WMD || Farewell Thunderchild

[Williams-Mordhauser]

WMD Corporate Headquarters, July 23rd, AS 823, 1800 Hours

Arturo Fernando Konstantin de Malinovsky y Ruiz had dressed up for the occasion. When he strode through the meeting room doors, he came as the perfect image of a Corsair princeling, from the immaculate white of his sleeveless undershirt to the gloss-black leather of his jacket to the loose, deep blue trousers emblazoned with the three silver stripes of Ad-hidahs - the ancient household god which Clan Malinovsky of Cadiz had taken as its own.

Unfortunately, the occasion in question happened to be a planning meeting in WMD's swank new corporate headquarters, and when he came face to face with his fellow Williams-Mordhauser executives in their immaculate Maltese suits and perfectly arranged hair, the young head of security found himself suddenly remembering one of his Grandmother's much-loved and long-forgotten snippets of wisdom: "when you go to meet a murder of crows, do not dress in motley."

Unfortunately, Dona Corazon Malinovsky's advice had perhaps been dredged up about an hour too late for one of her most wayward and least-liked grandsons. Now, Arturo had no recourse but to take his seat amidst the looks of pity, disgust, and 'are you f**king kidding me?' of the rest of Williams-Mordhauser's senior staff.

"About time you showed up, kid," drawled Howard Williams from the head of the table as the younger man took his seat. "I was afraid you wouldn't get here before I passed out."

Judging from the collection of empty bottles in front of him, the CEO of WMD was already well on his way to that happy state. Then again, that was pretty normal, Mr. Williams "did his best thinking" when he was sauced, though considering that the CEO's 'brilliant plans' had so far led to frictions with almost all of the House Governments, a rather harsh reprimand from the National Council of Malta, and damned-near a shooting war with the Junkers, it was entirely possible that Mr. Williams was well overdue for an intervention.

"Anyways," he continued, after yet another gulp of whiskey, "now that you're all here, we can get started: I've got a brilliant idea..."

WMD Corporate Headquarters, July 23rd, AS 823, 1830 Hours

"This is a terrible idea," muttered Arturo to himself as he looked over the haphazardly arranged flowchart on the projection board.

Williams didn't seem to hear. In fact, he seemed to think his newest brainstorm was the most brilliant thing since Cardamine-impregnated chocolate bars.

"I'm sure there will be no objections," the CEO proclaimed, his speech only now beginning to slur under the weight of another two bottles of something which had no label and three toxic chemical warning stamps. "Piece of cake, right?"

"Yeah, piece of cake," Arturo replied sarcastically. "All we need is someone who appears pompous and smug enough to pull it off; you know, the sort of afthole who looks at one of those stupid Liberty Navy recruiting vids with the dragon and the sword and the ridiculous dress uniform and thinks 'yes, that could be me'. You know, self-important, insufferable, and with no sense of style."

The conference room fell silent.

"What?" the Head of Security asked, a note of apprehension sneakily creeping up on his voice. "Why are you all looking at me?"

Norfolk Shipyard, New York System, July 24th, AS 823, 1200 Hours

"I still can't believe I agreed to this," muttered Arturo Fernando Konstantin de Malinovsky y Ruiz as he made his way down the walkway, doing his level best to affect the measured, stick-in-the-aft gait of a Liberty Navy officer. Everything itched. The uniform Williams had "acquired" had been a size too small, and the starched collar chafed like forty creds poorly-spent in one of Leeds' less reliable pleasure houses. No wonder LN officers seemed to always be annoyed at something.

Of course, letting those thoughts show at the present moment would have been unadvisable: Arturo was supposed to be playing the part of one of those uptight monkey-suited petty tyrants, and he had always been quite good at acting. So, he kept his expression a mixture of impassive pomposity and lip-curling arrogance as he stepped up to the guard detail at the airlock and handed over his (faked, obviously) papers.

"Lieutenant Commander Conway, Logistics Division," Arturo announced loudly, hoping that volume would help hide some of his Corsair accent. "I'm here to put the new hull through its paces."

