The Assembly War Room, 8 Days after the Blackout.

[RepublicanProvisionalAssembly]

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The PRS-Assembly. Regent-Class Luxury Liner, a hull pulled from a scrapyard and refitted to act as a mobile embassy, and, at times, the Provisional Assembly's Headquarters and meeting point, a capacity in which it currently served. Several men and women stood around a table, examining the sensor readings from across Dublin, the reports of the Corsair invasion, and the limited Neural Net information brought in from outside... The Blackout, the Pulse...

Chancellor Yarwood refused to entertain the idea that the Blackout was somehow the Mollys fault, and was focused singularly on emergency measures to keep this nascent independence from crumbling under their feet.

Admiral O'Sullivan was still smiling, arms crossed, an unnerving sight for the woman, more often regarded as cold or even cruel than any form of pleasant. The victory at Graves and the crippling of Battlegroup Essex an achievement she was clearly proud of, even if much of the heavy lifting was done by her peers outside of the Assembly's ranks.

Minister Burns had been too busy poring over reports of the newly accessible Founder's Field, and accounting the stores of food and fuel, to really voice an opinion one way or the other on matters besides.

Commander Harris stood to the side near the door, taking in several reports from flights around Dublin, filtering the ones of improtance and laying them infront of Admiral O'Sullivan and the Chancellor, his expression as steady and inscrutible as ever, though the flickering eyes made it clear he was listening to the conversation.

Commander Wynne stood aboard the Cruiser Ystwyth as it remained alongside the PRS-Assembly, connected to the meeting via viewscreen, silent with eyes upon the Chancellor, shifting with a degree of eagneress following the past few days events.

The Chancellor of the Assembly silenced the room with a wave of his hand, and slammed his aged palms on the table to ensure all attention was on him, letting out a ragged breath, before standing upright and pushing back the effects of age to command the room.

"Enough discussion. There is no time to linger on plans we can no longer follow through on, we must deal with the reality we have.
No one could have predicted the collapse of the jump holes so soon after the destruction of the Gate.

We are cut off. Our allies in the Omegas have little way of reaching us, our smuggling contacts have lost many of their routes, and a Corsair task force is trapped in Dublin with us.

Harris, Wynne, limit patrols to light reconnaissance efforts throughout most of Dublin, with heavy patrols around the Founder's Field, Arranmore and Connacht, any Corsair sighted is to be destroyed with overwhelming force, force the hounds of Crete to bleed until they are made to dash themselves against Bretonian guns rather than remain in our home.

Imogen! I want you to make a Neural Net announcement towards B.M.M and its captains, as of this moment, you are off the leash, any royal miner or transport tresspassing in Dublin is to be destroyed or captured. Minimise crew losses if possible, but the removal of the vessel in some capacity is now your overriding concern!

Burns, my friend, i need you to take control of what food and fuel reserves we have, secure them away, hand pick whatever marines or pilots you need for the job, and commence immediate rationing of supplies, begin work on exploiting the newly accessible fields.

For the time being, the rest of you are in charge here, Burns will take over my economic roles. I'm taking the Assembly out of Dublin."

Chancellor Yarwood looked at the looks of subtle or not so subtle confusion around the table as he turned to leave, and paused briefly, gesturing at the starmap across the room.

"I have calls to make that require the Neural Net."

As the aged Chancellor marched out, his heavy footfalls echoing out of the room.
The rest of the Assembly Command followed his prior gesture, staring at the Starmap. Jac Yarwood had pointed to Northern Sirius. Kusari.

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