Tactical

III: Evolutionary Singularity

I barely lifted my head as she entered the room. The Mind on Air waited before my desk, hardly daring to take a seat.

"Good afternoon," I wondered, peering out at the pane of frost-covered glass that was a window, trying to determine if day had passed over Lia Fáil yet. I swept the letters of condolences aside – they were apparently wildly popular, families actually more comforted that the Winter Queen took an active care into the comfort of those whose family had fallen in battle with her flag – and nodded. "Pray be seated. Remind me, how many sessions did Gantala contract you for? Six?"

"Yes," the Mind on Air nodded. "I- His Excellency regards that the health of Your Majesty is... rather more frail. He believes it to be an ailment of the mind. If you would recall, I had explained that a certain event in your formative years could reveal some aspect of the frailty that led you to deny the power of Winter until the cusp of adulthood."

"So weakness is a sin?" I reflected. "Then what should powerlessness be, Mind on Air?"

"I do not know, ma'am,"

"Duly noted," I replied. "You remind me of the little Quartermaster. Like an owl."

"Of your... Arcadia Movement?"

"No, no. Of MI6."

Station Q – Q-Branch, Technical Services Station,
After-Action Report

Aside from how an agent of the [redacted] was apparently outsmarted by virtue of a fire extinguisher and an axe thrown at his head on top of reckless endangerment by the mark, we are no closer to unravelling the mark. Also, two SAS men and a still-breathing though neutralised Anomaly #005 and Anomaly #006 turned in at London Metropolitan has the potential to escalate matters of the Arcadia Movement in relation to the United Kingdom.

Analysis of state of #005 and #006 in prison via surveillance has revealed a neutralisation of anomalous characteristics, hypothesising that Anomaly #001 may have undergone the same procedure to disappear, but passed on anomalous characteristics to offspring. It suggests a genetic basis towards the existence of Anomalies. Such a procedure, being safe enough to be performed on field, and yet pause the expression of anomalous characteristics but not to prevent its passage via gametic material, is unheard of and unknown as yet.

Furthermore, we have revealed the prowess of Anomaly #007. #007 is, as assessed by Agent 007, used to fighting in high-risk situations with and without the use of anomalous characteristics, with most of her diversions based upon the assumption of anomalous characteristics ('conjuring shields', 'freezing carbon dioxide' etc.). When pressed, Anomaly #007 also demonstrates singular aim with axe-throwing and diversion, as well as having shown to be armed with a large knife of an estimated ten inches. Whether she was armed with more, Agent 007 had been unable to reveal, though it is assumed that she may have been further armed with a form of device that analysis revealed as a custom-built KaibaCorp DuelDisk. What role this DuelDisk may play has yet to be determined without retrieval of the corrupted tapes that Anomaly #007 had erased. However, we have uncovered an important salient point:

The link between the [redacted] family and the Arcadia Movement has been discovered, to continue. [redacted] has been revealed to hold maternal DNA from Anomaly #001 ('Black Rose Witch'), From the granted maternal DNA link, it can be proven that the [redacted], and currently not within British territory, may be #001, assumed neutralised by the same procedure of #005 and #006. [redacted] has been entered as Anomaly #009, and the second second-generation Anomaly revealed in the world after #007, and links to #007 after Anomaly #008.

Signed,
Q

Memo to all pertinent branches, Secret Intelligence Service (MI6):
Security alert on #007 has been raised upon consideration of AAR from both Agent and Quartermaster. Preparations for 'appointment' at 10-11 July at 0000 hours to be investigated with all due haste.
– M

The chief issue of getting Psychics hired was finding the appropriate employers. The Arcadia Movement had the pick of the litter, though there was always the option of a company finding their own pet Psychic. The Movement tended to make those people's lives that little bit harder. Either way, the Arcadia Movement regularly flouted labour laws in one form or another, so having labour listed as a concern with relaxed regulations was always an essential chapter of any Arcadia Rights Bill.

The fact that the Movement could provide services exclusively in the form of monsters helps tremendously.

This matter was always a tremendous concern, and it was with Jordan Lee, or the newly reinstated Quartermaster, that I had made preparations for the future. The Tower post-Madison was going to have to renegotiate the private contracts broken. To rearrange another contract with the British Government. There were contracts to be made and heads to kick in.

My morning was productive, though. I had appointments with the top dealers that were encroaching on the street the Tower was on by its east side. I made appointments with those officials from the City of London directly after that, and ensured that both parties saw each other. There was no difference between them to me, and that message was made very clear.

"You're an overbearing autocrat," James sighed once both appointments had been concluded and we were doing a tour of the Tower. Four floors of archives, research, infirmary, human resources, security, and general management that led to the dormitory floors. There was more, but frankly you don't need to know the full layout of the building to understand what I was getting at.

"I do not deny that," I agreed. Most work was done via informal communication, I knew; hence we managed something like horizontal integration with a lot of mess. The only criterion was that the monopoly of violence was held at bay.

"Have you thought that sometimes you get more flies with honey than vinegar?" James asked.

"Only if you assume that the flies don't automatically take your honey as vinegar," I answered. "You know that, as the head of the Oceanic Arcadia Movement. Semaphore is mainly there to... smooth over the process."

"MacKinnon's a good guy," James agreed. "Bit bookish, but I guess that's why the SASR wants him. I just don't feel too good about putting Psychics anywhere near a government facility."

"We are not separate from ordinary people," I reminded him. "My parents died to set up the Arcadia Movement to what it is. Segregation is not the answer to anything, especially not to an accident of birth. If we have special skills, why not sell them to the highest bidder? On our own conditions, of course."

"Until they arrest us under whatever terror act of the day," James muttered.

"Until that, or they pass an Arcadia act, or until I have enough leverage to topple a small country and move all Psychics there," I joked.

