Where Legal Eagles Dare: An Opco Boone Adventure: Difference between revisions

Where Legal Eagles Dare: An Opco Boone Adventure (view source)

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-{{a|opcoboone|[[file:desert mountain.jpg|450px|thumb|center]]}}{{smallcaps|As a blood-red}} sun dipped to the rim of the world, they watched the procession thunder across the desert, a mile below. An eighteen-wheeler Double-O battle-truck, flanked by a pair of picket-class [[COO]] gunships, hurtled along a wide dirt track.
+{{a|opcoboone|[[file:desert mountain.jpg|450px|thumb|center]]}}As a blood-red sun dipped to the rim of the world, the procession thundered across the desert. An eighteen-wheeler Double-O battle-truck, flanked by a pair of picket-class [[COO]] gunships, hurtled towards the Settlement.
 <div style="text-indent: 20px; margin: 0; padding:0;">Ten flat miles away through desiccated scrubland, oblivious to the battle-truck convoy as it closed in, the Settlement fell under the first velvet folds of night.
-On a high arête, they watched. They took it all in. Miles down below, in the Settlement, seven dark [[Infinite bafflement|baffle]]-towers ringed the citadel: gaunt sentinels of the encroaching threat. A curlicue of smoke twisted from the central [[boilerplate]] processing complex. Besides, all was quiet.
+On a high arête, they watched. They took it all in. They watched the convoy; they watched the Settlement, where seven great [[Infinite bafflement|baffle]]-towers ringed the citadel: gaunt sentinels guarding against the encroaching threat. A curlicue of smoke twisted from the central [[boilerplate]] processing complex. Besides, all was quiet.
 ''But for how much longer?''
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 The watchers exchanged glances.
-The baffle-towers grumbled to life, their mournful sirens flooding the desert floor like a low cold fog. Ant-like troopers shuttled back and forth from dugouts to trenches, preparing for the onslaught. Then there it was: a staccato burst of brilliant light flashed out from the ringed towers. Nine beats pulsed into the gloaming.
+The baffle-towers grumbled to life, their mournful sirens flooding the desert floor like a low cold fog. Ant-like troopers shuttled back and forth from dugouts to trenches, preparing for the onslaught.
+Then ''there it was'': a staccato burst of brilliant light. It flashed out from the ringed towers. Nine beats pulsed into the gloaming, then the towers fell into darkness again.
 On the ridge, the tall one said, “That’s the signal. It’s time.”
-The towers fell into darkness again.
+“Are you ''sure'', Opco?” said another.
-“Are you ''sure'', Opco?” said one rider.
 “Yes, Algy: I’m sure: S. O. S., see?”
-“But, boss,” said the other, “that was ''dash-dash-dash—dot-dot-dot—dash-dash-dash''.”
+“But, boss,” said the third, “that was ''dash-dash-dash—dot-dot-dot—dash-dash-dash''.”
 “Right, George. It’s Morse code.”
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 “It’s gibberish, Commander! What can it mean?” Algy quailed.
-Boone knew it was not gibberish. Boone new it was something worse: evidence that Morale in the Settlement was worse even than he had feared. They were ''clarifying'' things. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he muttered. “We’ll be here all day. You two had better get on with it.”
+Boone knew it was not gibberish. Boone new it was something worse: evidence that Morale in the Settlement was worse even than he had feared. They were ''clarifying'' things.
+“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he muttered. “We’ll be here all day. You two had better get on with it.”
-Eagle Squadron Commander Opco Boone LL.B watched his outriders kick over their engines and, with gravel-farted backspray, clear the ridge: one left, one right. They scrambled down the scree. A curtain of kicked-up dust drew a slow line towards the convoy.
+Eagle Squadron Commander Opco Boone LL.B watched his outriders kick over their engines and, with gravel-farted backspray, clear the ridge: one left, one right. They scrambled down the scree. A curtain of kicked-up dust drew a stealthy line around the convoy, like remoras circling a great shark.
