Return on Investment
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of (fan)fiction. Any resemblances of characters, places, organisations, and events to those of the real-world are purely coincidental.
Chapter ONE - Angel Investor
"Freedom ain't cheap. Pay up, or shut up."
— Prescott F. Marshall, President of the Osean Federation
Twinkle Islands, Western Usea
25 March 2020
'Dision's back.'
Albert Genette, independent journalist, was feeling a little queasy - and not just from seasickness.
Something's not right here...
Snapping a picture with his aged but reliable camera, the Osean freelancer staggered as the carrier flight deck suddenly shifted beneath his feet.
Above him, silhouetted against the setting sun, the teal-blue F-35B Lightning II came gliding in like a vulture as it made its landing approach. The emblem of a serpent devouring its own tail - the legendary Ouroboros - had been stenciled in low-vis grey on its tailplanes, as if to make some kind of point.
«Dision, this is Exactor tower. Ship speed is 22 knots on heading 315. Wind force is five from bow to stern. You are cleared to land.»
«Copy that.»
In a flash, the flight deck aboard the Izumo-class Aviation Destroyer "Exactor" had sprung into life. Knots of crewmembers scurried back and forth like hornets in a hive, rolling up feeder hoses and wheeling away fuel and munitions carriages. A tractor tug trundled into a standby position, leaving as clear an area as possible for the incoming plane.
«Switching to vertical descent mode.»
With landing gear lowered and all flaps fully open, the F-35B kept its nose high as the Rolls-Royce lift fan whirled into action and massive F135 engine swung straight down. Floating down in a roaring wash of thrust and displaced air, the pilot kept a steady hand on the throttle as he coaxed the aircraft down toward the flight deck. The noise was deafening. The deck began to rumble. Ears would have split were it not for the soundproofed headsets and protective visors issued to the onlookers.
«You're right on the money. Easy does it, now.»
With an audible thump of suddenly-compressed hydraulics, the massive aircraft touched down, rear end first, before settling down on the deck in a perfect square. The engines trailed away into silence as the pilot powered down and the cockpit swung open. Two deck crew hurriedly wheeled an access ladder into position.
«Dision has touched down. Nice work!»
The press pool broke into rapturous applause and celebratory whooping. Others had caught the whole scene in pictures and video, livestreaming it to a hungry world, starved for data and information.
It was an occasion, after all. Today had been the first combat deployment of the newly-established Air Strike Force, the aerial warfare component of the nascent General Resource Defence Force.
«There you have it, ladies and gentlemen.» The voice of the Exactor's skipper echoed over the ship's PA, just managing to be heard over the commotion. «A successful conclusion to the first combat mission of the GRDF. Soon, such missions will be commonplace as General Resources steps us to do its part for the global community, promoting peace and development for the entire world.»
Abyssal Dision, GRDF test pilot, jumped down, boots clamping on the tarmac. He was young and handsome, tall and well-muscled, with spiked hair and a hard, focused expression. Perfect poster boy material. He had scarcely enough time to slip on a pair of aviators before the press pool swamped him over.
'Oh! Ohh yes, Mr Dision! I'm Rita Fry from OBC News!' bubbled a shapely newscaster, slack-jawed and blushing slightly. 'What can you tell us about your mission?'
'Just a hunt for rogue UAVs left over from the last war.' Dision replied coolly, gently pushing away a smartphone hovering an inch too close to his face. 'Nothing more, nothing less.'
'Brett Thompson here, also from OBC.' said an older man with determined eyes. 'Do you feel that the GRDF now stands as a credible military force in its own right?'
'We will carry out our duty.'
'Mr Dision, I'm an independent writer from San Salvacion.' said a plain-looking man, wearing a leather flight jacket with a Yellow Squadron patch on the upper arm. The number '13' had been sewn on the back. 'I grew up during the Continental War. Are you not concerned that the rise of GR poses a threat to the existing nation state-based international order?'
Dision shrugged. 'That depends on them. I would not want anyone to be mistaken on the matter. No further questions, please. Excuse me.'
And with that, Dision brushed aside the scrum of squabbling news gatherers as he made his way to the carrier island. A member of the ship's crew helpfully opened an entry hatch for him as he approached, while several deck personnel formed a human cordon around their prized test pilot as he went below deck.
