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Mwesigwa Museveni

Minister of Finance, Terran National Government.

1 · 503 views · located in Wing City Highway

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Ylanne

Groups

Originally formed after the Tripartite Occupation of Terra, the TNG once controlled all of Terra. Currently, the TNG's jurisdiction includes most of Terra's territory, but not the entire world.
Registered citizen of the Terran National Government

Description

Photo Credit: DistantThought by David Gumbrell (Auribins). If you are David, and do not want your photo to be here, kindly inform me and I will remove it promptly.
Image

History

Mwesigwa Museveni of Kampala, Uganda, is the Terran Minister of Finance, elected to Parliament in June 2011 C.E. Born in 1952 C.E., Museveni previously served as the Governor of the Bank of Uganda for ten years. He graduated from the Georgetown McDonough School of Business in Washington, D.C., in 1977 with a Master of Business Administration degree. Running on a Libertarian-Conservative platform, Museveni promised to restore common-sense practices in diminishing the national debt, increasing the economic power of the individual, and removing restrictions on private corporations.

So begins...

Mwesigwa Museveni's Story

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#, as written by Ylanne
The TAF unit was still assigned to provide augmented security for the building in addition to the detachment of NPA agents regularly assigned anyway, and the marked military presence had dampened the usual number of reporters and journalists camping on the lawn and in the hallways for any news on, well, anything. The marble floors hadn't been polished in a few weeks, and scuff marks and dull stains evidenced the temporary neglect.

Inside, Vogel was greeted with the security officers manning a checkpoint, where all bags were inspected for weapons and explosives, and all visitors asked to step through a metal detector before being handed visitors badges with name, date, and destination.

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#, as written by Ylanne
The security officer manning the metal detector and x-ray machine stiffened. "I'm not at liberty to disclose that information, sir," he said. "If you give your name and destination to the lady at the desk, she'll give you your visitor pass and you can head to your destination."

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#, as written by Ylanne
Mwesigwa Museveni , a broad-shouldered African with short-cropped hair, strode powerfully through the lobby. "I believe you're looking for me, Mr. Vogel," he said in a deep, booming voice that caused more than a few heads to turn to the well-dressed Minister. "I'll take it from here, gentlemen," said Museveni to the security officials, dismissing them with a wave. "I had heard you were in town."

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#, as written by Ylanne
Mwesigwa Museveni clamped Vogel's hand in a strong, almost vise-like grasp. "Let's head to my office, shall we, Mr. Vogel? I'd hate to have a conversation out here in the lobby." He cast a meaningful look toward the small press corps mingling in one corner of the marble-floored lobby, before heading toward the row of elevators in a hall behind the reception area.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Mwesigwa Museveni pushed the button for up. There weren't all that many people waiting by the row of elevators, as the rush for those coming to work had ended around thirty minutes ago. Glowing digits counted down as the elevator descended from the upper floors to the first. "So what brings you to Terra, Mr. Vogel? Certainly seems like business rather than pleasure."

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#, as written by Ylanne
Mwesigwa Museveni stepped into the elevator's carpeted floor, pushing the button for eleven. "Oh? Is that so?" he asked, chuckling a little as he shoved his hands casually into his pockets, the crown of his head reflected in the elevator's mirrored ceiling.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Mwesigwa Museveni waited for the elevator doors to ding open, sliding aside to reveal a richly carpeted hallway and neatly adorned, African style furniture. It was clear that Museveni had exercised great personal freedom to decorate the offices of the Ministry of Finance on the eleventh floor, and that his choice of furnishings had been met with little opposition from the others who worked there. "Let me show you to my office," said Museveni, heading past a secretary's desk.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Grand General Prachai Ranida appeared several minutes later, accompanied by several officers with insignia denoting their respective ranks. He was a shorter man, with a shock of white hair over a moon-shaped face and narrow eyes, dressed in a stiffly starched military uniform with the stars of a general on his shoulder. He strode powerfully across the austere lobby, heading directly for Mirael and her companions, extending a short, brutish arm.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Ranida smiled, pumping Mirael's hand in his own vise-like grip. "Nice to meet you, Mirael. General is fine. The pompous title was Cranford's choice, not mine." He motioned to a secured set of double doors reinforced with some strong-looking metal. "Let's head downstairs so we can have a talk." He nodded at Mirael and her entourage, to include them all in the invitation.