-Boone sighed, brushed spattered mud off his wing-suit and stepped towards the cliff-edge.
+Boone sighed, brushed spattered mud off his wing-suit and stepped towards the cliff-edge. As elliptical as the riders were, he would be straight.
-----On the valley floor, Senior Operations Officer [[Heinrich Kurzweil]] gripped the wheel, his gimlet eye fixed on the horizon. The rig was handling ''real'' nice. But with seventy tons of state-of-the-art ultra-[[modernist]] [[Middle-management|mano-tech]] under the hood, you’d expect that. This baby practically drove itself.
+----Behind the wheel, Senior Operations Officer [[Heinrich Kurzweil]] fixed his gimlet eye on the horizon. The rig was handling ''real'' nice. But with seventy tons of state-of-the-art ultra-[[modernist]] [[Middle-management|mano-tech]] under the hood, you’d expect that. This baby practically drove itself.
 Kurz was tense; on high alert — but ''calm''. He blinked up the [[MIS]] feed in his head-up display. It swept a sixty-five degree field. The [[RAG indicator|RAG indicators]] read green across the board: optimal — just a couple of minor blips, 300 yards out, at 40 degrees from true.
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 Bugsy was Brooklyn-tough. Kurzweil dug his earthy attitude.
-“Just a couple of doc jocks out of their pens, I think. All cool.”
+“Just a couple of doc jocks out of their pens, I think, boss. All cool.”
-Kurzweil screwed in the ESPER scope and brought up a video feed. Sure enough: two repo [[Negotiator|negotiators]] lumbering awkwardly around an execution memo. Youngsters; must have broken a fence somehow and got out. No real threat at this distance, but ''untidy''. The IA goons would have a field day if they found them — but all same, uncalled for.
+Kurzweil screwed in the ESPER scope and brought up a video feed. Sure enough: two repo [[Negotiator|negotiators]] lumbering awkwardly around an execution memo. Youngsters; must have broken a fence somehow and got out. No real threat at this distance, but ''untidy''. The internal audit goons would have a field day if they found them — but all same, no need for an over-reaction. ''Let us keep our focus'', thought Kurzweil. ''Work to do''.
-“Want me to clear ’em out, Kurzweil?”
+“Want me to clear ’em out, boss?”
-Kurzweil shrugged. “We’re all good, ain’t we, Bugsy?”
+Kurzweil shrugged. “Nah: we’re all good, ain’t we, Bugsy?”
 “Well, according to policy 230823.913 revision nine, they count as hostiles. I say we wax ’em. It’s no trouble, boss-man. Seriously.”
-Bugsy loved to throw the book. He had a wild streak — hell, most uniform bulls in legal ops did: the [[chief double-oh]] encouraged it. But this was no reluctant policy compliance matter for Operating Officer Cadet [[Walter N. Buggs]], [[MBA|M.B.A.]] (''Insead''). This was ''job satisfaction''. “C’mon: It’s in the [[service catalog]], Kurtzy.” Bugsy was pleading now.
+Bugsy loved to throw the book. He had a wild streak — hell, most uniform bulls in legal ops did: the [[chief double-oh]] encouraged it. But this was no policy compliance matter for Operating Officer Cadet [[Walter N. Buggs]], [[MBA|M.B.A.]] (''Insead''). This was ''job satisfaction''.
+“C’mon, Kurtzy: It’s in the [[service catalog]]. We got clear entitlement here.” Bugsy was pleading now.
-“Ahh, hang it, Bugs. Why the hell not? Go on, light ’em up.”
+“Ahh, hang it, Bugs. Why not? Go on, light ’em up.”
-Bugsy’s ack-ack let rip — the [[GMSLA|GMRA]] guy went up like a Roman candle.
+“You got it boss —” Bugsy’s ack-ack let rip. The [[GMSLA|GMRA]] guy went up like a Roman candle.
 Bugsy whooped. “[[SOX]] attest ''that'' my little paisan! Ha-ha!”