Reroll

“The President wants to discuss the situation with you and one other involved party in private.” Agent Charlie Grant of the Secret Service pauses, “Relative private. We'll be there, but the Secret Service doesn't talk about Presidents’ business.”

Of course I ask the obvious question, “Who's the other ‘involved party’?”

The agent pauses a moment, “I'm authorized to tell you, but not over an unsecured line, and not anyone else… and Ms. Crowley is very eager to get her phone back.  I can tell you that as an official guest of the President, the Secret Service will guarantee your safety: You have nothing to fear from the other guest.”

I consider a bit, “I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that the other party is a representative of an international organization, tasked with… I'll go with ‘keeping humanity safe’, as their charter probably says something like that.”

There's a very long pause this time, “I cannot confirm or deny on this line.” I have a lot of skills, however, and the Sense Motive use of Starfinder's Perception skill is telling me that's a yes.

Well… I needed to talk with them at some point, and the Secret Service mostly knows their business, “Okay.  When and where?”

“At your earliest convenience; The President has informed me he will clear his schedule.” The SS agent pauses, “Additionally, the President requests that it be a showy appearance on The White House lawn, which then moves indoors.  Just… let us know a bit in advance so we can warn the snipers and any relevant anti-aircraft units to expect you.”

I can do that, “Sure. I'll head that way shortly, and make sure to give at least an hour's notice. Got a contact number?”

He gives one to me, and I note it down. “Thank you for your time, Ms Alice.  I hope to see you there.”

I consider, “I expect I'll beat you there.  When's your flight?”

“About six hours from now. Why do you ask?”

I look around at my ship, “I expect I'll be there well before you.  Sorry.”

The agent pauses, “Don't be. Dropping your other plans and heading straight there means you still respect the office. That's… refreshing.”

“Do I want to know why that's refreshing?”

“The Secret Service doesn't talk about Presidents’ business,” but Charlie seems sad.

“Thank you.  Goodbye.”

We hang up, and I give the orders… three hours until we're over the right spot, huh? I do have that sky crane… and a dragon… that should do.  I suppose I could do an orbital drop without the sky crane… nah.  Besides, I'll want it for getting back up either way: It's faster than the rules for just flying into orbit by an average of thirty minutes.

I manufacture and store soldiers on the way: I expect I'll need a lot of them eventually, to keep down the nastier Mythics: Very little beats overwhelming numbers of nigh-invulnerable minions. I mean, they can be killed… it's just difficult.

Once we're close enough, I place the call, and let them know the basic plan: I'll be dropping out of the sky, very visibly, and will need a good amount of clearance from my landing point.

I then head to the sky crane.  It's… acceptable. A giant gray cube with my ship's name on the side in blue, a really huge rocket engine on each corner, and a giant parachute pack on the roof.  I hit the button to open the door, and walk out of the way as all four of the thirty foot wide, thirty foot tall walls of the unit come slowly down with the sound of hydraulics and become boarding ramps fit to drive semi trucks up.  The inside is… well, a metal garage.  It's empty, but a quick examination of the floor reveals lift-up paneling with built in tie down straps: It would be a simple matter to secure anything that can get past the corner supports and fit under the roof.  I unpack my dragon, unpack an Alice, possess the Alice, and give the order to my ship… and the walls close back up.  Shortly after, there's some vibration, then very smooth sailing, then some more vibration and the room gets a bit warm.  It's not so hot as to cook someone, the vibration never gets bad enough to knock me off my feet, and I have normal gravity the whole time.

Sadly, there aren't any windows; it’s a pretty boring hour.

When the skycrane stops and the doors start to open, I quickly mount my dragon, and watch hundreds of cameras flash at me on the white house lawn as the doors come down.

I have plenty of room: There's men with vests and machine guns enforcing the stanchions giving a good fifty feet around my landing point, so I'm not being crowded.  As the roof pulls the parachutes back in, I have my dragon walk down the ramp, hop off, and give the hand sign from TrekWars 5 as I give the classic B movie line:

“Take me to your leader.”

