TITANOMACH I: Triumvirate

by Xabiar

Earth rests within the iron grip of the Triumvirate. Suppression, surveillance, and manipulation are tools used to maintain and expand their power. Rebels and terrorists persist in a futile rebellion, and independent nations struggle to endure under political and economic pressure. On the brink of victory, the course of Earth is forever changed by an anomaly hovering over Mars.

17. Chapter XIV - Contingency

ACT II | THE TYRANT'S HUNGER

---

CHAPTER XIV | CONTINGENCY

---

VANCOUVER | BRITISH COLUMBIA | CANADA

There was a feeling of finality in the air; of the weight of history. A world which was holding its collective breath as it waited the outcome in nervous anticipation. A frightened silence had descended upon Canada as the Americans amassed along their borders. Border patrols had been withdrawn, checkpoints had been abandoned, and the Canadian military had mobilized to the cities.

Major Alexander Kenor stood on the roof of one of the many buildings along Vancouver's perimeter. A place that allowed him an easy view of the opposing American border. It was an eerie feeling. He'd visited Vancouver many times, and this time the bustling sounds of cars and people were muted.

It was quiet. Not silent.

But quiet.

Canadian soldiers had set up barricades on the streets, protected the government buildings, the hospitals, the power grids, and all of the places of importance. Some citizens were fleeing deeper into the country. Most weren't, but instead holed up in their homes and apartments. No evacuation order had been given.

Many were still holding out hope. That the Americans wouldn't come. That diplomacy would prevail.

Alexander suspected the answer was much simpler. There was no point in calling an evacuation. Where were they going to retreat to? Into the wilderness where they would starve and die? As if the Americans would stop their advance after taking the border cities? He wasn't involved in the talks between the two governments, but the grim expression of his superior when he'd been ordered to prepare Vancouver had said it all.

War with America was almost a foregone conclusion.

War.

Alexander was intimately familiar with the American military. The two countries had a friendly relationship, even as the Americans had moved closer to the Soviets and Chinese over time. He had friends who were American soldiers. He admired their discipline, camaraderie, and prowess.

The Americans were not a people he could hate. They were like adopted siblings, perhaps estranged at times, but each held a high opinion of the other. The idea of fighting them felt…wrong. He wondered if they felt the same way. He'd watched the massacre of Congress with the same shock and horror they felt.

At the same time, he ultimately knew what this was. It wasn't about terrorism, or security, it was about America deciding to claim what it viewed as owed. Their friends in the military might be content with their gains, but the American political establishment had wanted Canada for years.

Now…now they had an excuse to claim it.

He surveyed the American forces on the other side of the border through his binoculars. Most of it expected. Tanks, motorized cars of infantry, no doubt there was an aircraft carrier waiting to be called in, and air support ready to launch on a moment's notice. Artillery pieces had been rapidly installed along the border, as well as defense systems.

More concerning, though not unexpected, was what the visible soldiers were carrying. Canada didn't have an intelligence agency capable of competing with the Triumvirate nations, but they could learn certain things. Like the Triumvirate having some new weapons to use. He didn't recognize the models of the rifles they carried, or the armor they wore.

It retained the coloring of the heavier Army uniforms, but was very clearly padded – or explicitly armored. Every soldier he saw was outfitted the same way, and there were a few more pieces which were either new, or had clearly been improved. He recognized their posture though; this was not an army which was preparing to defend.

It was one that was preparing to advance.

His men were nervous. The citizens were nervous. The leaders were afraid. Everyone was too afraid to make a decision; paralyzed with indecision and fear. In contrast, he felt fairly calm. Calmer than he probably should be. Maybe because his directive was simple – protect Vancouver.

Which is what he would do.

Maybe it was because he knew that it wouldn't change anything. He was under no illusions. The Americans were better equipped, better trained, better supplied, and better warriors. He considered himself a worthy peer – but no one waged war like the Americans. No one spent as much money, or invested as much in their supremacy.

This would be no war, it would be a slaughter.

"Sir?" A voice cleared his throat.

He turned and saw one of his lieutenants standing behind him, face ashen, a young man who was trying to retain professional neutrality, with a phone in hand. "Colonel Anderson, sir. He requested to speak to you."

"Thank you," he took the phone and turned back to face the poised Americans. The wind blew gently as he held it up to his ear. "This is Major Alexander Kenor, of the Canadian Army."

"This is Colonel Jason Anderson, of the Confederation Army," came the response, before a pause. "Long time, no see, Major."

"Likewise." It figured that it would be Jason. It was expected, he was the one stationed this close, and considering his involvement with joint exercises and forging a close relationship with the Canadians, he was an ideal choice. He was a good man, they'd shared a few drinks and stories with each other.

There was a long silence. "I'm going to ask you to have your men stand down, Major."

Alexander pursed his lips. "There aren't any terrorists here, Colonel."

Dead air on the other side for a few seconds. "I have my orders, Alexander. I won't be able to ask you again."

Alexander nodded, even though he knew the Colonel couldn't see him. He understood. It was part of being in the military. You received orders and you followed them. It wasn't up for debate or discussion. The chain of command was clear. "And I have mine, Jason."

"I am aware," a pause. "And you know how it will end. I would ask that for the sake of your men, you have them stand down. You will not be able to change the outcome here."

He was right. Alexander knew he was right. There was no conceivable way that he could eke out a victory here, or even a short-term defense. Not even if he had unlimited time to prepare. Not even if he could get the civilians out of here. Not even if he had some actual defenses, ideal terrain, and weather.

It wouldn't matter. Not against the American war machine. One he was all too familiar with.

He wondered if this was how the Australians and Japanese had felt when they'd received the notice from the Imperials. If they'd been offered a surrender. If they'd know the dread of realizing they were doomed, and didn't know what the right answer was. The easy choice was simple. Surrender and the Americans would take the city, secure it without issue, and move on.

No battle, no artillery shells, no aircraft screaming overhead and missiles crumbling skyscrapers. No screams of pain and witnessing the deaths of brothers and sisters. It might work out in his favor. He was a known quantity to the Americans, if he cooperated, there was a non-zero chance that he'd be offered a place in the inevitable Canadian-American military integration.

But he was not an American. He was a Canadian, and he would not willingly betray that. He wouldn't forget his oath, his patriotism for his country. They were doomed, yes, but every soldier who joined knew that there was the chance that they would give their lives for their country.

The Americans had no right to invade them. Grief, rage, or other excuses were indefensible. What kind of man, what kind of Canadian would he be if he surrendered when his country needed him most? There may be others who were willing to stand aside, and submit. He would not be one of them.

He would not be one amongst the countless who bowed to tyranny. Even if it was insignificant, a fraction of a fraction, he would stand. Standing to his last breath, even if it was pointless, injustice should be fought against. Tyranny should be defied.

Even if he died, and others died by his side.

Let there be a price for Canadian soil.

Let the price of tyranny be blood and powder.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Colonel."

He couldn't see the expression of Jason, but he imagined a short nod. "Understood, Major. Godspeed to you and your men. You have six hours to change your mind."

He didn't have to give him the exact time the attack would happen. Perhaps it was arrogance, knowing it wouldn't change anything. Perhaps he'd been instructed to. But Alexander suspected it had been an intentional choice, a last gesture of respect from one soldier to another. Both had their orders, and both would follow through on them.

A damn shame it would end like this.

"Lieutenant," he said, as his subordinate was dutifully waiting behind him. "Begin battle preparations. We have six hours until the Americans begin their invasion."

---

The Battle of Canada, as historians would later call it, was one where the outcome was decided before the first shot was fired. The Canadian government had been torn between fruitlessly trying diplomatic efforts, which fell upon deaf ears, outright surrendering to the superior American forces, or fleeing while they still could.

In the end, their indecision proved their downfall as the American soldiers crossed the border, their planes took to the skies, and their tanks rolled across the streets. The Canadians that stood and fought did so valiantly, but their valor meant nothing in the face of the American war machine, which slaughtered the Canadian defenders with ease.

Landing crafts landed along the shores of Canadian ports, in coordinated strikes that overwhelmed the few defenders, most of whom simply surrendered outright. With a single stroke, their access to the outside world was cut, and all shipments seized as they were appropriated for Confederation use.

Many Canadians tried to flee once the fighting started, only to be grounded as the Confederation warned that any unauthorized aircraft that attempted to leave would be shot down. Orders went out that all flights to be grounded, and were followed by the airports, as the Canadian government was unwilling to risk civilian deaths.

There were Canadian military forces which surrendered, and turned their cities over to the Americans without a fight, they were detained and questioned, and nominally released as the Americans secured their hold over their cities. As the Confederation marched on Ottawa, the general order to surrender was sent out across the country.

An order that had gone out too late for some, and one which had only come when the inevitable had become reality. President Quinn landed in Ottawa mere hours later, and in a televised address, formally accepted the surrender of the Prime Minister, and took to the podium as she addressed the citizens of the new American territory.

And the world released its breath, as the new reality asserted itself and all would prepare for the inevitable turbulence that would come next. Yet it would not deny the Americans their victory – or their vengeance, for they had reminded the world of their authority.

In six hours, the nation of Canada had fallen, and with it, the last bastion of independence in the Americas.

---

THE KREMLIN | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION

"[I'm sorry,]" Clovis shook his head. "[At this point, there is nothing I can do.]"

Valentin looked decidedly unconvinced at best, irritated at worst, but this time, Clovis was not even downplaying his ability to intervene. Even if he didn't privately support the actions Quinn had taken, the diplomatic cost of issuing a condemnation wouldn't be enough to change their minds. Short of invasion, there was little he could do to stop the Americans. "[You can do something. The Americans just annexed a country that did nothing!]"

"[And what exactly is that?]" Clovis said calmly, raising an eyebrow. "[Condemn their actions? Threaten invasion? Risk a world war?]" He shook his head. "[The Confederation is in chaos right now, there is enormous pressure on Quinn to act. It will be some time before stability is-]"

"[Yes, that's exactly what I'm suggesting,]" Valentin interrupted, lifting a hand, forgetting that he was interrupting the most powerful man in the Soviet Union. "[We shouldn't silently support the annexation of a country just because people are mad. Canada isn't a home to terrorists of all people! This is nothing but political opportunism!]"

He wasn't wrong. And it told Clovis that he still hadn't figured out – or didn't know – that the Traveler was covertly enabling the terrorists. He wasn't going to use that piece of information yet – that was for when things became very tenuous. "[I agree that the link is minor, but I am afraid it very much exists.]"

Valentin's eyes narrowed. "[Does it now. Explain.]"

Clovis resisted an amused smile. Such authority, he almost preferred it when Valentin showed some backbone. Instead he answered calmly. "[I'm surprised you haven't made the connection yourself, since you've been looking over many intelligence reports and documents. Nonetheless, the connection is straightforward. There exists a business network run out of the Americas, composed of Confederation, and yes, Canadian companies that utilized a supremely complex network of businesses, shell companies, proxies, and fronts, all with the express intent of aiding the terrorists who murdered over half of the American Congress.]"

He lifted a hand. "[Now – do not misunderstand me – most of the activity was in the Confederation proper, but the Canadians had a hand in it, and no one is naïve enough to believe the Canadian government was unaware, especially since they are still technically under the rule of the British Royals.]"

He laced his fingers together, putting a note of contemplation in his voice. "[Was this enough for them to invade? Between us, Valentin, it was an overreaction. Yet I can't say that Canada is wholly blameless. There is a very, very strong possibility that the terrorists who attacked came through the Canadian border, and it would be trivial for the British to funnel them through Canada instead of risking entry by plane or boat.]"

Valentin looked somewhat placated, though not fully convinced. His voice was less intense now. "[This was still the wrong decision to make, even if some Canadians had terrorist connections.]"

"[Perhaps, I suspect we will know soon how justified it was,]" Clovis released an exaggerated sigh. "[In the meantime, I don't disagree that we should treat this with appropriate…caution. Our statement will be neutral. We can't condemn the Americans, not with what we know, and with what they've suffered, but praising perhaps premature actions should also not be done.]" He eyed Valentin. "[Is that acceptable?]"

