[color=#33CC00]The Pryce Institute, Cambridge Annex
City of Chesterton, Planet Cambridge.
Professor Matthew Cook strode into the lobby of the Institutes' newest acquisition, The room was decorated in various shades of red and maroon, a theme chosen for the Institutes Bretonian operations. Various planters filled added a touch of green, clashing quite a bit with the red, but seemed to add cheer and optimism to the room anyway. A fountain cycled in the center of the lobby.
The Cambridge Annex was smaller than the Facility at Los Angeles, but Cook hoped to someday made it their main research complex, here in Cambridge, the seat of scientific advancement in Sirius. The wealth of resources to be tapped here was limitless, and Cook knew the Institute was on the right track. He started his way to his office, deeply involved in his thoughts. The receptionist at the front desk spoke, a faint Rhineland accent; "Good morning Professor!" her smile adding further brightness to the room. Stopping next to the desk, He smiled back and nodded. "Good morning Angelika, how are you this morning?"
"I am very well Professor, thank you. I have completed my exams for admission to the University! I begin my studies next week."
Cook nodded. "That's great news, how wonderful for you!" The young woman was beaming, apparently enjoying the exchange. She spoke again;
"There are three messages for you. I have forwarded them to your office. I prepared the coffee processor for you, all you must do is to activate it."
Cook nodded, his Bretonian accent causing the woman to smile more. "Thank you very much. I trust it is a bit more tolerable than Ms. Ellis' coffee?"
"Yes, it is much weaker as someone like you would prefer. ... I mean the coffee is less strong." The smile had faded, uncertain if she had offended him of not.
He showed no negative reaction to the statement, replying; "That sounds good. Please begin setting up the conference room at 1430, and show our guests in once they arrive."
The smile returned, perhaps a bit cautiously; "Yes Professor."
Cook continued on his way to the lift, and then stepped inside. Odd girl Ms. Ellis had recommended her highly once the need for staffing at Cambridge had presented itself. When she'd first arrived, He'd seen a tangible vulnerability in the girl, who managed to look far older than her age would suggest. But she'd quickly become a positive and friendly asset, and was well-liked by the other staff. But she would never say much about where she came from, or anything else prior to her arrival, Doctor Altura had signed off on the girls hire, and had also sealed her employee file. Very odd He had noted that the hire date had been around the same time that Ortega woman had stopped on Los Angeles, and wondered if there was a connection. Very odd
He reached his office. A skylight, and a nice view out of the windows. Lovely.
He sat at the desk. The first message was from the Shipwrights, confirming the meeting later in the afternoon. He skipped the rest of the message. The second was from an old colleague at the University, welcoming him back and inviting him for lunch.
The third was a rather disturbing message from Doctor Morris, who had been in New York dealing with some government tape. He considered the report, of Denise Ellis endangering a project, not to mention Institute staff. It just didn't sound like her. Still, she had taken the loss of her husband very hard. Anger was often a reaction to grief, sometimes taking some time before it presented itself. He saved the message. He would get her side before making a decision. He hoped the delay wouldn't be a fatal mistake. This business with the lawsuits had very nearly bankrupted the Institute, already low in resources, what with the new ship being constructed, the new building and staff. He didn't think the Institute would survive any more catastrophes.
He started a message to Doctor Hart, then remembered she was with Doctor Ross' team in New York. Later then.
[color=#33CC00]The Pryce Institute, Cambridge Annex
City of Chesterton, Planet Cambridge.
Doctor Cook spent most of his morning reviewing the design schematics of the new research vessel. He tended to prefer Bretonian ship design, not only due to his own patriotism, but for the respect that the heavier, harder, ships tended to gain in Sirius. Cook was not a careless man. He knew that their status as an Academic organization often meant little to those looking for a quick credit. They had reached something of an understanding with several of the local groups that engaged in less than lawful activites. A comparatively low "tax" for unrestricted movement, which Cook accepted as a normal part of business.
