded. He knew the corporate types, they believed that the best weapon wasn’t neural combatants but rather[i]language[/i] and [i]influence[/i]. If their success and Celina’s rise to power were anything to go by, Graham really couldn’t contest the belief.

[color=556B2F]“Alvarez, do make sure that Minister Jackspar knows that the facility is secure and we may begin this conference of hers when she is ready to and the pilots have taken their seats with the rest of us.”[/color]

The dark-haired administrator nodded, [color=A57373]“Of course, Commander.”[/color]

He had a feeling not one of the pilots knew what they were about to be subject to. Despite some of his opinions about the less qualified pilots, he hoped they had their wits about them tonight; they were going to need it.

[color=556B2F][i]Atoms be damned, I hope they can handle this.[/i][/color]

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Once the pilots took their seats, Graham could feel it. [i]Something[/i] was [i]coming.[/i]

As Celina tapped the microphone on the podium he could see it—the entire audience jerking their heads and moving their feet towards the stage like trained lab rats. He took a light breath, though he contained himself — he couldn’t give off the composure of an incapable. His eyes moved to Celina, as the woman began her speech.

[color=crimson]“Welcome. We’ve a lot to address tonight, but we’re going to begin things a bit unorthodox—”[/color] She said, before gesturing behind the podium and towards the pilots who had taken their seats at the long table reserved for them that was positioned parallel to that of the table that Graham himself had been placed at alongside his chief staff barring Rebecca Marek who took his responsibilities back at operational headquarters in his absence. Graham took another drink of the alcoholic liquid in front of him. It was times like this that he was reminded of his previous employment; a sentiment that he did not look at favorably. [color=crimson]“—Our pilots, the dutiful men and women, and even children, who have and will risk their lives to protect this settlement, and see it into a prosperous future. They have so graciously joined me this evening, and so I think it’s only fair that the people they defend her from them. The floor is now open.”[/color]

One of the pilots inched forward and Celina asked the first question of the night.

[color=crimson]“How did you become a pilot?”[/color][/indent]