Syrius Cline
Dec 1st, 2001, 02:42:08 AM
Alderaan
Coordinates 80, 180
Alderaan System
Core Worlds
The capital streets of Alderaan serves host to the bustling pedestrians that migrate from one building to another mid-day. One such individual stands out in the sea of peaceful pinks and white, Syrius Cline. His contrasting black trench coat is a stylish exception to the norm.
Great buildings jut out from the high stilts that raise them from the shallow sea area below. Buildings like Alderaan Biotics, the Alderaan Department for the Arts, the A.R.E.(Alderaan Royal Engineers) HQ, the Alderaan Select Academy for Young Ladies, which Leia Organa herself attended, and the prestigous Alderaan University. All great contributors to the peaceful and calm society. But in a shadowed corner is the Head Quarters for the Alderaan Security Corp., a government funded but privately ran organization devoted to protecting wellness in the world. It seeps through the minds of the masses like a blanket that they never noticed, yet that comforts them still. The man in the blank trench coat, who creates murmurs from the civilians as he passes, is the hero in the shadows that saves many of them from harm on a daily bases. This peaceful society is taken for granted. Niave minds think there is no crime, but the truth is that the crime is stopped before it becomes news by the Alderaan Security Corp.
Syrius opens the door to the A.S.C. and enters silently, a faint memory in the pedestrians' minds.
<center>* * *</center>
The office belongs to Krall Presip, the chief of the A.S.C. He reclines, anxiety ridden, in his leather chair. His younger appearance, coupled with his salt and pepper hair, is a sign of years of stressful service.
"Mr. Cline, sit down." Krall orders gruffly.
"Bright and chipper mood today, I see." Syrius replies sarcastically in his strong accent as he sits down across the desk.
"I just got off the holocomm with the Viceroy. He has 'requested' that we spread our wings and extend to other core worlds." He says with a grunt.
"You're joking.... Extend our reach to other core worlds? We're backed up as it is. We barely have enough bloody agents to extend to the poles!"
Krall nods. "I'm aware Syrius. It seems our status report has been well received by the Republic. They have 'requested' that the Viceroy 'request' that we extend our reach."
The extra punch given to the word "request" implies that it is more an order than a request.
"Oh, this is bloody terrific. Don't get me wrong Presip, I enjoy my job, but this is too much!"
Syrius retrieves a small twig that resembles a cigarette and places it in his mouth. He searches in his jacket for a lighter.
Krall replies somberly. "Then I guess you'll be less than thrilled that the Viceroy has requested you be the one that establishes the off world offices."
The cigarette drops to the floor.
"No."
"You are our top detective. It's clear why you'd be the one to be chosen."
"I'm flattered." the detective replies dryly as he picks up his cigarette and puts it back in his mouth.
"You leave today."
Syrius throws the unlit cigarette across the room.
"What?!"
He gets up and starts pacing as Krall speaks.
"You're our best agent Cline, you can manage."
Syrius throws his hands on the desk and leans over.
"I've heard that song before. Sing me a new one."
Krall sighs. "I'm sorry.... but it comes with the job."
The detective slumps back in his chair.
"Bloody hell." Syrius rubs his brow as he lets out a sigh. "Brief me."
"You take a transport ship out to Corusant. Then you set up shop at the address provided in this Holopad." Krall slides a Holopad across the desk. Syrius takes it. "A representative of the Republic will meet you at your new office and brief you of their needs. From there, you recruit possibly. Same old, same old."
Cline shakes his head.
"So I go to Corusant, one of the most densely populated planets in the galaxy and try to clean up their garbage. Isn't that right?"
Krall smiles. "Mmm-Hmm."
"I try to impress the Republic, I lick their boots, right? Then I get funds after jobs well done. Then, when that's all well and done, I get to recruit since I'll have enough credits to expand. Isn't that what you meant to say?"
Krall nods. "The A.S.C. was orginally created by a private organization, and it was funded and funded still be the government. Same as it always was. You prove your worth, and you get your worth."
"Grand. And do I get to rename it too?" He says with forced and faked enthusiasm.
"No. It'll be called the R.S.C. The Republic--"
"Right, got it." Syrius says cutting him off. ".....Smashing."
<center>* * *</center>
Corusant
Coordinates 0, 0, 0
Corusant System
Sesswenna Sector
Core Worlds
The transport ship operators obviously neglected to open their hand manuals or else they'd be able to operate the on board stabilizers. Syrius had the worse case of space sickness in recent history.
It was in the west corner of the 183th floor, out of a possible 597 other floors. When the door to the office swung open he blinked twice to make sure it was not a dream, rather a nightmare. The dust mites and spiders had apparently gotten here first. Vacant for years, this office was neglected by the cleaning lady. The Republic was either testing his nerve, or they were simply cheap. Cheap seemed more likely.
"This has got to be a joke." He said into the nothingness that was his small one room office.
He wanted to kill that Presip. Although, it wasn't his fault. He was just the appointed chief, he wasn't the president of the corp, nor the Viceroy, and especially not the Republic.
