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Shadow Arts / Log 1
Posted By: monitor101<wasup1989@hotmail.com>
Date: 22 September 2006, 1:18 am
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A.D. 2551, 2 November, 2000 hours / UNSC building, NYC, Earth
The meeting chamber of the UNSC council was massive. A large dais dominated the front of the room, lit by rectangles of fluorescent lights that hung from far above. A single mahogany podium sat in the middle bathed in the most light, a solid gold seal of the UNSC sat upon it, a testament to those few who stood behind it and changed history, something that was going to be made tonight.
The endless sea of countless seats stretched on incessantly to the back of the room where people were flowing out from doorways that connected the cavernous room to the main atrium. The rows of seats were filled with representatives of every nation on the Earth, and every off world colony within the authority of the UNSC. Some were sitting, some were standing, and some were filing down the narrow isles to get to their respective seats.
Normally the air would be electrified with debate, opinions, and squawk. Each representative feeling as if it was their obligation to voice their own view or else be thrown against the rocks by the opposition as politics was dog eat dog.
But not tonight, the air was unusually calm for this particular room that had seen unbridled displays of debate on more than one occasion in its five hundred year run as host to the rulers of humanity. No, tonight the inaudible white noise of a thousand voices all speaking at once was kept at a comfortable level of decibels. Each person kept their ego in check. It was a reciprocal respectability that was not made obvious by signs or door attendants telling people to do so, it was something that everyone felt and knew on a subconscious level. There was a time for debate and there was a time for unified gathering and listening, like tonight.
However, there was another type of excitement that buzzed within the multitude. An underlying eagerness for the night to hurry and transpire, everyone was anxious for something.
A short, bald man in a well-tailored black suit melted out of the darkness and into the lights, he mounted the podium; the room fell instantly silent. There were the last few sounds of an occasional cough and creak of someone's chair as everyone took their seats at the sign of the chairman of the UNSC General Assembly, a routine that they were all accustomed to doing. The chairman waited patiently as the last few delegates filed into the room and found their seats.
He cleared his throat and the sound echoed down the massive chamber through strings of speakers that lined the walls, the first loud noise all night. He picked up his gavel and rapped three times on the podium with it, an age-old tradition that probably didn't make a difference in getting people's attention in the colossal chamber, as it did in a courtroom.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began in the softest of British accents, "thank you all very much for coming. This will be and exciting and interesting night for all of us. Tonight, we are on the eve of an election. Tomorrow, the General Assembly goes to the polls and votes on who will be the next secretary general of the United Nations Space Command," he paused and took a drink of water. "There are two final candidates that have been nominated by their individual parties and have survived the last six months, as we all know is worse than fighting Covenant face to face."
Waves of amused laughter rippled through the audience, and then died down.
"They will both be delivering their final speeches before you all cast your ballots." He tried to suppress a smile. "Our first speaker is ahead in the pre-election polls by fifteen points," he said, the excitement in his voice was unmistakable.
Excitement gesticulated throughout the audience. Whispers and muffled shouts of enthusiasm rose.
"Delegates, it is my profound pleasure to introduce to you," he outstretched his arm behind him, "Quentin Chantillis."
The crowd burst into applause. More than half of those sitting gave a standing ovation to the man who walked out of the black curtains and into the pool of light.
Quentin Chantillis was tall, stalwart, and broad shouldered. He wore a silk Valentino suit that shimmered over a muscular frame. His medium length dark hair was neatly parted and edged with gray. His smart looks drove women mad. However, physical features were not his only attribute. He was backed with an edgy intelligence and rare blunt honesty that was a breath of fresh air to many in a world where lies came in abundance. He had brains and balls, something that attracted other politicians to rally behind him. The Hispanic man was a genius who knew how to navigate the rough seas of politics, and the position of secretary general, where the seas were the stormiest; he seemed to fit the role of captain well.
He strode over to the podium with a charismatic step, shook hands cheerfully with the chairman, and flashed a set of pearly whites that looked like they could have come straight from a clamshell. The chairman stepped down and Chantillis stepped up to a place he was sure to occupy in the future.
The clapping continued for five minutes, then finally dimmed and faded.
"Thank you ladies and gentleman, and thank you chairman," Chantillis said in an English accent with a slight Latin inflection. "In the midst of a terrible conflict with an alien empire, I stand before you to lay out my agenda for the UNSC…for humanity."
The majority of the audience had been waiting for this speech for the bulk of the race and he told it exactly as they had anticipated. He delivered every word without faltering and every word was spoken with passion. The speech dripped from his mouth like honey, and the audience devoured it like bees.
