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| - | He was a proud man nonetheless; justifiably so, given his success and prominence, but at this very moment MacPherson was seriously questioning how nearly one-hundred years of meticulous decision making had left him so far from the stable, comfortable existence he had intended for himself. It all began with the new government. High-handedly titling itself, "The Great Alliance of Terra", it had constructed an entire space fleet for its newly formed "protectorate" military, then immediately deployed it to start a war with their own colony world, which had long been hinting at rebellion. As a byproduct of this massive undertaking and the resulting boom in his chosen industry, he had been elevated from relative obscurity, working on outsourced projects for the aerospace industry, into having his own small business empire. Some risk had been unavoidable in signing up for the project, (after all, what if he had committed his business to the effort, only to have it cancelled by some fickle politician?) but eventually reasoned that the government looked out for its own, if nobody else, and in the end, his life plan had been wonderfully accelerated by winning the contracts. Incidentally, the fleet had been victorious in it's rather one-sided war, which was of no surprise to anyone, save perhaps the would-be rebels, considering it was the only space fleet Humanity had ever seen. If any would have pitied them however, tales of their many insurrectionist exploits would silience even the most ardent humanitarian and such examples were widely available on the neural net. A resource-starved Earth had invested a vast proportion of its materials and had sent those colonists to a virgin world brimming with mineral wealth, their express purpose to revive the starving homeworld. Their reward would be to remain in this land of opportunity henceforth and reap the benefits for the rest of their days. It had seemed such an attractive offer that literal billions of people had assaulted the application offices, yet when time came to fulfil their end of the bargain, they had been nothing but an ungrateful nuissance. Shipments of resources had been left short, or "sabotaged", never to reach Earth at all. Anti-Earth propaganda was circulated, showing little-to-no appreciation for the benevolence of the Earth that had sent them. Victory over these self-interested malcontents had been confirmed within a day of the fleet's appearance. There had been much parading on the media channels of Earth too, but for whatever reason the fleet had remained active for something the G.A.T. was calling "ongoing peacekeeping operations". Why the entire fleet was still required was anyone's guess; bureaucracies were something he made no attempt to understand and if it didn't involve Michael MacPherson or his carefully maintained life, he would normally dismiss from his busy mind without hesitation. Unfortunately, it turned out that his commitment to the G.A.T. wasn't quite spent. | + | He was a proud man nonetheless; justifiably so, given his success and prominence, but at this very moment MacPherson was seriously questioning how nearly one-hundred years of meticulous decision making had left him so far from the stable, comfortable existence he had intended for himself. It all began with the new government. High-handedly titling itself, "The Great Alliance of Terra", it had constructed an entire space fleet for its newly formed "protectorate" military, then immediately deployed it to start a war with their own colony world, which had long been hinting at rebellion. As a byproduct of this massive undertaking and the resulting boom in his chosen industry, he had been elevated from relative obscurity, working on outsourced projects for the aerospace industry, into having his own small business empire. Some risk had been unavoidable in signing up for the project: mostly that he would fully commit his business to the effort, only to have it cancelled by some fickle politician, but he had reasoned that the government looked out for its own, if nobody else, and eventually made the decision to go ahead. At the time, his life plan had been wonderfully accelerated by winning the contracts, growing both his business and his status, though in time he would look back and wonder if this choice had also been ultimately responsible for other, less anticipated changes as well. For now though, the fleet had been victorious in it's rather one-sided war, which was of no surprise to anyone, save perhaps the would-be rebels, considering it was the only space fleet Humanity had ever seen. If any would have pitied them however, tales of their many insurrectionist exploits would silience even the most ardent humanitarian and such examples were widely available on the neural net. Earth, increasingly starved of resources, had invested a vast proportion of its accessible materials in a desperate mass-colonization effort. Having been established on a virgin world brimming with mineral wealth, their express purpose was to revitalize the starving homeworld. In return, they could remain in this land of opportunity henceforth and reap the benefits for the rest of their days. It had seemed such an attractive offer that literal billions of people had assaulted the application offices, yet when time came to fulfil their end of the bargain, they had been nothing but an ungrateful nuissance. Shipments of resources had been left short, or "sabotaged", never to reach Earth at all. Anti-Earth propaganda was circulated, showing little-to-no appreciation for the benevolence of the Earth that had sent them. Within a single day of its deployment, the fleet had silenced the whims of these self-interested malcontents. There had been much parading on the media channels of Earth in response, but for the time being, the fleet had remained active in something the G.A.T. was calling "ongoing peacekeeping operations". Why the entire fleet was still required was anyone's guess; bureaucracies were something MacPherson made no attempt to understand and if not involving him or his carefully maintained life, the matter would normally be dismissed from his busy mind without hesitation. Unfortunately, it turned out that his commitment to the G.A.T. wasn't quite spent. |
