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Mr.Fabulous · (This post was last modified: 01-29-2017, 12:32 AM by Mr.Fabulous.)

::: Harrington Logs 1 :::

"... I didn't know you were an artifact collector, Harriet-darlin'."

Captain Victor Keys of the Liberty Navy Primary Fleet, an aging man in his early 60's, holds what looked to be a purple cube with golden corners in one hand, staring at it with his gentle green eyes. This was obviously a Xeno Relic... and a quality one at that. He wonders to himself, why does she have this kind of thing here?

Admiral Harrington Fieldson, known more frequently as Harriet, a petite-looking woman in her early 40's, sits behind her desk and shrugs in response. "Eh. I just started yesterday, Victor. Figured I'd start keeping me some souvenirs whenever I down me some Nomads."

"You showing off yer trinkets like some prized Houston Dogfish in a fisherman's trade show ain't really the reason why you called me here, is it, Admiral?"

"Well, what's yer opinion on yours-truly applying part-time for the ESRD, Victor...?"

The room sat in uncomfortable silence for several moments.

:::
22 January, 824 A.S.
:::

"... This is about Maverick, isn't it--"

Harriet slams the table with a clenched fist, sending a few other purple cubes on the table to flip sideways. "No it ain't! This ain't got anything to do with Travis!"

"Harriet-darlin'... Ya don't have ta lie around me. Ya know that, don't ya? Maverick Travis' sudden disappearance in the Omicrons hit me hard too, ya know. I know ya two were thick as blood together, back in the days of the 4'56th."

The woman turns away, a slight quiver in her lower lip. "... This... This isn't really... about Travis... H-Honest. I just..."

She sighs to herself, then turns back to look at Keys, and continues, "Something happened during that cultist attack on New London yesterday. Something amazing, something... brilliant."

"Oh? Ya going all poetic on me, darlin'?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that. But what I can say is... when I saw that NEMP bomb explode into a thousand different colors in a blink of an eye, that's when... That's when, you could say, I came to understand what made Travis so excited about studying them jellyfishers... ehr, Nomads."

"What do ya mean?"

The admiral swivels her chair around to look at the monitor behind her, which was tuned into one of the outside cameras of West Point Academy. She could see the Badlands spark and shimmer in the distance, both mysterious and ominous.

"It's... kinda hard to describe unless you've been there to witness it yerself, Victor. The wave of energy that pulsed out and slammed on my ship, downing the shields all lickety-split-like, then to be blinded by the sudden flash of colors... 'Twas a humbling experience. To think that the Nomads could hold so much power, yet apparently humanity's been able to drive 'em back...

"... I dunno 'bout you, but I got the inkling that them Nomads are actually holding back on us, heheh."

The captain blows out a raspberry in another direction. "Naw, you know the reports, Harriet. We fair-and-square drove 'em jellycritters back to the hellholes we found them in. We're too strong for our own good, that's why they had to use all manner of subterfuge and other shady stuff with us, cause they were too yellow to face us head-on."

"That may be true... But to think..." Harriet thumbs her chin in thought as she said half to herself, "If we hadn't outnumbered them... The wonders about what the Nomads are capable of doing, ya know...?"

"What're you trying to get at, darlin'?" The captain folds his arms together in front of him.

"I'm saying that there's a lot to benefit outta understanding more about these Nomad-critters, Victor. Hell, if we even had a fraction of their firepower, the Liberty Navy, and all of Liberty in general, would be nigh unstoppable."

"Well that's totes true, but you ain't really a woman of spreadsheets and science projects, are ya, Harriet?"

The admiral pouts to herself, "I ain't that book-dumb, ya goof! I can... do science-y stuff too! How else would I know how to fix a coolant-leaking fighter in the middle of a dogfight, or know the right placements for capitals to achieve maximum fire coverage on their targets?"

"Please. It don't take ya more than five seconds looking at an R&D report before you start screaming that yer eyes are starting to bleed."

