"We've got the results for the Priapus City mayoral race... not that Priapus City, the other one..."
"...get that economist on the phone? I need better quotes, these ones are crap..."
"...Weather Velus is saying the solar flares are going to miss Anthropolis entirely, so we'll need to fuzzy up the broadcast for compliance..."
"...they're saying that his club got a sub-zero C-ratio five years running. You can't do that and remain solvent unless you're doing something black-market or fixing the numbers. I should know. Product of a misspent youth. So..."
"...code, you're going to have to run to The Mod Squad or somewhere and get that removed, I don't care if it's the new fashion so long as it's not in the- what? Studios? Alright, sure, whatever..."
You're AJ Ali, and you're currently entering the Velus Times building. At the moment, you're passing through the Atrium at the centre of the building. It's filled with writers, editors, fact-checkers, censors, and various other newsfolk.
You make a beeline for Section I, investigative reporting, which is, as previously mentioned, your job. You specialise in covering the more out-of-the-way places and people - the T-Virus symbiote colony on Chios-Beta, the vehicle-melding subculture in the Antipodean Tunnels, the Flatworm Folk on Helminth Station. You've just received an urgent call from your employers.
"We've got a new one, out in the Velus Trojans. An Eschaton scenario. We need you to go in."
You knew what that meant. Back in the heady days of early colonisation, all manner of cults, microcultures, and settlement schemes set up shop on or in isolated asteroids or arks. Velus, being the first of humanity's colonies to have a sizable amount of habitable space, was among the most valuable targets for them.
Some were harmless, or even beneficial. Niu Amstrdam, for example, had produced many of the Velus system's greatest visual arts. But others were self-destructive, like Eschaton, whose heavily inbred population had been found dead of a congenital heart condition two centuries ago, which could have easily been treated if they weren't Luddite enough to reject the computer. Others were just destructive, like Nadir, which had suicide-attacked Velus by ramming itself into a naval destroyer a few decades back.
You didn't know which one it was. You suspected that, beside the possible addition of a few Home Office analysts, nobody outside the asteroid itself knew.
The elevator arrives. "...should be here any- Ah! Speak of the devil." Phileas Leblanc, your boss, was quite possibly old enough to have reported on Eschaton the first time. He was a good boss, anyway. Lenient. Avuncular. Good sex, too.
He's surrounded by neutral-faced government agents. They spare you a brief glance, then return to their duties.
"General? Could you, Mr Xiao, Mx Ali, and I step outside? We need to brief hir."
The nearest agent nods and walks toward the briefing room. You follow.
She turns on the screen, which is already showing her presentation.
"In the first days of space travel - the precise date is unimportant - the group known as Nia Cielo purchased an asteroid from the Velus Mining Collective, out in the L5 clump. They hollowed out the mountain, and maintained regular communications with Velus Prime. They declared neutrality in the War, and during the combat, their main antenna was damaged. It was assumed that their life support had failed in the intervening centuries."
"These images were taken yesterday." She showed a blurry image of figures on the surface of an asteroid. A beat-up-looking antenna rose near them.
"Soon after, they transmitted a message. Now, our records of Old Ido are spotty, but we got the gist of it:
"We are here. Send [news reporter/tattletale] to surface, at old [airlock/genital]. No more until further communication. We will decide our [courtship/alliance] afterwards."
"So, that's the situation. You will travel to Nia Cielo. You will present a good image of Velus to it, and compose a report on its inhabitants for us."
You reply, "Do I have a choice?"
The General smiles toothlessly. "Not for the moment. You've been drafted, Mx Ali, into the Velusian Army. Better pay than your current job, if nothing else, and it's only for a month."
You swear. Loudly.
"Well, if that's all taken care of, we'll be going to the change lab. Now, we have scant little information, but from what we do have we can tell that..."
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