Most of them knew each other by now, and at the very least they all knew each other’s names and reputations. At one end sat Neal, scanning his notes on each of the agenda points they had laid out. To Neal’s left sat General Milton. To his right sat Admiral Cochrane of the British Navy. Birgit had a spot between Major Toranssen and Amadeu; Captain Falster sat next to General Braldinho, the man in charge of the Brazilian forces still working on finishing the base’s defenses and the construction of the large port they were building on the mainland. Various other senior members of the taskforce surrounding SpacePort One filled the other seats. The stony-faced Quavoce, aka Major Garrincha, stood at Neal’s shoulder. “Ladies and gentlemen, if we can get started?” said Neal, noting how quickly the officers came to attention. It was a pleasing sensation. “Now, we have a lot to cover today, so I won’t waste time on formalities. Before we get into the various project updates, I wanted to talk about one topic in particular, one that impacts us both as taskforce members and citizens of the various allied nations that make up this extraordinary team.”
