7149/Shi'ar: Orders from Above

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Shi'ar: Orders from Above
Date of Scene: 31 July 2021
Location: Murray Hill, Michael Erickson's Apartment
Synopsis: Long operating in isolation on Earth, Shi'ar agent Cal'hatar -- Michael Erickson to his human friends -- receives a sudden communication from Imperial Military Intelligence, embodied in the hologram of Davan Shakari. His mission, should he choose to accept it: the ruthless elimination of the Grey bloodline and the end of the threat of the Phoenix entity to the Galaxy.
Cast of Characters: Michael Erickson, Jean Grey




Michael Erickson has posed:
    The Shi'ar do not dream.

    Likely this is a blessing, considering the things he's done in his youth, the places he went in the name of the Empire. Cal'hatar, military officer and scion of a minor noble family. Cal'hatar, in gleaming battle armor, leading squads of troopers across blasted landscapes, mud and blood in the supression of 'lesser' races. Back when he was sure. Back when he looked like his people. When he had /plumage/, not the silky strands that humans call hair. The Shi'ar do not dream - well, most of them do not - and so he is free of these phantoms in the night.

    But they still come in force in waking hours.

    Twisted up in silk sheets, in a four-bedroom apartment in a tower in the middle of Murray Hill, he sleeps blissfully free of nigthmares. White walls, gray furniture. No art on the walls, just images of places he has been on Earth. Art, bah. He might have gone a bit native these days, but he wasn't a /complete/ deviant.

    He sleeps. Undreaming, yes, but somewhere in his mind, he still cogitates upon the alien presence coming. He has sent signals to the Empire via the complex, cooler-sized transwarp comms set hidden in a false panel behind the headboard. No reply yet. The Kree again? Perhaps. He does not know. How could he?

    But time will tell. It always does. And right now, he has nothing but time.

Jean Grey has posed:
For the majority of his time on Earth, Cal'hatar's assignment had been somewhat unremarkable and routine, carried out in isolation with a minimum of direct oversight. The planet, designated 332-55-ZA, had been the subject of routine survey missions, and had been placed on a list for observation and evaluation given two factors: its advancement into early space exploration and the malleability of the human genome. Both exceeded average benchmarks, although beyond that, the world was simply one among thousands catalogued in such fashion.

Of course, that was underselling Earth by quite a bit.

Over the decades, his contact with Command, outside regular reports, was limited. His report on the Fantastic Four incident in 1990 yielded approval for his ongoing 'infiltration' of their emergent vigilante culture. In 2002, he received a counterintelligence querry, a standard request to verify any indications that the target civilization was aware of their presence. While Intelligence operated on the basis of a minimum of necessary information, he could easily surmise this meant they were carrying out further surveys in the system. In 2006, the planetary profile was updated in regard to suspected Kree intervention. Yet both incidents paled compared to what followed. Six years ago, Deathbird brought the Brood to Earth as part of her ongoing war with her family. And months after that, he received a chilling update: "PRIORITY ALERT: TARGET PROFILE INCLUDED. KNOWN HOST FOR PHAL'KON ENTITY. EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. OBSERVE AND REPORT."

The report had included a further dossier on the woman Jean Grey, who had evidently become embroiled in the Brood situation alongside a host of heroic allies, all genetically anomalous humans. The Phal'kon had manifested during the incident, destroying the Brood, and then subsequently vanished. Since then, Jean Grey has been under constant surveillance.

TODAY, 2021

There is a small device that sits upon a dresser. Shi'ar technology disguises it as some sentimental knick-knack (a festive clock radio? a snowglobe?), like it disguises Cal'hatar himself. Yet in the midst of the agent's slumber, the device, long silent, comes to life, awakening its owner with a signal tuned specifically to his physiology. It is a communications device, capable of receiving signals from across the vastness of interstellar space... or closer.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    A lack of dreams allows the mind, untroubled by nocturnal distraction, to be brought out of sleep by tuned signals easily. Imperial conditioning from decades past does the rest, and up he sits, like a mechanism, sitting stock straight as the comms beacon transmits its psycho-reactive waves. Michael Erickson is gone in the moment, all that the man is, or was, put aside by the clarion call of the ornate, avant-garde clock made of silver and crystal, patterned after its actual cousin he bought in 1983. High art at the time. He misses those days. Things were more like home.

    Michael rises, now, in boxer briefs and t-shirt, every step bringing him more and more into the arch, rigid soldier he was raised to be. He lays his hand atop the clock's pyramidal top, letting its sensors read his DNA. The identifier markers programmed into his very genes.

    "Cal'hatar of Chandilar," he intones in his slate-grey way. "Acknowledging summons. Glory to the Empire! I live to serve."

