Fisnavavaada Announces Success of Rocketry Program

The Glorious Empire reigns! An artificial satellite, part of our science division, has been placed in a 200x200km orbit! The satellite died from faulty equipment, but fear not! We have learned! Our next launches will survive!

Thank you all those involved in the Empire's science division!

---

The television turns off. Gerban Kerlorf, head of the Empire Exo-Atmospheric Research Bureau, sits back, an intense frown on his face, his mind consumed in though. The rocket isn't even developed! What the hell did they do this time? He turns and grabs the sono-phone beside him. Sure, his kids all call it the telephone, but he likes the original name on the shiny metal device. "Sono-phone". Sounds more scientific to him. Sure, he's a scientist, he shouldn't like fakey-science names, but he does, after all, everyone's a kid inside just a little bit, some people in different ways. He lays back in his recliner again, confused. Again, the same thought comes to him, and he jolts upright. "Those fools! What are they doing?!" he screams aloud.

Kerlorf bursts through the two glass-and-aluminum doors that are the worker's entry to the tracking station of the FEP. He runs all the way to his friends in the data analysis center, flashing his ID card at literally everyone just so not to be slowed down. He bursts through the door, and comes gradually to a halt between his friends, John Feldermann and Friedrich Voltzpar, the two in charge of every piece of data that's been stored from the tracking center. John looks up at him. "You don't look too hot there, pal. What's the matter?" Friedrich chuckles and says "It's those night-terrors again, ain't it?" Kerlorf glares at them both. "No you morons. I'm here on the satellite declaration. We've launched nothing!" "Bullshit." Friedrich says. "We launched something last week, didn't you hear? Came from out in the mountains, not at your public space station." Kerlorf grabs his chair and spins Freidrich to face him, knocking his coffee on the floor. "Listen to me, I'm the director of all exo-atmospheric space exploration in the Empire. If we launch anything, ANYTHING, it goes through me. I have the sole authority to grant flight certificates to anything leaving the atmosphere, and no one else does." Friedrich laughs again. "And what does that make you, king of the fairies?" Gerban exhales forcefully. "Why do I know you fools?" He turns, mentally exhausted, and walks away, upset and angry.

Back at his desk at home, Kerlorf views radar data. He watches it, the object, just appear on the radar, in-orbit. No boost phase, no ascent from the mountains, nothing. He has to go deeper, but does he really dare go deeper? Why shouldn't he, he's the smartest man in his country, he's the biggest tool his government has!

He walks out front and opens the driver door to his car.

---

An hour and a half later, he arrives in the capital city, on his way to the EFMA, the Empire Financial Management Agency, full of tax returns and government spending reports, with the Emperor's personal spending marked simply as "Spending of the People". Gerban chuckles. It's a silly place, really.

---

He strides through the front door, out of the dark, windy night on the ocean. The main lobby is small, about 300 feet long, maybe 80 wide, a single story tall, lit by bright white ceiling lights that occasionally flash at him. For a place full of money, they don't show it. There's a desk with three receptionists ahead, or at least room for three. Only the left-most slot is filled. Government cutbacks for his rocketry program to expand their budget must've gone through here like an earthquake, shaking up jobs as it went. After all, no one likes the EFMA, and his father had a favorite saying about the agency. "When it comes time for Ma's taxes, what do they do? EFMA." Kerlorf suppresses a grin as he approaches the front desk, taking his hat off, his long trench coat open in the warmer winds of summer. The receptionist perks up. "Hello sir, can I help you?" Kerlorf thinks for a moment. "No, but you know where someone is in this building who can. I'm looking for the Vengeance projects financial aide, and the Air Force financial aide." The receptionist looks over his glasses. "Okay, access code?" Kerlorf curses under his breath, and fumbles to find his wallet. He pulls it out, and sorts through the pocket he keeps clean for military credentials, or anything his workplace requires him to carry. Finally, he finds a large light-grey card with the Air Force's insignia: A winged bird of prey from the side, with orange and green stripes turning to the background from under the bird's wing. The card has his name, his ID tag number, and within that, his access code. "Oh-oh-seven-seven-one-oh-six". The receptionist flips through a small notebook, probably full of access codes and naughty secrets to go along with each one. His family disputes and his record of "curiosity" probably are listed under his name. Finally the receptionist stops very close to the end. "Oh-oh-seven-seven-one-oh-six. Kerlorf, Gerban. Vengeance Program Council Aide. You're looking first for Dr. Stevenson, who resides in room 406. Next is General Ardvall, who resides in room 722. You'll need your access code for both. Elevators are down the hall to my left and are on the right; there's a bank of four that wraps around the corner. Have a nice night."

---

Kerlorf steps off the elevator, and looks down the hall to his right, and then his left. A sign dead ahead says 406 is to the left, and so he steps out and walks down to the left. He finds room 406, and knocks on the door. The voice of a cheery old man comes through loud and clear, even though it's but an hour from closing time. "Hello? This is Dr. Stevenson! Come in!" Gerban opens the door, and steps through.

After the conversation with Dr. Stevenson, Dr. Gerban Kerlorf turns back and walks to the elevator bank, ascending to the seventh floor. He turns down the hall, and begins looking for room 722.

---

After finding the door, he checks the number again and knocks on a rather old unassuming bland wooden door. A deeper voice answers. "Hello, come in." Gerban opens the door and walks inside. He finds himself fifteen feet away from a mahogany desk with a kerb in a suit behind it, his feet on the desk, wearing an air force uniform, with a large book cabinet with a glass front behind him. "I'm General Ardvall of the Glorious Air Force of the Empire. I've been expecting you." A large kerb walks out of the shadows in the poorly lit room, and shuts the door behind Kerlorf.