"[It will have to do, at least for the Union,]" Valentin rubbed his eyes. Clovis didn't fail to notice that he'd specified the Union. Knowing him, he was probably going to make a statement of his own, one less neutral. An annoyance, but one they could all live with.

"[Good,]" Clovis said. "[And I will ensure that you…receive the proof you're no doubt interested in. It would be foolish to trust anything I say out of hand.]" He did smile at that, seeing Valentin visibly go through how to respond to that. Yes, I know what you're rationalizing to yourself. How you're starting to see me.

Look, look closer, and you'll see nothing but what I give you. His lips curled, and smiled a centimeter wider.

"[Since you're here, I'd like your opinion on something else,]" Clovis stood, and walked over to a table, with a cabinet above it. Valentin watched, as his Ghost hovered at his shoulder. "[This attack showed one thing – the terrorists are better equipped, better trained, and more dangerous than we initially calculated. They attacked one of the most secure places in the world, its reasonable to expect them to continue this.]"

A nod. "[You have an idea of where they will attack next?]"

"[I wish, but no. I do have some ideas, based on their previous actions,]" Clovis reached in the cabinet and pulled out a small pistol – one of the new models. He could almost feel Valentin tense. "[Relax, this is for you.]" He put the weapon in Valentin's hands. "[We were lucky President Quinn wasn't killed, as Gopal was. But they will start targeting heads of state and prominent officials more openly. You have experience with weapons, and I would recommend that you begin carrying one.]"

"[He is in no danger when I am with him,]" Vigil interjected.

"[I'd prefer not to take chances, Ghost,]" Clovis responded calmly, careful not to color his voice with what he was feeling. "[And I was getting to that – there's been some assassination attempts on TERRA ONE personnel – and the Ghosts have done an admirable job protecting them. I'm thinking that we should start seeding them with critical personnel, in case something like this happens again.]"

Valentin's eyebrows furrowed. "[Using us as bodyguards?]"

"[Of a sort,]" Clovis said. "[Guards alone are not a deterrent against a determined enemy. Your Ghosts are capable of things we are not yet, and we can both agree that this kind of tragedy must be avoided in the future.]"

"[Absolutely,]" Valentin nodded. "[Without a doubt.]"

Good, there remained some solid common ground left. Excellent, even more so that Valentin was willing to work on that, despite their growing differences. Thus, for now, he still had the upper hand.

Clovis was also amused by how expressive the Ghosts could be, without faces and without saying a word. Oh, it knew exactly what Clovis was doing, and it was showing its irritation as clearly as it could without Valentin noticing. The machine was quietly seething; wanting to respond, but being unable to. "[Is that right, Vigil? I can't imagine the Traveler would condone these massacres.]"

"[No, definitely not,]" Valentin answered before Vigil – even better. "[No matter what, this should not happen again. Hopefully the terrorists will be deterred if we are around.]"

"[Good, good, I'm glad you agree,]" Clovis made sure his features showed relief, even if he'd expected this. "[I'll have to speak with the other Triumvirate leaders, and we'll put together a more comprehensive system.]"

"[I'll pass along that this is coming,]" Valentin said. "[I guess for now, that is all.]"

Valentin exited a few moments later, and Clovis prepared to return to work, when he noticed that Vigil was still hovering in the room, its single electronic eye boring into him, colored a shade of yellow. He raised a knowing eyebrow. "[Is there something more, Ghost?]"

"[The path that the Triumvirate had taken is dangerous,]" Vigil warned, floating closer to him, its rear fins spinning. "[There are those who are beginning to see it. Even Valentin can only be placated for so long with your words and minute concessions.]"

Clovis snorted. "[Is that so? Have you told him that it was the Traveler who enabled this act of terror?]"

"[She did not carry out this action. You merely lie.]"

"[I said enabled, not carried out,]" Clovis corrected, lifting a finger. "[Do you sincerely believe I am a fool, Ghost? Did you believe that we wouldn't know that one of the five that was chosen was a terrorist? That we haven't known there has been a Ghost in their organization for months? That a group of terrorists just happened to escape a locked-down building without a trace?]" He smiled. "[Please, Ghost, save your lies. I do not know why the Traveler is playing both sides, but we can both agree that it is a bad look, no?]"

He shook his head. "[I suspect Valentin would not be so passive as you. I've refrained from bringing it up, but I have a responsibility to my own, and if you intend to convince him not to protect our people, I will remind him that the Traveler is not the benevolent entity he thinks it is.]"

"[Her benevolence is the only reason your empires still stand.]"

The benevolence of an enslaving deity, he thought. All the easier to make her slaves eat from her lap.

"[For which I am eternally thankful,]" he answered without missing a beat. "[I don't blame her for wishing to have a contingency, but if she believes that such acts of terror prompt change, I would suggest that she reconsider her approach.]" He smiled knowingly. "[We Humans respond…poorly to threats. This is…disappointing. I expected more finesse, more subtlety from an entity of her power.]" He gestured through the air. "[Raw terror? Amateur. Pointless. One does not win the hearts and minds of the people through fear – not if they wish to last.]"

"[Or perhaps,]" Vigil said. "[It forced the masks to slip, and show the true face. Your ambitions you try to hide, yet when the opportunities rise, you pounce. It is in the nature of yourself, and those who are allied to you. Morocco, and now Canada. You cannot hide or suppress your nature, and no longer are there those who fear your reach.]"

"[Is that truly what this is?]" Clovis chuckled. "[A long-form sting operation? One that proves…what, exactly? That we respond when countries make alliances with terrorists? That murder against our governments is responded to with retribution?]" He clapped a couple times sarcastically. "[Truly, the Traveler has made a groundbreaking discovery. If you are so convinced of your inherent righteousness, bring Valentin in and see if he holds the same opinion.]"

You are on my stage, little slave.

The Ghost twitched in the air, to Clovis' eye, seeming to want to respond, but waited. "[Now, if you will excuse me,]" Clovis sat back down. "[I have work to do.]"

When he looked up again, the Ghost was gone. Good riddance. He internally wondered, only for a moment, if the words of the Ghost were more important than he believed. If it was intentionally being allowed, in some way to 'expose' the true nature of the Triumvirate, that would be…

Well, quite pragmatically admirable, actually. Misguided in its effectiveness, but that was a kind of ruthless calculation he could respect. It indicated to him that the people of TERRA ONE were the pieces of importance for the Traveler. The tech, the worlds, all of that was secondary to the people.

There was a battle of influence, one which he had inherently recognized from the beginning – but perhaps it was more important than he'd thought. They believed they were untouchable, and for all intents and purposes, they were. However…were they really?

Or was God simply resting on his throne, content to watch his designs proceed? His ants too blind to see the strings?

That question was one that rested in his mind as the day progressed.

Perhaps some recalibration was in order.

---

TRIUMVIRATE INTELLIGENCE COMMAND | TAMPA | CONFEDERATION OF AMERICAN STATES

There had been a week of little more than funerals. There were many somber state visits he had attended, where he joined in the mourning that had taken place throughout the nation. It was especially personal because there were a few of these victims he had known. Not well, exactly, but he had many professional relationships he made a point to maintain. The TIS had always had a presence on Capitol Hill, and he'd made many a trip to give a briefing when summoned.

There was a grim air that had hung over the Capitol, and the Confederation at large. Military forces patrolled the streets, and there were multiple checkpoints at every event, big or small. Scans, patdowns, dogs, two forms of ID, the lists were extensive, and that paled in comparison to the sting operations that had taken place.

Thousands of arrests, on a scale he'd never seen before. This was a time where the American IC had requested TIS support, of which he was all too happy to provide. There had been very little more satisfying than seeing these terrorist sympathizers being dragged out, into darkened vans, and driven to the CIA blacksites where they faced the interrogation experts employed.

Satisfaction tempered with the dark cloud of what this meant. What the implications were.

Such interrogations were concluded with a trip to an alley, and shot in the head, followed by disposal protocols in large vats. One did not attack the heart of America and emerge unscathed. President Quinn had given the military and intelligence agencies permission to act without restraint. Courts provided detention warrants, and the rights of those suspected of terrorism were suspended upon Executive Order, codified into law with the Emergency Congress.

Perhaps Fox should be bothered by that. Perhaps he should have been disturbed by the thousands who had been disappeared from the Confederation, most of whom would never emerge alive. Perhaps. But that would have required that he feel sympathy or pity. And he felt nothing but regret that this had not been done before.

He hoped the terrorists were satisfied with their gains. All they had done was give the Triumvirate an excuse to take the gloves off. A reckoning was coming which would be fully deserved. A pity that they were too short-sighted to see that. The future of reforming the Triumvirate did not lay in the terrorists, but those within the Triumvirate.

And he did not forget how this had been permitted.

And he also knew that the Traveler knew this. This had been a sanctioned escalation.

The silver form of Watcher-7 hovered before him. He had purposefully ignored the Ghost for days, out of personal disgust for the machine, and because it took a significant degree of willpower to not take his pistol and shoot it. Now though, as weeks had passed since the event, he was calm enough again. He could think clearly and see the implications. The cool professionalism he prided himself on was restored.

"I want to be clear," he said in a slow, neutral tone. "That if you wish to retain my…tolerance for your presence, the Traveler must deeply consider the consequences of these acts of terror. Do you understand, machine?"

It hovered for a few moments. "Was the response justified?"

"Considering that over half of Congress was senselessly killed, yes," Fox said with emphasis.

"Not the domestic response. The annexation of Canada."

"Debatable," Fox said after a moment, his eyes narrowed. "I would not have done it. An annexation was unnecessary. But the Canadians who turned a blind eye deserved their fate."

"But we both know that's not the reason it was invaded," Watcher-7 spun its fins and came closer. "Canada did not pose a threat. If it is truly about terrorism, why has the Triumvirate not invaded the United Kingdom or Israel?"

"Because both of them are nuclear powers who would trigger an apocalypse which would leave millions dead," Fox answered flatly. "You don't have to convince me of the political angle. It's not a secret that the Confederation has wanted Canada for years. However, Canada should have thought a bit more carefully before allowing terrorist funding companies to exist on their soil."

"Perhaps they were unaware." Watcher-7 paused. "Is it worth punishing the millions of people who had no knowledge?"

"No and no," Fox shook his head. "The people are always ignorant and pawns. But if the government was truly this ignorant, they did not deserve to run a country. I know very well how these things work, Ghost. I doubt the government knew details – a deliberate decision, but they absolutely knew there were terrorist sympathizers in their country, and did nothing to stop them."

"And was that enough to condemn a nation? The crimes of a few?"

Fox sighed. "I am not sure where you are going with this, Ghost. I really do not. If you are attempting to justify the attack, you can save your speech."

"The attack showed what it needed to."

"Which was what?"

Watcher-7's fins spun. "You know the answer. You just dislike what it implies."

Fox was fairly certain he did know the answer. And if he was right, it was ruthless. "'Dislike' is a loaded word."

"Your emotional reaction makes the term applicable."

"I knew people who died in this attack."

"And sacrifices were necessary."

Fox's lips curled back, into a smile devoid of humor. "Really now. How very interesting. Dispassion that only an alien could display."

"But dispassion you understand. You have done so before. You know what it is to sacrifice what you love and care for, in large and small ways. For a cause greater than yourself. For a higher purpose."

The Ghost wasn't wrong.

He had long known the Traveler wasn't passive or stupid. That had been apparent, even if Clovis and the others couldn't see it – or worse, see it and believe he could match it. Yet a word he hadn't thought to ascribe to the Traveler before now was ruthless. But ruthless was what she was, as Watcher-7 was practically admitting it. It was, objectively, impressive from a professional standpoint how effectively the Traveler was maneuvering the pieces of the board to her ultimate end goal – even if what that entailed remained nebulous.

