It's not finished, still incomplete, but... oh, the jazz is starting to flow on this scene. The Fen are coming to Philly!
Philadelphia Municipal Airport, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
November 25, 1940
(…)
Flora remembered what the other American – she'd begun to capitalize 'other' in her head, and squashed that thought as a dangerous one – ambassador had said about the Fen in the briefing the day before.
~***~
“The Fen are different,” he said, this incredibly green young man who'd apparently been some junior State Department functionary before the world changed underneath them. “They're not green monsters from Mars – or at least most of them aren't,” which didn't inspire confidence in President Smith's group. “We've had our differences over the years, but the one thing we've found is that they do want to help. It's just that their definition of 'help' can be a bit... odd.”
“I see,” Smith said, not really seeing but willing to go along with the assessment. In the perilous situation the United States had found itself, even odd help was better than none. “What can you tell us about these delegates they're sending?”
“They're both faction leaders. Mr. Marsden is – was – is one of our leading industrialists, runs a major mining operation. He's a stalwart American patriot, though his personal politics might cause some friction.” Flora groaned inwardly at this. Even in another universe, the capitalists managed to rise to the top of the heap. “General Fnord,” the diplomat went on, “commands a smaller faction, more openly militarized than Marsden's. Aside from that, he's also got more overt and covert power among the Fen than Marsden, so expect him to lead the discussion.”
“I understand,” said Smith. “Thank you for letting us know this, son.”
“My pleasure, Mr. President.”
~***~
The buzzing was getting louder. It wasn't a physical loudness, where it made speech impossible, but a subliminal one, where the buzzing filled every available silence.
“It has to be nearby,” someone said.
“There!” someone else said, and there it was.
Coming high out of the west was an aeroplane the likes of which none of the people in Philadelphia had ever seen. A broad, flat triangle painted in garish colors swept down across the plain. Instead of propellers, the craft sported two large pods embedded in the wings, each topped with a cap that glowed a fierce blue.
“Amazing,” muttered a Navy officer standing near Flora. “I wonder how they do it?” The man's commanding officer however wasn't nearly so calm.
“Good Lord,” the admiral said, eyes wide as saucers. “That monster is as wide as the Remembrance is long!”
The monstrous aircraft swept down over the American delegation, close enough that they could read the ship's name ('GCU LAIKA') and see the device on the wings (a red and white flower, standing out against the spashes of green, blue and gold) before it gained altitude and moved on towards the city.
“Sonofabitch!” One of the generals attending the arrival snarled. “They're moving off to attack the city!”
“Steady, general,” the president warned.
“But sir!”
“Look, damn it! It's not attacking, it's turning!”
And so it was. The ship made a long, slow, majestic turn, like a runner doing a victory lap, or a new ocean liner making a show cruise around the harbor. All around the city, people stopped and looked up in amazement and a little fear. They'd all heard the Mysteron transmission, and despite the official denials they all wondered what that meant. Now it was clear; the Mysterons weren't only real, they were here.
Speaking for herself, her constituents and her country, Flora Blackford only hoped they came in peace.
~***~
“General, Mr. Marsden, welcome to the United States.” The president paused. “Forgive us, but your arrival was a little overwhelming.”
“It was? Oh dear.” Flora Blackford was more than a little puzzled. Fnord's demeanor was unlike any general – or any military man – she'd ever met. He seemed more like an absent-minded schoolteacher than somebody responsible for the sort of power Laika projected. “I really must apologize, Mr. President. The idea was to impress you, not overwhelm.”
“Oh, believe me General, we were very impressed.” Smith's voice was jolly, but everybody in earshot could tell the bonhomie was forced at best.
“Ah, yes? Well, good, good.” Fnord muttered, glancing at his wristwatch. “Again, my apologies. We didn't mean to frighten anybody.”
Flora couldn't resist the question. “So what would you have done had you meant to frighten us?” she asked.
Fnord peered at her, the absent-mindedness vanishing like fog on a sunny day. “Ah, Madame Blackford,” he said with a sharp-edged smile. “You should see what we sent to Richmond.”
Even though the day was fairly warm for a Pennsylvania November, and for all that she was wearing a heavy coat, Flora shivered.