    Programmed words. They seem more and more alien to him every day. But still, he remains a patriot. For now.

Jean Grey has posed:
As the Imperial agent rises and confirms activation of the device, the illusion falls away, and the glistening silver-chrome surface springs to life with a number of blue lights.

The device has a variety of capabilities, although most importantly, it can store and transmit data of almost any format, in quantities orders of magnitude more dense than primitive human equivalents. Normally, this is overkill; the standard updates he has received, the reports he has delivered, do not require such vast bandwidth. But the real-time holographic communication does. It is also typically impractical to transmit such signals at intergalatic distances.

All the same, a moment later, an image forms beside him in the room, a tall and regal Shi'ar draped in robes.

Davan Shakari's official title is '3rd Magistrate for External Affairs.' It is a middling diplomatic posting, respectable enough to allow one to attend the upper echelons of Chandilar's hierarchical society, yet essentially unremarkable. Like so many things in both men's lives, it is also a deceit, a fabrication. Shakari is the head of Military Intelligence, and Majestor D'Ken's merciless right hand.

"Greetings, agent. Glory to the Empire." His manner is calm and subdued, quietly observant. "I am aware that you have been engaged in a long-term reconnaissance mission regarding an important target. Can you enlighten me on the progress of this assignment?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    The man's face is not known to him, but he knows the features. The Shakari are not a minor family, and their lineage is of long record. Michael - Cal'hatar - stares at the image for a long moment, making notice of its features. "Of course, Magistrate," he begins, taking a step back and reaching into the top dresser drawer - and behind a structural rib - to produce a hair-thin wafer of rose-colored crystal which he slots into the 'clock'. "Transmitting data now. I have been ordered in the past to monitor a human woman by the name of Jean Grey, a host for the Phal'kon." That beast, fiery and cosmic. Enemy to all. "I have been monitoring her for the last six years, in the wake of the rebel Deathbird's visitation to the planet. You will remember, I am certain, that it was the Betrayer that brought the animals from beyond to this place. The Brood.

    "The databurst I transmit now has all the information that I have on the woman at the moment. She became entangled with a number of human mutations which exist on the planet; you will also note that those allies have become extremely rare, after the genocide at the Genoshan landmass, as per my previous report on that holocaust." Genosha. What a horrible business. He frowns, despite himself. Notes the towering fan of plumage on the Magistrate's head. Long-cut erector muscles that once hosted feathers twitch across his scalp.

Jean Grey has posed:
The holographic figure can be seen to move and react, reaching for something outside the view of the transmitter, perhaps to review the data being sent. "It is fortunate her allies are diminished," he remarks first, rather casually, of this genocide.

"As you are aware, the Phal'kon's re-emergence has been of utmost importance to the Council, as its existence threatens all life. We have followed your reports with interest. To act rashly would be to court disaster, given the power of the entity. Plans have been made, resources gathered."

The holographic figure sweeps his arm, his hand passing over the device. In its wake, several displays form in the air. Jean Grey is depicted in one. Another depicts Princess Lilandra Neramani, most recently Fleet Admiral under her brother.The next, a bald human, who from observation of his primary target Cal'hatar would know as Charles Xavier, the woman's mentor. Another display is subdivded, showing a variety of images and data, including what appears to be the pursuit of a Shi'ar shuttle by a larger cruiser. A woman in space, creating energy fields. There is also, for some reason, a Racoon making a rude gesture toward the screen. Along with these images, a variety of information is loaded to the device for later review, all of it constructed to tell a story, which the hologram speaks again to narrate.

"Unfortunately, there has been... disagreement on the solution. As noted in the debriefings on the Brood incident, the Princess took as consort one of the host's human allies. It seems he appealed to her that the entity could be controlled, the host saved. Unfortunately, in her infatuation, she agreed. And when the Council moved to finalize our course of action, she objected. The law makes clear that this is treason, and the Council has named it as such. Ill-fate, that the Majestor's sisters should each prove treacherous in their own way."

Of course, Lilandra's reputation is quite a bit better than her sister's.

"You now are in possession of various information on the topic. Records of the Princess' escape from arrest, aided by mercenaries with some loose ties to your assigned world... and a Kree agent, compounding her crimes. We suspect she seeks her consort, and this matter is now one that can no longer be left ignored. As you may have surmised, the... clarity of my transmission is due to the fact that we have already brought a fleet detatchment to the system, and will shortly be making contact with whatever opposition the planet is likely to muster to our presence. We will request they surrender the woman..."