This attack was to be a catalyst. It had irreversibly shaken the course that had once been almost laid in stone. The attack had shown that there was nowhere the Triumvirate couldn't be harmed. The sheer death toll and devastation had ensured that the outcome would be talked about for weeks, and seared into the psyche of the Human race.

Traumatic for a few, but a rallying cry for others. Fox knew it had succeeded in showing the depth of vulnerability in the Triumvirate. They didn't need to know the Traveler had helped them, only that they had succeeded in making the Triumvirate bleed. The assets in Canada and America were worth sacrificing to inspire a new breed of insurgents.

The Triumvirate was downplaying the impact this was having. He knew better. He had agents and allies across the world who had talked with him. This was not an isolated incident, and there were indications that the Resistance primarily based in the Middle East would have copy-cats elsewhere in the world.

Brazilian partisans had emerged with a massive terror attack in Rio, the first major action in the continent in years. The displaced terrorists and rebels of the continent had all inevitably found themselves within the Amazon, which was the only place they could hide without the Triumvirate tracking them down. The Confederation was not prepared for the level of insurrection initially, and emergency forces had been deployed to put it down.

More trouble brewed in the Communist Empire. Religious and ethnic groups were descending into riots that were being violently put down across the Empire. Uighurs in the mainland. Buddhists in Tibet. Muslims in Indonesia. Insurgents in Australia and Mongolia, the latter of which reports indicated that there was a central figure behind the insurrections. Something to look into later.

The rebellions and riots had been put down, but the lingering resentment and fury simmered. It would not go away.

The Soviet Union remained largely stable – were it not for rumors of guerilla fighters in Scandinavia, and a disparate mixture of fascists, royalists, and democratic militias in the Iberian Peninsula. Both regions had always been on the edges of Soviet control, and major unrest had been warded off – but that seemed to be changing.

Especially if the numbers of KGB he'd seen being deployed were any indication.

On the grander scale, it had also baited the Confederation into acting on their political ambitions. Canada had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and enemies with the wrong people. With that single action of annexation, those who had already begun feeling doubts about the intentions of the leadership would have their fears confirmed as the Triumvirate abided the annexation of another country under the pretext of terrorism.

The terrorism was swiftly condemned, but the imperialism was not forgotten. Valentin, Fang, and a fair few other TERRA ONE personnel had spoken out, condemning the annexation and calling for the return of Canadian independence. That had caused the Confederation to lodge formal complaints with the Soviets and Chinese for that, putting such governments in a slight diplomatic bind.

The bonds between Triumvirate allies, and Triumvirate nations and their people, were being frayed at a rapid pace. The internal crises were mounting more and more, all stemming from this singular event. Everyone thought they were in control, that they were doing the right thing, when they were all acting out exactly as the one who instigated this event had anticipated.

Ruthless.

It was clear the Traveler did not care for the Triumvirate in its current state. She was pushing it to its breaking point. It would either be destroyed, or it would be reformed. Fox no longer believed that the status quo would be maintained, even if Clovis by some miracle decided to unconditionally cooperate. To think otherwise was arrogance of the highest order, and he knew when something much smarter and powerful than him was in control.

It was an odd feeling. To see what was happening, and wonder how no one else could. How no one could see the reason for why this was happening. Clovis must think he had the ultimate blackmail on the Traveler, that he could control Valentin with the knowledge that the Traveler enabled terrorists, and not once would he ask himself why the Traveler was doing it at all.

If that were true, if those chosen were susceptible to such manipulation, then Valentin would not have been chosen. None of those with her mark of approval would.

Himself included. Even now, even though he knew, this must have been known. Yet there was a Ghost watching him now. The immutable, unshakable confidence and certainty of an entity which was in complete control – and pretending it was not.

He had to credit the Traveler, there was no better way to deal with Clovis Bray than to let him walk into a trap of his own design. Poetic, and if Clovis took a step back, he would see that the Traveler was not some naïve entity, on the side of 'freedom fighters', but a manipulative alien interested in forcing a particular outcome.

All the world a stage, and them but a piece on it.

All of them, perhaps, except him.

He was hesitant to ascribe such agency to himself.

He could see. He didn't know why the Traveler was allowing this, or what it meant. Yet he knew this, and theoretically, had the ability to act. He knew to some degree this was intentional. Destruction, or reformation. He had an unfortunate feeling the ultimate outcome would depend on him.

The question, of course, was what to do.

What to do indeed, Hayden Fox.

It was not often the Ghost telepathically communicated, but it came at such enlightening moments.

He folded his hands together and eyed the Ghost head-on. "Why are you really here?"

"Clarify."

"I am the only one who was not on Mars, yet the Traveler sent you to me," Fox clarified. "I want to know why."

"Because you understand."

"Understand what?"

"What is necessary." Watcher-7 floated around. "You cannot comprehend the strength of the enemy that pursues Her from across the stars. It is unrelenting and all-consuming, it is darkness which blankets all which it engulfs. Many species operate within bands of morality, of concepts of good and evil. Your people are no different, they act because they wish to be seen as heroes and good. They view themselves in positive ideals, and believe they inherently embody the best of their kind."

The fins spun. "These traits are admirable. They are what all should aspire to be. She wishes a galaxy where one needs not fear the tyrants and the cruel. That the good will overcome the evil. That there be justice, in a galaxy where so much is unjust. Yet these are not enough to succeed against the Darkness. It is a cold, harsh, truth that has been faced. In a conflict where the stakes are reality itself, there can be no place for coddling, for illusions, for restraint."

"When swords rattle, all blades must leave their sheathes." The Ghost fell silent for a moment. "And you comprehend that. You understand the concept of necessity. Of sacrifice to the greater good. And what are you willing to sacrifice, Hayden Fox, for a Humanity which is strong enough to stand against what is coming? Are a few hundred lives worth ensuring you can withstand extinction?"

"Are the lines of duty and ideals clear to you?" Watcher-7's fins revolved in the air. "Can you see them, and their thin edge between true sacrifice and needless cynicism? That point where necessity and cruelty and apathy blend in delusion, and lead to self justified malice? That arduous tightrope, that so few can walk without falling?"

Fox shifted in his seat, not speaking, but it was enough to communicate his answer to the Ghost. It bobbed in the air. "From one event, you see the chain. You see what it will lead to – and you see your place within it. She portrays idealism, goodness, loyalty, but She understands what is required in this galaxy. What must be done to defeat the enemy. While Her Speaker embodies Her greatest traits, Her Shadow must ensure victory at all costs."

Fox leaned back. "And is that what I am to her?"

"That depends on what you do next."

"Does it. Well, then we shall see," he fixated on the Ghost. "I am not making any of these decisions for your Traveler, but because the alternative is a civil war, one which I would prefer my species not go down. She may not mind so long as a result is certain, but I am more discriminate."

"Then act, Hayden Fox."

A crossroads seemed open before him.

He had a limited amount of time, and the insurgents that had sprung up around the world were not going away. It was only a matter of time until they reached out to the terrorists – or the terrorists reached out to them. Either way, both were far from ideal. He could do one of two things – ensure they were put down for good (which he was skeptical of success).

Or he could ensure they were controlled.

His fingers laced together, and hands resting on the table, a sigh escaped his lips as he weighed the options, and finally came to a conclusion.

Tightrope it is.

The Ghost was right. He was willing to do whatever it took to ensure a stable work, and a strong species. And that now meant that everything had to be done to ensure the Triumvirate did not come apart – or that it was primed to change if the reformists failed. Picking up a pen, and grabbing a scrap of paper, he began to write a list of names.

He sincerely hoped he was doing the right thing.

---

DEEP STONE CRYPT | BLACK ARMORY SATELLITE | EUROPA

Europa was worse than Siberia in deep winter, Clovis decided. Sure, you could breathe the air now - and below the faintly glowing continuous aurora of the Traveller's influence, your cells wouldn't be turned into atomic mush by the howling particle storms of Jupiter anymore either. But it was cold. Even in the survival suit, the cold was biting.

It would be temporary though. In a few years - or decades - this might stabilize to something more temperate.

It was rather beautiful in its coldness, however. There was a light downfall of snow spiralling down from one of the many cryovolcanoes in the distance, flimmering in the dim sunlight above an eternal stretch of ridged, dirty ice. It was like a strange arctic night. A twilight to cloak all things made by men in darkness.

Still, a Gulag would be brighter lit than this satellite of the Black Armory. Gulags also were not patrolled by the dark, humming shapes of sentry robots, four legs carrying the machines along reinforced pathways over the ice. Eventually Humanity would be led to follow the paths blazed by the first explorers, and if any investigative minds decided to investigate this single cryogeological facility out in the wastes, made up of a few buildings and a small spaceport, 600 kilometers removed from Novotobolks, well… the Spetsnaz would handle them.

With a last glance Clovis turned towards the entryway, ignoring his security team. He punched in the first code at the door, then held up his keycard to the reader. "Красный абрикос" flashed at him from the display - "Red apricot" was the prompt this cycle it seemed, and Clovis entered the respective code at the prompt. The outer door unsealed with a clunk. On the inside, Clovis removed the survival's cloth headdress, mask and gloves. He pressed his hand down on the scanner field and looked up into the moving head of the biometric scanner as it came level with his face. For three seconds, a white light probed his left, then his right eye.

Then it turned blue, and the other door began to slide open.

"Welcome, Clovis Brey" a warm male voice sounded from the overhead speakers as he stepped through the door. Inside everyone looked up, then tensed up. The two Spetsnaz in their combat suits snapped to attention. "General-Secretary!"

Clovis scanned the whole room. It was much more pleasant now, walled in glistening panels painted with stripes of orange and violet over a white background. The air was shockingly warm compared to the outside, and Clovis stripped off the remainder of his survival suit with efficient, precise motions.

Footsteps clacked across the sealed floor towards him. He looked up at an approaching secretary in uniform. "General Secretary Bray, welcome. Please sign here." She spoke English with an American accent, and handed him a tablet, which he quickly signed with the attached stylus. "Has this been your first visit?"

"I visited briefly when construction was beginning," Clovis answered, as he handed the tablet back. "This is my first visit now that the facility is properly operational."

"Ah, well there will be much to see," she stood, gesturing for him to follow. "This way, General Secretary. Dr. Bray and Director Meyrin are waiting."

She led him across the atrium and through the door in its back wall, down a corridor and past the silent gaze of a hundred camera eyes and hidden scanners. The next room was a giant circular hall arranged around a cylinder in the center, sealed in white panels. Standardized cargo containers were systematically racked down throughout it, marked with cryptic alphanumeric codes and the sigil of the Triumvirate Solar Development Agency. Through a large door a snowcat was bringing another container, probably from the squat lander craft that had brought Clovis and his team.

The center cylinder held a large elevator, it's bulkhead doors gaping open. Determinedly, she led him down onto the floor, across it and inside. Clovis looked around the elevator. It was as sleek and polished as the atrium with orange coloring. It was just rather large. "Do you use the cargo elevator for everything?"

"Yes. Cargo and personnel alike move in and out of the facility proper through this one access point. Originally we were going to fit personnel elevators, but for security reasons we converged on a single elevator cabin."

"Thank you," Clovis said. "I approve. Security in places like this must by necessity be as tight as possible."

The descent was notably long. From his own experience, and the speed he assumed they were going, this seemed to be at least ten stories down, perhaps more. Finally, the bulkhead lifted, and they stepped out into a tiny counterpart of the topside hall that seemingly served as a hub. People in Black Armory duty uniforms - two-color black and grey with tiny stripes and patches on the sleeves and breasts - walked the polymer floors in small groups.

"This way."

A few glanced in his direction, but didn't make a scene, for which Clovis appreciated. The secretary led him through a few more hallways into a sleek administration block, and then gestured through one door that led into an office. Clovis stepped through the door to find Mathew Bray and DARPA Director Meyrin conversing with each other. The two looked up as he walked in through the open door. "General Secretary Bray," the secretary announced unnecessarily.

