It's looking like you'd better do what they say [CLOSED]

[futilecycle]

WHO | Sigma and Quintus
WHAT | Two influential men make plans about how to deal with the Arena blackout.
WHEN | Immediately after the blackout.
WHERE | Starting with the Gamemaker's Tower, future location to be determined.
WARNINGS/NOTES | None for now.


Plutarch had never said their team was made of forward-thinking persons - when each of them accepted their job they had only their wallets and fame in mind. Though they knew the cost of poor performance was their lives, none of them believed themselves incompetent enough to make a mistake.

When lightning crashes down and silences the Games, it's less of an 'act of God' than most believe. Today, even an accident may not save Sigma Klim's pathetic life.

There is a great, unbelieving silence in the room before he and his coworkers start a mad scramble to bring the footage back online. Several minutes of mad futility pass like hours, like play-by-plays of entire lives. They are still working when the calls begin to roll in, clogging up communications.. from press, from Snow, from anyone looking for answers.

As Head Gamemaker, Plutarch would be speaking with the President, leaving Sigma open to the next in line. There was only one he was to answer and Sigma waited for him with bated breath. There would be an investigation, certainly, and it was in his best interest to turn up the heat on the rebels. The children may be safe, but for Sigma, snake in the grass, it was time to defend himself from death by striking back.

Comments

[lex_paciferat]

Something had been bound to happen, but he hadn't anticipated this.

He doesn't call immediately, gives it a good fifteen minutes after his secretary pokes her head into his office to inform him that the Arena broadcast abruptly cut out. Any surveillance system that vast is full of built-in redundancies, and except in catastrophic mechanical failures they ought to be able to get it working again without much effort.

After those fifteen minutes, he seats himself in a conference room with three members of his senior staff and requests to be put through to the Gamemakers. Plutarch is apparently otherwise occupied--being chewed out by Snow, Quintus suspects--and the question becomes, would he like to speak to Sigma Klim instead?

"Put him on the line," Quintus says, feeling slight unease settle in his gut--Sigma had aided him before, true, but he had never been entirely certain of the man's allegiances. The sheer prospect of an offworlder in a high-ranking position is one that has never sat well with him, with all its potential conflicts of interest, and he isn't entirely comfortable with having to rely on one here.

Though then again, if there is foul play involved, perhaps Sigma is exactly the person he needs to speak with.

"This is Head Peacekeeper Falxvale calling from HQ," he introduces himself, adding out of courtesy, "In the room with me are my associates Manius Townsden, Paulo Birdshaw and Velthur Corsca. We'd like a status report. What's going on over there?"

[futilecycle]

At last. Quintus is not a witting player in his scheme, but is reliable to appear right on cue. Sweat is already beading on the back of Sigma's neck when he takes the call, but he remains composed, a practiced actor. He's been allowed his own private room while the rest of his coworkers struggle, but may as well have a microphone strung on his collar for all the privacy it allows.

"Hello, Gentlemen." His voice is smooth and even while he screams inside his head. The situation is grave, but not hopeless, and his tone makes this clear; perhaps if he does not believe he will lose his life, no one else will, either. "This is Klim. We are still assessing the situation, but here are the circumstances as we understand them: approximately twenty minutes ago, all communications with the Arena were severed following an unscheduled weather event. Surveillance is down. We are unable to manipulate the Game in any way and are unable to broadcast to or from the Arena." This much was obvious, but a briefing should always include the basics. "We must review the evidence, of course, but Plutarch and I are reasonably confident that none of the Gamemaking staff issued the command for the lightning to strike - or even to make a change in the weather at that time." As luck would have it, Sigma had not been touching a console during the attack. He was working on a trap in another area entirely with a different Gamemaker and had a strong alibi. "You must already understand. I suspect someone issued a command to the climate control systems in the Arena... externally." There was little sense dancing around the point.

[lex_paciferat]

Quintus listens levelly, his back military-straight in the padded chair, as though he's the one giving the report instead--an old habit borne out by anxiety. When Sigma reaches the part about no command having been issued, Corsca leans over, whispering something about the Gamemakers trying to cover their own asses. Quintus nods a little, not discounting the possibility, but as much as he'd prefer it to be that simple he can't help but think something far worse is going on.

"Has the dome of the Arena been compromised?" First things first--if a physical breach occurred, he'll have to get a team on that.

[futilecycle]

Sigma had once considered these Arenas very different from the self-contained, autonomic Nonary Games, but that had been a hasty judgment. When the cameras were out and communications went dark, it was impossible to know what went on inside, who was entering and exiting and who would decide to play by their own rules... "Without visual I hesitate to make assumptions. However..." He does not dare sneak a bluff in the Rebellion's favor past Quintus. "The size of the strike suggests that at least half of the weather control cells in that particular section were being harnessed to discharge electricity. With this low estimation in mind, the amount of force and heat generated by such a discharge would make a breach a matter of mathematical certainty. The electromagnetic pulse would have forced our barriers offline almost at once. We had not anticipated the dome ever needing to sustain the shockwave of an unnatural lightning strike without a forcefield." Talk about covering his ass. "We would like to request an immediate evaluation of the site."