"I didn't hear anything about this," one marine replied. "Shakedown isn't supposed to be until next week."

For an instant, Arturo stumbled. It was a struggle to keep all the necessary words straight in his head. Playing a role was more about saying the right words the right way than simply knowing them.

"Fleet wants this one on gate duty yesterday," the younger man answered as he hit his stride, "some two-bit outworlders tried to copyright the friggin' New York-New Berlin trade route."

"No shit," the other marine replied. "That's like the backbone of the entire sector! I'd like to see them try!'

"So does Fleet," Arturo answered smoothly, the nerves dying down as he slipped deeper into his role, "-which is why we need this baby out in vacuum as soon as possible."

The first guard nodded. "Right, right. Your papers check out, so better get this over with," he said, as he waved Arturo and the two dozen 'technicians' in his wake through.

Comm Logs: Norfolk Shipyard, July 24th, AS 823, 1245 Hours

NORFOLK CONTROL: "Navy Alpha-Three-Niner, you are clear to launch."
NAVY ALPHA-THREE-NINER: "Copy that, control, thrusters engaging, clearing the yard."
NC: "Uh, Navy Alpha-Three-Niner, belay that. We've got some irregularities on the docs you sent us-"
NAVY A39: "Uhm, what's that? We seem to be having some trouble with our hearing."
NC: "Navy Alpha-Three-Niner, return to dock immediately!"
NAVY A39: "Sorry, I can't hear you. I'm getting a lot of-"
NC: "Navy Alpha-Three-Niner, abort your docking procedure with that cruise lane. Say again, abort-"
NAVY A39: "Oh, sorry about that: this Navy uniform cap was cutting off circulation to my brain."
NC: "Navy Alpha-Three-Niner, this is your final warning, cut your engines and prepare to be boarded."
WMD THUNDERCHILD: "This is Williams-Mordhauser Distributing Vessel 'Thunderchild': try and stop us."
NC: "Open fire! Launch all fighters! Navy Alpha-Three-Niner has gone rogue! Say again, the gunship has gone rogue!"

Deep Space Near the New York - California Gate, July 24th, AS 823, 1430 Hours

Arturo Fernando Konstantin de Malinovsky y Ruiz was not on the best terms with his ship. To be honest, the WMD Hidalgo was old, its life-support system made strange noises in deep space, its quarters were cramped, and its hull was inexplicably marked as a Junker vessel by most of the House fleets, despite the fact that Arturo had never even recycled a can of Liberty Ale, let alone a derelict.

Yet at this moment, Arturo could not have been more happy to get himself onboard.

Even if Howard Williams was waiting at the other end of the airlock.

"You got everything, kid?" he asked, his breath fouling the recycled air with the stench of alcohol, H3, and pineapple as his head of security stumbled through the airlock. "Uniforms, IDs? trackers?"

Arturo nodded. "I think so," he replied. "You?"

The CEO nodded, back, only a little unsteady on his feet. Judging by the bags under his eyes, he'd somehow made the decision that booze was an acceptable alternative to sleep. "You have no idea how much the new registry and IFF codes cost me, but I've got them."

The younger man breathed a sigh of relief. Once he got back onto the Hidalgo, WMD's new 'acquisition' (and the squadron of Liberty Navy ships who were not doubt already in hot pursuit) would be Mr. Williams' problem, and not his. "So what next?"

"Next, you get yourself clear and dump the incriminating stuff somewhere else. I'll fly this baby over to Coronado, get the firmware scrubbed, and slap on a new paint job. After that..."

Arturo felt a dark primal fear rising in the back of his thoughts, a fear much like the pregnant terror of a man about to be discovered by his wife whilst in bed with her sister.

If Howard Williams had noticed the look of utter hopelessness sweeping over his head of security's face, he didn't let it stop him. "Well, you see, I've been doing some thinking, and I've got a brilliant idea..."

---

Williams-Mordhauser Distributing - Official Faction Account
Official Motto: "For space is wide and good friends are too few"
Unofficial Motto: "Try and stop us"