"And right on time," Matthew said with a smile. "Thank you, we'll take it from here." She nodded and stepped away.

"I trust your flight was without incident?" Amy asked as she closed the office door and tapped a single control on the panel next to it.

"Quite," Clovis said. "The Triumvirate has done exceptional work with their spacecraft, though I confess I much prefer solid ground under my feet and a wide open landscape in front of me, instead of space. It becomes slightly existential when I contemplate the void from inside a can without gravity."

"A natural reaction," Amy grimaced. "Space is beautiful, but travel does not agree with me. I have to take knockout pills for the flights. I dislike it, but if the alternative is perpetual nausea, that is a price to pay."

"Agreed," Clovis said. "Nonetheless, I'm glad both of you could meet. Matthew, you had some updates for me?"

"I should say we have updates," Matthew corrected, lifting a hand. "Satou and Rasmussen are working right now, and dealing with administrative affairs, but I will certainly not take all credit for this. This is solely a victory of our joint teams – and truthfully, far greater than any of us could have predicted so far."

"And faster," Amy added, her voice more subdued than her counterpart, but with the edge of pride in it. "Dual-use applicability of the Traveler's knowledge has been much greater than we first anticipated.

Clovis smiled broadly. This was already off to an excellent start. Something caught his eye on Matthew's desk. There was the usual collection of pen holders, a picture of his family, his computer complete with two monitors – and some kind of robotic…head? Clovis took a step to it, appraising the head closer. Definitely robotic, with clear humanoid inspirations.

"I see you've noticed that," Matthew said.

"Yes," Clovis picked it up. It was about the size of his fist, made out of plastic – likely 3D-printed – but extremely detailed. As such it weighed almost nothing. "A model?"

"Build HSC 22-09. The appearance designer team printed this in the early days. I thought it was a nice memento. The real heads are a bit too expensive to put on your desk just yet…" Matthew looked at the 3D print contemplatively. "I might turn it into a bobblehead."

Clovis snorted and set it down. "I suppose there are worse mementos."

"That there are," Matthew said. "First, before we go any further, I'll give you a brief update. Or rather, I'll show you an update." He clicked his earpiece. "Please direct Ada to my office." There was likely an affirmative, as Matthew nodded ever so slightly.

"I presume that the Exo Project has seen some major breakthroughs?" Clovis asked.

"Many," Amy said. "We have overcome all of the major hurdles of Phase 1. The technology itself works with high reliability - which has resulted in accelerated timelines for our prosthetics teams, which I'm sure you're well aware of. We are scaling up the production of the hardware as well. The main challenges now are in the…" she waved a hand vaguely. "Software, and its creation. Success rates are still too low for our liking."

He raised an eyebrow. "How low?"

The slight downturned corners of her lips was all she outwardly displayed as she answered. "We currently have sixteen capture theaters in operation and can cycle in a new candidate about every two weeks. Of those candidates, about one quarter become viable units on the first attempt. On average we have 80% of units who pass our current success metric about, well...four and a half months after the pattern capture."

Clovis quickly ran the numbers in his head. "That's disappointing. What are the reasons for the low success rate?"

"We're discussing something as complex as the Human mind to start, and then we are adding our vision of an even more complex and capable posthuman mind on top," Amy reminded him. "The failure reasons are incredibly diverse."

No doubt they were, and he indicated that she continue. "We've been cycling our candidate pools monthly, adding and removing various variables as best we can with our candidate pools. We're experimenting with pre- and postconditioning regimes. Genotypes, neuro-phenotypes, mental conditions, developmental backgrounds. We're slowly ironing out the variances. It's quite… blind, as technique goes, ultimately." she briefly paused. "We don't even really understand why half our solutions work, but they do."

Clovis resisted a snort. "Progress, I suppose."

"Compared to the early lines, it's much better anyway," Amy said dryly. "With the first candidates we didn't even get clean, reusable captures. Nowadays we get a clean mindstate capture across over 75% of our pool."

Those were better numbers. "Mindstates referring to the subjects themselves."

Amy nodded affirmatively. "Yes, the state vector of the subjects brain, and thus, their mind, which we functionally capture during the two weeks of mapping session."

"Functionally."

"It's not a one-to-one capture, Clovis." Matthew had a clinical expression on his face as he dispassionately elaborated. "With our current requirements, the mindstate that is transferred is not the same as the original subject. We lose a whole lot of proteomic and cytological data - enough to disqualify the data for a whole brain emulation in the classical sense - and it's not continuous. The mindstates of the subject and the pattern capture are divergent during the procedure already. We will reach comprehensive brain emulation at some point of course - sooner than expected, from our progress, but one step at a time."

Ah, if only time was something they had an infinite amount of. Still, these were people who didn't need to concern themselves with the grand game at play here. "So, not a true form of immortality."

Matthew took a second to answer. "The concept itself? I would say it is. It depends on your particular brand of philosophy. The original instance is destroyed, and in theory the capture is the same person - if you do not make any further alterations. Though in this case, we do make alterations… and not too few of them. So what we are doing now, to me, is not transmigration into a better body. Maybe…" Matthew Bray trailed off, searching for the right word. "It's not transmigration. It's transcendence."

A fancy diatribe which effectively said 'no'. Clovis leaned back and continued his questions. "So you managed to edit Human personalities."

"In a way, yes," Matthew confirmed. "We have created a framework for a posthuman mind that has all the empathy, creativity, understanding and even the quintessential ethics of a Human mind - yet can surpass us in intelligence, multi-tasking and worldview, and crucially - will never betray us."

"Which fails most of the time, per your admission."

Matthew grimaced. "It's a massive challenge to… edit a Human mind. Even assuming we could read the Human mind like code - and we cannot - it would be the most complex and unique program any team could be asked to reverse-engineer and change."

A knock at the door. "Ah, here she is," Matthew went over to the door, and opened it. "General Secretary, this is Ada-1, the first stable Exo of this project." The machine that entered was roughly the size of a tall Human. It bore humanoid limbs, a sexless body, and the alloys it was composed of were various shades of grey.

The most noticeable part of it was the face, which had eyes and the general shape of the Human head, though instead of a mouth, there was what seemed to be a simple speaker. It also bore no ears, nose, or certain other facial features. "It is a pleasure to meet you, General Secretary Bray," Ada-1 said, her voice synthesized, but clearly female.

"And you as well," Clovis inclined his head, before glancing towards Matthew. "Was Ada her name?"

Matthew shook his head. "No. She was the only stable result from the ADA line. The name eventually stuck. You're not looking at a Human mind in a machine body, Clovis. You're looking at a machine mind that was taught, based on the capture of a Human brain, to think like a Human - when it matters."

Clovis almost involuntarily took a small step back. Ada simply stayed in position, her eyes occasionally flicking from place to place with a quiet mechanical clicking.

Matthew stepped forward. The eyes tracked him, but otherwise Ada stayed in place. He gestured up and down the body: "Ada was grown by us from a kernel of comparatively primitive AI agents that we imprinted with core precepts. These preceipts make Ada unquestioningly loyal and committed to our cause. Around this kernel we placed other specialized modules we repurposed from the Warmind initiative. They were pre-trained to handle complex tactical situations, different forms of sensory information, superior world state modelling. Capabilities that will make them functionally superior to us. Then we extended this collective of intelligent systems with raw, unimprinted artificial neurons and gave them one challenge to master: emulate the Human mindstate capture."

It was all very fascinating - though Clovis' eyes shifted to the currently silent machine. "Should you be...talking about all of that in front of her?"

Matthew shrugged. "She doesn't care, Clovis. She doesn't even care about her memories as a person in our world. Or any notions of rising up against the Triumvirate. The Human mind that remains is defined by our artificial foundations, not the other way around. If the Human mind doesn't matter, it is not being involved."

"My name does not cause me any trouble," Ada-1 interjected. "'Ada' is fine, or 'Exo' as many of the scientists refer to me as."

"Ada it will be then," Clovis appraised her closely, a question striking him. "You have no mouth. Is that an issue?"

"It does not give me discomfort," Ada answered. Clovis noticed how suddenly tiny motions crept back into her body - her head shifted as she spoke, and the space around her eyes widened and closed. Her arms moved slightly in tune with her words. "I am not experiencing any problems from my existence."

"We're working on superior models with a finer detail of physical emulation," Matthew added. "Fully modelled five Human senses, finer bionic work on the mouth and skin."

Clovis nodded and looked at Ada. "Do you feel that being more...Human would be better for you?"

She nodded. "Yes, it would improve my performance."

The immediate answer made him wonder. She'd said that her current body caused no issues and she had no discomfort...but she knew that a more Human body would be better for her. Rational extrapolation or an unintentional reveal. And if it was a silent desire...no, probably better to not consider the implications of that right now. He returned to focus on what Matthew was saying.

"We Humans are minds borne into a physical world, with a physical body," Matthew continued. "We associate with everything we do deeply though our bodies. Ada is… effective. A true proof of concept. But not yet the best she could be."

Clovis frowned, the question once more surfacing. "So she does experience discomfort?"

"I can experience it, General Secretary, though not in the sense you are familiar with. I am...frustrated to not be able to fulfill everything that is being asked of state of existence doesn't align with all my precepts. I must do better." Her tone was...guilty. Submissive. It...unsettled him to hear that. He'd seen such a demeanor from many prisoners who had been broken by the KGB. He'd felt little then, but something about this same tone coming from Ada-1 struck him as unnerving.

Clovis was unable to suppress a slight shudder, that he hoped neither Matthew or Amy noticed. Something about Ada was off in a way his brain disliked. Such...personality should not be coming out of a mechanical body like this. That alone couldn't be it, could it? "How much of her Human personality is even there, Matthew?"

He shrugged. "It depends on your mode of interaction. We suppressed most of her personality memory associations. I don't think you'd consider who she's based on…" he knowingly paused. "Pleasant company. So right now she doesn't have much of a playbook for being a coherent personality as we would recognize it - and besides, you're not giving her many reasons to appear Human. But she's growing into that challenge beautifully."

Ada nodded and shifted her weight, making easy eye contact with Clovis. "I've been getting a lot better. It's like waking up from a strange dream after you have fallen into a coma. You have to learn things again. In the beginning, everyone thought I would be another failure, but when I got better they started to like me. I enjoy talking with them. There are so many people here from so many places over this moon, and they can tell you about all sorts of amazing places on Earth. I'm looking forward to visiting it myself."

"I believe you will appreciate it," Clovis said automatically, and looked to Amy. "I think I'll take the tour now."

He wanted to start walking. To have something physical to stop the philosophical dwelling on the Ada question that was threatening to overtake his focus here - and it wasn't dwelling on the Exo project in this way.

"Wonderful, right this way," Matthew said, apparently missing his own shift in demeanor, though Amy seemed to pick up that Ada was unsettling him, but said nothing. Together the quartet walked out into the hallway, with Matthew taking point.

Amy spoke, asking a seemingly bizarre question. "So Ada… tell us about the sun in the blue sky."

However, that question made Ada seemingly loosen up. With a dynamic voice, filled with passion he didn't expect from a machine, she painted an image for Clovis of an evening sun above the ocean at a beach. Then she talked about surfing and an engineer, Miles Chengjo, and a psychologist named Tara Nielson and their mannerisms.

She mentioned poker games and how nobody would play Chess, Risk, or any other strategy game with her anymore except the assessment team ("I am not good enough at losing"). Apparently she had become something between a secretary and a mascot, building a web of social relationships with mechanical efficiency and a library of stories of human experience. "People like how I can listen to them about everything." She'd said, and Clovis could understand why.

Listening to her was a fascinating experience indeed.

"This is the Engineering Lab," Matthew motioned off to the side, into a room where there were teams of engineers near racks, manufacturing machines, and tables of blueprints. Half-finished models were put together; prototype limbs being tested. "Now that we've effectively ensured the base form is stable, we're having Triumvirate teams coming in for militarization."

