Chapter 7

"Executive Privilege"

Zoological Society of London, British Empire

December 7th, 1916

In an unusual moment for London, it was a beautiful afternoon. The sun was shining brightly, there wasn't a single cloud in the sky, and the numerous puddles left over from the latest storm had finally evaporated away. The normally frigid air had its biting temperatures negated by the warmth of the sun, providing some form of heat in the soon-to-be winter season. Children were gallivanting around in the streets, venders had re-opened their wares, and couples wandered around aimlessly, all keen on enjoying the rare occasion. The only people who wouldn't take advantage of this opportunity were uninformed travelers and the workaholics of the Empire.

"Of course," Dr. Nora Barlow said to no one in particular, "this nice weather had to arrive on the same day as all this paperwork…"

Despite making a significant dent in the unsightly pile since Deryn and Alek's departure, more forms arrived to take the place of their filled-out brothers. Every time she left her office, more stacks of request forms, personal notes, or messages from the Admiralty would be placed onto her desk, often requiring her to respond in triplicate.

Her current strategy was to allot a certain number of paperwork per hour, holding onto a thin hope that the flow of documents would halt at some point, allowing her to finish off the remaining pieces on her own time. At its peak, the stack had reached the size of three of her college physics textbooks, and nearly spilled its contents all over her office from its instability. For the past week, she focused her concentration from directly overseeing the Zoological Society's affairs to trying to eliminate the stack that had built itself up during her pregnancy leave. Instinctively, her free hand went to her relatively slender stomach, remembering the birth of Andrew, her fourth child, three months back.

Her thoughts drifted to Alan, and his tireless quest to locate and preserve Chinese and Islamic works of art. Her husband often spent as much time away from home as she did, often leaving their children in the care of relatives or nannies. She wished she could spend more time with them, or him, but her duties in the Society constantly dragged her away. The last time she had seen Alan was less than two weeks after having Andrew, before his duties as a civil servant and her high-ranking responsibilities in the Society pulled them apart.

She longed to be back with her family, not stuck in a dusty office alone!

"Barking spiders," Bovril said to Barlow's own perspicacious loris, which responded in turn with, "Mr. Sharp."

Well, technically, she wasn't alone. If one considers "having two creatures of one's own design sitting on your desk and breaking your concentration" to be adequate company, then she wasn't alone.

Dr. Barlow carefully slipped a tightly-sealed envelope from under her loris. "Bovril, I know you miss Alek and Deryn," making sure to softly pronounce the last name and avoid potential detection, "but you know as well as I do that your perspicaciousness would endanger them during the mission. They need to be less noticeable, and your repeating of phrases would only risk drawing attention to them, or giving the wrong impression to the Austrians. It's for the best that you stay with me until they return."

"If she returns," her loris said, reciting a snatched comment from her private discussion with the wildcount before Alek and Deryn's entrance.

She didn't want to have to think about the alternative. If, God forbid, Deryn was found out or killed in a crossfire, it would not only stop her efforts to prevent another Darwinist-Clanker war from breaking out, but more importantly rob her of a close ally and friend. Alek would be devastated, and would be inconsolable for weeks. With so many other issues swirling around in her mind, she could not bear the enormous guilt from that outcome. "She will, believe me," Barlow replied, although she couldn't bring herself to look her loris in the eyes and say it.

Her gaze was fixed on the parents and children browsing the zoo beside the Society's headquarters. It was a rather ingenious idea of her grandfather's to build that: show children that fabrications are harmless, useful, and able to be tweaked to suit their needs, and they will gladly support Darwinism when they become of-age. Even if they actually get into the business of fabrication, and figure out that fabs can be quite harmful, unpredictable, and downright ghastly at times, they will have no other lifestyle choice but to support it. After all, British schoolchildren were taught at ten years of age that Clankers may seem friendly and God-fearing like anyone else, but underneath their cheery attitudes they hold a deep-seated desire to render all organic life obsolete. At least, that was what she had been taught growing up.