<center>* * *</center>
The next day Syrius could barely believe it. After the previous night he had ordered a new chair and desk from Corusant Desk Emporium, and it was delivered under cover of darkness. He had called a cleaning service to dust and polish the room, they did it while he was sleeping. And the door already read "Republic Security Corp." when he came in the next day. He could hardly believe it. Corusant time was five times as fast as Alderaan time it seemed. Things happened quicker here. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.... He reclined in his chair and propped his feet on the desk. He lighted the first official cigarette... That was when his cronometer beeped it's alarm. It was time for the meeting with the Republic representative. And the knock on the door chimed in after the beep ended.
"Co--" Syrius distinguished the cigarette in an ashtray. "Come in!"
The door was already creaking open after the "co--".
"Make yourself at home. Your mom and pop are paying for the place."
Jenre Phrise lays his briefcase on the table as he lets off that winning smile.
"If you're referring to the Republic, then you're correct."
Jenre notices Syrius' feet comfortably resting on the new desk.
"And I'm sure my 'folks' would object to your foot prints being left on their desk."
Syrius removes the feet and quickly changes the subject.
"So how much does suicide run for these days, then?"
Jenre raises his eyebrow. "Excuse m--"
"You are aware this is 'suicide'? One man against the world? I'd be out of my bloody mind if I took this job of my own will."
"We're not exactly asking you to stand in the town square shouting 'Here I am! Come and get me!' This is detective work primarily. I was informed you were quite good at the sort."
"Yes, on a small scale, mate. One on one cases. But I'm not adept in global harmony. I'm not a miracle worker."
"You'll have to be." Jenre smiles. "The future of the R.S.C. relies on it."
Syrius can't help but laugh as he shakes his head.
"You're out of your bloody mind."
"Come on now Mr. Cline, don't think I didn't check up on you." Jenre sits down for the first time. "You take multiple cases at once, the more dangerous the more enticing to you. You like to take risks, to push yourself.... Oh, and the detective cliche... You work alone."
"Well done, mate. When I have a mouse that needs finding, I'll call you." Syrius says with a cocky smile.
"The credits are in the briefcase. You'll get more... when you get more. That's how it works. Don't ask, don't request."
Jenre smiles and walks away.
"Good day."
Jenre exits, the door closing behind him.
"Yeah, bye." Syrius replies late, too enthralled by the briefcase full of money. Kid in the candy store syndrome.
He briefcase clicks as he un clicks the locks. It opens up to reveal 10,000 Republic credits. His eyes widen as he smells the unscented money. He sighs contently after his breath returns.
Coordinates 80, 180
Alderaan System
Core Worlds
The capital streets of Alderaan serves host to the bustling pedestrians that migrate from one building to another mid-day. One such individual stands out in the sea of peaceful pinks and white, Syrius Cline. His contrasting black trench coat is a stylish exception to the norm.
Great buildings jut out from the high stilts that raise them from the shallow sea area below. Buildings like Alderaan Biotics, the Alderaan Department for the Arts, the A.R.E.(Alderaan Royal Engineers) HQ, the Alderaan Select Academy for Young Ladies, which Leia Organa herself attended, and the prestigous Alderaan University. All great contributors to the peaceful and calm society. But in a shadowed corner is the Head Quarters for the Alderaan Security Corp., a government funded but privately ran organization devoted to protecting wellness in the world. It seeps through the minds of the masses like a blanket that they never noticed, yet that comforts them still. The man in the blank trench coat, who creates murmurs from the civilians as he passes, is the hero in the shadows that saves many of them from harm on a daily bases. This peaceful society is taken for granted. Niave minds think there is no crime, but the truth is that the crime is stopped before it becomes news by the Alderaan Security Corp.
Syrius opens the door to the A.S.C. and enters silently, a faint memory in the pedestrians' minds.
<center>* * *</center>
The office belongs to Krall Presip, the chief of the A.S.C. He reclines, anxiety ridden, in his leather chair. His younger appearance, coupled with his salt and pepper hair, is a sign of years of stressful service.
"Mr. Cline, sit down." Krall orders gruffly.
"Bright and chipper mood today, I see." Syrius replies sarcastically in his strong accent as he sits down across the desk.
"I just got off the holocomm with the Viceroy. He has 'requested' that we spread our wings and extend to other core worlds." He says with a grunt.
"You're joking.... Extend our reach to other core worlds? We're backed up as it is. We barely have enough bloody agents to extend to the poles!"
Krall nods. "I'm aware Syrius. It seems our status report has been well received by the Republic. They have 'requested' that the Viceroy 'request' that we extend our reach."
The extra punch given to the word "request" implies that it is more an order than a request.
"Oh, this is bloody terrific. Don't get me wrong Presip, I enjoy my job, but this is too much!"
Syrius retrieves a small twig that resembles a cigarette and places it in his mouth. He searches in his jacket for a lighter.
Krall replies somberly. "Then I guess you'll be less than thrilled that the Viceroy has requested you be the one that establishes the off world offices."
The cigarette drops to the floor.