"I know the KGB and Red Army put in their requests," Clovis recalled.

"Yes, which are now the BANSHEE and MARAUDER lines," Matthew recalled. "The Chinese have been working on the SILK line, the Indians the JAGUAR, and the Americans have the PATRIOT. Most of them, barring the MARAUDER and JAGUAR are similar to the base humanoid form."

"Good, good," Clovis nodded. "But those are still in prototype stages."

"Yes, for now," Matthew confirmed. "Some of the models are different enough that specialized testing is needed, plus the remaining issues with the transference procedure. Speaking of which…"

The door was marked in fat letters in cyrillic, english, mandarin and brahmic: Neurosurgery Wing. High-security zone. Access restricted. "This will take a moment." the door opened into an airlock. there were more cameras in the ceiling. Matthew indicated a set of dispensaries in one wall which were noisily filling with plastic bags. "Unfortunately we'll have to disinfect and robe up. I normally wouldn't subject you to this but the subjects are delicate." He looked at Clovis apologetically.

Clovis shrugged. "Very well. I understand."

The decontamination airlock opened up into a short corridor leading to a lobby. Everything was sealed white polymer here, with curved edges where the floor and ceiling met the walls, and a lot of large glass panes. Colored lines curved from and to on the floors and walls. They passed what were supply rooms based on the door inscriptions, then the view opened into a cleanroom lab on the left and a large collection of computer racks on the right.

Clovis couldn't help but notice the fat strands of cables that came out of the ceiling, nor the interesting collection of hardware racked up at one end, separated from the server farm by another glass wall: a collection of quite refined-looking computer bricks connected to the surrounding infrastructure by a variety of cables. The scientists were giving them quite a lot of attention from workstations with arrays of large, curving screens.

Straight ahead the area more resembled the ultra-polished, futuristic version of the intensive care stations used by the Politburo's elite. Doctors in full kit were working at their stations, monitoring large displays whose clearest bit of data were Human biometrics.

"Doctor Serdant, good afternoon," Matthew asked one of the doctors, a middle-aged man of receding hair and pinched features. A Soviet doctor too, from the flag on his sleeve. "What wing can I show General-Secretary Bray the best?"

Serdant's eyes flicked to Clovis, almost out of...concern? Uncertainty? "Well...the full tour with the procedures would give the most comprehensive experience. That depends on how much the General Secretary wishes to see."

Clovis fixed his eyes on the doctor. "I came here to understand the full picture. I want to know everything relevant. Full procedures and all."

"Understood, General Secretary," The doctor tapped out of his notes and called up a scheduler. After a moment he looked up: "Wing 1 is ready for you, Director Bray."

"Thank you. This way." Matthew waved Clovis down a corridor and pointed directly to his right. Clovis gazed through the glass into an operating room where a human was barely visible under clinical sheets and a breathing machine whose hose ran into the person's trachea. A spider of a surgical unit was working on the man's head. Clovis flinched when just a moment after he started watching, the unit extended its arms and then all of a sudden, pulled away a good portion of shaved scalp. More arms rotated into place. Laser light flashed acidically.

"We're currently resecting the scalp, skull and dura of this subject after the pre-pattern imaging procedure," Matthew explained clinically, joining him as he watched. "I can show you that part later but it is not that interesting, beyond the new nanodot contrast agents we employ. I think you see one of our new kilo-anström MRIs any time you got a medical checkup in the last six months."

Clovis' eyes were drawn to the glistening skull bone. "How do you keep the brain from being infected?"

"We seal the surgery site with a micromembrane," he answered. "It is sterile but provides full access for the nanofiber injection. You may also have noticed the tracheotomy. We'll resect the jaw and nose next. That's necessary for the neuroendoscopic access into the inner brain areas. After that come the eyes, for the optical shunts. Once that is complete we insert the mapping equipment."

Clovis nodded dispassionately. "Show me."

The next theater was different. The set-up was still the same - a special surgical bed at its center, surrounded by medical equipment - but the surgical unit was different. Its arms held large boxy units into which surgical assistants were carefully inserting cartridges, spliced to nests of optical fiber that flittered under the bright ceiling lights. Then the arms rotated up to the skull and came to a rest. Clovis eyes were drawn to the sight of a glistening red and white brain, lighty pulsing with blood.

"Sensory fiber injection. We've adapted a slew of technologies for this, but also innovated a lot ourselves. First-generation cytomachinery plays as important a role here," Matthew indicated a set of black bags hooked up to yellow lines that ended in syringe units. "As do the nanofiber probes. Each cartridge contains a packed-up set of probe fibres connected to a control chip. The injection units place the set precisely without injuring the brain, then anchor the chip to the sealing membrane. Repeat for a couple hundred units and over a million nanoprobe fiber stems in total." Pride colored his voice as he described the complex machinery before them.

"Once those preparatory steps are complete we can move to the actual capture. We have eight running capture theaters in this wing and eight in the other," he gestured idly to the sides. "We could process up to thirty-two subjects at a time in terms of theater space, but our production capacity for the brain imaging hardware is, unfortunately, not currently up to scratch."

The hallway began to curve in segments. The inner wall was recessed away to accommodate workstations for more operators and doctors. Large screens had been installed facing the hallway, showing scrolling graphs, datapoints, a checklist and giant 3D models of a Human brain from the front, back, both sides, top, bottom and two orthographic projections. Clovis would have expected the brain to be lit up with activity but it was almost entirely dark. Yellow lightning shot through highlit probe fibers into it, kicking off tiny storms of activity that were soon quenched.

"Subject 543." Matthew stated. "He has just begun the capture process. We are currently in the process of initial mappings. During this step we use not only biochemical complexes that inhibit fresh neuron formation but also anesthetics to disrupt coherent thought and far-range signal propagation. That's why the brain is almost dark. After the rough maps we relax the principle neuronal inhibition to capture the higher-area activities in relation to each other."

Clovis looked at the outer wall of the corridor. There, beyond the glass of the other room, lay another body, hooked up to IV bags, catheters and a growth of fiber optics protruding from every area of the head, shrouding the face in a glass forest.

After a few seconds of peering, he asked the question. "Are they ever conscious?"

Matthrew pulled a face, considering. "Not really. The inhibitory drugs block any sort of long-term memory formation or other brain development; there is no continuity or self-recursive development. The stimulation is also too parallel to make sense to a Human brain. And of course our stimulations interfere with and map all the processes of the consciousness as well. At most… it would be like every thought you could think if your brain was frozen in one moment. Except of course you can't really remember or be self-aware of your brain's stimulation."

Clovis nodded. "So in a sense, they are technically conscious, but are incapable of awareness. A permanent fugue."

Matthew frowned at the answer, but slightly nodded. "Effectively, yes."

"So what keeps it from being a seizure?"

Matthew almost winced, though instead his lips narrowed to a thin line."Truthfully, very little. We have to monitor them carefully and adjust a cocktail of drugs. Hormones and the autonomous nervous system still give us trouble. We can clean interference out of the signals but it's not good for the heart. We use external oxygenation and blood circularization to keep the body from dying on us too early." His lips parted in an almost exasperated sigh. "Even so the liver values deteriorate and the stomach's health drops too. It's a race against the clock. By now we can keep most subjects alive for long enough. In the early days they died on us way more often."

Matthew led him past more theaters, with him and Amy occasionally interjecting and explaining as he saw Clovis' eyes wander. As promised the brain renders lit up more, until they were strobing light shows chasing each other almost completely on their own, as if the subjects were conscious again. Clovis also noted that the other cures became more and more jagged, and in one case they witnessed a surgery team working inside the theater, adjusting a forest of syringes in automated dispensers.

In the last theater, the screens were mostly silent; the brain scan windows vacant. The checklist tree on the left side was almost entirely green, safe, a final phase. On the other side, the forest of fiber-optics was being cut back by two operators and another robotic unit. The main thing drawing Clovis attention was Human blood running into a large biohazard container from a pump - and two other large canisters marked with chemical tags, running into the same pump system that seemed to remove all the blood. The now uncovered body had also been slathered in a milky white substance.

Matthew clasped his hands behind his back as he beheld the final theatre. "The last step: vitrification and a destructive, nanometer-level molecular capture by slice-and-scan. It helps us build better neuronal maps as well as an understanding of the Human proteome. It, ah, also has the helpful side-effect of destroying the body. We incinerate the ground-up remains."

They stepped out into a cross junction. Dark rooms lay on the other side. Clovis looked back on the journey on the fifty meters behind him. It was not a nice one by any measure. A necessary process, perhaps, but certainly not one with pleasant details. Yet this was the cost of the future, and he would not flinch as he acknowledged the truth. A few seconds passed as they walked in the dark. "So what happens after?"

"The complete dataset goes into actual training use." Matthew finished. "That happens on the server farm we passed on our way in. Eventually we port the agents over into the computation assembly for the exo," Matthew fished out his phone and tapped his way to a photo of six black, ridged bricks the size of a child's fist each, connected by cables. "The team verifies integrity on the actual hardware. After that we transfer the agents for integration and review over in the hardware workshops and assessment lab. I would like to take you there next."

"Lead the way," Clovis said, instinctively gesturing for Matthew to take point, as his mind briefly reflected on what he said. A part of him was relieved that they were going to a less...grisly part. His familiarity with the KGB had ensured that he was well-acquainted with the messier side of governance, though he'd personally found the performance rather distasteful.

Necessary, but one he disliked performing. A barbaric side of his species that was an unfortunate reality that needed to be tapped into. This was quite similar in comparison. The procedure was certainly unpleasant, but it was for the future, one that he would ensure forever remained in Human hands.

That was worth any sacrifice, and fortunately these were at least performed on the lowest scum on Earth. Nonetheless, this knowledge didn't quite remove the unsettlement as he had watched the process. However, he preferred to know the truth than live in an inconvenient delusion. A lesser man would have been horrified, but he had the clarity of mind to see the necessity of such measures.

Still, he personally felt like Matthew was a little too nonchalant about the entire process. Well, perhaps he had simply become used to it. Probably not something to dwell on.

As they continued walking, he noticed that Ada, who had walked by them silently the whole time seemed to pause, and briefly fixate on the last theatre they had come from. It was only for a split-second, and then she rejoined them.

He wondered what her perspective was on the procedure. He thought about asking, but decided against it.

Perhaps one for later.

Matthew was talking again, and Clovis decided it was probably best to focus on what he said next.

---

HELIOPOLIS | CAIRO | EGYPT

Egypt was only a moderately better climate than the Arabian desert, at least in Isaiah's estimation. Then again, anything less than scorching heat felt good by comparison. Though thankfully, he wasn't outdoors, but in a pleasant, air-conditioned building. Unfortunately he was unable to relax, though more due to the circumstances of why he was here.

He couldn't help but feel slightly exposed, and rather paranoid, given the situation. In a relatively casual disguise, the only weapon he had was a concealed pistol – and Sagira waiting in the wings in case something went wrong. She was the only reason he was taking a risk like this.

Everyone was on edge now, following the attack. It had been a purely operational success, the likes of which had caused a storm of reaction and fear he could have only dreamed of. The Triumvirate media had gone berserk as expected, but there had been something in the aftermath he'd heard through rumors and insurgent rings.

Not hope, per-se, but revelation.

Revelation again that the Triumvirate was, and remained vulnerable. This had been impactful in a way that Gopal's death hadn't been. America was held as the bastion of the western world. The embodiment of power and influence, of wealth, status and privilege. It was one thing to gain their ire, it was another to strike their government – and succeed.

The obvious question was simple – if it worked once, why wouldn't it work again?

He'd not celebrated as some of the others had done. Well, he'd shared a drink with Liberman, but other than that, he'd been too distracted with the ramifications that would doubtless come up. It also felt wrong to celebrate, per-se, as most of the Congress was filled with just useful idiots, with only a few malicious puppetmasters.