But there were still others. Groups that would just as soon not make "business" agreements, and take everything instead. Cook wanted to ensure that the Institue could protect itself. The Institute had lost five ships to hostile attacks, within two years. He didn't want anymore. The new vessel would have to have considerable firepower at its disposal. He made a few quick notes.
He considered another idea. A strong ship was good. Weapons good. But the most powerful tool might be the proper alliances. If they couldn't reason with certain groups, perhaps they could find a friend, one with more and larger ships that could reason for them. But at what cost? The Institute was in enough trouble with various government officials.
Hmph A message from the Deep Space vessel. They'd gotten the artifact. Cook frowned. He didn't approve. An offer for the item, by its nature considerably rare, had come through a day before. Cook had dismissed it, when Doctor Altura had sent the DS1 to complete the transaction, unbeknownst to him.
Her obsession with all things Slomon K'Hara. He wondered what had happened, wherever she and Wesley had gone.
Angelika entered his office, interrupting his thoughts. She was certainly a beautiful girl.
"Professor, the shipwrights have arrived. They are waiting in the conference room.Doctor Altura is there with them."
Cook smiled back at the girl. "Very good, thank you. I'll be along in a moment."
[color=#33CC00]The Pryce Institute, Cambridge Annex
Main Conference Room
City of Chesterton, Planet Cambridge.
Professor Cook entered the conference room, only a shade smaller than it's counterpart on Los Angeles, though equally well furnished. Overall, the design was quite simple. The room made full use of the Institutes recent obsession for the colour red. The deep crimson hue covered the walls, the doors, while in the center of the room stood a vast rectangular table, with a gleaming, almost black finish. It was made of some species of walnut, a dark and beautiful wood that had cost tens of thousands of credits to have produced. It was one of the last major "extra" purchases the Institute had made before it had been forced to cut back spending on such frivolities. It was still a nice table.
Seated at one end of the table was thin man in a suit, and beside him a even thinner man in a set of clean blue coveralls. They rose as Doctor Cook approached. The first man extended his hand, and shook Cooks'.
"Professor Cook, thank you for having us here. May I introduce Mr. Bristol, the Lead Foreman assigned to the construction project."
"Hello , Professor." The man said, shaking hands with Cook.
Cook rounded the edge of the table, taking a seat next to Rene Altura, the only other person in the room.
The man in the suit sat back down. "Professor Altura has been telling us of some of the changes you were requesting. I must confess, I am quite surprised that you would ask for such changes so late in construction. Several sections of the main hull shall have to be reconfigured. May I ask what prompted these changes?" The mans' face was a polite mask, but Cook sensed a deep irritation behind it.
Cook activated a control on the small panel that rested on the table in front of him. A holographic image of the ship being constructed was projected over the length of the table. "Quite simply, Mr Townes, we've had to consider making the vessel more versatile. That's why we're taking out some of the cargo space, and adding in more labs, here, and here." Cook clicked a key, and the image above them changed slightly, reflecting the new parameters.
Bristol spoke; "But the powerplant? What you're asking for will add weeks, perhaps months to the launch date. We'll have to rebuild the entire aft section, which is already in place."
Townes added, pointing at the image; "About this section next to the hangar bay, here, all this extra material and shielding, with these additional bulkheads. It's set up like the deck of a prison ship. This is a major deviation from the original plan. It's a large waste of space."
"It's not a waste of space, if you had the faintest idea how we plan to use it."
Altura slumped in the chair. Her demeanor was the same odd stillness she'd kept since her return. "It's our project, and we're footing the bill to have you complete the work as we require. So comply."
She eyed the shipbuilder with a cold glare, and Cook suppressed a shudder.
Townes glanced away, uncomfortable with the constant gaze. Finding himself, with returned the look and said; "Of course. But this shall certainly require more funds to complete. Twenty percent, perhaps more. We'll contact you once we've finalized that figure."
The two men rose, and left the conference room.
Cook spoke; "Rene..we are getting close to bankrupting the Institute. Can't we compromise on some of these refinements?"