Undeterred, the mob of eager journalists pushed after him, hurling themselves into the hatchway like hounds on the hunt. The flight deck had been cleared in mere minutes as everyone scrambled for the next scoop of the day.
Only Albert Genette had remained, staring out into the dusk as if lost in thought.
The whole situation felt wrong to him. Something was obviously not right, yet no one seemed to have noticed. Something that should never have happened... nevertheless did. Why hadn't anyone spoken up? Why was he the only one to step back and think, "wait a minute, stop, what the hell"? It was so obvious!
Perhaps this was how people went mad, and that he was slipping slowly but irrevocably into its early stages. Or maybe it was everyone else that had gone mad, and he alone had somehow managed to keep sane. Possibility number three was that everyone in the world had already gone mad long ago; considering everything that had happened in the past decade, he could well believe that.
Despite all his attempts at ignoring the elephant in the room, it would not go away. The eternal question still dominated his thoughts;
What possible need did a corporation have for an aircraft carrier?
The International Space Elevator, Southwest Usea
1 April 2020
Princess Rosa Cossette D'Elise was in a slump.
Yet, what is a nation?
The office reminded her of a cabin aboard a luxury liner. The whole interior was painted brilliant white, like an operating theatre, with only a designer table and two chairs making up the furniture. A faint metallic scent permeated the air. The walls throbbed with a slight vibration, a resonant hum from the Space Elevator's electrical systems. The designers had known their business - everything about the place gave an impression of a bright, pristine future.
Contrasting this scene of serenity was Rosa herself. Her tailor-made skirt was now dishevelled and worn, stained with coffee splashes, old makeup, and dried sweat. Her hair hung down in a heap, ragged and unkempt. She'd put on weight. Months of poor diet and a lack of sunlight had turned her once-smooth complexion pale and sickly. She had not washed for several weeks.
Her workspace was jammed with paperwork. Mountains of them, probably containing a small forest's worth of paper, spilling off the sides of her desk. For every document she signed and stamped, ten more seemed to take its place in the growing backlog.
But she had no choice. In the aftermath of the Lighthouse War, refugees had come streaming into the Space Elevator. Every day, more and more of them arrived at the port of Selatapura in an endless stream. These people were tired, desperate, and hungry, coming from all corners of war-torn Usea, and needed to be taken care of. Gathering the companions she had bonded with during the war, Rosa had spearheaded the formation of a provisional pseudo-government to keep things under control.
Early on, things had gone well. Rosa's beaming personality and winning smile had captured hearts and minds the world over; Osean warplanes guarded the skies, while Yuktobanian cargo flights airdropped much-needed supplies. The future seemed bright and assured...
... Then reality set in.
'Cossette, there's someone here to see you.'
Without a tangible benefit in sight, the Princess could only give rousing speeches and shake hands with important celebrities for so long before the global public caught on. The Oseans in particular were rapidly losing interest - the loss of their entire supercarrier fleet during the war had sparked a fresh surge of anti-war sentiment that was quickly seized upon by a new, populist president. Yuktobania too had scaled back her own aid programmes - her people growing increasingly skeptical of the return on their country's investment.
Meanwhile, the mass of refugees continued to swell. It wouldn't be long before they would run completely out of space - assuming that food and water shortages wouldn't get them first.
They needed a new home. But where? She couldn't possibly ask the Oseans or the Yuktobanians to take them - simply keeping them on side was already hard enough as it was. Sending them all back to mainland Usea was obviously out of the question. Option three was to try her homeland, Erusea, but...
'Cossette? Are you okay?'
The work of leading a nation was sickening her. It was much easier before the war, where all she had to do was smile, look plausible, and read the lines she'd been given. Now, as the de facto leader of the Space Elevator's burgeoning refugee community, she now had to actually get on with the business of actually running the place - on top of keeping up appearances for the masses.
The only way to keep up with it all was to work, and keep on working, until she could work no more. Until black spots and little green circles danced before her eyes. Every night she would collapse into a deep, dreamless sleep as her entire organism shut down... only to be roused again minutes later, as another working day began...
156 supply crates were airdropped over the space elevator today; of which 4 were destroyed on impact, and a further 13 vanished into the blue skies, never to return. Is there enough in the remainder to provide a day's worth of food, water, and toilet paper to all 20,028 refugees? If yes, how should we distribute them? If not, how much more is needed, and who do we appeal to? Do we have enough political capital to delay Osea's planned withdrawal of the LRSSG? If yes, what might they demand in return? If not, who do we appeal to...