"No."
"You are our top detective. It's clear why you'd be the one to be chosen."
"I'm flattered." the detective replies dryly as he picks up his cigarette and puts it back in his mouth.
"You leave today."
Syrius throws the unlit cigarette across the room.
"What?!"
He gets up and starts pacing as Krall speaks.
"You're our best agent Cline, you can manage."
Syrius throws his hands on the desk and leans over.
"I've heard that song before. Sing me a new one."
Krall sighs. "I'm sorry.... but it comes with the job."
The detective slumps back in his chair.
"Bloody hell." Syrius rubs his brow as he lets out a sigh. "Brief me."
"You take a transport ship out to Corusant. Then you set up shop at the address provided in this Holopad." Krall slides a Holopad across the desk. Syrius takes it. "A representative of the Republic will meet you at your new office and brief you of their needs. From there, you recruit possibly. Same old, same old."
Cline shakes his head.
"So I go to Corusant, one of the most densely populated planets in the galaxy and try to clean up their garbage. Isn't that right?"
Krall smiles. "Mmm-Hmm."
"I try to impress the Republic, I lick their boots, right? Then I get funds after jobs well done. Then, when that's all well and done, I get to recruit since I'll have enough credits to expand. Isn't that what you meant to say?"
Krall nods. "The A.S.C. was orginally created by a private organization, and it was funded and funded still be the government. Same as it always was. You prove your worth, and you get your worth."
"Grand. And do I get to rename it too?" He says with forced and faked enthusiasm.
"No. It'll be called the R.S.C. The Republic--"
"Right, got it." Syrius says cutting him off. ".....Smashing."
<center>* * *</center>
Corusant
Coordinates 0, 0, 0
Corusant System
Sesswenna Sector
Core Worlds
The transport ship operators obviously neglected to open their hand manuals or else they'd be able to operate the on board stabilizers. Syrius had the worse case of space sickness in recent history.
It was in the west corner of the 183th floor, out of a possible 597 other floors. When the door to the office swung open he blinked twice to make sure it was not a dream, rather a nightmare. The dust mites and spiders had apparently gotten here first. Vacant for years, this office was neglected by the cleaning lady. The Republic was either testing his nerve, or they were simply cheap. Cheap seemed more likely.
"This has got to be a joke." He said into the nothingness that was his small one room office.
He wanted to kill that Presip. Although, it wasn't his fault. He was just the appointed chief, he wasn't the president of the corp, nor the Viceroy, and especially not the Republic.
<center>* * *</center>
The next day Syrius could barely believe it. After the previous night he had ordered a new chair and desk from Corusant Desk Emporium, and it was delivered under cover of darkness. He had called a cleaning service to dust and polish the room, they did it while he was sleeping. And the door already read "Republic Security Corp." when he came in the next day. He could hardly believe it. Corusant time was five times as fast as Alderaan time it seemed. Things happened quicker here. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.... He reclined in his chair and propped his feet on the desk. He lighted the first official cigarette... That was when his cronometer beeped it's alarm. It was time for the meeting with the Republic representative. And the knock on the door chimed in after the beep ended.
"Co--" Syrius distinguished the cigarette in an ashtray. "Come in!"
The door was already creaking open after the "co--".
"Make yourself at home. Your mom and pop are paying for the place."
Jenre Phrise lays his briefcase on the table as he lets off that winning smile.
"If you're referring to the Republic, then you're correct."
Jenre notices Syrius' feet comfortably resting on the new desk.
"And I'm sure my 'folks' would object to your foot prints being left on their desk."
Syrius removes the feet and quickly changes the subject.
"So how much does suicide run for these days, then?"
Jenre raises his eyebrow. "Excuse m--"
"You are aware this is 'suicide'? One man against the world? I'd be out of my bloody mind if I took this job of my own will."
"We're not exactly asking you to stand in the town square shouting 'Here I am! Come and get me!' This is detective work primarily. I was informed you were quite good at the sort."
"Yes, on a small scale, mate. One on one cases. But I'm not adept in global harmony. I'm not a miracle worker."
"You'll have to be." Jenre smiles. "The future of the R.S.C. relies on it."
Syrius can't help but laugh as he shakes his head.
"You're out of your bloody mind."
"Come on now Mr. Cline, don't think I didn't check up on you." Jenre sits down for the first time. "You take multiple cases at once, the more dangerous the more enticing to you. You like to take risks, to push yourself.... Oh, and the detective cliche... You work alone."
"Well done, mate. When I have a mouse that needs finding, I'll call you." Syrius says with a cocky smile.
"The credits are in the briefcase. You'll get more... when you get more. That's how it works. Don't ask, don't request."
Jenre smiles and walks away.
"Good day."
Jenre exits, the door closing behind him.
"Yeah, bye." Syrius replies late, too enthralled by the briefcase full of money. Kid in the candy store syndrome.
He briefcase clicks as he un clicks the locks. It opens up to reveal 10,000 Republic credits. His eyes widen as he smells the unscented money. He sighs contently after his breath returns.