Chapter 14
Crossing the Rubicon
The problem with the black rings is that they worked perfectly. Greg tried a few other approaches to the problem but none of them worked anywhere near as well. He tried to change the appearance of the rings. If he altered the code of the rings enough, they did change appearance- but then they didn't function. Finally, he admitted that he was only attacking a symptom- a symbol of what was really bothering him.
It's not like I'm trying to take over the world, Greg told himself. The rings don't enslave the digimon, they just keep them focused on the mission. When this is all over, I'll remove the rings and they can all go back to the Digital Dimension- and I'll make it bigger and better than ever as a reward for them.
But he was still uneasy about it.
As a distraction, he tried to find out why non-specific code always manifested itself as something recognizable from the digimon videos or manga. He failed at that, too.
He began taking long hikes out into the surrounding desert or down into the narrow canyon instead of working on the specifics of his plan. He realized that he was stalling- delaying the day when he would have to commit himself and his digital troops to the all-or-nothing attack. But he couldn't seem to force himself to concentrate on anything. After more that a week of limbo, when his digimon stood ready for orders that never came, Renamon appeared beside Greg where he sat on the canyon's rim, tossing small pebbles over the edge.
She didn't say anything but sat down beside him and then lay down, putting her head in his lap. He absently stroked her back as he continued to gaze down into the shadowed depths.
"I can't find any way around it," he said a low voice. "If I want to do this thing, I'm going to have to kill a lot of people- people who never did me any harm. A lot of them- hell, maybe even most of them- are probably good people despite the jobs they're doing."
Renamon lay quietly, letting him speak in his own time. She knew she was the only one he could really talk to- and that he desperately needed to talk.
"The silos are no problem. They're built to withstand the violence of a launch and when the missiles collapse, they won't do any damage. The smaller missiles and munitions are more problematic- radiation will certainly be a problem but the military is equipped to deal with it. Some people will probably die in those situations but I can fool myself into thinking that it's unlikely." Greg sighed and picked up another pebble. "It's the submarines that- well, getting to them is a big enough problem but I can open an underwater gate and bring through enough MegaSeadramon easily enough. I'll just wait until I'm sure they've located every sub and then-" He tossed the pebble into the canyon. He heard it clack against the wall twice on the way down but never heard the final impact.
"All the crews will be killed, won't they?" Renamon said.
"If I'm so fucking smart," Greg half-snarled, "why can't I find a way around it?"
Renamon lifted her head and turned to face him. "If you can't see a way, it's because there isn't any."
"So- should I give up? Push the big red self-destruct button on the base and run off to the Digital Dimension with you? It doesn't seem like such bad an idea, now."
Renamon pushed herself into a sitting position. "I've been learning more about the world and humans while you worked. Sometimes it's still hard for me to understand individuals but as for people as a whole- as armies and governments- there are patterns- constants."
Greg was surprised. He hadn't had any clue that she'd been doing something like that. But he had been shutting out so much in the past month- and she obviously had something important to say. "And-?"
"They won't leave us in peace, Greg." She said with her eyes downcast. "Their technology will get better and better. Soon, now that they know it's possible, they'll be able to create digimon of their own. Or something like digimon but more- terrible. Or they'll figure out how to detect and block the programs that sustain my- our world. Whichever way it happens, they will destroy us."
As soon as she'd spoken the words he knew it was true. And that made his decision easy. It was no longer a choice between war and retreat. It was a matter of survival. And when it was his life and Renamon's against those of the crews of all the nuclear subs in the world- two versus hundreds- thousands, maybe- no, it wasn't a simple matter of numbers. Greg knew he could make a better world. One without the threat of near-instant annihilation hanging over it. And with the transformative power that Renamon controlled he could make deserts bloom and purify the air and water and- he could atone for the deaths he would cause. Atone with real, concrete deeds, not the twisted logic and rationalizations that were spewed across the media by the self-serving politicians who were complicit in the murder of millions.
He rose suddenly to his feet and brushed the red dust of the desert off his pants. He held out a hand to Renamon who still sat, looking uncertainly up at him. "C'mon Renamon, we've got work to do!"
/\/\/\/\/\/\
Under control of the dark rings, Greg needed much fewer digimon than he had originally estimated. Within two weeks of making his decision to go forward with the plan, everything was ready. He stood at the huge computer control console that stretched between two Datamon who were half-embedded in the rock walls of the deepest cavern of his base. The enormous wall screen displayed a map of the world, a bright red dot indicating each and every nuclear weapon on the Earth. Even with the comforting blue dot near each red one, indicating a team of Greg's digimon, the sheer number of them sent a cold, crawling sensation down his spine.