'Okay, time to think. If we-'
But there was no time to think. The questions kept coming, one after another, as if tumbling from a conveyer belt. For the first time in her life, Rosa was beginning to truly understand what it meant to be the ruler of a nation.
How many languages are officially recognised in Selatapura? What currency is used in the Republic of Heiwa? Which of these grain crops are more labour-intensive to produce; wheat, barley, or rice? What blend of crude oil are the refineries in Artiglio tooled for; light or heavy, sweet or sour?
'Erm...'
Did you know there are three kinds of aces? What makes Osea a superpower? Why did Belka lose the Belkan War?
'Uhhh...'
Elementary problems of this kind completely stumped not only Princess Cossette - who had lived through the whole war - but also even Doctor Schroeder, the Belkan scientist and advisor.
Speaking of...
'Rosa!'
Slamming her fists on the table, Rosa shot up. 'What do you want?!' she roared, throwing up an acrid spray of accumulated saliva and old coffee. 'Can't you see I'm busy?! Get the hell out and leave me alone!'
Then, as her mind re-engaged, she recoiled in regretful embarrassment. The reaction had been entirely automatic, without any consideration for the man who had suddenly appeared in the doorway. It could have been Avril, and she still would have lashed out in the same way. Or worse, it could have been Ionela, or even little Alma... the thought of it was too terrible to contemplate.
'... I'm sorry,' she mumbled, slumping dejectedly back into her seat. Her breath was filthy. Crispy flakes of dead skin and crystallised tears were rolling off her clothes like suddenly displaced soil. 'It's been rough. I... I had to let out my feelings, I... Oh, never mind. Did something happen?'
Doctor Schroeder winced slightly, albeit less from Rosa's release of pent-up emotion, and more from the sudden, stinging odour of old sweat and nail fungi that rushed over him.
'Someone's here to see you.' he said blankly, wiping the spit from his glasses.
'Another private donor?'
'Of a sort.'
Schroeder was a trim, polished man with a handsome face, slightly disdainful. The corners of the mouth seemed perpetually turned down - a portent of his capacity for restraint and precise calculation. Formerly an agent of the Principality of Belka, he had since joined Rosa's new administration as an advisor. Like many of the others, he had no country to return to. The Space Elevator was his home now.
'Avril says he's from a major corporation.' he continued, a hint of distaste in his voice. 'She's waiting with him in the conference room on the fourth floor, but he insists on doing business with you personally.'
Wiping away her tears, Rosa nodded gently. The strain of her work had taken a grievous toll on her physical and mental state. Gone was the lively and charming princess once beloved by Erusea, now reduced to a quivering bundle of nerves and insecurities. But she had to continue. And she'd need all the help she could get.
'... I'll be there in ten minutes.'
53 minutes later, Rosa arrived in the conference room, popping a fistful of antidepressants as the automatic door slid open. She'd taken a cold shower to wake herself up, clipped her nails, and slipped on her least dirty change of clothes; a simple white cardigan and a pair of beige chinos that tightly gripped her lower curves. There had been no time to apply cosmetics or do up her hair, but at least her presence no longer sent people running for their respirators, shouting 'GAS! GAS! GAS!'.
Sitting on one side of the room was Avril Mead, the gifted Osean mechanic. Her short-cropped hair, tanned skin, and black tank top were all gunked over with residue from the day's work, smelling faintly of motor oil and grease. She hadn't even bothered to clean herself up for the occasion, but that was her style. Nobody, not even Rosa, had ever seen her wear anything even remotely formal.
Avril was also a first-rate mechanic and, while often blunt to the point of bludgeoning, nevertheless had a good heart. She had already proved herself to be a reliable friend to Rosa, the first real one she'd had in a very long time, and an indispensable member of the new administration.
'Hey.' she said, looking up with a raised eyebrow. 'You're early.'
She smiled to show she didn't mean it, of course, but Rosa still found herself flushing slightly with embarrassment.
Directly opposite her in the crystal-white chamber was a continental-looking man, with slightly-tanned skin and thick, dark hair. He wore a grey, crisply-ironed tunic that neatly complemented his squared features. Probably he was in his late twenties, in the peak of his prime. For some reason, here indoors, he also had a pair of shades that obscured his focused, cat-like eyes.