"... but your reports suggest that they are unlikely to accede. These people value individual life in an irrational way. Do you still concur with this assessment?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Unfortunately, Cal'hatar has been on this planet since 1975; he does not know the reputation of the Majestor's other sister, only that Deathbird has proven a dangerous, traitorous throwback. The Magistrate's estimation, while unproven, does not move him to disbelief just yet. "Well well," he says instead. "Perhaps the Admiral's entanglement could be used to our advantage," he suggests. "Certainly the Phal'kon cannot be allowed to live - unless, perhaps, they have discovered something new that we do not know about yet. Don't forget, Magistrate, this planet is full of deviations - genetic, mystical, technological. There are many other races of this galaxy that also have their representatives here, some of truly incredible power. As my reports have indicated." Like the Super-Man.

    "As for life, these people are as capable of taking life in great numbers, they just do not choose to do so as their first instinct; they are a social species first, and so if they can avoid conflict, they will find other ways. This is a key aspect of human psychology that might be exploited in the future...but I do not recommend a direct military conflict unless a large number of the Imperial Guard can be employed. Some of those parties that have devoted themselves to this planet, nevermind the human race, would give an invasion fleet considerable trouble all on their own."

    It's meant as a warning, but even as the words come out of his mouth, Cal'hatar regrets them. Some fool might just decide to destroy the planet instead. "All the same, perhaps it might be of use to the Empire for someone to make contact with these people, determine if they have a method of containing the Phal'kon previously unknown to the Empire. If so, Command might even be able to utilize the Phal'kon for its own purposes." Anything's possible. Why not give the Empire the biggest gun of all?

    Again. The sting of regret. He wishes he hadn't said that, either.

Jean Grey has posed:
"Perhaps. But we cannot allow ourselves the luxury of what-ifs, when it comes to the entity," the hologram answers with a certain firmness of tone. "The Majestor and his Council have made this clear."

Another phantom wave of his hand, and the displays change, depicting Earth, the moon (with a pop-out datasheet on a surface installation), and its variety of satellites and small space stations.

"We have evaluated their defenses and believe they can be overcome if necessary, although we will attempt to secure their surrender of the host-woman and establish relations with the planet. Be reassured: given our target, the Imperial Guard will be present in force, with Praetor Gladiator commanding. I trust he is a match for anything they have to offer." And as long as the agent has been on Earth, Gladiator's reputation still long precedes him. 400 years prior, it was he who ended the last threat from the entity.

"When we arrive, we will also dispatch a cadre of Death Commandos to the surface." Another gesture, and some information comes up profiling the squad assigned. They are not standard Shi'ar troops, and are exotic even by the standards of the multi-species Imperial Guard. "They will join you in covertly eliminating the secondary targets you have identified, the other members of the host bloodline, as prescribed by Imperial Law. At that time, our business in orbit should be complete, to whatever end, and the Guard will coverge to help guarantee the host's elimination."

It is clear that these are orders, and that Shakari is not in a mood to debate them, yet he does not snap. On his own screens, he views the profile of an agent who has been in the field a very long time. Too long, in their calculations? His voice is gentle. "We have asked much of you, Cal'hatar, and you have gladly sacrificed for your Empire. You need only continue a little longer. Complete this assignment, and you will have earned whatever post you desire. Return to the Throneworld a hero, if you like, or travel the galaxies, knowing you have played a part in saving them."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I will serve as the Empire requires." Famous last wowrds. But in the end, the Phal'kon must be suppressed, its consciousness locked away. What a pity that it is within this poor young woman.

T ut they are coming. The Empire is coming. With Death Commandoes and the /Gladiator/ at their head. He need not have been an agent in the past to know what is coming, now: the Empire seeks a beach head in this galaxy. The raptor spreads its wings, its claws, and seeks to capture this planet as it has thousands of others. He draws a deep breath, one he tries not to show to the Magistrate on the other wise of the hyperspace link. Or is he in orbit already?

    "I will serve the Empire as best I can, Magistrate." He chooses the words specifically. Uncertainty and instinct and the old stone temple of Imperial conditioning, Imperial training, war inside his heart. "I will have more information for you in the very near future, I am certain."

Jean Grey has posed:
Shakari smiles at the last. "I will look forward to your updates."

And with that, the necessities of the briefing seem to be complete. The hologram makes another quick gesture, and all the excess holoscreens vanish back into the ether, leaving just the two men -- real and otherwise -- and the little device on the dresser. The tall figure draws his arms together, fingers lightly splayed, so they cross at the center of his chest like folded wings. "K'ythri's blessings in your hunt, Cal'hatar. And Glory to the Empire."

The words fade, and his image joins the others in oblivion. The device's lights dim as the projectors shut off, although it remains active, replete with new data for the agent to study in preparation for this last great mission.