Sagira must have been rubbing off of him. He suspected that a year ago he'd not given them a second thought. Well, perhaps it was because they were American. He didn't have the hatred for them that he did for the Chinese. If he'd gunned down the CCP, he would probably celebrate.

The CCP, now that was an idea. Maybe for the future.

The consequences of it had been…significant as well. The annexation of Canada had been a risk, but one he hadn't been convinced they'd follow through on. In that respect, he'd underestimated them, yet the real problem was the systemic neutralization of the British business ring. As a result, a full third of their finances had gone up in smoke overnight, which was going to cause…problems in the long term. More of the network was at risk too, and the Triumvirate was aggressively looking to dismantle the business ring piece by piece, and all of British Intelligence was working to prevent that.

In the meantime, there was a soft blockade around the British Isles, where all incoming traffic was scanned and inspected prior to entry, which gravely slowed down trade. It was a hassle, but the British were professionals. No one was importing actual weapons into the United Kingdom. It remained a money operation – not a smuggling one.

Isaiah had heard the British were preparing for an invasion contingency, and he couldn't rule out that possibility. The Triumvirate was looking for a reason, and he didn't feel like counting on any of the supposed "reasonable" ones in the Triumvirate. They'd been sidelined in Canada, and Valentin's pointless condemnation did nothing.

Power only meant something if it was wielded. Otherwise it was just words.

The door behind him opened. "[Apologies for the delay,]" an aged voice said, one hardened by cynicism. The Egyptian Minister of Defense, Nabeel al-Nairouz sat opposite him at his desk. He was a big man, one who most people would mistake for large and dumb. His face was squarish, his head bald, reminding Isaiah of a grape, and his eyes were very round, almost bulging, and colored like almonds.

He was massive, standing over two meters, and was dangerously fit to boot. A mountain of a man, one who even Isaiah doubted he could handle in a physical confrontation. His hands were large enough that his weapons required custom grips, and he was rumored to be a master with a massive bowie knife and faster than expected. Sadly, there were few verified videos of the man in action.

An imposing profile that was fatally misleading.

Isaiah had never met the Minister of Defense in person before, but he knew very well who he was, as he was somewhat infamous in the Resistance. Enmity between Egypt and the Resistance had existed for decades now, starting with Nairouz's actions years ago when the Muslim Brotherhood had almost gained power in the height of the Indian march on the Middle East.

The civilian government was hapless to curb the calls for Egyptian intervention, and the Brotherhood had raised protests in the thousands to force action. The President at the time was on the verge of giving in and almost certainly dooming Egypt to fall under the Indian march, when the entire civilian government had been removed by the Egyptian military – with Nairouz at its head.

Together with several of his compatriots, he set about systematically and brutally purging the government of Islamists, Brotherhood politicians, Indian sympathizers, and Triumvirate supporters – anyone viewed as anti-Egyptian. He oversaw the arrest and termination of most the leaders of the protests, temporarily expelled foreign nationals, and briefly shut down foreign-based businesses before instituting a policy of neutrality that every Egyptian President had adhered to since then. He'd been very, very vocal in denouncing the Resistance as the years had passed, even as he'd maintained Egyptian independence.

He did not like the Resistance, and many in the Resistance hated him in return.

Though one thing that was notable to Isaiah was that, unlike previous military dictators, Nairouz had not kept his power and assumed the office of President in the aftermath. Instead, once he'd achieved his objectives, he'd ordered new elections, ones which had rebuilt the civilian government, and once more ceded power. He hadn't even asked for the position of Minister of Defense – but it had been offered nonetheless.

Isaiah wasn't sure if he'd been offered that to placate him – as the Minister of Defense was an important role in the Egyptian government – or to subtly remove him from the Army properly. He doubted the latter, as everyone was likely still terrified of Nairouz, and he was unofficially the most powerful man in the country.

As such, the fact that he was willing to talk with the Resistance now was…a sign. It remained to be seen if it was a good one. Isaiah wasn't convinced he was on their side, given his comments on the Resistance – mostly disdain for what he saw as overt Islamist influence - but he was definitely sure that he wasn't on the Triumvirate's. "[No trouble,]" Isaiah said, speaking Arabic as Nairouz was. "[I expect you are busy.]"

"[That is one description,]" Nairouz grunted, as he appraised Isaiah, and laced his sausage-like fingers together. "[I won't waste time. I don't know how your people managed to pull off that attack that massacred the American Congress - but for what its worth, I'm impressed.]"

His voice sounded more annoyed than impressed. "[I'll accept that,]" Isaiah said neutrally.

"[And as usual, your people have no thought for the consequences,]" Nairouz said pointedly. "[You've also royally screwed everyone else in the world. The Triumvirate is howling for blood.]"

Isaiah raised an eyebrow. "[They've always howled for blood. What does one expect of an institution whose power is threatened, and their veneer of protection shattered?]"

"[I am not surprised by it,]" he answered. "[Yet it is simple for you. You hide in your caves and deserts, and do not have to fear retaliation. Your allies hold the threat of nuclear retaliation. Such acts you can carry out without reprisal.]" He rested his hands on his armrests. "[The rest of us are not so lucky.]"

Isaiah wasn't especially intimidated. "[I imagine this is leading to a point. The alternative for us was to do nothing, and let the Triumvirate roll over us unopposed.]"

"[Yes, a truth I am aware of, I'm telling you this to remind you that not everyone has that luxury,]" Nairouz's lips pursed. "[Everything has started going wrong the moment that damn alien showed up. There was a peace, if tenuous, now we have bombings every few days, annexations, worldwide unrest, and the Triumvirate looming over us.]" His eyes glinted. "[A precarious situation. I'd say you were an idiot for your people kicking off the next Triumvirate expansion, but as I you said, there is no viable alternative.]"

"[Not unless we wanted to wait for Gala to hunt us down.]"

The Minister's face twisted. "[No doubt. The Indians have truly gone mad putting him in charge again.]" he practically spat. "[That is one reason I'm bothering to entertain you today. The only reason we weren't included in the first invasion was because Gala was gone, and the Indians became distracted by Israel.]"

"[And if I recall, you had a hand in not giving them a reason to come knocking.]"

The ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "[I remain divided on how much I really accomplished. Yet it is good to hear some remember.]"

"[The Resistance certainly does.]"

"[No doubt. Perhaps they shouldn't have pinned their hopes on the shortsighted Islamists,]" he said dryly. "[Though given your ranks are filled with such, it's hardly surprising they latched onto what they saw as their only hope.]"

"[Desperation forces all options to be considered.]"

"[A view I can understand,]" Nairouz reached to the side, where a small coffee pitcher was brewing. "[Coffee, Osiris?]" Nairouz had been very amused when he'd heard his cover name – as he certainly wasn't going to use his real one until Nairouz proved reliable. Nonetheless, there hadn't been any comment beyond that.

Isaiah shook his head. "[I'll pass.]"

"[Your loss,]" Nairouz poured some for himself, as he continued. "[I'll give you an overview of what has been happening, since I doubt you're clued into how the Triumvirate has approached Africa. They are pressuring the continent to sign economic and military agreements. Tax breaks, military bases, joint training, state-sponsored corporate expansion, the goal ultimately being to bring all of Africa into their sphere of influence. Soft, subtle imperialism. Clever, and effective. We host their companies, buy their goods, train with their soldiers, and import their resources. We destroy our economic independence, subscribe to their military doctrine, and thank them for it.]"

He shook his head. "[Unfortunately, its appealing, especially when the alternative is sanctions, which most countries can't afford. The Triumvirate is building to a summit, where they want to make the signing of these agreements public and binding. The actions against Morocco, and now Canada, have cast a cloud over everything. No one wants to condemn their country to occupation. No one wants their country invaded and forcefully overthrown.]"

"[And Egypt is no exception, I assume.]" Isaiah said.

"[I'm afraid not,]" Nairouz gave a bitter smile. "[In some ways, it's worse. The President is a corrupt, feckless coward who is more interested in gaining as much personal wealth from the Triumvirate. Half of my Generals are directly advocating for it so they can formalize their loyalties to the Triumvirate military industrial complex, and earn the respective wealth that accompanies such corruption.]"

He sighed, drumming his fingers on the table. "[We are weak and vulnerable now. Even if the Brotherhood were to rise as they once did, I suspect not even that would unite the armed forces. As it stands, there are too many who are willing to sell out my country, then defend it. I dislike your jihadists, but they - and I - know who my real enemy is.]"

"[I think we can both agree with that,]" Isaiah nodded. That was clear code for another overthrow of the government. It was worth taking the next step. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flash drive. "[A show of good faith. The Indians are sloppy in their security. We were able to acquire schematics they've been working on. Weapons. Mechs. Equipment years beyond what is currently out there, that we can't produce on our own. There is too much scrutiny on the British and Israelis for mass production. Egypt is the only non-aligned country that had the industrial capability to manufacture these, even on a small scale.]"

A lie, but one he needed to maintain. The British and Israelis were working very, very hard to figure out what they could manufacture themselves. Israel could only manufacture so much, while the British were in a better position. They most certainly weren't going to rely on Egypt being the only source of advanced weapons.

With the public scrutiny on both countries, it wasn't a leap to believe that the British and Israelis wouldn't want to risk Triumvirate attention. Maybe Nairouz thought so as well, or maybe he didn't care one way or another.

The Minister took the drive almost gingerly as he appraised it, the drive looking laughably small in his massive hands. "[Well, this is a welcome development. Though merely a step, and it may not be enough.]"

"[Which means you have a plan.]"

"[A "plan" is one description,]" he said dryly. "[I am far from the only one who sees the inevitable end this policy will lead. There are those who are willing to accept the eternal hegemony of the Triumvirate, but I am not one of them. Neither are others across the continent. The issue is that they are led by men who are unwilling to stand against the Triumvirate. To risk their lives and power for their people and nation. To risk their wealth and comfort. Men who the Triumvirate exploits. Men who will allow the next iteration of colonialism. That cannot be allowed. If necessary…there is a contingency.]"

He narrowed his eyes at Isaiah. "[Though it is not so simple. This alone is not enough. I have no guarantee that the Triumvirate would not simply crush me, even if there is nothing provocative we do. You want me – my country – to support your Resistance. You've seen what they've done to non-compliant countries – In what way does this not end the same for me?]"

Do you think he can be persuaded?

I think he can be. Sagira responded. He clings to hope, it is why he is here, the world had beaten him down again and again, and he wants to be proven wrong. Give him hope.

With a mental nod, Isaiah raised his palm, angled flat. A second later, Sagira materialized above it, the iris blinking as Nairouz was visibly taken aback, his eyes shifted from Isaiah to the Ghost. A minute of silence passed, and he could see the mind of the Minister working overtime as he put the many pieces together – and the implications of such pieces. "[This was how you were able to conduct the attack.]"

A statement, not a question.

"[Yes.]"

He leaned forward, his question slow and deliberate, each word delicately pronounced. "[The alien – is it on your side?]"

This was going to be a tricky answer. "[Not as directly as we would like…but She wants to see the Triumvirate…change,]" Isaiah briefly paused. "[She had become less stringent on what that change looks like. I do not know how She had interacted with the Triumvirate, but my impression is that it has shifted in an unfavorable direction. It isn't a coincidence that the troublemakers in the Triumvirate have Ghosts around them. Ones you have likely heard about.]"

"[Yes, I have indeed heard of them. Fascinating…]" Nairouz briefly trailed off, his eyes briefly becoming unfocused. "[This…changes things. Perhaps there is an opportunity here, one which could be seized.]" He refocused on Isaiah. "[But not for nothing. If I decide to support your people, I will need guarantees.]"

As expected. "[Name them.]"

"[Keep your jihadists out of my country,]" he said pointedly, in a tone that brooked no room for misunderstanding. "[No supporting the Islamist remnants, be they from the Brotherhood or elsewhere. If I learn that your people are harboring and supporting them, our agreement will be terminated.]"