From what she had gathered from her grandfather's journals and documents, the zoo was built in a time of desperation, when the Society's public image was nearly ruined by birthing a fabrication where the public could see it, with all the blood and amniotic fluid that came about from it. He and his remaining supporters got to work housing their remaining fabrications in a child-friendly and seemingly-harmless zoo, demonstrating the efficiency of fabs in warfare to the Admiralty, and making the creation of fabs a more private affair. The sudden success of these reforms (and their previous efforts at conserving endangered animals) led to the Society receiving massive grants, giving them the funds necessary to build the headquarters she currently resided in.

Tired of procrastinating any longer, Barlow opened up the unmarked manila envelope left by Peter Mitchell earlier in the morning. A single handwritten note dropped out, reading,

"Dr. Barlow,

At four o'clock this afternoon, there will be a council meeting regarding several problems the Society wishes to be resolved. They include:

The planned construction of a walker factory in Northern Scotland,

The potential expansion of the zoo come next year,

And our decision regarding the shipment of fabricating materials and weapons to the Austrian-Darwinist Alliance (Please, for God's sake, don't veto this measure again!)

Everyone will be present, including the Duke of Bedford. I understand that you wish to catch up with as much of your paperwork as possible, but it is crucial that you take part in this meeting. We will need a full council to legitimately vote on these issues.

-P. Mitchell

P.S. - Tell the kraut (you know who I am referring to) that his access to the fabricated weapons program will be suspended unless he cleans up his mess in the firing range."

"Ah, as expected," she said to herself, tossing both the envelope and its contents into an overfilled garbage bin beside her desk. "It would appear that my actions have garnered quite the negative response. Although I understand why some of the councilmen desire to see Austria reshaped in their image, they may not be aware of the possible crises that may erupt from such a shift in the balance of power."

Both of the lorises were focused on her, no doubt attempting to memorize and understand her statement. Barlow couldn't help but smile; it had been two years after their hatching, and yet their mental processes still fascinated her. "What are your thoughts?" she curiously asked them.

"You will hear of war and rumors of war," Bovril recited, "but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come."

It was a rather uncommon moment to hear a full sentence from them. While they typically recited snippets of conversations, only in cases of relevance would they say the entire piece. It fit the question clearly, and it wasn't just an oft-repeated piece of Scottish slang or Austrian cursing. "An interesting observation, Bovril! I suppose the resentment built between the two sides will not be released without bloodshed. How long do you expect this conflict to last?"

However, he ignored the doctor's question, instead joining her loris in an attempt to tear open a random letter. "And, if I may probe further," she questioned further, aware of her gesture's futility, "where in the world did you hear a passage from Matthew? I've read more than a few novels in front of you, but the gospels were never among them."

In one of those odd coincidences, one of her questions was answered by two figures walking into her office: her thylacine, Tazza, and Dr. Schmidt, the latter of whom was holding the former on a leash. Tazza enthusiastically ran to his master, and began nuzzling its nose against her extended hand.

"All done walking Tazza, Dr. Barlow," Schmidt informed her. "He wasn't much trouble at all, just had to keep him away from – hey, you have two of those things on your desk! I didn't know you owned both precarious lorises!"

"Perspicacious," her loris corrected, snickering along with Bovril.

Dr. Barlow happily began petting Tazza, as she made a habit of whenever he was finished a walk. "Technically, both are mine, but one has bonded with Aleksandar and Deryn. Seeing as how they develop faster when around their 'parents,' or whatever you might call them, I usually allow them to take care of it."

"…Huh. So, what do they even do, anyway?" Schmidt rubbed the two ridges between his eyes and his nose, his head dropping slightly and his cheeks tightening to suppress a yawn. Dr. Barlow's attention was driven to the dark circles underneath his eyes.