'Glad you could make it, Princess Cossette.' he said smoothly, rising to extend an inviting hand. 'I'm Gilbert Park, from General Resource Limited. I'm from the executive board, and I'm here to help.'
Rosa smiled back as she grasped the man's hand and shook it. She'd heard of General Resource before. Although a relatively young company, they were already one of the largest and fastest growing enterprises on the planet. Their products and services had worked their way into almost every aspect of the modern human lifestyle; computer systems, telecommunications, media broadcasting, construction, food distribution, heavy manufacturing, merchant shipping, life insurance... even the production of toilet paper.
That meant they were capital rich. Very capital rich. Exorbitantly, unprecedently capital rich. Perhaps too capital rich? Rosa didn't care. The fact that they had even visited at all signalled to her that they were interested and ready to pay. She could not have asked for better.
They'd certainly sent the right person, too. Gilbert Park's deep, commanding voice and professional demeanour seemed to fill the room with a warm energy, setting Rosa at ease.
He seems friendly enough...
Following in behind her was Doctor Schroeder, still dressed in his signature labcoat. Arms folded, his face betrayed no emotion. For some reason, however, Rosa could sense a feeling of uneasiness in him. Apparently there was something about Gilbert Park that he didn't like, but, whatever it was, he was keeping it to himself.
'My apologies for the wait, everyone.' Rosa said as she and Schroeder sat down. 'I was... delayed.'
The choice of words was deliberate, and elicited a slight chuckle from Avril. One of the first things she had learned about statecraft was that leaders could never be late, only delayed.
'No problem at all, Your Highness.' Park said warmly, resuming his seat in turn. Clearly, politician-standard-time was not a new concept for him. 'Avril here was just telling me all about your situation. We at General Resources have the utmost respect for your circumstances. Which, incidentally, is what has brought me here in the first instance. Let's get straight down to business.'
'I'm grateful for your concern.' Rosa replied, brushing her hair back as she leaned forward. 'What are you proposing?'
'Your refugees need a new home. We can build it for you.'
Blunt and to the point. Rosa and Avril's eyes widened a fraction, cautiously optimistic, before the two women composed themselves. Schroeder's expression remained blank.
'Go on...' Rosa ventured, licking her lips. Could this be it? Could salvation be upon them at last? The anticipation was almost too much to bear.
Park cleared his throat. 'As you know, General Resources is the world's foremost global enterprise with a truly global reach. Our corporate interests span the world, interests that are now being threatened by the ongoing chaos in mainland Usea. We want to see a return to peace. We feel your pain, Princess. We want to help your refugees build new homes, and live new lives, free and prosperous.'
Rosa nodded eagerly, even as she noticed Doctor Schroeder shaking his head from the corner of her vision.
So far, so good.
'But...' Park raised a finger. 'New homes require new land. We at GR understand this better than anyone, and for that reason, we maintain the General Resource Defence Force - the first corporate military force in history - to ensure the security of our various investments. So, we propose to put the GRDF at the service of our shared mission to build a new future for your people.'
Doctor Schroeder sighed. Avril's jaw fell open in barely-suppressed alarm.
Rosa, for her part, suddenly felt a shiver run through her spine. All of her previous optimism seemed to evaporate in an instant, taken over instead by a sudden sinking feeling, as if falling into a deep abyss.
Images of life before the war flashed through her mind; memories of starry-eyed military officers pitching their plans for war in front of her. They too had been confident and eager to prove themselves. They too had claimed that their brand of warfare would build a 'new future' for her people.
Then came her memories of the war itself. Memories of giving grand speeches at huge, nationalist rallies in Farbanti. Memories of how she inspired legions of young soldiers to fight for their princess, and then how death and destruction had befallen those same soldiers as the war took its bloody toll. And then there was the slaughter at Tyler Island... The Space Elevator... The Night Ravens...
Her breathing became heavy and strained, the nightmare tightening in her chest.
'S-so you're saying...'
Park gave a wry grin. 'GR will negotiate the purchase of selected Erusean territories for the express purpose of housing the refugees, on humanitarian grounds. Should negotiations with the local authorities fail, we shall mobilise the GRDF to... persuade them into seeing reason.'