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| Not long after the fleet's inaugural victory and the accompanying excitement, he had found himself being asked to supervise further design adjustments for the fleet. Given his recent windfall of government contracts he had initially been more than happy to receive futher offers, even if his habitual caution prevented him from accepting immediately. It was no secret that MacPherson maintained a rigidly organized life and did all in his power to avoid any form of uncertainty or change. As a direct result, it was with no small inward terror that he was ushered into his own office by a team of darkly suited individuals the following morning. Their leader had informed him that as head engineer for several of the medical systems in the fleet, his direct supervision would be required for something he would only refer to as, "further development". At several points, MacPherson had meekly suggested that he might produce better results in a familiar environment, citing various assistants or resources that he typically relied on. After several such interjections, the dour faced speaker had silenced him with a long look somewhere between boredom and loathing, then bluntly stated that remote work was not an option, after which he continued as though there had been no interruption at all. This oppression went on little more than an hour, though it had felt like eternity. When they had finally gone, he was left with an empty office and a sense of how it might feel to be a hollowed-out log, carried by a cold river to an unknown and almost certainly unpleasant fate. The general nature of the assignment sounded harmless enough: he would be relocated to Horizon in order to oversee some kind of enhancement or redesign of the medical equipment being employed by military personell. As the person who had designed most of the hardware, that much made sense. Where his uneasiness had taken root was the inconsistency between that simple description and the dour man's exceptional vagueness regarding the nature of the new requirements. His reliance on phrases like, "unanticipated circumstances" or "increased importance of medical systems" was like putting a sign post on a swivel. Having been sworn to secrecy before hearing even this much made it clear that the fleet's continued activity near Horizon was more than the media had depicted. Whatever it was, the new government was clearly of the opinion that the people, "didn't need to know". MacPherson wished he didn't need to either. | Not long after the fleet's inaugural victory and the accompanying excitement, he had found himself being asked to supervise further design adjustments for the fleet. Given his recent windfall of government contracts he had initially been more than happy to receive futher offers, even if his habitual caution prevented him from accepting immediately. It was no secret that MacPherson maintained a rigidly organized life and did all in his power to avoid any form of uncertainty or change. As a direct result, it was with no small inward terror that he was ushered into his own office by a team of darkly suited individuals the following morning. Their leader had informed him that as head engineer for several of the medical systems in the fleet, his direct supervision would be required for something he would only refer to as, "further development". At several points, MacPherson had meekly suggested that he might produce better results in a familiar environment, citing various assistants or resources that he typically relied on. After several such interjections, the dour faced speaker had silenced him with a long look somewhere between boredom and loathing, then bluntly stated that remote work was not an option, after which he continued as though there had been no interruption at all. This oppression went on little more than an hour, though it had felt like eternity. When they had finally gone, he was left with an empty office and a sense of how it might feel to be a hollowed-out log, carried by a cold river to an unknown and almost certainly unpleasant fate. The general nature of the assignment sounded harmless enough: he would be relocated to Horizon in order to oversee some kind of enhancement or redesign of the medical equipment being employed by military personell. As the person who had designed most of the hardware, that much made sense. Where his uneasiness had taken root was the inconsistency between that simple description and the dour man's exceptional vagueness regarding the nature of the new requirements. His reliance on phrases like, "unanticipated circumstances" or "increased importance of medical systems" was like putting a sign post on a swivel. Having been sworn to secrecy before hearing even this much made it clear that the fleet's continued activity near Horizon was more than the media had depicted. Whatever it was, the new government was clearly of the opinion that the people, "didn't need to know". MacPherson wished he didn't need to either. | ||