"The question you should be asking, doctor, is what they are unable to do. They can observe details that often escape our view, learn numerous subjects merely through memorizing snippets of data…in a sense, they are the perfect advisors for men and women in power." She stepped over Tazza, grabbing ahold of the pulley on her curtains and allowing more natural light in. Schmidt winced, and shielded his tired eyes from the sudden burst of sunlight. "Just to give you some warning, my compatriots intend to suspend your research on fabricated weaponry unless you clean up the aftermath of your test with Mr. Sharp."

Instead of a perky and typical, "right away, Dr. Barlow!" or "consider it done," Schmidt groaned. "They're still hung-up on that? What are they worried about; I killed all of the bees! I just had to burn a bit of the firing range to do it! Sure, maybe I did char the vast majority of the equipment there while using an unstable fabricated flamethrower. But, either way, I did my job!"

"Yes, but some of us-" she accentuated her coming point by dumping five of those obnoxious chain letters into the bin, "-have much more paperwork to do then you right now. Therefore, it's only just that you file the requisition forms for the sandbags, collapsible tables, and wooden cutouts."

"Fine, I'll get to it. But, before I go, are they going to let me vote this time?"

"Unfortunately," Dr. Barlow said, simultaneously attempting to keep Tazza's head out of her garbage bin, "you will only be an observing member until a majority of the council trusts you, and votes to grant you that privilege."

Schmidt looked back, unease almost emanating from him, as if he were preparing to say something. However, after a minute of shuffling his feet nervously, his thoughts never materialized, and left Dr. Barlow's office without a word. It was clear that something was troubling him, possibly relating to his poor reception into the Society.

"Poor fool," Bovril commented to Dr. Barlow and his loris counterpart.

"I concur," she said back. "Perhaps I should have a talk with him after the meeting…"

The two lorises scurried around her desk, making an even greater mess of the unorganized documents she was supposed to look over. Rather than reorganize it once more, she impatiently grabbed ahold of them, placing both on her shoulders for easier travel. "Come along, Tazza," she commanded her loyal thylacine, and the four headed off to the Council.


The Zoological Society Council was as it always was: a roundtable of fourteen men and one woman, seated in delicately-carved wooden chairs and feeling like the world was theirs to mold, if only for the meeting's duration. The Duke of Bedford, who also possessed the honorary title of president, sat in the largest and most "regal" of the chairs, while Dr. Barlow and Peter Mitchell flanked his left and right side, respectively. Peter's job was to write and record the minutes of each meeting, while Dr. Barlow presided over decisions related to international affairs. Fitting with his title, the Duke of Bedford was there as a figurehead, someone with no actual power in the Society but the good looks and clear voice to emulate that to the public.

Positioned in front of every person was an ashtray and a china plate, intended to dispose of waste from both smoked tobacco and chewing tobacco.

"Speaking of tobacco," Dr. Barlow muttered to her lorises, "we really need to open a window soon." An aura of smoke seemed to hang over the room, causing her and a few other councilmen to experience the occasional coughing fit. Although this nicotine-laced fog wasn't thick enough to obscure one's view, it had grayed out the room's feng shui, as she had taken to calling decorating after her husband's visit to China.

On her right, Peter counted off each member, making sure to not include Schmidt. "Thirteen…fourteen…fifteen. I believe that's everyone. Shall we begin, your grace?"

"Certainly, Sir Mitchell. But, first…" The Duke coughed away a stray cloud of smoke, then leaned back and opened the window behind him, allowing some fresh oxygen to dilute the stale air of the room. "Much better," he said, displaying his usual, confident smile.

"Gentlemen," he began, aware of Dr. Barlow's presence but not willing to draw unnecessary attention to her, "this past year has been marked by the unparalleled growth of the Zoological Society. Since the defeat of the Clankers and the Central Powers, we have expanded this glorious organization and pursued new frontiers of science. Last month alone, we fulfilled over two dozen contracts with the British Empire and other Darwinist powers, and have sent our agents to every region of the globe to promote our interests. Most importantly, during this time of unending development, we have kept true to our humble roots, and installed a monument of the great Darwin himself in front of our headquarters. To say we have succeeded in surpassing the Clankers' technology is an understatement; we have raised the bar so high that it will take them decades to catch up with us!"

