Fantasia

[Eppy]

Dockyard Union Assembly, Bar, Battleship Hood, November 15th, 754 A.S.

Richard McCarthy slid into his booth, barely able to see his drink between the dusty mug and the horrible lighting. Not that things like this were any better on Graves, but still. A guy could complain once in a while, couldn't he?

"I think they're on to me."

"Dear boy, what on earth makes you say that?" The man he was meeting had been introduced to him as Lord Alfred, and nothing else. He was tall and thin, probably about sixty-five, with a sharp-yet warm face and considerable stubble to go with thick, wavy, white hair, and decked in a solid black greatcoat made of real wool and black leather with a doubled cape and what looked like solid obsidian buttons, and seemingly always attached to a glass of something thin and red. All he'd been told is that he wanted to help the cause, and he seemed to have the resources to do it, judging by that fire at Graves last month.

Richard was a more recent addition to the Molly cause. He'd been recruited by Oxford's Engineering division when he was in school and trained to design mining ships, a far cry from the rest of his family's occupation at Graves. Little did he realize he'd be working there for most of his adult life, up until the Founder's Day Revolt.

His father had been one of the ones shot by the Bretonian authorities sent in.

Ever since that day he'd been working with the resistance, sabotaging BMM and Bretonian government in general. As grandiose as it sounded, he wanted to see a Bretonia where people were equal. The caste system had destroyed his family, and he was ashamed to say he was one of the destroyers until Founder's Day. He wanted little more than to see it brought down.

"There's some ingrate following me." He took a swig out of his nameless drink-ooh, that was sharp-and nonchalantly tossed his head over his shoulder at the bar, where a man in dressed in nothing but black, consisting of the presumed essentials and a trench coat and fedora, holding up a glass of reflective silver liquid.

Alfred smiled slightly. Incessant MI5, couldn't keep its hands out of his pockets. But, they did their jobs, he supposed. "I'll have him removed. On that note, there will be a large operation taking place at New London, Gateshead and Southampton, at the same time. We have an estimated two-hundred and fifty-thousand-plus participation. Peaceful, this time, so they will be unable to fire on the citizens without massive media repercussions. It would much oblige me, dear boy, if you would be the Southampton coordinator. We have a legitimate excuse to put you on the station, considering your occupation, and they've begun a new project there, which you would also might take an interest in." Lord Alfred took a small sip of the transleucent pale-red fluid in his ever-present decanter. "Is that acceptable?"

"When do I leave?"

"Shortly. We have a Clydesdale in the hangar waiting for you. Your papers were filed this morning. Proceed out and I will have your friends removed."

"Friends?"

The wayward lord smiled lightly, brushing a loose lock of hair away from his sharp indigo eyes. "You should be more observant, my dear boy. The prostitute five booths down has taken a considerable interest in you, despite the fact that as you entered she plainly saw that you have no wallet to speak of on your person, and none of the ladies on this station are associating with her."

Richard frowned a bit. He felt slightly shanghaied, and he realized that Lord Alfred was likely not the most trustworthy person in Sirius, but he seemed to be their best bet, and he got results. "I'll see you at Southampton, then?"

"Yes, indeed, you will, my dear boy. Now, let us get underway, shall we?"

Richard nodded and stood up, heading for the door. The prostitute and Fedora followed shortly, heading for the door as Alfred snapped his fingers. Four large, burly men in black business suits stepped out of the shadows and intercepted them at the door, arm-locking and chloroforming the pair before they knew what hit them. The bar had gone a bit quiet; people were staring. Alfred slid out of the booth and stood with the agility of a much younger man, seemingly glided over to the bar, and dropped fifty credits onto the counter.

"A round for everyone, on me." He winked at the onlookers.

The Bartender looked at him shortly and smiled whimsically, going back to the drink he'd been mixing as the volume returned to normal and people strode over to the bar for theirs. Alfred strode into the hallway and rather unfiguratively disappeared.

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Quick comment - we thought that Panzer was the Leader, Swift. -Agmen

Which Dreadnought was that?

One of your nine.