His guts knotted as he flipped the switch on the console that made the connection to his headset microphone. Renamon stood beside him and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. He gave her a sickly smile and a tiny nod of thanks before he spoke the irrevocable words that would be relayed to his troops, world-wide:
"Digimon- attack!"
There was nothing else to do but wait for things to go wrong. He had dozens of squads of digimon in reserve, ready to fill in if they were needed- but he wouldn't know much of anything for a while. He flipped the microphone off and watched the screen as a few drops of cold sweat made their way down the back of his neck.
/\/\/\/\/\/\
An hour later Martial Law was in effect in the United States and similar states of emergency were declared in every nation on earth that possessed nuclear weapons. A Presidential order was issued that all digimon were to be shot on sight- which usually caused the death of the soldiers attempting to carry it out.
When the last, stubbornly resisting red light on the screen winked out, Greg thought he should feel some sort of relief, maybe even a sense of accomplishment. What he felt was nauseous. But the day was not yet over. Greg had wisely prerecorded the statement that the Datamon would feed into the media streams. The message delivered by satellite, cable, radio, and web in hundreds of languages would come from a self-possessed and confident-seeming young man instead of from a pale, shaking figure who, at the moment, looked years older than he really was.
The message was phrased as well as Greg could manage and couched in reassuring, even comforting terms but the gist was simple: All nuclear weapons world-wide have been destroyed. What happened last year in the US will never happen again. No further hostile action will be taken unless I am attacked. For those who were killed today, I am truly sorry. I will do my best to make up for those deaths. Soon I will show you what wonders I can accomplish for you all.
Greg sent the message and then shut down the computer console. "There. Now we wait and see." Renamon hugged him tightly and he mustered enough energy to give her a brief squeeze in return.
"Do you want some food? You haven't eaten all day," she asked.
"No, I'm tired. I just want to sleep."
They went to their bedroom and curled up together. Greg stared at the ceiling for several hours before he managed to drift off. Renamon held him, listening to his heartbeat until it finally slowed, then she allowed herself to sleep.
/\/\/\/\/\/\
Greg was woken by Renamon who was standing beside the bed holding a Demidevimon in a painfully tight grip.
Greg blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked at her and then the little digimon. "What's with him?" he asked.
Renamon's grip covered the squirming little digimon's mouth and he seemed to be having difficulty breathing. "He entered without knocking."
"Ah- well, I suppose he must have had a good reason," he turned his gaze to the Demidevimon, "didn't you?"
The little creature's head and body were one spherical shape, so he couldn't even nod. He had to make do with a muffled, "Mmh-hmn" sound.
"Let him go, Renamon."
"Whew! *cough* Oh, man! I just wanted to let you know there's news, boss!" the Demidevimon told him, glaring as much as he dared at Renamon. "I wanted to tell you right away so maybe I forgot-"
Greg waved away his apology. "What's the news?"
"Uhm- it ain't exactly good news."
"Just spit it out," Greg snapped impatiently, "or do you want me to have Renamon squeeze it out of you?"
"They- uh, the humans, that is," Demidevimon stammered out, nervously, "they sorta- well- declared war on you." He crouched down and cringed as if expecting a blow.
"God, I hate mornings," Greg sighed and then added to the little digimon who was still looking uneasily up at him through one eye nearly squinted shut, "Thank you for bringing me the message as quickly as possible. Just- remember to knock next time."
Demidevimon gave a sigh of relief. "Sure, boss! I won't forget!"
Surprisingly, Greg actually felt a lot better once he'd had the chance to wake up completely. "Breakfast first, I think!" he said cheerfully to the Bokomon who served as his secretary and general aid as they walked along the corridor to the control room. "A nice, big omelet for me and for Renamon-?"
"Roasted Demidevimon," she grumbled.
"Make that two omelets, Bokomon," Greg chuckled. "Don't hold a grudge, Renamon! He was just a little too eager-"
"It's not him I'm really angry at," Renamon fumed. "It's the humans! Declare war on you? Such hypocrites! The day before yesterday, if you'd asked any one of them if they would like to see all the Earth's nuclear weapons vanish, not one of them would have said 'no!' They're ungrateful, illogical, and-"
Greg placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her rant. "And they're probably frightened to death. We need to show them that the worst is over. When they see what we can do for them, they'll calm down and we can negotiate. You'll see."