Several zealous councilmen clapped vigorously at the Duke's opening. Barlow remained expressionless, although she did offer a slow round of applause for his bold remarks. Bovril and her loris fidgeted around on her shoulders, no doubt running their mental algorithms to understand what was said. The weight on her shoulders reminded her of an odd fact: nearly everyone in the room had some sort of self-made fabrication with them, excluding the two leading members to her right.

When the clapping had ceased, the Duke cleared his throat and continued. "However, this newfound power comes with a responsibility to the world, as there is still much unrest to combat. It is in our duty as Britishmen to exert our influence to improve states around the globe."

"Take up the white man's burden," Dr. Barlow mused.

"As it is with every month, we will vote on our stances on several key issues plaguing England, Europe, and the world as a whole. The first issue, while minor, is a threat to our control over agricultural production and tool manufacturing on the Isles. I am, of course, referring to the planned walker factory in Scotland."

She could hear the grunts and boos of the councilmen, as well as some cries of, "Damn Clankers!" No doubt, Schmidt was shifting around uncomfortably with every indirect insult.

"However, this must be handled delicately. By attempting to completely push all Clanker influence out of Scotland, we risk creating sympathy for them or causing them to strike in return. Therefore, I would like to hear your suggestions as to how we cope with the dilemma."

Dr. Barlow vaguely wondered how the Council would react to her purchase of the wrist communicator from the Clanker black market two weeks back. No doubt they would call her a traitor, and vote to bar her from further meetings until she redeemed herself in their eyes. With her support of a Clanker regime in Europe and now her curiosity regarding Clanker communication methods, she got the feeling that her grandfather would be rolling in his grave.

"We could always deport them!" an indistinguishable voice shouted from the opposite side of the table. An uproar of laughter and sympathy emerged from most of the councilmen, engulfing the meeting for an entire minute before quieting down.

"Now, now," said the Duke of Bedford, "the last thing we need is to eliminate an influential minority. The Fokker Company invested a great deal of capital in this venture, and I would imagine that would result in a dozen lawsuits pushed in our direction. Even with our good standing with the Crown, they would not look at us favorably for squandering the rights of others. Any other thoughts?"

Dr. Jafari (or, as she knew him, "the bearded fellow with the bird"), rose his hand. "We could always price our fabrication contracts lower than their walkers cost," he suggested. "That is, if we aren't going to share the market with them."

The Duke paused, probably considering the consequences and benefits of that sort of action. "Could we sustain that sort of pricing long enough to run them out of business and not hurt our integrity in the process?"

Peter, who had been scribbling down monetary calculations on his stationery, slid his notes over to the Duke. "If we hold our prices steadily low for four months or so," he told him, "then Fokker may have to pull out and look to build elsewhere. They've been hurting since the Great War ended in our favor, and lack the investments and stability to compete with us. We should not discount the idea of them trying to stick around longer, but we can afford to have losses. The same does not go for them."

The Duke handed Peter's notes back, evidently pleased by their new course of action. "A show of hands for the implementation of Dr. Jafari's idea?" he asked. Almost everyone raised their hands in support, with only one member abstaining.

"Well then, it seems that we will aggressively market our low-priced fabs to the Scottish farmers and transportation managers. Excellent suggestion, doctor!" His cheery disposition dropped, as any news regarding their next topic would do to a man. "Now, onto the second matter..."

"This isn't as much of a voting matter as it is an update on our progress. Keeping with our hearts and minds campaign, the London Zoo will continue to be operated by the Society. Plans for expansion are going along smoothly, and the additions of the new tigeresque and 'Darwinism around the world' exhibits will be completed by March of next year. Financially, we will be able to afford these additions with plenty of reserve funding to spare. The revenue from the zoo should be more than enough to compensate for any losses we experience from undercharging for fabrications in Scotland."

"And now, the hard part," Dr. Barlow whispered to Tazza.

