Two-Thousand Hostages

[Vogel]

A black spacecraft bolted through the atmosphere of Planet Cambridge, directly towards a small manor in the countryside. In its nose was a red strobe light, quietly gazing out upon the land as it receded at hundreds of miles per hour.

"<Do you think Mister Miles has come to the same conclusion we have?>"

The ship's pilot glanced down at the voice synthesizer on his control panel and grinned.

"Hopefully."

---

He entered the office briskly and stepped right in front of the desk, leaning forward on it with both hands.

"Please tell me..." he began.

"Not yet, Michael," Devon Miles said with a bemused smirk, "But perhaps soon enough."

"Great, what now?"

"Well," Devon began, placing his fingertips together, "Supposedly this Dane Summers is going to run a popular poll for the seat of administration..."

"But you don't buy it."

Devon raised an eyebrow.

"Why should I? After all, this man was hired by Dakun himself. There's little reason to believe his intentions, let alone their results, are genuine."

"So...?"

"Contingency plan."

Michael Knight smiled and hit the desk with a fist.

"Nice! Where do I start?"

"You're to start off by contacting Mister Austin Goodman. I believe you ran into him near the station. He seems to share our sentiment, and I believe you could use the support."

"Outside factors aren't always good," Michael started.

"... But not always bad, either. Michael, this situation is critical. We must act with speed and precision."

"Alright then, I agree, so where can I find the guy?"

"Near the Freeport. I'll have the precise coordinates in the ice field transmitted to Kitt. You can go from there."

Michael turned to leave but stopped short of the door. He glanced over his shoulder, a slightly guilty look on his face.

"By the way, sorry your negotiations didn't turn out alright."

Devon sighed and leaned back in his recliner, then gave Michael a quizzical look.

"Are you saying you don't like your job, Michael?"

"Never," he replied with a grin.

---

"Alright, Kitt, set a course for Omega Three, the coordinates Devon sent us."

"<Of course, Michael. Might I ask what the plan is, precisely?>"

"Well, we're going to meet up with our contact and lie low in a position of advantage until it's time to act."

"<You mean we're winging it, like usual.>"

"Exactly."