James paused.

"It was a joke."

"...I can't ever tell if you're joking or being serious," James muttered, having caught up as I walked ahead of him. "You're pretty no matter what you're doing."

"Is that so. Do you tell every girl that?"

"Only the nice ones."

"I know people who would disagree with you." Thousands, perhaps. A human rights commission once tried to run a survey on the Arcadia Movement's impact on families once. Idiots who stick children to a normal family structure without consideration to economics and social sciences were idiots, no matter what. "To them I am a monster."

"You are a monster for us," James told me. "So that none of the other heads ever need to kill... even though amongst us."

"Cheryl Madison lived. So did Aurora Harrison."

"Not as Arcadians, and everyone probably knows it by now," James pondered. "I think... Babel Tower and the Frigate might have words when you get back."

"They already do. It flooded my email in-box this morning." I dismissed. "But they know that right now, what is needed is order and norms. Time is not something a single Psychic can force, nor is acclimatisation. Safety, though. To ensure long-term, regular, structural help, a monster must continue to protect the castle."

"You are not alone," James told me, in that honest, earnest fashion only he could. He had rushed up to face me, his dark eyes glimmering. "I will help."

"I am a tyrant out of necessity, James. I will not allow you to wash your hands in blood for the sake of my moral peace," I answered. "I will not allow anyone to cast aspersions on any Arcadia Movement, as long as I am here. You are already helping, by bringing the Oceanic Movement that step closer. There is no need for another monster. Thank you, all the same."

"I am not Orion Hunter."

I stopped walking at the mention of his name. "No, you are not. He is gone."

"We all know you beat him," James rebutted. "But you do know that, with the Madame gone- Goldenrod would have been-"

"He left," I shortly replied. "Of his own choice. That he disappeared at this juncture means that he has lost all moral right towards how the Movement is run."

"Yeah, about that... you didn't really give him much of a choice," James hesitated. "But what do I know? I'm just the guy you threw into leadership one day."

I felt my shoulders tense. "You would not have been if Goldenrod had taken over. None of us would have made it away from the Elysium Circle and their hands in the shadows."

"You're not exactly reassuring me that... you're completely there," James pondered.

I think I liked him for that exact reason; while he could criticise my policies and attitudes, he took care not to do so publicly. I saw the Arcadia Movement and its day-to-day running as an obligation, one that James made me want to try harder at it. Perhaps I am foolish to pay heed to him, but James is actually a good person, if rather... innocent.

"I had no idea that you needed to be reassured," I informed him.

Though James was a year older than I was, I had an intellect to spare and the willingness to use all the resources at my disposal. He knew very well what I was capable of. His jaw set. "You drove away your own cousin, and proceeded to have him declared dead later. I think I can be forgiven if I say that a lot of Arcadians are looking funny at you for that."

I had expected something along that reaction the moment my first cousin left Neo Domino. I had no idea that those expectations reached across the Pacific Ocean.

"Everyone, including Quartermaster, knows that this may well be your last responsibility before you can be impeached," James murmured, shaking his head. "I shouldn't even be telling you this."

"You are telling me this so that I know the stakes," I murmured in realisation. "So that I don't lose sight of the important things."

"Installing Quartermaster and ensuring that the European Arcadia Movement is back on track is all well and good," James agreed. "Even I know that, and I'm an idiot. But we're going to have to stuff the monster back into the box, you know. I'll be waiting for that day."

Monsters do not disappear so easily. Neither does the name of Setsuka Shimotsuki, the Cold Queen, Polaris, the monster of the Arcadia Movement. There was no way for a monster to temporarily disappear; only permanently. The moment the Movement was on track, every part of the Arcadia Movement to make some progress, I was going to be its nightmare. I was going to haunt the Arcadia Movement with the possibilities, so horrific that no one would ever question again the necessity of Psychic Duelists. That monsters are also needed to fight monsters.

"You don't have to wait," I said the closest thing to an actual confession and real human gratitude I could find in myself, away from the horrible deep hole of something that I lost in an agreement with Dewloren. "But thank you. Thank you anyway."

I wish I could fast-forward to comment that nothing significant happened between the afternoon and evening, that I whiled the hours leading up to the opening of the Tower in mindless drivel, but everything had a purpose; I had plotted how to reach the pertinent agents, I had thought of my evening dress, and I had considered the possibility of my cousin's presence in town, all three in no particular order of priority. Well, perhaps a reflection on how I seemed to have a type for dark-haired men, but that was irrelevant to the current situation at hand.

The rest of my thought processes from afternoon to the evening party were nothing outstanding. Except that during the evening party later, the Security team – none of them contracted to military service yet, at least – informed Quartermaster and I of the blond agent they kept rejecting from the closed party, until he came in on the arm of a female attaché. I tracked down the attaché and hinted, through an interpreter, that I was going to expose her company's unethical financial practices for the fiscal year to HM Inland Revenue if the gigolo was not thrown out immediately. Not in so many words. At least, I did not openly call the secret agent man a gigolo.

"Pierrot répondit: À minuit, Monsieur," I commented when Agent Bond was dragged out again by a security guard in blue. I frowned as I turned away, still confused before I realised the implication of recognising a security guard.

"So you see," I told the stunned Mind on Air, toying with the letter-opener in my hands.

Shock Troops had surrounded us with spears all pointed at the traitor. "I am intimate with familial treason. Particularly with the people who are supposed to serve the Silver Throne. It would take a lot more than one worm to cleave out the rest of my story."

"You are worse than all of them combined," the Mind on Air spat, realising her predicament.

"Sentiment, as many clever men comment, is a chemical defect found on the losing side," I answered. "I supposed here, my medical treatment is cut short. Now, servitors of Winter... Off with her head."

Critique, s'il vous plaît!