Hamaza would probably have some reservations with those conditions, but that seemed fair in Isaiah's view. It also wasn't as though they had many other options. "[I'll pass that along, and we'll be in touch. I expect it will be accepted.]"

"[There is one more thing your people might wish to look into,]" Nairouz raised a finger. "[As my own show of good faith. There is an insurgent group based in Brazil which has recently re-emerged. Egyptian Intelligence had believed them destroyed, but it appears they survived in the Amazon. I might recommend that your people make contact with them. A foothold in South America is where the Confederation is weakest.]"

"[Thank you,]" Isaiah said. "[I'll investigate further. Though first…]"

"[First, we finalize our own agreement,]" Nairouz smiled, a dangerous one. "[The Triumvirate is on the verge of success. We are perhaps the only bastion against their hegemony in this continent. Let us make sure their attempt will be costly.]"

---

BRAYTECH FUTURESCAPE OUTSKIRTS | MARS

The tranquility of Mars served as a stark contrast to the conflict roiling through Valentin's mind. The world really had been turned into something beautiful when it had been touched by the Traveler. He sat along the edge of a moderately high outlook, where underneath ran a stream of crystal water.

Across the fields were Martian trees, the orange-yellow grass, and a light breeze that wasn't too strong or weak. Black-orange clouds swirled in the sky, not strong enough for a storm, but providing some color to the sky. A short distance further was the Futurescape itself, now almost complete.

Valentin wondered what they were working on now. He wondered if Ana had gotten the answers she wanted. He'd have to check up on her at some point, and see where that was. There was just…so much that was going on. Things that were happening that he felt he could only keep track of so many.

He was one person, one person with a drive to do some good, to curtail the worst parts of his government, to try and do the 'right thing' – something he was becoming less and less certain what that was. But he was still only one person. The more he dug, the more involved he was, the more lost he became. He didn't know what was normal, what was dangerous, what was out of the ordinary.

Government, spying, military, politics, all of that was foreign to him, and he was acutely aware the more he worked, that the people surrounding him knew far more about how the system worked than he could. They'd grown up in it, worked within it for years, and he'd grown up in rural Russia to a working family.

He wasn't supposed to be where he was.

And things were moving too fast for him to keep proper track of. He didn't trust Clovis to tell him the truth now, but when he did, it just made everything all the more confusing. He couldn't shake his instinct that Clovis was manipulating everything for his own ends, as no matter what he tried to do, Clovis either subverted, prevented, or ignored it.

He might as well have been shouting to the wind for all the good it did. He felt he was being treated like a child; given the illusion of control and influence, and he didn't know if that was true, or if he was just being overly paranoid. All he knew was that there was something Clovis and the Triumvirate were moving towards, and he didn't know what it was.

He finally spoke. "I want your advice."

Fang Sov sat cross-legged near him, his Ghost hovering around his shoulder. Completing their trio was Milya Mihaylova, who'd also joined them for this semi-impromptu meeting. It was a semi-reunion that Valentin was glad for. Liana couldn't make it, as she'd been put on protection duty for the President.

When he'd last spoken to her, he couldn't remember her being as mad as she was. He hadn't been able to get as much detail on what she was doing – but she'd implied it involved Admiral Holliday, and that it was likely to do with counterterrorism. Neither had talked about Canada, and Valentin suspected her view was very different from his own.

She was a soldier, after all. He couldn't completely blame her. Perhaps the only reason he could hold his own view was because he held no inherent loyalty to the Soviet Union, whereas patriotism was a hallmark of being an American. Technically, it was for the Soviets and Chinese, but for Americans it was real.

Then there was "Jacob Milton" and literally no one knew what had happened to him. That was bothering him more than it probably should, made all the more odd with the fact that Vigil was tacitly avoiding the question. The CIA didn't answer the question, the TIS wasn't helpful either. It was odd how he'd more or less dropped off the face of the Earth.

Although technically now, that was very possible.

"I'm not sure what I can give," Fang said, plucking a blade of grass. "Things are…moving fast."

Valentin snorted. "Modest until the end. I've heard what you've been doing. Supposedly the Chinese aren't happy with you."

"That classified KGB intel?" Fang said, amused, and with a raised eyebrow. "Well, you could probably say that. Subverting the existing power structure should make a few enemies."

"Yes, that," Valentin coughed. "It's…you seem to be being decisive. It's easy, whereas where I am, it's less so. Clovis is…" He trailed off with a shrug.

"I admit," Fang finally said. "I don't know what to say about Clovis, I've not interacted with him like you have. But from what you've said, and from the class he came from, I'd be careful with inherently trusting him. Men like him are ambitious and do not care about others. If you didn't have Vigil at your side, he would never acknowledge your existence. You're a…well, worker. He is one of the respective elite. For Americans it's businessmen, for the Chinese its blood and family, for the Soviets it is the administrators. Everyone outside of those classes is inherently lesser."

"And the Indians?" Milya asked.

Fang thought for a moment. "A mixture. Religious leaders and military officials. India is more unique, in that the classes emerge through collective uplifting. Drawn to charisma and strength. I expect this to change further as industrialization continues."

"You say that, ignoring they have an entire caste system," Valentin pointed out.

Both of them shook their heads. "An old relic that no one cares about these days," Milya said. "It still exists in some capacity, but it is…more tradition."

"Though there is a distinct social hierarchy," Fang pointed out. "Separated along racial and religious lines. Those are more important than the traditional view of 'class'. Non-Hindu and non-Indian ethnicities face greater hardships, unless you're a foreigner, which is an entirely separate category."

Milya sighed softly. "I wish you were wrong."

"Neither of you were raised among the elites," Fang continued after a moment, as he started out. "I was. You think that they think like you, that there is some common ground. There isn't. It's impossible to comprehend how…dispassionate and ruthless they are. They can put up a veneer, but they have a worldview where they inherently see themselves as superior. I don't know why I was the only one to break this, or at least most of it, but the contrast is starker now."

He bit his lip. "The more I talk with people, the more I realize that every single problem that exists only does so because it is allowed. Poverty, sickness, racism, homelessness…the list goes on. There are thousands of homeless in Beijing alone, and even I can't do more than strong-arm some corporations into building a few shelters."

Valentin waited as he paused, despite the words, which he normally would have expected to accompany a depressed voice, Fang sounded almost defiant. "Valentin, you feel like there's things you can't do because it's more difficult. Why is that? Rules? Wanting to follow procedures? Unsure of who to believe?"

"I'll check 'all of the above'."

"Right," Fang nodded sharply. "That is all a lie. Men like Clovis, and the other elites of the world do not follow the rules or procedures, they subvert, control, or ignore them. That is a power that you, I, Milya, and everyone else chosen by the Traveler have – but us three in particular. We were each picked for a reason, I'm sure of it."

"As am I," Valentin agreed. "But we can't just…well, change everything as we want."

"Are you sure about that?" Fang shook his head. "You think you can't, but that is what Clovis, what Li, what Quinn all rely on. They know they can't touch us, but are tapping into our inherent desire for authority. Because of upbringing, propaganda, what have you, we are hesitant to use power and leverage, even if we have it, because of a nebulous fear of 'disrupting' order. They rely on comfortable normalcy instead of what is dubbed radical."

Fang snorted. "Radical. That's what was called when I confiscated the corporation of an oligarch and gave it to the people. When I broke the Communist Party's hold on media, and let people who weren't Party tools speak. I grew up among them, I knew how they worked and thought, and even I had that same fear you do, Valentin. You don't go against the Party, speaking out against that legislation was the scariest thing I've done in my life, but I needed to do it. Ever since then? It's been easier. It's the first step that's the hardest, but that will break the invisible hold that's over you."

It was comforting to hear that, and Valentin instinctively knew he was right. That there was a mental block he had to get past, otherwise he might as well let Clovis do what he wanted. He was letting everything be dictated for him, when he should be seizing it himself. He'd thought it meant something when he spoke out against the military actions of the Triumvirate, but he'd felt it hollow the more he did it.

Those were words. There needed to be action.

Do the thing you're afraid of.

Vigil seemed to sum it up well.

"I don't know," Milya said softly. "If I were to do that…I fear I would wind up raped and killed. The last months have been difficult. I've seen mobs ripping people apart, rhetoric against the minorities that chills me, and now Arjun is back…" she shivered. "I don't know what to do here."

"They can't touch you," Fang told her. "Not if they want to bring the Traveler's wrath upon them."

Milya's eyes were haunted. "You don't know who Arjun is, or what he is capable of. I'm sorry, I don't think I can do that, even though I know I should."

Fang's eyebrows furrowed. "You seem to know him better. I knew he was a harsh military officer, but you seem…" he trailed off. "Frightened."

Milya's eyes briefly closed. "Were you alive when Nobusuke Kishi became Prime Minister of Japan."

Fang went still at that. "I was not…but my parents were." He shook his head. "I still don't know how that monster got into power."

"Monsters have that skill," she said tonelessly, hugging herself. "Arjun is our Kishi, Fang Sov. He's our monster that should have been taken out back and shot. Instead he was shuffled away, hidden when what he did to the Arabs came to light, and now he's back. These terrorists must be stopped…but not even they deserve what Arjun will do to them."

You should help her.

Yes, I should.

"We're all acting alone, if acting at all," Valentin said, a plan of sorts coming to mind. "Divide and conquer seems to be intended to some degree with those in power."

"Yes, consciously and unconsciously," Fang agreed. "There are eight billion people on Earth, and power resides in the hands of a few hundred at most. The people in power however, are never threatened even though sheer numbers could force change. People are…easily divided. It's easy to give them an equivalent or lesser enemy. Pretend power, centered around race, gender, nationality, social status, and other superficial factors."

He paused. "I sometimes wonder how many people who get into power start with good intentions, and when they reach a certain level, they just…change. They realize how easily people can be turned against each, how easily they can be manipulated, and wonder why they should bother. If the people cannot see they're being used, why should they be helped? I do not even know if it is malicious, or just something that…happens. Apathy, comfort within the status quo, and an ingrained belief that the world cannot be better."

"I don't remember you being this philosophical," Valentin noted.

Fang smiled sadly. "I've been thinking more on this in the past few months. I'd given up any notion of having power. I didn't want it, and was fine with it. But I…have power now, and it seems wrong to not use it the way others will not. Even if doing so makes me enemies, and initially scares me."

Valentin nodded. "Where I was going with this is that we've been doing our own thing. Maybe we should start working closer together. Force change on something major, that can't be ignored by anyone."

Milya cocked her head. "You have an idea?"

"Yes, I do," Valentin smiled grimly. "Well, actually two. I think you'll like both of them."

---

OFFICE OF THE GENERAL SECRETARY | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION

Clovis wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. He narrowed his eyes at Calumet who'd practically stormed into his office – irregular for her. "[Commander – please repeat that, because I could swear that I misheard you.]"

Her eyes were blazing with an intensity he'd rarely seen, and her body tense with a mixture of irritation and anger. "[Valentin and a number of other Soviet TERRA ONE personnel are currently in Canada and talking with former government officials about restoration, and Fang Sov is openly pressuring the Communist Party to support ending the 'occupation'. Every single media outlet is picking up on this, and everyone seems to think we're demanding America release Canada.]"

Right, he'd been afraid that's what she'd said. Wonderful, he was still reflecting on his visit to the Deep Stone Crypt, and this kind of incident was something he didn't want to come back too. "[With respect, General Secretary,]" she demanded after a moment. "[What the hell is going on? I'm getting calls from the Americans demanding what we're doing.]"

"[Tell them this isn't us,]" Clovis quickly said, standing and quickly running through how to handle this diplomatic incident that was going to escalate unless there wasn't immediate intervention. "[This is Valentin and Sov doing their own thing again.]"

"['That thing' is going to reflect very badly on us if we don't put our foot down now,]" Calumet stated. "[I know you don't want to antagonize him, but this is completely unacceptable. I don't care if he's against the annexation, because first, that isn't our place – it's the Americans - and second, he doesn't go around us like this. His little speeches are one thing, this is direct policy intervention.]"