And that was an important difference between Greg and Renamon. She knew she didn't understand humans all that well. Greg mistakenly thought he did.
/\/\/\/\/\/\
"They're ungrateful, stupid, destructive, MORONS!" Greg shouted, throwing a coffee cup at the video screen. The ceramic cup hit the crystal digimite screen and shattered, leaving the screen untouched except for the light smear of coffee that dripped slowly down one side.
The digimon in the control room went very quiet and tried hard to avoid Greg's notice.
"I made them a paradise and they destroyed it!" He waved at the images of smoking craters and burning palm trees that flickered across the screen. Large swaths of green grass and flowering shrubs remained but were rapidly being churned to bits under the treads of the armored vehicles that rolled across what had recently been the barren, hard-baked earth of the Northern Mojave Desert.
"Why did they do it?" Greg asked, his anger slowly draining away. "The first bombings at the periphery, I can understand, but after the reaction had stopped- after the oasis had quit growing-" he shook his head in frustration. "All that pure water- and food free for the taking-" As if on cue, a blazing date palm, its heavy load of fruit sizzling, fell into the slurry of mud that had once been a pond of crystal-clear water.
Greg took several deep breaths to calm himself. "Okay, okay, I knew this wasn't going to be easy. We'll just try again. And again and again, if we have to! I'll jam beauty, peace, and prosperity down their throats if they won't take it any other way! Eventually they'll get tired of wrecking it all- " Greg sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to hold off the tension headache he felt coming on, and in a much softer voice added, "-I hope."
/\/\/\/\/\/\
Greg tried two more transformations in different parts of the country. Each time he created just what the local residents always said they would love to see or have. Each time the military moved in and scoured the ground clean. Once it was discovered that simple extreme heat or cold would stop whatever it was that disassembled and reassembled the molecules of the landscape, ordinary citizens fought off the changes with weed-burners, welding torches, and CO2 fire extinguishers.
Greg sent several messages to various governments, pleading for reason and detailing all the benefits he could offer them. The responses were all variations on the same theme: Surrender. Then we'll talk.
He kept teams of his digimon scouring the planet, searching for hidden threats and found several. Many governments tried to set up hidden arms factories to build more nuclear weapons. Others worked on different exotic weapons, some were clever ways to generate large EMPs, some were based on the mistaken assumption that because heat and cold affected the transformative fronts, they would also work well on digimon. Greg destroyed them all.
Greg sent out more messages and they were ignored by almost everyone. Anybody who dared to suggest that there might be merit in negotiation was shouted down or denounced as a traitor to humankind. The only disagreement under public debate was exactly how he and his monsters should be killed.
/\/\/\/\/\/\
"Maybe we should try something more subtle," Greg mused as he poked at the uneaten steak on his plate one evening at dinner. "Or maybe I should just learn to laugh maniacally, and start leveling cities." He looked up to gauge Renamon's reaction. She was wearing her enigmatic face. "It was a joke," he explained.
"Which part?" she asked.
Greg sighed and dropped his fork to his plate with a clatter. "They're only destroying the new creations because they know they come from us. They think they're traps or- or- I don't know- tainted somehow. If we change things they won't immediately notice- let them get used to it and then reveal we're responsible- that would change their minds, right?" He hurried on without letting her answer. "Maybe some new springs of water in the West where it's needed so badly? We could seed them along the rivers and let set them to increase over time. Yeah, I'll send out some squads to scout for good locations in the morning."
To Renamon, he seemed happier when he left the table. But he still hadn't eaten his steak.
/\/\/\/\/\/\
Two days later, Greg and Renamon strolled along the banks of the Sacramento River, pausing every once in a while to let Renamon bend down and touch the ground. Everywhere she placed her hand a small trickle of pure water bubbled up from the earth.
"When we finish here," Greg said to her as he checked his map, "We'll go over to the San Joaquin, East of Modesto and-"
"Stop right there!" Came a determined, but somewhat high and squeaky voice.
"Huh?" Greg folded the top half of his map down to reveal a group of small children lined up in front of him. And beside each one of them was- a digimon.
"What- who the hell are you and what are you doing here?" He demanded.
A lanky young girl with long red hair and a truly amazing amount of freckles took one step forward along with her Salamon partner and said in the same squeaky voice that had halted him, "We're the Digidestined and we're here to stop you!"
Author's Notes:
1) Don't ask me why, but MegaSeadromon are Ultimate level digimon, not Megas.
2) No, Greg did not really install a self-destruct button in his base. He was indulging in a bit of black humor.