[lex_paciferat]

"One moment."

There's a good ten seconds of silence from Quintus' end--he keeps the call muted as he and his associates talk over the situation. Corsca is angry, unable to believe that the Gamemakers couldn't have planned for such damage. Was it incompetence or an inside job? What kind of risk would be involved in sending Peacekeepers in with them? What if rebels were in there, slaughtering the Tributes?

"They wouldn't want to kill them," Quintus insists. "That's not in their interest. This Arena's already unpopular--if they want to come across as heroes they'll rescue them."

Townsden raises the possibility that this is a trap, intended to embarrass the Capitol. It's a possibility Quintus has to acknowledge. But if they have any chance of salvaging the situation, of allowing things to proceed as usual, they have to deal with the damage.

He switches the speaker back on.

"We're ready and willing to assist. How many of your guys are you going to need to send in there to get things up and running?"

[futilecycle]

Sigma holds his breath, stock still, as he is being judged. In the end none of them have time to point fingers, and a call to action is reassuring. From either side of the fight, it was to his advantage to have his mess cleaned up as soon as possible.

"As many as we can reasonably protect. Every second of lost footage is a tremendous waste." Of time, of lives, or of lessons learned, he doesn't specify. "We would like the Games back online as soon as we can manage. What we can do depends on your support and we are grateful for whatever you can afford." He is exceedingly appreciative. The Peacekeepers had no obligation to solve his problems for him, and yet they had extended their cooperation. Perhaps the Capitol could have just as easily put a noose around their necks and called for a fresh start.

[lex_paciferat]

That's not the kind of answer Quintus likes to hear--he'd rather have a solid number--but it speaks to the uncertainty of the situation and the fact that Sigma recognizes he's playing a delicate sort of cross-jurisdictional game here. His finger taps the mute button on the tabletop touchscreen again, and with another few strokes he pulls up the holographic display and turns on Birdshaw's side of the table.

"I'm thinking a party of about fifteen to escort five to ten repairmen," he says. "Subject to change as soon as we get eyes in there. We got anyone nearby we can relocate?"

Birdshaw picks through the duty rosters, tallying up Peacekeepers and bouncing numbers and assignments off of Quintus. For a while they go back and forth, with Corsca interjecting in regard to what class of armor and weaponry they should take along. As the conversation lengthens, Quintus briefly unmutes the call to tell Sigma that they're still discussing the particulars, then mutes it again. A few minutes tick by.

Finally, he addresses Sigma. "I can get fifteen men and two trucks down there in approximately two hours. They can accompany up to ten of your staff. I'll need you to send us the coordinates of a rendezvous point and whatever Arena maps you have available."

[futilecycle]

Sigma is well aware that ten men will not be enough to have the Arena up and running promptly. This was not necessarily a bad thing, but, courtesy of the baseline paranoia that kept him alive, he wonders if the men behind the microphone expect him to argue. He weighs his allegiances before answering. "I appreciate your cooperation." His inflection is not as appreciative as it was without being argumentative. "We will have staff ready to begin repairs at the arranged time. Ensure that your men do not anticipate a hasty resolution. I am having the information for the Arena and locations for rendezvous sent to you as we speak."

He watches the data from his console copy and disappear into cyberspace long enough to ponder something. "...As an aside, gentlemen... I am sure I speak for the entire Gamemaking staff when I say would rather see as many Tributes as possible alive and on camera when we are ready to broadcast." Though the practice had lost popularity after Plutarch's rise as Head Gamemaker, after the disasters that were Temple Drake et al it was the Gamemakers' responsibility to choose their favourites for victory and... facilitate them. The last thing they needed was another cannibal or everyday coward with a crown on their head. Thus, they had a roster of people they very much wanted alive and well. But accidents happened. He did not expect everyone to survive the blackout. "However, the safety of our combined team is priority one. If your Peacekeepers must defend themselves and others, all I ask is that there be no bullet holes left to find when the lights come on. Do you suppose we can agree on that?" That arrangement would make damage control a lot easier for all of them.

[lex_paciferat]

Quintus exchanges glances with the three men. Corsca still appears suspicious, but Quintus can tell the consensus is there without having to ask. A lengthy outage is bound to be enough of a media hassle, and disrupting the Games' manufactured fairness would only outrage the populace more. As if pulling from Capitol children wasn't enough--

"I will issue an order that Tributes not be fired upon unless they place our team in imminent danger of death," he promises. "We should also agree on how to handle any escapees, if it turns out we've got a physical breach. My preference is for claiming them as casualties. I'd rather say we got the bodies cleaned up before restoring surveillance than scare people with the possibility that they might be running amok somewhere."