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

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

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{{a|opcoboone|}}The eighteen-wheeler rumbled on through the desert, flanked by a pair of [[COO]] gunships.  
{{a|opcoboone|}}The eighteen-wheeler rumbled on through the desert, flanked by a pair of [[COO]] gunships.  


Senior Operations Officer Heinrich Schweiner set his jaw, his gimlet eye fixed on the horizon. Right now, the rig was handling ''real'' nice. ''Sweet ride'', he thought. 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 herself. Schweiner collected himself. He was tense; on high alert — but ''calm''.  
Senior Operations Officer [[Heinrich Schweiner]] set his jaw, his gimlet eye fixed on the horizon. Right now, the rig was handling ''real'' nice. ''Sweet ride'', he thought. 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 herself. Schweiner collected himself. He was tense; on high alert — but ''calm''.  


Schweiner blinked to bring up the [[MIS]] radar feed in his HUD. The [[MIS]] feed swept a sixty-five degree field, left and right.  
Schweiner blinked to bring up the [[MIS]] radar feed in his HUD. The [[MIS]] feed swept a sixty-five degree field, left and right.  
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Schweiner shrugged. “Nah, we’re all good, Bugsy.”  
Schweiner shrugged. “Nah, we’re all good, Bugsy.”  


“It’s no trouble, boss-man. Seriously.” Bugsy had a wild streak. Most uniform bulls in legal ops did: the [[chief double-oh]] encouraged it. This was no reluctant performance of duty for Operating Officer Cadet Walter N. Buggs, [[MBA|M.B.A.]] (Insead). This was ''job satisfaction''. “Ahh, hang it. Why the hell not?”  
“It’s no trouble, boss-man. Seriously.” Bugsy had a wild streak. Most uniform bulls in legal ops did: the [[chief double-oh]] encouraged it. This was no reluctant performance of duty for Operating Officer Cadet [[Walter N. Buggs]], [[MBA|M.B.A.]] (Insead). This was ''job satisfaction''. “Ahh, hang it. Why the hell not?”  


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’s ack-ack let rip — it lit up the [[GMSLA]] guy like a candle. Bugsy whooped. “[[SOX]] attest ''that'' my litte paisan! Ha-ha!”  
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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 follow. We are fully operationalised and all systems go, Request go for [[playbook]].”   
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 follow. 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 familiar. “Rock that house, Schweiner, you crazy sum ’bitch. Central Control — out.”


Schweiner punched in. “That’s an A.O.K., Blitzer, my man. We are gunning in for final approach. We’ll be home by five: put the beers on ice. KPI-Delta-One-Niner — over and out.”
Schweiner punched in. “That’s an A.O.K., Blitzer, my man. We are gunning in for final approach. We’ll be home by five: put the beers on ice. KPI-Delta-One-Niner — over and out.”
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High on the mountain promontory, Seven klicks to the left and 4,000m above of the oncoming rig, Boone observed the rising plume on the desert floor. He didn’t need his telegraphic scope to watch: These morons were coming on, clear as day. Their MIS signature lit up half the goddamn sky. Taking them down would be simple pleasure.
High on the mountain promontory, Seven klicks to the left and 4,000m above of the oncoming rig, Boone observed the rising plume on the desert floor. He didn’t need his telegraphic scope to watch: These morons were coming on, clear as day. Their MIS signature lit up half the goddamn sky. Taking them down would be simple pleasure.


Boone barked into his wrist-comm. “All right, [[Chip]], I’m going in.”
Boone barked into his wrist-comm. “All right, [[Genevieve “Chip” Carpenter|Chip]], I’m going in.”


Static crackled.  
Static crackled.  


The [[GC]] came on the line. His voice was nasal, uptight: more even than usual. “Now listen here, Boone. No funny stuff, this time. I ''mean'' it. We have to play this by the book. Do you hear?”
The [[GC]] came on the line. Her voice was nasal, uptight: more even than usual. “Now listen here, Boone. No funny stuff, this time. I ''mean'' it. We have to play this by the book. Do you hear?”


Boone looked up from the wrist-comm. He regarded the great expanse, yawning away beneath him to the far horizon, where a curlicue of smoke bleached pink in the dying sunset rose above Lawyertown. For a moment Boone smiled, at all the memories he had of that beautiful settlement. These were his kin. His people. His ''life''. Boone drank it in: the beauty. The tranquil traditions. The ancient beauty. The august institutions. The whole gamut of ''precedent''. Ineffable. Imponderable. ''Indispensable''.
Boone looked up from the wrist-comm. He regarded the great expanse, yawning away beneath him to the far horizon, where a curlicue of smoke bleached pink in the dying sunset rose above Lawyertown. For a moment, Boone smiled. He wallowed in brilliantine recollections of those wondrous times; that beautiful settlement. These were his kin. His people. His ''life''. His ''home''. Boone drank it in: the beauty. The tranquil traditions. The ancient beauty. The august institutions. The whole gamut of ''[[precedent]]''. Ineffable. Imponderable. ''Indispensable''.


And there, like some crazed Taliban, the convoy drilled relentlessly across the badlands, racing out to destroy it all — down to every last goddamn ''brick''. His ''home''.
And yet, there before him, this convoy of wreckers drilled relentlessly across the badlands like some crazed Taliban, propelled by demented organisational theory, racing out to destroy this great civilisation and everything it stood for — down to every last goddamn ''brick''.