She stood up, somewhat uncomfortably, and said; "I don't have a lot of time Matthew. Once the ship is complete, Wesley and I are heading back out. Deeper than before. It has to be ready."
[color=#33CC00]The Pryce Institute, Cambridge Annex
Main Conference Room
City of Chesterton, Planet Cambridge.
Cook sat alone at the conference table, and frowned. Credits out, credits out. When are they going to start coming in? He looked around the empty room. It still smelled faintly of fresh paint.
So much spent in the last few months. A new building , with several labs still sitting unused. The Institute had made several small breakthroughs in the field of Metallurgy, which had gradually brought a swell in the Institutes accounts. But that income was gone now. This new ship. It's construction, and intended purpose had all been figured out in Wesleys' absence. Cook had intended it for a massive, but mobile research lab. Perhaps by meeting the right people, he could secure for the Institute one of the Bretonian governments' contract bids for weapons and technology research. He'd begun to realize the potential for great advances in science, for patriotic service to the crown; and of course the certainty of great profitability if handled correctly.
Then the two of them get back and more or less took over the vessels' future, apparently planning to turn it into a ship of exploration. A dangerous, and in his opinion, mostly redundant choice of purpose. As if there wasn't already enough of those out there. Every house, and bloody near every corporation of every house, it seemed, sending countless explorers, human and AI, deep into the black. For centuries. He imagined there were places in space further out than he could comprehend, that looked like the Pittsburgh field, from the wrecks of lost ships. He smiled grimly.
Of course, there was also the chance that one day humans would discover something they wouldn't survive. It might very well had happened with the Slomon K'Hara, whose very existence proof enough that there were other races out there. Mankind was fairly stubborn as far as survival went, but everything, all of it, could be wiped clean or taken from them if they met something disagreeable. A certain pattern fairly well established, at least in human history. Powerful race meets indigenous, less advanced race. Powerful race robs, enslaves, and exterminates the less advanced race. Well, humanity was indigenous to Sirius now. He hoped humanity would someday learn to stop killing each other; and start to prepare for what else might be out there. So much waste.
He doubted it could be helped. The human animal seemed locked in its ways. If only...
Bah.
It was time to move on. Getting stuck on events he couldn't change wasn't going to accomplish much. He wondered if profitability was beginning to become too important to him. He'd taken on this task of running the Institute, mostly as a favor for his old friend Wesley, indeed also curiosity of a new diversion, not really understanding the depth of what was required. He'd spent less and less time as a scientist, and more as an administrator, a bureaucrat, moving assets, sitting in his office, battling other bureaucrats, from other offices.It was wearing him down. He was missing his real work; the office of Director was changing him. The pressure of a dwindling credit account was pushing him to seek ways to obtain more credits. It was becoming the priority, the main objective, and that was not why he had become a scientist.
He wasn't sure if he would be able to handle Wesleys plan for the Institute.
"Professor?"
"Hmm?" Cook was jolted from his thoughts by the delicate voice beside him. He turned and saw a young woman looking at him somewhat quizzically. He wondered how long she had been standing there.
"The shipment from Ariel Enterprises has arrived. I thought you would want to know as soon as it did." The woman looked rather sharp in her suit, her hair pulled back in a severe bun. An all work, no play type, not unlike himself.
"Already?" he asked, surprised.
"Yes Professor, it's been moved to the shipping receiving warehouse."
"Right then. Could you do me a favor Brenda, and contact downstairs? See if Captain Wades' ship has made it in yet. Let me know once you have found out; And call Angelika up to my office as well."
"Of course Professor." She said, nodding slightly. She turned and walked out of the conference room.
That was fast He thought. He'd have to send a thank you to the company for their quick order.
Cook wandered back to the office. His prison. A side effect of the Cambridge Facility being short staffed, was that several floors still had unused sections, and the top floor, with his office, had the most empty rooms, leaving him alone on the floor often for hours at a time. It was rather eerie.
He returned the message to his colleague, confirming lunch for the following day.
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