Prologue
And Now, The News
New York City, 2002
The apartment of Chandler and Monica Bing
"Honey? Can you put on the news?"
"Not right now, no. Two minutes."
"Chandler..."
"Mon, you agreed to take me for better or for worse, and that includes Beaver Creek. Allow me my predilections."
"I don't get your thing for Canadian melodrama. I want to see what's going on with that congresswoman!"
"When did you get all political?"
"Don't start with me. I'm active! I went to that rally last week for Women's rights in Qumar, remember"
"...Mon, you were the caterer."
"That's not the point! Aah! Why did I marry you?!?"
"Just lucky, I guess."
"Where's Phoebe, anyway? She was supposed to stop by half an hour ago."
"Ahh, she's probably busy with that new beau of hers, that 'Vincent' guy."
"I don't know about this 'mystery man' she's gotten herself involved with. Why won't she introduce us? Do we even know anything about him?"
"Besides his name? I don't think much...shy, lives in a basement apartment or something. Doesn't like her 'smelly cat' song..."
"Vincent...come on, what kind of a name is that? Something creeps me out about him."
"Cute as your paranoia is, Monica, give Pheebs some space. She's a big girl."
"I guess..."
"...Aaannnnd, that's it for the Creek. Here comes the boring, grim news."
"Finally. Shove over."
Monica left her beloved kitchen and joined her husband on the sofa as he flipped through the channels, arriving on CNN. A pretty girl in her late twenties was rattling off information at a rapid clip. Across the bottom of the screen was the legend: SHOWBIZ.
"...and sources close to Mister Sanders report that things between him and former model Carrie Spencer are REALLY heating up. And hey, after all that poor girl's had to put up with, doesn't she deserve a little happy time? Let's hope the talk show legend treats her better than SOME of the men in her past."
Behind the pretty girl, the graphic depicting a fortysomething man in an embrace with a ravishing woman changes to a taped video feed of a nighttime music concert, spectacular fireworks and all.
"And finally, last night's benefit concert in Angel City, raising money for victims of R.D.7, was a total success, with early estimates predicting an impressive $500,000 dollar take. And despite early fears, security in the sometimes embattled city went off without a hitch. Performers included legend Dan Partridge, country music sweetheart Daisy Duke, and hard-rocking hero Johnny Bukowski, who put on a typically electrifying show. That's it for showbiz news, I'm Six LeMeure. Passing you back now to CNN headquarters, and Bailey Quarters. Bailey?"
The scene on the television suddenly shifts to a busy studio interior. A man and a woman are seated at a desk, and behind them are dozens of people manning countless monitors and machines. The woman, fidgeting with several sheets of papers in her hands, speaks first. "Thanks Six. From CNN headquarters in Atlanta, I'm Bailey Quarters."
The woman, her light hair tied back in a ponytail, glances over to the older man seated at her right. "...And I'm Matt Cassiday. Here are some of the stories we're following at this hour. A funeral was held today at Arlington National Cemetery for General Robert Hogan, who passed away this Thursday in his Georgia home. A decorated soldier and former chairman of the joint chiefs of staff, General Hogan had led a most memorable career, dating back to his service in World War II. Though he spent four years in a German POW camp, then-Colonel Hogan still managed to continue fighting the good fight, staging several spectacular underground resistance missions from within his prison confines. Sometimes inspirational, sometimes downright unbelievable, his exploits at the now famous Stalag 13 were documented in the 1962 bestseller HOGAN'S HEROES by fellow prisoner Peter Newkirk. Following the end of the war, Hogan continued in service to his country in one capacity or another for several decades. Staying on in an advisorial capacity long after his official retirement, Hogan is rumoured to have played a key strategic role in 1984's 'Operation Victory', though much of that information is still considered classified. Whatever the story, there can be no doubt that Robert Hogan was a true American hero. Retired Army Captain James Kinchloe, now the last surviving member of General Hogan's famed wartime POW group, had this to say about the man:"
The screen switches to a taped interview segment, a close up on an elderly black man dressed in a sombre black suit. He spoke slowly and deliberately, words dipped in earnest sentiment.
"The Colonel....I'm sorry, the GENERAL...was simply an amazing man. He did...incredible things, under the most impossible of circumstances, and he did'em with a smile on his face. Working with him was the greatest thing I'll ever do. They don't make 'em like old Hogan anymore."