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery
FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information
"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"
Philadelphia Municipal Airport, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
November 25, 1940
(…)
Flora remembered what the other American – she'd begun to capitalize 'other' in her head, and squashed that thought as a dangerous one – ambassador had said about the Fen in the briefing the day before.
~***~
“The Fen are different,” he said, this incredibly green young man who'd apparently been some junior State Department functionary before the world changed underneath them. “They're not green monsters from Mars – or at least most of them aren't,” which didn't inspire confidence in President Smith's group. “We've had our differences over the years, but the one thing we've found is that they do want to help. It's just that their definition of 'help' can be a bit... odd.”
“I see,” Smith said, not really seeing but willing to go along with the assessment. In the perilous situation the United States had found itself, even odd help was better than none. “What can you tell us about these delegates they're sending?”
“They're both faction leaders. Mr. Marsden is – was – is one of our leading industrialists, runs a major mining operation. He's a stalwart American patriot, though his personal politics might cause some friction.” Flora groaned inwardly at this. Even in another universe, the capitalists managed to rise to the top of the heap. “General Fnord,” the diplomat went on, “commands a smaller faction, more openly militarized than Marsden's. Aside from that, he's also got more overt and covert power among the Fen than Marsden, so expect him to lead the discussion.”
“I understand,” said Smith. “Thank you for letting us know this, son.”
“My pleasure, Mr. President.”
~***~
The buzzing was getting louder. It wasn't a physical loudness, where it made speech impossible, but a subliminal one, where the buzzing filled every available silence.
“It has to be nearby,” someone said.
“There!” someone else said, and there it was.
Coming high out of the west was an aeroplane the likes of which none of the people in Philadelphia had ever seen. A broad, flat triangle painted in garish colors swept down across the plain. Instead of propellers, the craft sported two large pods embedded in the wings, each topped with a cap that glowed a fierce blue.
“Amazing,” muttered a Navy officer standing near Flora. “I wonder how they do it?” The man's commanding officer however wasn't nearly so calm.
“Good Lord,” the admiral said, eyes wide as saucers. “That monster is as wide as the Remembrance is long!”
The monstrous aircraft swept down over the American delegation, close enough that they could read the ship's name ('GCU LAIKA') and see the device on the wings (a red and white flower, standing out against the spashes of green, blue and gold) before it gained altitude and moved on towards the city.
“Sonofabitch!” One of the generals attending the arrival snarled. “They're moving off to attack the city!”
“Steady, general,” the president warned.
“But sir!”
“Look, damn it! It's not attacking, it's turning!”
And so it was. The ship made a long, slow, majestic turn, like a runner doing a victory lap, or a new ocean liner making a show cruise around the harbor. All around the city, people stopped and looked up in amazement and a little fear. They'd all heard the Mysteron transmission, and despite the official denials they all wondered what that meant. Now it was clear; the Mysterons weren't only real, they were here.
Speaking for herself, her constituents and her country, Flora Blackford only hoped they came in peace.
~***~
“General, Mr. Marsden, welcome to the United States.” The president paused. “Forgive us, but your arrival was a little overwhelming.”
“It was? Oh dear.” Flora Blackford was more than a little puzzled. Fnord's demeanor was unlike any general – or any military man – she'd ever met. He seemed more like an absent-minded schoolteacher than somebody responsible for the sort of power Laika projected. “I really must apologize, Mr. President. The idea was to impress you, not overwhelm.”
“Oh, believe me General, we were very impressed.” Smith's voice was jolly, but everybody in earshot could tell the bonhomie was forced at best.
“Ah, yes? Well, good, good.” Fnord muttered, glancing at his wristwatch. “Again, my apologies. We didn't mean to frighten anybody.”
Flora couldn't resist the question. “So what would you have done had you meant to frighten us?” she asked.
Fnord peered at her, the absent-mindedness vanishing like fog on a sunny day. “Ah, Madame Blackford,” he said with a sharp-edged smile. “You should see what we sent to Richmond.”
Even though the day was fairly warm for a Pennsylvania November, and for all that she was wearing a heavy coat, Flora shivered.
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery
FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information
"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"