Where Legal Eagles Dare: An Opco Boone Adventure: Difference between revisions
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Schweiner growled into the intercom. “You seein’ these, Bugsy?” | Schweiner growled into the intercom. “You seein’ these, Bugsy?” | ||
“On the [[MIS]]? Yaaah, boss, I’m seein’ | “On the [[MIS]]? Yaaah, boss, I’m seein’ ’em,” Bugsy was Brooklyn-tough. Schweiner dug his earthy attitude. “They’re just a couple of doc jocks, I think. All cool.” | ||
Schweiner screwed in the scope and brought up a video feed. Sure enough: two [[negotiator]]s were ambling distractedly around an execution memo. Youngsters. No threat at this distance, but Schweiner could tell it narked Bugsy all the same. | Schweiner screwed in the scope and brought up a video feed. Sure enough: two [[negotiator]]s were ambling distractedly around an execution memo. Youngsters. No threat at this distance, but Schweiner could tell it narked Bugsy all the same. | ||
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“It’s no trouble. Seriously.” Bugsy had a wild streak. Most uniform bulls in legal ops did: the chief encouraged it. This was no reluctant performance of duty for Authorised Operating Officer Walter N. Buggs, [[MBA|M.B.A.]] (Insead). This was ''job satisfaction''. “Ahh, hang it. Why the hell not?” | “It’s no trouble. Seriously.” Bugsy had a wild streak. Most uniform bulls in legal ops did: the chief encouraged it. This was no reluctant performance of duty for Authorised Operating Officer Walter N. Buggs, [[MBA|M.B.A.]] (Insead). This was ''job satisfaction''. “Ahh, hang it. Why the hell not?” | ||
Bugsy’s | Bugsy’s ack-ack let rip — it lit up the [[GMSLA]] guy like a candle. Bugsy whooped. “[[SOX]] attest ''that'' my litte paisan! Ha-ha!” | ||
Bugsy blammed out another — a lame-ass two-way [[confi]] — just for the hell of it. It was a weak round — not usually fatal at | Bugsy blammed out another — this one a lame-ass two-way [[confi]] — just for the hell of it. It was a weak round — not usually fatal at distance but it it was a true shot and caught the [[futures]] guy square on elections schedule. He squealed, turning circles while his [[escalation]] circuits crackled and burned. Three rotations, and they smoked out. The [[FIA]] jockster conked out and crashed face-down in the sand, little green flames licking at his annex. | ||
“Yee-hah!” | “Yee-hah!” | ||
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“On it, boss.” | “On it, boss.” | ||
Bugsy called | Bugsy called them in on the encrypted two-way comlink. He rocked the sing-song ham radio chit-chat idiom. “Central control, this is KPI-Delta-One-Niner filing our hourly [[stakeholder]] check-in, do you copy, over?” | ||
“KPI-Delta-One-Niner, this is Central Control: we read you loud and clear, Bugsy. Go ahead, over.” | “KPI-Delta-One-Niner, this is Central Control: we read you loud and clear, Bugsy. Go ahead, over.” | ||
A static burst shook the set. Bugsy punched in. “Central Control, this is KPI-Delta-One-Niner: the coast is clear. Repeat: The coast is clear. | A static burst shook the set. Bugsy punched in. “Central Control, this is KPI-Delta-One-Niner: the coast is clear. Repeat: The coast is clear. We cleared out a couple of junior bogeys — stats to fo9llow We are fully operationalised and all systems go, Request go for [[playbook]].” | ||
“KPI-Delta-One-Niner, this is Central Control: you are confirmed go for operation [[playbook]].” The CB operator’s tone turned familar. “Rock that house, Schweiner, you crazy sum ’bitch. Central Control — out.” | “KPI-Delta-One-Niner, this is Central Control: you are confirmed go for operation [[playbook]].” The CB operator’s tone turned familar. “Rock that house, Schweiner, you crazy sum ’bitch. Central Control — out.” | ||
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Boone flipped off the safety catch on his wingsuit, caught the buffet, and ''dived''. | Boone flipped off the safety catch on his wingsuit, caught the buffet, and ''dived''. | ||
<center>***</center> | |||
Schweiner flipped the rig onto auto and started to tool up. The rig steered itself. | |||
Schweiner took a moment to take in the grandeur of the desert. The windscreen gave a rich panorama. The mountains swept up to a vertical, levelling off to a table four thousand metres above the valley floor. They rose like — like — well, like ''Olympus'', above the Serengeti. High up on the ''gipfel'' the setting sun picked out the eagles circling the summit. Suddenly, one wing-morphed and dropped. Schweiner double-took: That is one ''unit'' of a hunting bird — some kind of monstrous condor. The majestic predator seemed to drifting so serenely down from the peak, but Schweiner knew it was dropping like a bullet towards some hapless creature on the valley floor. | |||
“Poor bastard,” Schweiner murmured as he slipped into Kevlar body-armour. He wondered where the prey was — anything bigger than a rabbit should who up on the dash. He checked the LIDAR feed but it still said ''zilch''. | |||
“Huh,” he said, and flipped to heat-sensor mode. Nothing. |