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#, as written by Ylanne
The guards by the doors opened them for Ranida, allowing all fourteen of them to pass into a bland, empty hallway with an elevator at the opposite end. Ranida strode toward the elevator, pushing the only button -- to descend. It glowed a pale yellow and the digital numbers above the elevator moved from B-14 to G before the doors dinged open. "We have a conference room downstairs," said Ranida.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Ranida headed down a hallway. Along the way were several opened doors, revealing austere, stark conference rooms with tables and chairs crammed into relatively small spaces. "We commandeered the unoccupied building and renovated to meet our needs. You may have noticed several buildings under construction within the walls of the fort. Those are going to be used by the TAF too." He motioned into an empty conference room, with metal chairs and a wooden table filling nearly all of the available space.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Ranida took a seat toward the end of the table, folding his hands neatly on the wooden surface. "Let's get down to business. What brings you here today?" he asked, looking directly at Mirael with an impassive, sturdy expression that revealed nothing. Even his gravelly tenor was devoid of anything except directness.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Ranida drew in a deep breath, exhaling with a great sigh. "There is TETRS," he said, "our special forces. TETRS operates outside the normal chain of command, but is trained specifically to address such situations." He drummed his fingers on the table, a slight accent becoming apparent when he spoke.

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"The only problem," said Ranida, leaning forward to stare at Mirael, "is that Terra does not have a fleet." Those words seemed to be painful for him to speak. "For this to work, we would need to enlist one of our allies." He was thinking of the Democratic Coalition, whose fleet was currently near Terra's space in full glory.

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#, as written by Ylanne
"You may be willing to do that, but even numbers alone won't solve the problems we're facing," said Ranida. "They have MAC platforms. Those fuckers can down a Reverence II, never mind anything you or I've got in our arsenals. We don't have a contingency plan for engaging those. Do you?"

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#, as written by Ylanne
"You may be willing to do that, but even numbers alone won't solve the problems we're facing," said Ranida. "They have MAC platforms. Those fuckers can down a Reverence II, never mind anything you or I've got in our arsenals. We don't have a contingency plan for engaging those. Do you?"

Mirael smiled. "We have a few actually. Our first option is to use a type of ship that we call Wrecks. They're essentially empty hulks with slipspace drives and thrusters that can be remote-controlled. Since a slipspace drive causes devastating effects to anything in range of the drive's release while entering or exiting slipspace, usually causing the destruction of whatever's unlucky enough to be in range. We exit or enter slipspace near a MAC platform and I can guarantee that they'll be destroyed. Failing that, we use the Wrecks to divert MAC fire and use our combined weaponry to disable them. If both those plans fail, our only option will be to send in fighters or cruisers close enough to the MACs so that they can't be fired upon. Once there, they either destroy the MAC, or disable its main gun."

"One Aschen strategy, according to Director Drulović, is to send something aboard a MAC platform to detonate inside. Their armor is almost impenetrable, but from the inside they are vulnerable," said Ranida, leaning back in his seat. The institutional fluorescent light of the conference room created strange, alien shadows over the Thai man's face. His eyebrows crinkled, creating wrinkles and worry lines in his forehead that hinted at his age. He, unlike Drulović, rather looked his age. Drulović never had. That was one of many differences between the two.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Ranida gave a thin smile that accented the typical Asian phenotype of his rounded face and prominent, though decidedly flat, cheeks. "Unfortunately, we do not have any such capabilities," he responded, "and are still in the development stage of many potential technologies that could serve multiple tactical and strategic uses."

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#, as written by Ylanne
Ranida's lip furled over and a distinctly sour look appeared on the general's face. "I'm not involved with politics; that's Ashkenazi's 'shtick,' as he'd say. We are, in fact, trying to avoid starting (yet another) war. Flying under false flags could backfire and start a war. That's something that Ashkenazi, or even Cranford, will have to okay. And just between you and me," he added, narrowing his eyes more, "Cranford won't do anything unless Drulović okays it."

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#, as written by Ylanne
"It's a go," replied Ranida with a short, sharp nod. "We'll be ready to assist however we can." He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his broad, barrelled chest, dark, narrow eyes piercing Mirael. "Admiral Sumeet Das is the space commander."