"Why, I'll have you know I can manage ten seconds looking at R&D reports, thank you very much!" She folds her arms accordingly.

The captain nods in 'agreement'. "Riiiight... But ADD aside, I got a feeling ya called me here cause ya need to borrow something of mine, is that right?"

She nods. "The Florida.Keys is one of the few Griffin-Class dreadnoughts in existence, and with the Cloaking Device attached to it--"

"Whoa whoa whoa, hold on there, Harriet... With all due respect, Admiral, the Florida.Keys ain't just some pretty lil' dildo you can flaunt around for yer own pleasure."

"I know that, Captain, I ain't saying I'm planning to go full black ops on ya and be erasing my name and putting the Florida.Keys on redacted. This is... My studies, or at least, 'attempted' studies into the Nomads and the Daam K'vosh, I intend to just be a lil' side project of mine, while I'm still either here at West Point drilling them young'uns into how to fight right, or on the Florida.Keys, fighting the good fight against them Frogadiers.

"All I'm asking is... if certain, I dunno, leads or something, pop up, and I might be needing a dreadnought with a cloak on it..."

Victor lets out a heavy sigh, "... Fine... I'll be yer captain, Admiral. Haven't I always been? Can't make any promises, but if they just be simple out-of-the-way things, then I'll see what I can do."

Harriet smiles back. "Thank you, Captain. You are dismissed."

With a salute, Victor Keys takes his leave and exits the room, leaving the admiral to herself and her thoughts...

... And after a minute or so, she presses a button on her table, clears her throat, and begins recording a transmission to the ESRD.

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Mr.Fabulous · (This post was last modified: 01-29-2017, 05:14 AM by Mr.Fabulous.)

::: Harrington Logs 2 :::

"... Well now..."

In her bomber, high above Planet Manhattan's orbit, just beside Trenton Outpost, Harriet has one eye on her passive scanners, while the other's on the holographic monitor floating beside. For the past several moments as the scanners were turning up empty, she browses the list of general sites, rumors and locations she's personally gathered through both the general neuralnet and Primary Fleet's databanks. Things such as general Nomad excavation/dig sites, rumors and sightings of Nomads and the Wild, mysterious disappearances non-linked with any pirate group, contacts to interview regarding all things Nomad and Daam K'vosh, etc.

So far, the list is small and a bit of work in progress, but at least they gave her some insight on where to go from here:

notes

And she would've watched more, when a sudden bleeping on her sensors catches her attention. Two fighter-class Rogue vessels came into scanners. She groans to herself, when she finds one was a bomber, and the other a Very Heavy Fighter.

Great... Time to call for some backup.

::: 25 January, 824 A.S., :::

"... I'm getting too old for this."

Harriet cranes her neck to the side, sore from having experienced yet another explosive decompression. Even with having Widowmaker there for support, she got herself handed to by one of the Rogue Very Heavy Fighters. Granted, bombers don't usually win against VHF's, but still...

"Ugh, how embarrassing. Fieldson, ya used ta dance around these pirates no problem... You're losing yer edge, Fieldson, heheh."

Now back at West Point, she slumps onto her chair, and sighs into her hands. Feeling a little defeated, she takes a deep breath...

... and presses the comms button on her bench. "Hezra, please reschedule 1400-1600 hours as my personal snubcraft simulation training."

"Right away, Admiral," a smooth, female voice replies back through the speaker. "Shall I reschedule your 1500-hours classes to 1630-hours?"

"That'll be mighty-nice of ya, thank you. Harriet out." The Admiral stops the comm and leans back onto her chair.

After a moment, she swivels around and turns on the monitor, revealing again her Nomad info-gathering bucket list. Looking at it, she takes another deep breath, and lets it out slow, but heavy.

... Her eyes well up a bit, until a stray tear escapes the corner of one eye.

"Oh, Travis. I shoulda gone with ya to ESRD, when I had the chance..."

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