Minutes to Midnight

[Wildkins]

CALLAGHAN

28th May, 826 AS
Virginia System

---

Callaghan winced slightly as the Agent's iron grip returned the handshake. If the gait and attitude didn't give away Stuart's Marine heritage, his build certainly did. "And pleased to make yours, Doctor. Director Murray deemed it prudent for me to do a bit of catching-up with you, what with my...new post." Callaghan simply raised an eyebrow in response. He didn't seem particularly thrilled. "New assignment?" A brief pause. "Ah. He's placed you in charge of ECHELON, then." Stuart simply nodded in response. "Well, if that is the case, then we do indeed have quite a bit of 'catching up' to do, as you say." Callaghan gestured down the hall, back toward the less-restricted side of Chesapeake. "Walk with me."

The marine and the egg-head trundled down the hall, passing by all sorts of research and operations from the mundane to the extravagant. "In terms of ECHELON, there are essentially three critical areas." Stuart simply nodded, following along at Callaghan's surprisingly quick pace. "The first is the ship's hull and armor plating - it took a beating doing god-knows-what out in the Omicrons, and it's quite a slow process to do without any engineering specifications to-hand. Thankfully, IRG's team is proceeding apace on providing lightweight armor compounds, so we should end up alright in that department. It's just a time roadblock at this point, really. A lot of the internal systems need replacing, too, so we can't replace the armor in some sections until internal repairs are completed."

The pair rounded the corner, taking one of the turbo-lifts down to the arrival docks. Their quick pace was stopped only by Stuart, who saw fit to salute the various high-level officials he passed on the way out. Callaghan found it more amusing than annoying. "Ahem. So, that leads us to the second concern - sensors and power generation. Being a reconnaissance, C3, and electronic warfare platform like the FIDELITY project means accounting for that level of electronic prowess, both in terms of design and power to back it up. Ageira is currently heading up sensors development, and IRG's advanced power technology should more than suffice for whatever Ageira manages to throw at it. If we can match even two-thirds of the original specs on the OSIRIS white-paper, then I think we'll have a very fine warship indeed."

They came to a stop in front of the airlock to Docking Port 7-A, which just so happened to house Stuart's craft. Callaghan sat down on the less-than-comfortable waiting bench overlooking the port, and offered Stuart the seat to his right. It took him a few moments to break enough mental protocol to accept. As the pair of them overlooked Stuart's docked Guardian, Callaghan continued. "The final area of concern is weaponry, although we've never struggled much in that aspect. I suspect our own Chesapeake Yards combined with the interesting data from Tracer's project should yield us with all the weapon choices we need..."

Stuart simply sighed in response. "Well, so far, Doctor, it sounds to me like everything is under control. I'm not entirely sure where I fit in here." Callaghan slowly nodded. "Yes, yes. By all accounts, this is about as well put-together as any Naval R&D op. But the funding, well...listen, we could have the finest experts from across Sirius working on this thing, and by all accounts, we do - but it won't matter if their paychecks bounce. I'm not one to get, ehm, uppity at the bureaucrats, but the Director has it right...we're not gonna be able to put a Defiant into service with the budget that Congress is proposing."

Stuart shifted in his chair and sighed. "So that's my job, then." Callaghan tilted his head to the side, watching the man's vacant expression. If he had any tells as to what he was thinking, Callaghan wasn't trained enough to see them. "You know, field work on Los Angeles might cover many eventualities, but being the neighborhood tax-man isn't one of them. I'm not exactly sure how I'm supposed to will credits and materiel into being." Callaghan rubbed the back of his head, nervously. "Well, it might not be so bad. Maybe the Director can convince the committee otherwise, maybe the Navy will pull off a victory, maybe..." Stuart cut him off. "Yes, and maybe I'll win the scratch-off lotto tonight. This committee wants to pinch pennies and only give money to what's suffering. I'm no political expert, but if that's the case the Navy is a helluva lot more likely to get funding than us. They haven't racked up anything more consequential than a draw in the past month. And we've been running it up golden. Obviously, we can do with less and still hold our ground, right?", he added with an eye-roll dripping in sarcasm.

Callaghan waited for the agent's rant to continue, but it didn't. He simply stood up and stared at the steel tile beneath him, mentally pacing. Callaghan knew not to disturb a man in thought - he'd been plenty annoyed at those who'd do the same to him. "A win. That's what the Navy needs right now. If they can rack up a symbolic victory, and we take a blow, the Director can walk in with some extra ammunition and they'll be paralyzed into indifference. The Senate loves the status quo." Callaghan shook his head. "So, you want to engineer a victory for the Navy and a loss for us? How exactly do you intend that? Won't that just leave us in a worse place than we already are?" Stuart simply cracked a smile.

"Misinformation. It's what we're best at. We feed the Navy intel boys some story about how there's a new Gallic supply depot in an extended position, give them the real latest honest-to-goodness patrol maps, and let them take a swing at it. Engineer some reports that supplies are crippled to some second-line ships, and that the Gauls are down a few percentage points in readiness, and the Naval brass can chalk it up as a big, theatre-defining win." Stuart paces over toward the airlock, as if eager to hop in his Guardian and do this all himself. "Meanwhile, we re-pressurize one of the old Rheinland War wrecks, like an Archer or something, and slap some designation on it. Send it off to Bering, have it get discovered and blown up by Unioners or whoever else finds it first. Big tragedy, of course, LSF will inform the families, all that sort of thing, except there are never any families to tell because we never put anyone on it in the first place. Suddenly our capital strength is diminished, Murray has a real argument for the ECHELON project, and we've lost nothing but a bit of time and a drone controller." Stuart threw his arms up in a shrug, suggesting Callaghan tear a hole in his canvas argument.

"I...this all seems just...I mean, I can see how this could play out...but I don't feel right feeding our own navy misinformation. That could get real, good, honest-to-god Navy sailors killed." Stuart simply sighs, typing in the code to begin cycling the airlock to the interior. "Yeah. It could. But the alternative is letting our own forces dwindle to help their failure of a campaign, and real, good, honest-to-god civilians die here in the crossfire." He juts his thumb out the false window into the Virginia System, as if metaphorically singling out a family on Houston light-years away. "Difference between them and the Navy boys, is that only one of them signed a contract to die for Uncle Sam. That's the calculus I'm making, Doctor. If we need budget for your ship in less than a week, that's the only chance we've got. It'll be razor-thin as it stands."

The airlock chimed and slid open. Stuart stared into - nay, through Callaghan, holding his flight-suit helmet in both hands. Callaghan's mind raced, knowing that it was his go-or-no-go that kept Navy sailors from dying in a week's time. Or civilians on Houston in a month. He gulped down the metaphorical rock in his throat and slowly nodded at the Agent, who nodded once in return. In the blink of an eye, his flight-suit was sealed and the airlock slammed shut behind him, followed shortly by the gentle nudge of his Guardian detaching from Chesapeake. Callaghan took the moment to breathe a sigh of relief, knowing it'd probably be the last time he'd feel that way for the foreseeable future.