Twenty minutes into the speech, half of which had been occupied by applause, Chantillis was reaching the end of his dialogue. He had managed to keep the attention of the room for every second. Now, there seemed to be general disappointment as it came to a close.
No one noticed a pinhead sized red dot that suddenly flashed onto his chest. No one heard the two silent gunshots. No one realized Chantillis had been shot when he collapsed to the ground.
The elation that had swept the room, instantaneously changed into a surge of panic and chaos. The man who was going to lead the UNSC into the next stage of the Human, Covenant conflict was now dead. Moreover, to many, the death of a Human victory had died with him.
Again, the meeting chamber filled with shouts and shrill screams. However, not shouts of rage or protest. The shouts were new to the chamber, something it had never heard before. These were shouts of horror.
2100 hours / Waldorf Astoria hotel, NYC
Demetrius Granitsky sat in the restaurant of the Waldorf Astoria, nervously sipping his glass of Chivas Regal scotch. He wiped sweat out of his eyes and scratched at his disheveled brown hair. His eyes jumped around the room.
Granitsky was the only one occupying a table in the large restaurant, something that didn't surprise him in the least. Everyone else, including the staff, crowded around the bar, watching recorded footage of Quentin Chantillis collapsing at the podium.
One of them shot him a quick glance then returned their gaze to the TV screen, probably wondering why he wasn't glued to the breaking news like everyone else in the world. He didn't need to see it, he was there when it happened, and seeing it again would only push him closer to the brink of a nervous breakdown. He scanned the room again.
She was late and he hated waiting, especially at a time like this. In the past hour, the UNSC was already feeling the political effects of Chantillis's death. The UNSC was in a shit storm. Off world, delegates who were not able to attend the final speeches had already cast their votes and the results were in, Chantillis was unanimously the winner, although the outcome was to be determined tomorrow. Now those votes had been cast out and it seemed inevitable that Chantillis's opponent would be announced indefinitely.
From where he sat, Granitsky had a good view of the door. He instantly recognized Alice Levigne as she walked in. His eyes roamed, she wore a beautiful Armani dress that stopped just above her knees, giving a good look at her long, toned, and very tan legs. Her olive hair was pulled back into a bun and gleamed in the light. She rose and fell as she walked model style with one foot in front of the other, as if she were on a tight rope. She walked over to him on Stiletto heels and landed in the chair opposite him.
"Is this bad or is this bad?" he said in a shaky voice.
"I'd say not as bad as you. You look like hell," she said, studying his messy hair and unloosened collar on his dinner jacket that he had worn to the speech ceremony.
He leaned forward and fired up a cigarette. "Thanks again for meeting me. This is urgent."
"Then quit bullshitting and make it urgent," Levigne hissed.
"We have little time to pull this program before Gates gets bumped into office," he said.
Mick Gates was Chantillis's opponent in the race for secretary general. He opposed every policy Chantillis proposed. Levigne was on the secretary general's staff. Foreseeing the winner, she had met with Chantillis on more than one occasion over the duration of the race and had already begun setting things up for the candidate even before he was to become secretary general. Now that Chantillis was dead and Gates was on his way in, she had to cease all programs and activities that they had implemented while the race was still in full swing. If Gates discovered this then he would surely wipe the slate clean once bumped into office. The secretary general was only able to change his staff if there was corruption involved within their ranks. Levigne had been on the staff under the past three secretary general's, and she had done shady deeds on more than one occasion and never been caught. Nevertheless, if she didn't purge her surreptitious activities at once then she would give Gates an excuse to get rid of her.
She needed Granitsky because he was the predominant power broker in the political arena. Through his half law, half lobbying firm Granitsky & Associates, he was very capable of creating a temporary political shit storm to distract Gates while she pulled the plug on all her surreptitious activities.
Indent]"Have you started?" Levigne asked, tapping a fork against an empty wine glass.
The waitress heard the beckoning and left the group of fervent viewers. She walked over and pulled out a pen and paper.
"We're not eating tonight," Granitsky replied, playfully smiling at the striking waitress, his mind briefly forgetting the terrible events of the evening.
"Belvedere vodka," Levigne said without looking at the waitress.
The waitress nodded and left.
Granitsky sipped his scotch and took a timid drag from the cigarette. "I already started to pull some strings. This little fiasco will kick up in a few days."
"Good," Levigne answered, her attention focused on twirling her only piece of jewelry around her finger. Her wedding ring was a reminder never again to get mixed up with a politician, especially one who would have been her boss.
To Be Continued…
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