"So true," Ms.Quarters added as the camera fell on her once more, "...today's funeral was attended by a veritable who's who of VIP's, most notable being President Jed Bartlet, and current joint chiefs chairman Percy Fitzwallace. Also present were former President McKenna, and former British PM James Hacker."
"Security at today's funeral was extra tight," Mr.Cassiday said grimly, "...especially in light of yesterday's assassination attempt on Congresswoman Smart of Washington. The Congresswoman had been receiving death threats for weeks now, as a result, apparently, of some very public anti-Taelon comments she has made recently. At a public appearance yesterday an unidentified assassin fired a single bullet at the congresswoman, missing by only the barest of margins."
The camera shot shifted, and Ms.Quarters picked up. "Unfortunately, Matt, although the bullet missed it's intended target, the congresswoman's husband Maxwell was struck in the shoulder as he tried to protect his wife from the attack. Mister Smart, a former government agent, is reported in critical but stable condition at a local hospital. We have confirmed now that a warning was shouted out to the assemblage only moments before the shooting. It came from an as-yet unnamed photographer who, by some strange piece of luck, stumbled upon the shooter's hideaway in what turned out to be literally the nick of time. The assassin seems to have been posing as a photographer himself, as a camera with a tripod, along with other photographic equipment, was later found at his abandoned position. So far, no word on any images that may have been on that camera's film, although the Washington CSI team is withholding all comments on the case, and their findings, at this time."
"That seems to be happening from all directions in this case, Bailey," Mr.Cassiday noted, "...as we here at CNN have learned from a source within the FBI that the government, still publicly claiming complete ignorance in this incident, in fact is well aware not only of the identity of the shooter, but may in fact already have him in custody. We'll have more on this as it develops."
"This is an incredible story, Matt," Ms.Quarters said, half-turning to her co-anchor, "...did you know both the congresswoman AND her husband were once full-fledged 'secret agents'? That's where they met?"
"Oh, absolutely! Mrs.Smart wrote a wonderful book of memoirs on her whole government career a few years back. It's fascinating reading."
"I'll bet. Also today, NASA director Kelly Wood issued a statement announcing an official opening date for the international space station, now being officially called Unity Station. According to Wood, Unity is expected to be ready for business by no later than August 31st of next year, and the big buzz now is: who will be the first aboard this historic undertaking? Rumours are already starting to fly, possible candidates ranging anywhere from popular television pitchman Gordon Shumway to the members of newly reformed youth organization C.A.P.E.R., so recently in the news for rescuing Kate Gatling, daughter of Senator James Gatling, from attempted kidnappers. We spoke with C.A.P.E.R. spokesperson Shirley..."
*CLICK*
The screen fell silent in a darkened office at the flick of a switch. An elegant finger slid off of a remote control, and an exquisitely tailored, if slightly old-fashioned looking gentleman slumped rather wearily back in his chair. He hated watching the news...it depressed him to see such ill-informed individuals being responsible for dispensing information to the general public. Still, they did get a few things right now and then. He'd have to find out who their Bureau source was and bleed the little weasel. Or at least, scare the living hell out of him.
The man, affectionately (or fearfully) known to some of his lesser associates as Mister C, ruffled through some of the documents on his desk, taking a sip of tea with his free hand before finding the paper he was looking for. It was a DXS report on the latest British team...he recognized few of the names involved, which made him angry. Tara, of course, but the rest were ciphers. He would have to ask Maxwell about them, reassigned or not. They had their own spaceship, for heaven's sake! What was Mother playing at now..?
A slight crackle preceded a sudden voice on the intercom, disturbing the tranquil peace of the office. He noted it with a frown, as well as a sudden red light on his telephone.
"Director Collins?" came the female voice, "...Director, the President is on line one for you, sir."
The Director set down his teacup and stared at the telephone. "Well," he said quietly, "...that's not something one hears every day, is it? Thank you, Miss Welles."
With consummate calm, the Director picked up the receiver and held it to his ear, careful not to let the telephone cord tangle with the flower on his lapel.
"Yes, Mister President?"
The Director listened quietly for about half a minute, before nodding to himself and saying, simply, "...Yes, sir. I'll take care of it. Thank you."
He hung up the receiver after that, and proceeded to slide open the top drawer of his desk, pulling out a folder filled with classified documents, handsomely printed on sheets of blue paper (the director eschewed computers). He riffled through them for a moment, before he had to put them down on his desk. He was laughing too hard.
"Smith...oh, Smith," he muttered to himself between chuckles, "...I just knew you'd blow it somehow."