Welcome,

....she told him as he entered through the large door.

"We are glad to see you this afternoon, Mr. Jackson."

"Thank you."

Mr. Jackson paced into the room, and looked around, taking in the enormity. All around him screens were abuzz with arcane symbology and redundant satellite or radar images. So much color for such a dark room. There was activity down on the main floor, but here on the mezzenene there was relative quiet.

The woman began again, competing for Mr. Jackson's attention.

"The reports have returned from Central, and they're not looking good. Larry believes the aircraft are due to arrive shortly, but one can never tell." The woman sighed slightly, obvious with frustration. "If our launch misses the window, we may not make the deliveries in time."

"I see."

Mr. Jackson continued to look out over the main floor below, but appeared distant. His eyes moved from screen to screen, and from person to person, yet his demeanor belied a mind elsewhere.

"Mr. Jackson, you do understand the implications? The Prime Minister is quite intent on ensuring that the Clestions recieve their materials. We must make the delivery!"

Finaly the tall man turned to the woman next to him as she hurredly tapped away at her data pad. She stopped, realizing and shocked that he had finally acknowledged her existance. "The delivery and the materials are no longer of concern."

Mr. Jackson turned back to the main floor below, but his assistant was frozen; dumbstruck.

"But... of course, Mr. Jackson! They are of great concern!" she stammered.

"The Clestion aircraft will not arrive. They have been destroyed en route by unknown hostiles. Intel recieved the sos messages just minutes ago."

"Who would do such a thing?"

"Never mind who would do it. Who *could* do it is a far more immediate question." Mr. Jackson gestured toward the displays arrayed before him and the assistant turned to look as well.

"Those screens aren't tracking the Clestions, rather whoever decimated their fleet. And they are heading this way."