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"Certainly," said Ranida, rising from his seat, almost too hastily. "Thanks again for coming. Do you need an escort to the door?" He strode to the door to the conference room, opening it to reveal the stark, rather dismal-looking hallway. But such was the appearance of military institutions -- strict, unyielding, and utilitarian to the highest degree. All that was necessary was all that was present. Walls, doors, and security devices. Little else could be afforded the luxury of energy or effort.

The setting changes from Terra to Dead End

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#, as written by Ylanne
Abdalhaq Mulavi looked a bit like Lebrun, although he was taller than the older man, and more powerfully built than sturdy. At fifty-nine, he looked closer to forty-nine, but then again, it was often difficult for non-Africans to determine his age. Mulavi waited for his secretary downstairs to inform him of Marlene's arrival. His office was the one adjacent to Lebrun's, an abnormally spacious corner location overlooking Wing City's skyline, and boasting modern-looking, leather furniture and soft, ambient lighting.

The NPA building itself sat down the street from Government Center, a steel and glass construction that was almost complete, save for some of the finer details. It was, at the very least, habitable, if only barely, and housed nearly all of the NPA's senior administrators and some of its clerical and analyst staff. Most of the NPA's agent manpower was scattered in smaller offices throughout the city, not yet ready to be added to the still-incomplete headquarters building. The lobby itself was partially cordoned for construction workers installing the elevator cables.

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#, as written by Ylanne
"Certainly, Ms. Angelique," said the young man seated behind the receptionist's desk. "Let me phone upstairs, but you can head up right after stepping through security there." He motioned to the metal detector and x-ray machines in the lobby. "Director Mulavi is expecting you." Presumable, everything would go smoothly as long as Marlene was in fact unarmed.

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#, as written by Ylanne
"Your weapon will be returned when you depart. The Director's office is on the twenty-first floor," said the security officer, bending to place Marlene's plasma pistol in a locked bin behind the security desk across from the receptionist's desk. "That's ticket six," he said to the officer behind the desk. "Here's your visitor pass," he said, handing Marlene a translucent badge bearing her name, the date, and the time. "Wear it at all times inside the building." He directed Marlene toward the stairs beside the elevators, where construction workers in hard hats were sharing hushed conversation in what sounded like some non-English tongue. "The elevators are being installed right now, so unfortunately, you'll have to take the stairs. I'm truly sorry about that."

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#, as written by Ylanne
Mulavi stood, crossing the desk to extend his hand for Marlene to shake. "The pleasure is mine, Ms. Angelique," he said in English that was clearly marked by an African accent -- again, difficult for those not familiar with the varied peoples of the African continent to place or name -- of some sort or another. The flag of the Ghanan nation hung on one of the walls, offering a hint to those versed in the flags of Terran nations. "I'm terribly sorry that you had to walk up all those stairs. The elevators should be functional in a few days, but until then, all of us have had to make that trek." Little crows feet appeared around his eyes when he smiled, a smooth, professional smile that had probably been assumed multiple times in even the same day for encounters such as these -- a brief rendezvous with a stranger, that no matter how much effort was involved, inevitably resulted in some type of exchange. "I had the opportunity to look through your application a little earlier today. But let me ask you the most important question first." Mulavi seated himself across from Marlene with his back to his desk, removing the most palpable barrier between the two of them. He crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward on his elbow, chin resting on his open hand, as he met Marlene's eyes. "Why do you want to be a part of the NPA?"

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#, as written by Ylanne
"Fair enough, Ms. Angelique," responded Mulavi with a nod that communicated a concession -- though to what was not determinable. "Perhaps I should rephrase. You have, as you just said yourself, spent the majority of your career serving the various agencies of the Aschen government. I see here that you were recently awarded Terran citizenship. Why do you want to serve an agency of the Terran government?" He settled a bit further back in his chair, leaning away from Marlene now, though his hand still propped his chin, elbow resting on his knee, from one leg crossed over the other. Mulavi was dressed formally, in a navy blue suit and starched white dress shirt that seemed almost a bit too bright from the abundance of natural light streaming through the windows on either side of the corner where his office was situated.

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