I also whisper some last minute instructions to my dragon: “This is currently a diplomatic mission. Be diplomatic: If anyone approaches, be friendly, but don't spill information; try not to frighten people; and absolutely avoid hurting anyone, even in self defense, for now.”

“Yes boss,” my fake dragon rumbles back.

I watch as two guys in silk suits literally roll out a red carpet for me.  I wait until they arrive, feeling like a… prince, I guess?... and follow the carpet, my wings out, visibly dressed up like I always am at healings.  Hundreds of people with cameras stand behind the stanchions and take pictures while the Secret Service keeps overwatch… I can ID the snipers watching the crowd (or at least three of them).  I could get used to this… which might be a problem.

I follow the carpet into The White House, where I'm quickly whisked away by some aides into the oval office, where the President sits behind his desk, two big beefy men with guns and dark glasses standing at either side, two big comfy-looking high-backed chairs with their backs to me.  The President stands when I enter, as does the man sitting in one of the two guest chairs.

The President extends his hand, which I walk up and shake, “Good to meet you, Alice, thank you for coming on short notice, and filling my request for a showy entrance in spades.”

I shake his hand, “My pleasure, Mr. President.” I turn to the other man, “I'm afraid you may have the advantage of me, Mr….?” I hold my hand out to him once the President let's go.

I take a good look at the other guy: He's maybe five foot eight, dressed in gray robes that go from his head to his toes… I can't even see his shoes.   He has a well trimmed white mustache and beard, covering much of his olive skin.  His brown eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, and his hood is up.  A little makeup, and almost anybody could be him.

“Diamond. Isiah Diamond.” I can't place his accent.  He makes not even the slightest move to shake my hand, “And you haven't been evaluated for your level of contagion.” I let my hand drop, and sit down... and so does the President and Mr. Diamond.

And his reaction tells me who he is well enough, “So you're a representative from the international branch of the Inquisition, then?”

“Not the right name… but yes.  And you are a Corrupted who is a very… mixed blessing, for now,” he looks me up and down, “What is your Myth, anyway?  You have an insane degree of… hodgepodge.”

I do have a kitchen sink build... not telling you that, though, "I have heard from some of your agents here that you use that information for the purposes of killing Mytics, so you'll pardon me if I do not answer that one.”

Isiah's eyebrows match the rest of his hair when he briefly brings them above his glasses, “Your descent into corruption clearly hasn't significantly impared your cognition. A pity: It would make this easier.”

At least he's not lying, “So you want me dead, then?”

“Oh yes,” Mr. Diamond replies, quite conversationally, “You're far too powerful to be good for humanity.  We had such trouble disposing of the Olympians, Dii Consentes, jötnar, and others.”

Ugh, this guy, “I'm still part of humanity, I'm just no longer a baseline human.”

“Exactly. You're impure, Corrupted…” the Inquisition rep is apparently a fanatic.

“We’re not here for name calling,” the President interrupts, “we’re here to solve a problem.”

“Yes, and the problem is right here,” the old man injects.

“I'm hoping she's the solution, actually,” the President… is coming to my defense?  Huh.  He actually means it, even, “see, I and previous Presidents permitted these folks to operate largely freely on US soil out of necessity; as I'm sure you're aware, not all… Mythics, you said… are as…” he trails off.

I fill it in, “You're dancing around the fact that a great many Mythics are seemingly mindless monsters, killing or converting any baseline humans they encounter, and you let these folks operate, even funded them, to protect the American people from some rather gruesome fates.  I figured that out working with the Resistance. I don't blame you for your actions.”

“Good,” the man behind the desk smiles, “because I'm going to need a better solution than this guy for keeping people alive if you don't want me to just bring him back under a different cover.  So tell me: How can you help?”