Well, the Fringe is still there; just waiting for a few good humans.

Senor Peron (no relation) was sitting at his desk, looking over the expedition reports filed by the various people he had worked with over the last couple of years. Some were comrades in arms and fellow explorers; some were people he had trained. He liked to keep abreast of how they were doing; and it never hurt to learn more about the Fringe.

He read with some interest the report of one group of ex-trainees; it seems they had found two Fringeworthy locals suitable for recruitment, and brought one back with them. Not bad for a sparsely populated post-holocaust world; even if they did seem to take the scenic route to where they were going. Dealing with that bandit gang probably also helped their reputation locally, though one of them seemed to get a bit too enthusiastic about it...if he doesn't settle down, perhaps the next time they meet a short talk might be in order.

The other potential recruit, the boy; perhaps someone should go find this young Van Inwegan's home, and talk to his father about it. The report indicates where it should be; it's a simple enough task. Before he turns to the next report, Senor Peron makes a note to send the suggestion up the chain. Always more paperwork...

Coming back from a short vacation with his brother's family, Peron found a memo in his inbox; since he suggested recruiting Van Inwegan, he can organize it. Muttering under his breath, he sets out choosing suitable candidates for such an easy undertaking.

Deciding that a working knowledge of English would be essential for this one, he rejects several otherwise suitable candidates. Then he sees one that looks good; a Russian named Grigory Yuschenko, just finished with training. Drafted into the Russian Army as a teen; a year in Chechnya as a driver, one firefight, one wound, discharged honorably. He's seen the elephant, but didn't look for trouble. That's good.

Hmm...his English is adequate, and he can drive almost anything IDET may give him. He was an electrician in Russia? He may be the first man who arrived here already knowing how to work with tubes. He'll do.

Peron flags the file, and goes back to searching for more warm bodies to send.

Grigori lights another cigarette and reads through the email one last time.
So, you have a mission, Ivanovich. Perhaps it will be fun
After checking his watch and deciding that it's about time, he gets up and heads towards the briefing room. Perhaps there will be someone there who can tell him more. Or perhaps he could meet more of his team.

There aren't many English speakers in the latest training class...

"Hmm, an Englishman. Perhaps he speaks English."

White-Haven, John; 41 years old. A veteran submariner and medical aid for the Royal Navy; honorably retired. Decent education, mostly recently acquired; competent mechanic. Something of a specialty in radiation damage. Not very useful on the Fringe; but on a post holocaust world... A bit depressive, but not critically. Well rated in training. He'll do.

He flags the file; and goes back to searching.

Regretting that the locals don't speak Chinese; Peron finishes his search and logs off. These two should be able to handle this one way or the other.

The next morning, Grigory finds Senor Peron waiting for him in the briefing room. It's a fairly small room; a table, four chairs, with one wall given over to displays, and enough room to swing a cat (but not, of course, with great safety for the cat). Peron is seated, making notes on a handheld computer. He briefly stands and nods before reseating himself.

"Have a seat, Mr Yuschenko. Mr White-Haven will be joining you shortly. I trust you've been oriented to Hatsumi base?"

Senor Peron has ex-officer written all over him; the sort who did not regard his commission as a license to line his own pockets, or his men as personal servants (attitudes Grigory encountered often enough in the Russian Army). According to a collar flash he's wearing, he's risen in IDET to an administrative rank equivalent to captain; which isn't bad considering the highest equivalent rank is colonel. Happily, the UN doesn't approve of military courtesy very much; saluting just isn't done.

William walks through the halls to the briefing room uneasily. He'd been pulled at very short notice after all. Hopefully his briefing officer had been notified.

William is an Asian man, 5'6 with an athletic build. He answers to the name William Sung (Pronounced Yun, the u as in sun) and is still quite young.

He enters the room, knocking to announce his presence and hands the folder with his information to the seated officer.

"I'm William Sung, sir. I was pulled from a food run on Alternate +10,3 and told you need an English speaker."

His English is midwestern American, as is he, born and bred.

Despite his orientation to Hatsumi base, John managed to make at least two wrong turns on his way to the briefing room. "Not like a boat, with a straight shot from there to here" he thinks to himself as he finally nears the briefing room. "This bleedin place is all to cock!"

Finally entering the briefing room, he moves to the desk and starts to come to attention and salute, but stops himself halfway thought he motion as a shhepish grin crosses his face. "Ol 'abits die right 'ard, Sir" he says to the man behind the desk. "John Nelson White-Haven reporting as ordered!" He turns and finds a seat, nodding to the others in the room.

John is a man of about 175-180 cm tall, with close-cropped sandy hair and pale blue eyes. He has a medium frame, and appears to be in his early to mid 30's, with a sort of boyish good looks. His accent marks him to the casual observer as a British native, from the London area.

Peron takes the file, and waves everyone into a seat. After a very brief glance at the file, and a quick query on his computer, he nods to himself and looks up.

