Hazard crossed his arms and sent a nice thought over to the old man while he stood there and simpered. No one could hear the exchange, but Santelli read it loud and clear, and it was very cutting. The other three men in the room exchanged glances when neither Hazard nor Santelli spoke, their confusion only making the younger man more pleased with himself, even as the bearded cripple started to show signs of frustration at his continued insubordination, to the point where his internal words were vocalized:
"Alright you little faggot, you'd best explain why you had to drag that sorry ass of yours halfway across the galaxy, just to land back on Vegas." Hazard wasn't sure if the old man was actually trying to intimidate him because the effort was comical to say the least. The drill instructor's attitude didn't suit him well anymore and when he wheeled up to him in what was supposed to be a paraplegic's equivalent to accosting, the sight was almost pitiful. "And for what? Don't tell me you wanted to pay your respects to Val and Nik. You couldn't give two shits about the team! Where the fuck were you when Emile, Jeckt, and Gennett bit the fucking dust?" He even threw up three fingers for the names he listed. "Where the fuck were you after the crisis?! Instead of fighting on your home turf, you went and joined up with that fag SCT outfit!" Hazard could see the other men in the room shake their heads or clench their eyes closed in disbelief, all of them aware that Santelli's rant on Hazard's entry into the VSCT forces was inevitable. "So what, your contract with the troopers ended and they left you high and dry? You hoping to scrape something off of their wills, is that it? Can't keep a day job to earn a buck?"
"Sergeant!" one of the men barked, having finally heard enough. "Now is not the right time to bring up your grudges with former squadmates; we’re here to discuss important matters with Mr. Hazard and yourself." Santelli frowned at the soldier, who was evidently higher up the chain of command, then glared back at Hazard before backing away and returning to his empty spot at the table. "Mr. Hazard," the soldier now regarded him, "Thank you for coming. Will you please sit have a seat."
Hazard glanced at the men wearing the grey Vegas military tunics seated on the other side of the table and then saw that the seat they expected him take was adjacent to them, next to Santelli. With a huff, he resigned himself to pull up the chair next to Santelli, the old man's steeping resentment sometimes tossing unbidden telepathic curses into Hazard's mind. He could only sit there and hold his thoughts in check, expression askew in consternation.
"I will cut right to the chase.” The soldier from before continued. “I am Major Gormann, and this is agent Lewis from Vegas Intelligence," the Major motioned to the middle-aged looking man immediately to his left, "and Captain Blake, former VSCT such as yourself.” The last person furthest to the Major's left looked about early thirties, short black hair. He was leaning back in his seat, eyes glazed over in a contemplating stare. The shrewd type, Hazard could tell.
Agent Lewis had a friendly smile when he reached over to offer Hazard a hand shake. “Nice to finally meet’cha, Haze.” Hazard took his hand, surprised by the iron-grip that was attached to a demeanor that he wouldn’t have pinned to a man in Lewis’ occupation. The man chuckled dryly, "Sorry I didn't step in to keep Old Man Roller there from biting your balls off, but you know what they say, 'when the old man talks, just shut up and listen', eh?" Lewis chuckled again. “No? Well it was something like that.”
"Hazard," the Captain only acknowledged him with a nod, only for a smile to break across his face before adding, "the Fighting 45th, isn't that right?" Hazard nodded, in both acknowledgement and affirmation, though unable to reciprocate any enthusiasm.
"Fighting 45th. Fuck, all of them boys had numbers!" Santelli suddenly scoffed, slamming his fist down onto the table. "You pick one out of three-thousand ground-pounding assholes that don't even have names? Fucking useless for anything but target practice for the enemy!"
"Santelli, I thought you were here to be in support of Haze's inclusion," agent Lewis interjected, composed as he lit up another cigar. "Why don't you stop griping about the VSCT program and give your opinions when they have authority."
"Fuck you Lewis, there's no need for a new team when the original still exists." Santelli straightened up in his chair and jabbed a thumb to his chest. "Me!"
"No, fuck you," Lewis switched to the offensive, "the image you've made of Vegas' heroes is in every way a mediocrity. You carry that honorary title while looking like a hobo off the streets of EarthTwo, probably thinking a wheelchair grandpa gunny is a joke that everyone still thinks is funny. Well, jokes on you now isn't, old man? Vegas is getting past figureheads and war icons." He sneered and pointed his cigar down towards the table. "We want shock troops who get their legs back when they lose 'em."
