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Communications Budget

Baroun Tardis

SOC-12
Baronet
The Embassy Comptroller was ... not pleased. At All.
The Old Scout, sitting on the other side of the desk, on the other hand, seemed relaxed even though he was, nominally, the one being chewed out.

"You took money from the Embassy Communications Budget to ... "
The Comptroller took a deep breath, calming himself.
At this point the Charge de Affairs decided to finish the sentence
"Sign the Vargr Ambassador up on the 'PMS Pals' website. Four times."

The Old Scout nodded

"Why four?"

"That way he'd get a PMS Pals Prep Package every week"

The Comptroller got control of himself, and said, "Why?"

The young female stenographer stifled a laugh, All heads looked toward her - and she explained , "It includes a quarter kilo of dark chocolate."

With a snap, all eyes went back to the Old Scout. The Comptroller hissed out, "You think spending money from the communications budget on chocolate is justified?"

The Old Scout shrugged - "Well, I _was_ sending a message"
 
So, was this a badly attempted assassination?
There's a series of these "Old Scout / Vargr ambassador" mini stories floating around.

It's not so much a bad assassination attempt as "I dislike you, I'm going to send an insult that includes I hope you die. "

I need to write up the replies from the Vargr and do the whole story.

I want to write it up as a series of vignettes, alternating between the Scout getting in trouble and the Vargr ambassador having to explain himself to other people in his embassy about things that he knows are a compliment in Vargr society but are an insult in Imperial society...
... like marking the Scout's grav cycle as being under the Ambassador's personal protection.
 
Moonchaser was listed on the Embassy payroll as a “computer technician”, but a more accurate description of his job responsibilities was ‘hacker’. He was very good at getting in and out of other computer systems, and liked nothing more than the joy of the successful hunt and pounce of the elusive prey… his favorite prey being the secrets buried in other embassies computers.

His biggest dislike was in dealing with his boss, the intelligence section station chief. Right now, he was having a serious dislike moment, as the station chief went over his time card and chewed him out for working on an unapproved project.

“It was for the Ambassador himself? Not you just galavanting around and moving funds on your own, or satisfying your digital wanderlust - and in the process risking the Imperials finding out just how many of their networks we’ve opened?”

Moonchaser nodded, “Yes, sir. The Ambassador said it was a personal matter that he wanted attended to quietly I didn’t want him upset, so….”

“I’ll talk to him myself… after you explain what he had you do.”

“Sir… I hacked ‘Regina Compassionate Care’ …”

The station chief interrupted - “A hospital? Was the Ambassador after a patient?”
“Sir, the place is a no-kill animal shelter. They pick up stray animals, mostly dogs, and hold them until they find homes for them.”

The station chief barked with laughter, then said, “And?”

“I added a routing package. When the shelter is more than 80% full, all overflow animals are routed to an address and put in the apartment. The address and key-code for the apartment came out of the Intel Database. Some guy from the IISS that should have retired years ago.”

The station chief thought about it, quietly, then began the canine equivalent of a giggle.

“It’s fine, Moondancer. I know what’s going on now. Just… it’s fine. Good job, go back to work.”

Moondancer left the office. As he closed the door, the station chief switched from giggles to a full chuckle, then he heard the sound of a desk drawer opening, and the chief taking a nip from the bottle in the desk.


The Old Scout was glad to get home after the two week courier run. It was a routine trip, but it was also pretty obviously the Charge d’Affairs method of slapping him on the wrist for the PMS Pals thing.

One week out, drop off the package, and a week back. Pretty much solitary in the jump-space, sort of a mini-X-boat-life.
Now, all he wanted to do was go back, grab a few things from his apartment, and head out to do some fishing. Something to relax and enjoy the real air, the real wind, and look out farther than the bulkheads,

As he started tapping in the key code, he thought he heard a dog bark, Then another That was odd… and a third dog joined the barking.

The door slid open, and the Great Dane jumped up on him, licking his face He looked back over the beast’s shoulder to see the Great Pyrenees standing in the middle of his antique rug, emptying its bladder. The air coming out of the door plainly indicated it was the least of the indignancies the rug had suffered in the last couple weeks.

Coming out of his bedroom, in a swirl of shredded padding material was the Australian Cattle Dog, carrying his pillow case and shaking its head back and forth, throwing feathers all around the room.

The Old Scout took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and quietly said, “Ok, then. Ball’s back in my court.”
 
There's a series of these "Old Scout / Vargr ambassador" mini stories floating around.

It's not so much a bad assassination attempt as "I dislike you, I'm going to send an insult that includes I hope you die. "

I need to write up the replies from the Vargr and do the whole story.

I want to write it up as a series of vignettes, alternating between the Scout getting in trouble and the Vargr ambassador having to explain himself to other people in his embassy about things that he knows are a compliment in Vargr society but are an insult in Imperial society...
... like marking the Scout's grav cycle as being under the Ambassador's personal protection.
Being entirely honest, I was joking and did not make that clear.
My bad, but I look forward to reading more. I did giggle when I read the bit about the chocolates
 
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