'What a load of shit!' Avril spluttered, hitting her head on the ceiling light as she jumped up. Rosa flinched. 'You asshole! These people have had enough of war and the military! We have had enough! And you want to drag us into another war, and start the shitshow all over again? No! We won't do it!'
'Th-that's right!' Rosa added, finally mustering the courage to raise her voice. 'We don't want war, we want peace!'
As if expecting this reaction, however, Park sighed. 'Look, I understand your strong views on the matter. But I urge you to at least hear my case in full.'
Rosa tugged at Avril's arm, and the fiery mechanic sat back down with a hard scowl. Recomposing herself with visible effort, Rosa cleared her throat. '... I apologise for my colleague's outburst, but my position is the same as hers; I have no interest in starting another war. Not again...'
'In case you haven't noticed,' Avril added. 'We're still feeling the consequences of the last war. Not just us - all of Usea is in chaos. It's gotten so bad that even the superpowers want nothing to do with it any more. If you really wanna make a buck out of war and suffering, be my guest. But don't you dare try and get our people involved in it!'
'This may surprise you,' Park said calmly. 'But the disorder in Usea has been bad for our business too. For our international operations, a fragmented and divided world is exactly what we don't want to see. It shreds communication, drives security costs through the roof, disrupts our supply chains, and, in the end, benefits nobody. Last quarter, our net operating profit margin fell by a whole 13%. It's been terrible for us!'
'Don't give me that.' Schroeder said tersely. The sudden interjection from the normally subtle, reserved scientist caught everyone off guard. 'I know for a fact that GR co-opted or outright poached numerous personnel from Gründer Industries to build up your arms manufacturing base. Arms that you now sell through your international branches. In other words, you're war profiteers - just like Gründer. Rosa, don't listen to him!'
'We keep a diversified portfolio.' Park replied tightly, clearly no stranger to such charges. 'In any case, Herr Doktor, don't you work for Gründer yourself? Considering what they've done - and what you've done - I hardly think you are in any position to pass judgement on us.'
'I was a part of Gründer, but no longer. I am reformed.'
Park's brow twitched, as if hitting upon an idea. '... Well, then, I commend you for seeing the error of your ways.' he said dryly, before recomposing himself with a smile. 'But the same can surely be said of the ex-Gründer personnel who work for us. They follow GR's vision now, not Belka's. They, like you and I, seek to bring about a peaceful world, free from the limits of the human condition and of borders. A world with no boundaries, if you will.'
Schroeder sat back and folded his arms again, grudgingly accepting the answer.
Park turned back toward Rosa. 'Your Highness, I urge you to reconsider our proposal. We can help you. We will succeed where Osea, Yuktobania, and all of the other worthless fools in the IUN have failed. We can together create a peaceful, unified, and stable Erusea. A Free Erusea, if you will.'
'Free Erusea...'
'And think of the refugees, bottled up here at the Space Elevator like sardines in a tin! You can leave them here, festering in foetid squalor... or you can give them a real home. Not only will GR build it for you, we will feed and clothe it! And protect it, too! What say you? Are you not ready for a new era?'
Rubbing her temples, Rosa's mind was at a loggerheads. On the one hand, Park's offer really was a tempting one. The Space Elevator could not hold them forever, and with the Oseans and the Yuktobanians increasingly disinterested in having anything to do with all things Usean, she was running out of options - and time. Cutting a deal with General Resources was beginning to look like her only option. The alternative was to drown in the flood of refugees that would very soon be spilling off the edges of the Space Elevator.
Against this, however, General Resources' solution involved the seizure of Erusean land and territory, whether by coercion or outright conquest. Through them, Rosa risked starting yet another war, with the added potential of worsening the refugee crisis by actually creating more of them.
If only there was another way...
With a pleading look, Rosa turned to her foremost companion. 'Avril...'
'... It's a tough call.' Avril grumbled. 'I hate to admit it, but the asshole makes a good point. We really can't stay in this place forever. Something's gotta give... I just don't know what.'
Rosa looked to her other side. 'Schroeder...?'
'The decision is yours, Cossette.' he said, closing his eyes resignedly. 'There is nothing left for me to say.'
Desperate for time, Rosa began tapping her fingers together. '... Mr Park, I still need-'
Park cut her off. 'Please, help us help you.' He slid a pen and a 108-page contract across the table to her, already turned to the last page. Her name had been helpfully filled in - all that was missing was a signature. 'Help us bring back peace. You do like peace, right?'