"Mr White-Haven; you will find it very helpful to control that habit. It isn't always safe out there to let people know that you were a military man; especially if your cover happens to be pacifistic." With a small gesture of resignation, he adds: "It isn't easy; I'm told I am a very unconvincing Quaker."

Turning his attention to the newcomer, he says: "Mr Sung. I see our superiors have decided that my task is more important than loading rice into trucks for a day. I trust you'll find it more interesting" He gestures towards the file, and adds "I glanced through this last night, while searching for suitable candidates; though your name was already familiar to me. A fourth cousin of mine made the Chilean team on the even and uneven bars the year you took the silver, so it was a point of family honor that a few of us attend the Games. He did not make the final round." With a half shrug, he reaches down and taps the face of his little computer. An aerial photo of a ruined city appears on the wall.

"This is southern Manhattan on Alternate +3,5; centered on the stump of the Empire State Building. Back in 1969, a greater or master Mellor infiltrated this world through the gate in Pennsylvania. It travelled to the USSR, where it infiltrated the government and started a nuclear war. Shortly after it ordered the attack in the guise of a Marshal of the Soviet Union, one of the men in the room snapped and cut it in half with an assault rifle. The resulting pile of white goo was probably something of a surprise; but unfortunately the Russian attempts to relay this information were way too late."

Glancing across the table, he adds "You may wish to consider being Ukranian for a while, Mr Yuschenko."

He taps the computer again, and the photo of a man appears in one screen; he clearly has no idea it's being taken. A blowup of a topographic map appears on another, with several circles on it. He points at two circles straddling a river, near the point where the river turns from eastbound to southbound. "The gate comes down in a warp here, on the south side of the river. It's in the middle of a field, in the remains of a summer camp. Across the river here (the north-east circle), in the remains of a minor city called Port Jervis, the last team met this man."

"This is Mr James Van Inwegan; a trader and scavenger. His 13 year old son Martin, who we do not have a picture of but who probably wears a pair of IDET issue boots, is Fringeworthy. We want you to recruit the son, and bring him back with you." He goes on to explain that the last team had a friendly relationship with Van Inwegan, that the locals in the neighborhood of the warp do not know about the Fringe (some of them seem to think IDET teams come from a secret pre-war government base somewhere to the south), and that according to their best intelligence, Van Inwegan has a farm somewhere in the larger circled area (across a ridgeline to the north-east of Port Jervis).

"You may have to tell the father the truth to recruit the son. Just don't make it common knowledge. Do you have any questions so far?"

William bows his head briefly in acknowledgement at the indication the officer is aware of his past achievements. He listens to the explanation in silence, shaking his head when he is asked if he has any questions.

"I'm assumin that none of the blokes from the last team are available to go with us? It would be easier to convince the ol man we're on the up-and-up if we had someone he knew". John considers for a moment and adds "Come to that, it would be right easier if we 'ad a guide who knew what he was about."

How in the world would a Ukrainian end up this far from home after the apocalypse? I really wish I didn't have an accent.

Grigori's body language makes it clear that he's a little intimidated, since he is in the presence of both rank and an unfamiliar task.
"Do we have any record of what the last team might have said to Mr Van Inweegan? Did they file any after action reports that we can see?"

OOC: Sweet, it finally begins.

Peron replies to Grigori first. "All of their reports are available; you'll find them linked to your mission briefing file on the base system. Remember, Mr Yuschenko, that almost every report ever filed about the Fringe is freely available to you; you are assumed to have a `need to know'."

Grigori will find, when he checks the briefing file, a description of the Ukranian communities that emigrated to the US between World Wars I and II; a distinct community of which were still to be found in western Pennsylvania in 1969. He already knows how to speak with a Ukranian accent; most Moscovites do (it's called Politburo Ukranian; and is an imitation of the accents of Krushchev and Brezhnev).

He tells John: "Most of the team involved is off trying to stop a Mongol invasion of Austria right now. The two not there are both in training for other missions; it is not likely, but one may become available. You can speak with them, though."

+This would be Brin and Kaori. Oh, btw; Grigori comes from a country that still thinks of Mongol invasions in the present tense; and which commonly regards Asiatic (Chinese, mostly) invasion as a serious national threat.+

"I can do a Ukrainian accent, that's no problem. My father's side of the family is from the Kiev area.
"However, I think that it might be best if you didn't call me 'Grigori' on this trip. Maybe 'Gregory' or 'Greg' would sound better, yes?"

Peron doesn't respond to that; it's not like he's going, after all. "I apologize that I could not secure printouts of your mission files; you have three hours to study them on your own systems and do any homework before dinner. I will meet you in the cafeteria at 1900 GMT; after dinner, you will be issued your equipment and sent on your way. My number is in the file if you need to meet with me before then. Good afternoon, gentlemen." With that, he stands, nods, and walks out with his handheld unit.

Any files you folks have been thought to need so far have turned up flagged on your desktops; you rather expect these have been as well. They can also be called up from this room, of course.