Content with the air quality, or perhaps keeping the final subject matter in mind, the Duke closed the window. "Our final topic for this meeting will be the Austrian Civil War. We all know the situation there: Darwinists are being oppressed there by a bigoted Clanker regime, and the two sides have come to blows. The country has been divided nearly in half by the conflict, and the rebels have gained significant ground. Their leader, Ms. Anastasia Gottschalk, has contacted us about potentially sending aid over to them, whether it would be weaponry, or medical supplies, or even food and potable water."

"It is our right as fellow Darwinists to aid them in any way we can. I propose that, beginning next year, we work with the Swiss arms smugglers to send supply crates their way. If the Republic of German-Austria is toppled and replaced by a Darwinist government, only Germany will be able to pose a threat to us in the future. Imagine: a continent's economy and culture composed entirely of Darwinistic features!"

While most of the councilmen cheered, Dr. Barlow felt a knot in her stomach. The idea of wiping out an entire way of life and holding a monopoly over Europe didn't sit well with her, especially now that she personally knew Clankers and understood that they didn't have to be enemies. Schmidt was still silent, but she had a feeling that the Duke's words were not received favorably by him.

"All in favor of this measure, raise your hands!"

Everyone except for Dr. Barlow held their hands in the air, showing just how outnumbered her opinion truly was. The group lowered their votes, with Peter proudly marking the tally of fourteen to one. The Duke seemed pleased at the response. "Well, if no one objects-"

"-I veto this measure," Dr. Barlow declared to the council. In that instant, cries of protest and indignation shot out from every area of the room.

"This is ridiculous!" one voice shouted from the ruckus. "What gives you the right to shut down the voices of fifteen other people?"

"As a Darwin, I have the right to veto decisions that could be considered detrimental to our progress," she reminded them. This ace-in-the-hole was established by Charles Darwin in his last days to ensure that his descendants would never be robbed of their influence on his organization. Thanks to some vague wording and guilt-tripping, it was passed in an 8-7 vote. Due to an oversight in the writing of the passage, there was no way to overrule a veto, giving any future Darwins even more influence than Charles had intended.

"The Council acknowledges your veto," the Duke reluctantly said. "And, with that, we will undercut our prices in Scotland to weaken walker sales there, and continue about our business for expansion. No action will be taken regarding Austria, for now." He got out of his chair, carefully pushing back into place. "The meeting has concluded, and you all are dismissed."

On the way out, many members of the Council grumbled and complained about Dr. Barlow's veto power. Trying to feign a lack of surprise as always, she brushed any tobacco dust off her coat, and shook her bowler hat out once for good measure. She had accomplished what she needed to, and bought Deryn and Alek more time. By all means, she should feel good about herself, but felt concerned about the growing resentment of her role in the Council.

Schmidt was still there, sitting silently with his head hung low. The rampant jingoism from her peers had clearly hit closer to home than she had anticipated, but she believed that there was more to his unkempt appearance and visible lack of sleep than that. Casually, she tapped her protégé on the shoulder to get his attention.

"You and I need to talk," she told him, starting to walk out the door. With a nod, he got out of his chair and followed in her footsteps.


A/N: A few footnotes to add:

-Bovril's "rumors of war" quote comes from the Gospel of Matthew; specifically, chapter 24 and verse 6. Although it was added strictly for flavor in this chapter, it may play a role sometime later in the story. Emphasis on "might," I should note.

-The Fokker Company was a real-life corporation based in Germany that constructed airplanes and other vehicles. They also made a prototype minigun for the German Army that allegedly could fire a whopping 7200 (!) rounds per minute, though it never made it into mass production.

-The Duke of Bedford, Herbrand Russell, really was the head of the Zoological Society during the events of the Leviathan trilogy. Peter Mitchell, who has a brief role in Goliath, was also the Society's secretary.

-According to the information I've looked up both in print and on the internet shows no indication of a vetoing process in the Zoological Society of London. Then again, they were not an intelligence agency in real life, either, so I figured it was believable enough to add.