Swallowing, Rosa nodded grimly. She could not put off making a decision any longer. It was now or never.
'... Alright.' the Princess said, going all in. 'I'll do it. I accept your offer.'
Gingerly, she picked up the pen and - after a final, thoughtful pause - put her signature and seal on the dotted line. The decision was official now. There would be no going back.
There was a long, empty silence. Time itself seemed to stand still, before Park broke into a smile. And clapped.
'Thank you, Your Highness.' he said, nodding sagely with controlled satisfaction. 'I assure you the right decision has been made. We already have a list of prospective territories earmarked for... acquisition.' There was a momentary pause at this, making absolutely sure that the implications sunk in. 'Preparations shall begin at once.'
Rosa took the proffered hand, and bit her lip as Park shook it with firm conviction. This time, however, the man's warm smile no longer set her at ease. Instead, she now found it terrifying.
'Cossette. Before we continue, there is something you need to know.'
With the meeting concluded, Rosa's mind was in turmoil. Although she had secured a pledge from General Resource in finding a new home for the refugees, new fears of having to pay a terrible price - up to and including the risk of being party to another war - had now overtaken her thoughts. Had she simply solved one problem, only for it to create another? And what if the first problem hadn't even been solved in the first place? What if she had done nothing but create more war, and more chaos? What if... What if...
Avril had gone back to work. Politics was not her business, but she had experienced firsthand the terrible cost of war. The dilemma - not to mention the decision - had clearly rattled her as well, but at least she had another job to go back to. What then of the others - Georg, Ionela, and even young Alma? Up until now, they had been happily tending to the refugees, even if they were also working themselves to death in doing so. How on Earth was she going to tell them that she had effectively signed them all up for another war?
Lost in a tangled web of her own guilt and self-doubt, she had been aimlessly wandering around the facility, as if in a trance.
Doctor Schroeder had caught up to her in the hallway, catching her by the sleeve.
'Wh-what is it?' she mouthed weakly, her voice stifled by the growing lump in her throat.
'This is a dangerous business you are entering, Cossette.' Schroeder said. 'If this is the path we are going to take, then you must listen to me. First, are you truly ready for what will come next?'
Turning around to face him, Rosa shook her head slowly. Her body was shaking. Her hair had fallen down to cover her eyes, but it was obvious that she was on the verge of tears.
'... I'm scared, Schroeder.' she replied, voice quivering. 'I don't know if I can handle it. I don't know if I made the right choice, to accept that man's offer, or even why I did it. What if they don't keep to their word? What if they turn on us after the job is done? What if they're just using me as an excuse to start a war of their own? What if all of this is for nothing?!'
Burying her face in her hands, she began to sob.
'What if... what if I let everyone down again?'
Schroeder placed a hand on Rosa's shoulder, and squeezed it. His hands were soft, but his grip was firm and assuring, not at all leaden. It was as though a wave of human sympathy flowed through that hand - Rosa gripped it and squeezed back, gratefully. She couldn't look him in the eyes. Schroeder was a strange character, almost a being from another planet. But a human being nevertheless, full of surprises.
'Whatever happens,' he said, his voice still steady. 'You must keep moving forward. If something goes well, follow up on it. If something goes wrong, don't dwell on it - especially if it's because someone has wronged you. Work with it and move on. If you must take vengeance, then don't let anyone else get caught up in the mess. Don't make the same mistakes that my country has made.'
'Belka?' Rosa mumbled, finally looking up. Her eyes were bloodshot, and fresh streaks of tears were running down her cheeks.
'... Yes. Belka.' Schroeder sighed deeply. 'Our country was always the runt of our neighbourhood. We were always surrounded by larger, more prosperous neighbours, who would use and abuse us for their own ends. None moreso than Osea. Things came to a head in the Belkan War, 25 years ago, when the score was finally settled for good. But since then... my country has clung to the path of revenge. It has consumed them, leading them to ruin, again and again. But they cannot - and will not - turn from it. Do not go down that path, Cossette, or that same fate will await you.'
'But Schroeder... Belka has been through so much suffering...'
Schroeder shook his head. 'A tragic backstory justifies nothing.' he said. 'Whatever circumstances the world inflicts on you, everything hinges on how you - the individual - responds to it. You can choose to do positive things, or you can choose to do negative things. It's all in your hands. I understand that now.'