Hazard had to imagine that Santelli's psyche-comm implants were making non-existent electronic screeching noises when the room quieted again, the old man's bearded visage clouded in silent anger while Lewis' face scrunched up like a man who just wasn't used to telepathic messages.
“Alright, that's enough from both of you,” the Major said, aiming to get the meeting underway “Mr Hazard, perhaps you've already come to this conclusion, but the reason why we requested your presence is because we are putting together a team...”
Hazard raised an eyebrow.
* * *
"You cannot act with such violent hostility towards them; it's a peaceful protest organized by a recognized group founded here on Vegas from the New Powys University," A grizzly bear was roaring into a phone that he held to his ear, its design made to reach his muzzle. "They are foreign exchange students from Animalus planet colonies, not a terrorist group!"
May I remind you, Mr. Simons, that these kinds of protests are illegal on Vegas. Now I’d say I've been quite lenient with the hybrid crowd with accordance to exceptions written in Vegas foreign policy, but the numbers here aren't getting any smaller and I've got some upset people on the other side of the street. We're gonna keep a riot breaking out here by any means necessary.
"Must I tell you how to do your job?!" The bear growled in outrage. "Do what you can to keep your citizens from starting a brawl, but you will not subdue those protestors with force! Vegas Law, under the ruling of Clemens vs. Lapin, legalized foreign assembly following the independence of the Vegas government."
If I recall correctly, Mr. Simons, assemblies must be presided over by an ambassador with an acceptable standing within the foreign planetary government. You don't need to send me the list of participants for me to tell you that there is no foreign representative here! It's kids running amok like anarchists in the streets. Law prohibits such gatherings even in the Vegas public.
"The ambassador was unable to attend due to an unforeseen circumstance," Simons rubbed his temple. He knew this would be the hitch. "The mayor of New Powys received a transmission from the ambassador this morning, and the assembly was approved despite his absence."
Listen, here's what I'll do, we'll keep the lines held here just to keep New Powys bystanders from spilling into the protest. We'll urge the crowd to disperse with the Department of Law's protocols on minimum force. Sound good to you?
"That is all I ask, Marshal," Mr. Simons replied, relieved this was going somewhere, but his voice was not giving an inch in its fortitude, "for the sake of those kids, but I promise you, if you spill blood on those streets I will bring the weight of the repercussions on your head. If you proceed with any form of civil rights oppression, The NPDL will not evade the consequences for its actions and you will be handing in your badge. You can be sure of that."
* * *
"And a good day to you, Mr. Simons." Marshal Luszinski ended the call with a disdainful grunt after the earpiece went dead. "Bear shoulda stayed in the woods. Ain't got the stones to handle the urban jungle."
"So what’s the news, Marshal," his partner asked, "a change of plans?"
"The Animalus Embassy wants us to take this one nice and easy, so we'll give 'em that and take it nice and easy. But what I want is everyone who is a human in there to be rounded up. We'll let the beasties go, but I want those from Vegas facing charges on indictable offenses."
"Alright, so the same plan? Armored team's gonna hold this line for another thirty minutes, Alpha maintains the perimeter while Bravo team keeps the north end clear. We can set up men with canister launchers now and call in the K9 units; they will be here in five.”
"Sounds good, do just that." Luszinski turned his attention to the army transport set down on the square. The building had no landing pad as an option for the pilot and the standby had been approved, but he needed some room breath. He caught the craft's radio signal and said, "This is Police Marshal Lewzsinski, come in aircraft Tango-Alpha One-Five-Two."
“Tango-Alpha One-Five-Two, here,” the pilot replied, “go ahead, Marshal."
"Be advised, there will be a police action on the square. Recommended you take to the air for further standby."
"Damn, Marshal," the pilot protested in jest, "I had front row seats down here."
"Apologies, One-Fifty-Two, at least you get the bird's eye view."
"Roger that, Marshal." The pilot checked the cams to make sure no one was near before he gunned the engines. Rising above the commotion below, he yawed left to see that it was not yet out of control, but teams were on all sides poised to strike. Somewhat conflicted about what was about to happen, he let out a sigh to steel his indifference. "Stick it to 'em, boys."
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