Harsh Realities: Fallen Crown, Flying Eye
2021-08-01, circa 12:06 Miyana International Time
The imperial ambassador had been given some vague indication from the recent communications with Weiser that Toonela’s intelligence services may be needed. Muttunbaal, of course, had done their level best to make sure their contacts with the relevant pavillions had all dotted their ‘i’s and crossed their ‘t’s, so that they needn’t worry about their unfamiliarity with an operation like a manhunt across the Serachicha Sea. None of that stopped the diplomat from practically twitching when their phone rang and the number wasn’t identified.
Ambassador Muttunbaal: This is Muttunbaal, Im- . . . Uh huh. I see. Yes, well, they have already determined that it would be better if your contact was more direct . . . No, not quite that, I’m afraid I don’t have that friend’s contact information. I shall give you a number to a mutual acquaintance . . . yes, going forward, you can speak to them without calling me . . . no problem. May your day be tranquil.
As the conversation wrapped up and they hang up, Muttunbaal breathed a sigh of relief. The intermediary assigned by GPIP would have to deal with such things going forward. The Holy Empire was, thankfully, not in the business of putting even more stress on their spokespeople than they already had to deal with.
The Astralian OpLead of Operation Finding Fallen Crown calls a new number after hanging up on Toonela’s ambassador. Hundreds of kilometers away, a satellite phone on an encrypted channel rings. A second later, a figure hunched inside a relatively cramped cockpit answers with none of the nervous edge to their voice that had dominated the previous Toonelan’s conversation with the Astralian.
‘DM-H: Yes? . . . Ah. Of course. I was told this was a possibility . . . Understood. We should have that information . . . I have other ways to be contacted, yes . . . as long as it is safe, that sounds agreeable. I’ll begin transferring them . . . of course, if you need anything else, simply hail us again. There are other craft who can descend to paint even more accurate pictures. Civilian airships sometimes get lost and must circle around as they find their bearings, yes? Such wanderings are good opportunities to paint the landscape . . . At your leisure. We do look forward to finding it. Couldn’t have fallen far, after all.
As the new information, a mix of predominately imagery taken from satellite and pseudo-satellites and observational notations, begins to be opened within the Astralian Office of the Central Intelligence Services, OpLead begins to get an idea of just how visually acute the Toonelans (perhaps rightfully accused of tending towards paranoia) really are. All six of the missing vehicles and their locations of abandonment across the peninsula are on full display.
2021-08-01, circa 12:06 Miyana International Time
The imperial ambassador had been given some vague indication from the recent communications with Weiser that Toonela’s intelligence services may be needed. Muttunbaal, of course, had done their level best to make sure their contacts with the relevant pavillions had all dotted their ‘i’s and crossed their ‘t’s, so that they needn’t worry about their unfamiliarity with an operation like a manhunt across the Serachicha Sea. None of that stopped the diplomat from practically twitching when their phone rang and the number wasn’t identified.
Ambassador Muttunbaal: This is Muttunbaal, Im- . . . Uh huh. I see. Yes, well, they have already determined that it would be better if your contact was more direct . . . No, not quite that, I’m afraid I don’t have that friend’s contact information. I shall give you a number to a mutual acquaintance . . . yes, going forward, you can speak to them without calling me . . . no problem. May your day be tranquil.
As the conversation wrapped up and they hang up, Muttunbaal breathed a sigh of relief. The intermediary assigned by GPIP would have to deal with such things going forward. The Holy Empire was, thankfully, not in the business of putting even more stress on their spokespeople than they already had to deal with.
The Astralian OpLead of Operation Finding Fallen Crown calls a new number after hanging up on Toonela’s ambassador. Hundreds of kilometers away, a satellite phone on an encrypted channel rings. A second later, a figure hunched inside a relatively cramped cockpit answers with none of the nervous edge to their voice that had dominated the previous Toonelan’s conversation with the Astralian.
‘DM-H: Yes? . . . Ah. Of course. I was told this was a possibility . . . Understood. We should have that information . . . I have other ways to be contacted, yes . . . as long as it is safe, that sounds agreeable. I’ll begin transferring them . . . of course, if you need anything else, simply hail us again. There are other craft who can descend to paint even more accurate pictures. Civilian airships sometimes get lost and must circle around as they find their bearings, yes? Such wanderings are good opportunities to paint the landscape . . . At your leisure. We do look forward to finding it. Couldn’t have fallen far, after all.
As the new information, a mix of predominately imagery taken from satellite and pseudo-satellites and observational notations, begins to be opened within the Astralian Office of the Central Intelligence Services, OpLead begins to get an idea of just how visually acute the Toonelans (perhaps rightfully accused of tending towards paranoia) really are. All six of the missing vehicles and their locations of abandonment across the peninsula are on full display.