'Schroeder...'
'The leaders of my Belkan homeland did not, and still don't. Even now, they still blame the world for their problems. In their eyes, they have done no wrong - everyone else is at fault. They see the happy and normal lives of the people around them, and it kills them inside. They lash out, motivated by racial hatred and murderous envy. And so their dreams of achieving revenge against the world remains just that - a dream. Never once do they instead consider the simpler path of self-reflection and improvement.'
And, for the first time since the end of the war, Schroeder smiled. A weak ghost of a smile, but a smile nonetheless.
'Whatever happens, Cossette, don't go down the same road that Belka has. I have lived in that future, and it did not work. That way lies only madness and despair. Instead, keep moving forward. Whether you succeed or not is immaterial. All anyone can ask of you - the individual - is that you do your best in your circumstances. Promise me that, and I will support you fully.'
Wiping away a tear, Rosa nodded, just managing to smile back. She hadn't been completely convinced by his clearly-rehearsed spiel. But it was still a welcome boost to her confidence, and a flicker of hope that she could at least cling to for the time being. She wanted to believe. For better or worse.
'... Schroeder, thank you.' she said softly, clasping her hands over her chest. 'I... I think we can get through this now. I'll do my best...'
Schroeder nodded. 'Good. Now, you had best go and spread the word. It will not be easy, but I'll see what I can do on my end. My assistant, Martha, should be able to help you as well.'
With another forced smile, Rosa turned and retired back to her office. Still, her strides had a purpose to them now, which at least was an improvement if nothing else.
Once he was sure that the Princess was out of sight, Schroeder suddenly whirled around.
'Come out. I know you're there.'
Gilbert Park emerged from behind a corner.
'That was some speech, Doctor.' he said, skulking forward like a snake. His eyes were different now. 'Very impressive, if I may say so myself.'
He was still smiling, but it was now a weaseled, conniving expression. Nothing at all like the honest, kindly philanthropist that Rosa had seen in the conference room. Now it was just the predatory businessman that Schroeder had seen from the very beginning.
'What do you want?'
'Just taking care of a little business.' Park said, the smile widening. 'I'll be upfront with you, Schroeder; you're a talented scientist. Since you no longer work for Gründer... how about you come work for General Resource? We could use a man of your skills. Skills that brought the world order to its knees, yes, but skills nonetheless. Your talents can be repurposed for the good of humanity - by the way, have you heard of the Electrosphere? We can give you a new home, and a new purpose. The pay is good, the perks are first-rate. We even have dental! How about it?'
'Sorry, but no.' Schroeder riposted. The response was immediate, without even a moment's consideration. 'I already have a home and a purpose; it is here with the Princess and the others. After all the death and destruction my work at Gründer has caused, I have no right for it to be anything else. This is the least I can do, in my circumstances, for them.'
'Is that so...?' Park mused aloud. He gave him a long, searching look... and then shrugged. '... Well, worth asking, I suppose. You have a good day now.'
Still wearing that irritating grin, Park pottered down the hallway where a security detail was waiting for him.
Schroeder tailed him from a distance, then watched from a window as he left the building and boarded a waiting V-280 tiltrotor. After a curt conversation with someone on the end of a radio, the GR-flagged aircraft whirled into life, climbing up and away into the sky.
Closing the curtains, the Belkan scientist swore loudly and slumped down, quietly damning the name Gilbert Park and hoping that he wouldn't ever try and come recruiting again.
He knew better than that, of course. He knew that sort. The type of person who would stop at nothing to get what they wanted, who would never take a simple "No" for an answer. People who spent their lives scrambling upwards at any cost, even if it killed them. Such characters could be found at the highest levels of many organisations the world over. Gründer had been full of them, and it seemed the same was true of General Resource.
For Gilbert Park and others like him, Schroeder knew all too well what their guiding star was.
It was called Power.
Twinkle Islands, Western Usea
4 April 2020
«Dision, this is Exactor control. Stand by to launch.»
Albert Genette stood, huddled together with the rest of the press gallery, at the corner of the island as the flight deck once again came alive around them. It was twenty minutes past four in the morning, and none of them had gotten any sleep. None of them were going to miss this spectacle for the world - even if it meant being cold, wet, and shivering at the mercy of the lashing wind, in near-complete darkness.