“Boone? Boone! Do you read me?”  
“Not while there’s breath in me,” he said.


Boone looked at his wrist-comm.
The wrist-com crackled. “Boone? Boone! Do you read me?”
 
Boone looked at it.


“Boone! Respond as a priority!”  
“Boone! Respond as a priority!”  


Boone waited a few seconds more. The convoy raced onwards. “Yeah, [[Chip]]?”
Boone waited a few seconds more. The convoy raced onwards. “Yeah, Chip?”


“Oh! Thank Christ, Boone. I thought we’d lost you. Now, listen —”
“Oh! Thank Christ you’re still there, Boone — I thought we’d lost you. Now, listen —”


“Chip, you’re breaking up.”  
“Chip, you’re breaking up.”  
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“''What''?”  
“''What''?”  


At that moment, the GC grokked it.  
At that moment, the Chipster grokked it.  


“Oh, no. No. ''No''. Don’t do this to me Boo—”
“Oh, no. No. ''No''. Don’t do this to me Boone —”


“I do not copy that, sir. You are breaking up. I repeat, I am going in.”
“I do not copy that, sir. You are breaking up. I repeat, I am going in.”
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“BOONE!”
“BOONE!”


“This is Staff Solicitor Opco Boone, signing out. I am switching to silent running. Comms will now go dark. I will report again at 2100 hours.”
“This is Staff Solicitor [[Opco Boone]], switching to silent running and signing out. All comms will now go dark. I will report again at 2100 hours.”


“GODDAMN IT B—”
“GODDAMN IT B—”
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The wing-suit man pulled in his flaps, trimmed his jib and adjusted his pitch and yaw. He rocked the [[gaze heuristic]] and kept the angle of approach constant to be 20 meters ahead of the rig. The sun was behind him. It threw his shadow on the trailer: nice touch of serendipity. He riffed on dogs and crocodiles while the seconds ticked down.
The wing-suit man pulled in his flaps, trimmed his jib and adjusted his pitch and yaw. He rocked the [[gaze heuristic]] and kept the angle of approach constant to be 20 meters ahead of the rig. The sun was behind him. It threw his shadow on the trailer: nice touch of serendipity. He riffed on dogs and crocodiles while the seconds ticked down.


Boone could hear [[Chip]] babbling in his comlink. He cursed his attention span: at three-twenty knots he could hardly flip the comlink to silent now: the arm-shift required to just to reset his watch would bugger his trajectory and put him into ab aerodynamic stall or some kind of flat spin. He had to let it run. But [[Chip]] wouldn't let it go. The old guy was really busting his balls. Then Boone remembered: digital voice assistant. Thank God for [[chatbots]]. Boone’s DVA was a gas. “Hey, Denning,” — the bot chimed awake — “mute!”
Boone could hear Chip, still babbling in his comlink. ''Dammit''. He cursed his own attention span: he had left the comlink back to GCHQ open. It was too late to do anything about that: at three-twenty knots he could hardly flip it to silent now: any arm-shift would bugger his trajectory and put him into an aerodynamic stall or some kind of flat spin. He had to let the GC run. But she wouldn’t let it go. The old girl was really busting his balls.  
 
Boone was zooming. The ambient buffetting was off the charts. The suit was shaking like a bastard. The GC was yakking like a rabbit. Boone kept the rig bottom left in the viewfinder. “Steady ... steady ...”
 
The suit’s digital voice assistant kicked into his earpiece. The DVA was a gas. It had a west-country drawl. Boone spent hours customising it. “GROUNDSPEED READOUT: 245 KNOTS ACROSS THE GROUND.”
 
“Hey, Denning, what’s cooking — ”


A broad west country accent said “I’m sorry, Boone: I can't do that."
The bot chimed.


Boone bulleted at the trailer. 2000m and closing. “Denning, I need a range.”
Boone bulleted at the trailer. 2000m and closing. The shaking was immense.


[[Chip]] kept up the [[yogababble]].  
[[Chip]] kept up the [[yogababble]].  


Denning gave out soundings. He counted down range, altitude and ground-speed. This was vital Intel.  
“Denning, give me a range to target.”


[[Chip]] babbled over the top .  
Denning counted down range, altitude and ground-speed vital intel.  


Boone bulleted. He couldn't make it out.  
Boone bulleted. He hit three hundred.
 
Chip yapped out parking warden threats.


Denning intoned downrange coordinates.  
Denning intoned downrange coordinates.  


Chip babbled something about parking warden duty.
Boone bulleted. Three-twenty across the ground. The rig loomed real close now.
 
Boone bulleted. The rig loomed real close now.


[[Chip]] ran out of sanctimonious material. Boone caught the tail end of Denning’s read out. “ ... impact target T minus four seconds.”
[[Chip]] ran out of sanctimonious material. Boone caught the tail end of Denning’s read out. “ ... impact target T minus four seconds.”


“Shit!” Boone yanked the cord. The chute bloomed. Boone jerked back and up. He flipped a backward 540, quick-released the canvas and dropped the last fifteen feet through empty space onto the cabin roof.
Boone yanked the ripcord. The brake-chute bloomed. Boone jerked back and up. He flipped a backwards 540. He quick-released the canvas straps and dropped the last fifteen feet through empty space. He cracked a three-point hero land on the cabin roof.


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