A knifing sea squall had swept over the Exactor at the precise time it was gearing up for its second-ever combat mission. Droplets of frigid seawater, thrown up by the rocking of the ship and by the howling gust, spattered the deck and its occupants. Genette winced as he suddenly felt something warm and liquid running down his back. It took about a second for it to register as the man behind, disgorging the contents of his stomach in a fit of seasickness.
A banner depicting the stylised 'G' of General Resource rippled defiantly in the wind, as if unphased by the adverse conditions around it. Reflecting this spirit, the flight crews carried on, scurrying around feverishly even under the lash of the freezing seaspray and biting wind. Illuminated only by the withering gaze of floodlights and the faintest hint of sunrise on the far horizon, they were already in the final stages of clearing a lone F-35B for takeoff, bearing a familiar Ouroboros emblem on the tail, with flaps deployed and fan cowling opened. The pilot was already aboard, lift fan open and engine active.
After an affirmative thumbs-up, the deck crew finally cleared away. The last man to leave yanked away the rope holding the safety chocks in place.
Strapped securely in the cockpit, Abyssal Dision gave his instrument panel a final once over. The F-35B was carrying a full air-to-air load, mounting eight AIM-9X Sidewinders and eight AIM-120D AMRAAMs on both internal and external mounts.
Satisfied that all was ready, Dision began to power up. He'd been well briefed. He knew the mission, what he was ordered to do, and what was at stake. This was the moment of truth - both for himself and for General Resource. All of their years of preparation and training were about to culminate all at once in today's flight; an air superiority mission over the Independent State of Shilage, a former Erusean territory. Anyone who defied the mission statement of General Resource - in every possible sense - was to be destroyed.
The eyes of the world were surely watching. History would almost certainly be made today, the day where the world's first fully-corporate force flew into battle on its own for the first time.
«Dision, you are cleared for takeoff.»
But, at the end of the day, two of General Resource's foremost duties were to meet the needs of its clients and to ensure positive returns on their investments made. Today's mission was simply a logical extension of that humble obligation.
'Exactor tower, this is Dision. Taking off now.'
Exhaling deeply, Dision clutched the throttle and pushed it all the way forward. Then he released the wheelbrake.
There was a lurch, and a rush of displaced air. The F-35B swept down the flight deck at speed. As the edge of the deck came rushing up to meet him, the engine swivelled fully down and flared into life, belching almost 30,000 pounds of downward thrust that propelled the aircraft into the sky. The roaring wash faded into a low rumble as the lone F-35 climbed away and banked eastward, sweeping towards the Erusean coast as it grumbled away into the void.
«Dision is away. Good launch.»
A deathly silence fell over the Exactor's flight deck. Even the wind seemed to subside for a moment as all eyes turned skyward, as if caught in a trance of dumbstruck wonder.
Albert Genette lowered his camera. It seemed that the absurdity of the situation had finally caught up to everyone at last. Indeed, to think that a corporation would be going to war... the whole idea of it was absurd!
With a sardonic grin, he checked the last picture on his camera roll; the assembled mass of people gazing up at the GRDF fighter plane, ascending away into the distance, towards the creeping daylight in the east. Towards the Usean mainland. Towards the dawn of a new era.
One for the history books, he mused darkly.
There was no going back now.
End of Chapter ONE
Assault Record #1 – Abyssal Dision
Aircraft: F-35B Lightning II
Rank/Title: Aerial Security Specialist
Date of Birth: 10 October 1997
Unit: Air Strike Force
Nationality: Unknown
Biography: A mysterious pilot recruited by the then-secret GRDF in 2018, proving quickly to be a gifted aviator. The aftermath of the Lighthouse War provided ample business opportunities for the GRDF, thrusting them into the spotlight; Dision's first assignments were rotational exchanges with the IUN-PKF, augmenting (and learning from) their experienced but underfunded and war-weary pilots.
After several months of hunting down rogue drones across Usea, he returned to the GRDF as their most accomplished and experienced aviator. Only time will tell if he is destined for greater heights still...
Author's Notes:
▪ The ending of Ace Combat 7 leaves much to the imagination, which makes it ripe for all kinds of fun.
▪ This is a re-hash of a much older project of mine that featured a prologue, of sorts, to AC3.