"[I'm well aware,]" Clovis said tightly, lifting a hand to cut her off, and she immediately complied. "[Valentin wants to flex his own influence it seems, and appears to have grown a spine. Likely Sov's influence, no doubt. Li's completely botched handling him,]" he shook his head in disgust and annoyance. "[Order an immediate Red Army deployment to augment the American forces in Canada, and inform the State Department the Soviet Union disavows the words of Valentin Kozhukhov and we respect the actions undertaken by the Confederation and stand with their fight against terrorism.]"

"[It will be done, General Secretary,]" Calumet saluted. "[I'll inform them immediately, and pass the information to our respective agencies. I appreciate your swift response, General Secretary.]"

"[That is my role, after all,]" he said with a nod. "[Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Dismissed, Commander.]"

She quickly turned on her heel, and marched out, leaving Clovis alone, and he leaned back, lacing his fingers together as he contemplated the crystalline problem which presented itself.

It appeared that Valentin was going to continue being a problem, and he was unfortunately a problem with very few options for recourse. While his initial attempts at stymying his interference had been successful, there was always going to come a point where that became unviable – unfortunate that it had come now, and not in a few months.

On that he fully blamed Li and his incompetence in handling the Chinese returnees, Sov in particular was a catalyst, and close to Valentin, and it was inevitable that he was going to influence him to some degree. Now they were coordinating, and unless this little rebellion was quickly put down, it would be poison to the Triumvirate.

He'd become more troublesome, even before now. He'd had to subtly reshuffle the entire SHIVA department – which had been no small task - after Valentin had somehow found references to it, went to Ana, who had no idea what it was and predictably freaked out, and made a series of demands they were forced to "address" to placate her lest her suspicion be further raised. Well, the Black Armory had a few extra minds for a few months before they were quietly returned to SHIVA.

He sighed. Ana had become a brilliant woman to be proud of, yet she unfortunately lacked the backbone and strength to be a part of his vision. A shame, but she would contribute to the Triumvirate in her own way, though he would have to ensure that details of the Exo Project remained...obfuscated. He suspected neither she nor Valentin would take the details well, or the necessity of such measures. The Warmind Project was still proceeding on schedule, as were most projects. However the most important one was at the prototype stage, and while he disliked that it might have to see a premature deployment…the options were running out.

The door opened, and he wasn't surprised to see Luka enter, his face grim. Clovis quickly did a scan to ensure there were no Ghosts eavesdropping, as he suspected this would be a talk they didn't want other ears listening in on. The device blinked affirmatively; they were free to talk. "[You've no doubt heard the news.]"

"[Valentin is interfering again, yes,]" Clovis said dryly. "[Quite a troublesome pest he has become.]"

The KGB head crossed his arms. "[It's time to start considering JUPITER.]"

An unfortunate statement, but one Clovis grimly saw the utility for now. "[I agree.]"

"[Good, because the Americans are furious at us right now, and if Sov successfully persuades the Chinese to follow suit, this is going to go from an ugly diplomatic incident into something worse.] Luka warned.

"[The Chinese won't do that,]" Clovis shook his head. "[This is Sov pulling optics to lay the groundwork for his Second Cultural Revolution. Valentin doesn't seem to know that he can't just go into a country and demand it do things. There are military and political procedures that take weeks before anything is actually done.]"

"[That's the problem,]" Luka grunted, pinching the bridge of his nose. "[He seems to think he can. When the Chinese are doing nothing to assert themselves with Sov's meddling, he obviously thinks he can replicate that here.]"

"[Which would be smarter, if he was doing it in the Soviet Union, not America where we don't have jurisdiction,]" Clovis muttered. "[Though perhaps that is the point. Putting us in a difficult situation might be what he wants, he wants to know how committed we are to his…well, his own ideas.]"

"[His own idea or the Traveler's?]" Luka wondered aloud.

"[I wouldn't be surprised if that Ghost is whispering in his ear, but this is likely more to do with Sov than the Traveler, she's occupied with other things,]" Clovis said. "[Though perhaps the alien was the one who whispered into Sov's ear. Regardless of what the catalyst was, it has become a destabilizing influence.]"

"[As I said,]" Luka repeated. "[JUPITER. Controlling Valentin is failing, despite your efforts. Letting him roam around, even unsuccessfully, is destabilizing. His other allies are going to not be quiet anymore either.]"

Clovis' lips curled up. "[As if they were before?]"

"[You know what I am speaking of,]" Luka snorted. "[Risky as it is, we have no choice. I also understand there is a working prototype. We will need to likely employ it. The alien will likely become suspicious when it is carried out.]"

"[If we need to do it at all,]" Clovis quickly interrupted. "[I do not want to initiate JUPITER. It is too early for me to feel comfortable in its success. Lets see how Valentin handles rejection here – if we put limits on him, and implement some discipline of our own, we may buy ourselves more time.]"

Luka seemed unconvinced. "[We both know that won't work.]"

"[Perhaps not, but I will not authorize this unless there is no other choice.]"

"[Noted, General Secretary,]" Luka glanced down at his phone. "[One more thing – do you remember a Milya Mihaylova?]"

He thought back briefly. "[One of the five on Mars? Indian, correct?]"

"[Correct,]" he nodded sharply. "[She's also reemerged, with a few of the Indian TERRA ONE returnees. She went on India's largest news network and condemned the deployment of Arjun Gala. Needless to say, this has not gone over well.]"

"[Of course it didn't,]" Clovis rubbed his forehead. Yet another wonderful development, though at least this one made some degree of sense. Only fanatical idiots would want a genocidal monster like Arjun anywhere near power. "[Brave of her, considering the people she's angering.]"

"[The Indian government has thus far not made any comment,]" Luka said. "[But if she was hoping to incite some public pressure through this…well, it isn't going to work. Her house was just ransacked by a mob, and she's likely in hiding now. She probably can't rely on state protection since the hardliners are in power.]"

This is what they got for not understanding how the world worked. Fang Sov was at least smart about how he employed his pressure, and achieved numerous small and medium victories, whereas Valentin and Milya seemed to think if they said something, it would happen. It was almost fortunate he was dealing with such novices in the employment of power.

Still, Valentin growing a harder spine was admirable in a way. He much preferred a real rival than one that would roll over at the first sign of struggle. The phone started ringing. Clovis picked it up. "[This is General Secretary Bray.]"

"[I have President Quinn on the line for you, General Secretary,]" his secretary said. "[She sounded impatient – and angry.]"

"[Put her on, thank you,]" Clovis internally sighed. Quinn had reason to be mad, but hopefully she would be able to see reason. He braced himself for an earful of cold venom. A few seconds passed and the connection was made. "[Hello, Madam President. Let's talk.]"

---

RESISTANCE COUNCIL CHAMBER | TEL AVIV | ISRAEL

It had taken several weeks, but Hamaza had to admit that Isaiah's operation had certainly caused things to happen. In the early hours following the operation, after seeing the sheer outpouring of anger and hatred from around the world, he'd feared that this had been the catalyst that would bring the end, and that they'd gone too far.

Picking out the exact threshold they could push the Triumvirate was like flying near the sun. Fly too close, the wings melted, and they died. Fortunately, now that the dust had settled, he believed that while the wax had become soft, it had not melted yet, though there was only so much leverage they had left.

And they were nowhere close to out of the woods yet.

Isaiah, Liberman, and Jilla were meeting now. Arya was back in the UK, and helping manage the fallout which had directly targeted the British business network, which was being waged covertly, legally, and economically. Arya thought that they would be able to largely retain their network, but the combination of the blockade and renewed state interest meant that all funding operations would be constrained for the immediate future.

They'd have to make do with what was left, and it wasn't coming at a good time.

"Arjun is securing more cities," Jilla said grimly. "Now that his military is established, he's starting political 'reforms'. New laws are being implemented. He's still putting up the veneer of civility, which will work on anyone who doesn't look deeper. All non-Indian citizens are required to register, all curriculum has been suspended and replaced. All Arab teachers have been 'reassigned', and schools have an armed police presence. All in the same of 'safety' and 'counter-terrorism'."

"Shaheed's done his best," Hamaza said, pursing his lips. "There are some things that can't be stopped so easily."

"No, it can't, not really," Jilla shook her head. "We're inferior in almost every metric. Manpower, technology, resources, he holds the advantage. Maybe we know the region better, but that's it. We've seen some successes against his labs and factories, but he's since hardened them with automated defenses and…other deterrents."

She placed something that seemed like an armband on the table. "Mandatory for workers now. Managed to find several. 'Deterrent Bands' they're called, given exclusively to Arabic personnel. Labor and science overseers have orders to detonate them if there's an attack – and they've made sure this is known. If Shaheed attacks, he dooms our own people."

"At least we exfiltrated several schematics before then," Isaiah said grimly. "Maybe Milya will force them to restrain Arjun."

"You met her on Mars, yes?" Hamaza asked.

"I did."

"Your impression?"

"Well-meaning, but naïve," he said neutrally. "I didn't expect her to involve herself politically. She struck me as too timid. Smart, but unwilling to stand up to power."

"She's doing nothing but hardening the Hindu resolve," Jilla flatly dismissed. "She's more likely to end up in a ditch with two shots to the head than actually change minds. Have you seen her being torn apart in their media? They're doing everything short of calling her an outright traitor."

"I doubt they'll touch her," Isaiah said, nodding to Sagira hovering near him. "That would be…unwise."

"We're dealing with people who've put a mass murderer in charge of this region," Jilla snorted. "We're not dealing with rational people, and with respect to your Ghost, one machine will do nothing against a well-placed sniper shot or a car bomb – both of which are likely. Easy to pin it on terrorists and make her a martyr."

"You would be surprised," Sagira said.

"I'm more interested in the other two," Liberman said, tapping a finger to his chin as he contemplated. "Fang Sov and Valentin Kozhukhov. Sov has been interesting for a while, but only recently has Valentin done something substantive. I wonder if something changed. This is happening too closely together for it to be a coincidence."

"Canada, most likely," Isaiah said, shaking his head. "I can't believe Valentin tried that. He had to have known it wasn't going to work."

It had indeed been a valiant effort. It hadn't taken long for every other Triumvirate member to clarify their stance on Canada – all of which explicitly endorsed the actions of the Confederation. Legally, there wasn't much Valentin could do, though he'd explicitly placed the former government under his protection – for whatever that was worth.

It had, however, exposed to the public that there was a visible rift between the Kremlin and their supposed poster child. There'd been a lot of discussion on what this meant for the future, though it was all rumor and speculation. There'd been no word on how both men were working it out, the same applied to Fang Sov.

Nonetheless, it was certainly something that could be considered a positive sign.

"Perhaps he did it to see what the reaction of Bray would be," Hamaza mused. "Not to succeed, but to see if his instincts about him were correct."

Isaiah seemed darkly amused. "Well, he got his answer. Who could have guessed that the Triumvirate would support each other? I swear, people like him are so blind to their own history they act shocked when they realize that their side does bad things."

"Better they see now then refuse to accept it at all," Hamaza pointed out gently.

"Perhaps, but I doubt it will change much," Isaiah said with a shrug. "Sov appears to be having greater success, though I'm skeptical as to what his intentions are. He's part of one of the most powerful Imperial families. He's not doing any of this out of altruism or revolution."

"Reports seem to indicate he's not seen himself as part of the respective elite," Liberman noted. "He's arguably been estranged, which was why he was on the Moon to begin with. However, I agree. I would not be surprised if Sov is undermining Li to make a power grab of his own, under the guise of a 'New China', one with the supposed mandate of the people."

"With him in charge. That sounds more likely," Isaiah agreed. "Useful for fomenting unrest in the Empire, but not an ally. Still supportive of the Triumvirate."

"For now," Liberman corrected. "What he and Valentin seem to be aiming for is a reformation, rather than a replacement. Which you initially had hopes for, if I remember correctly."

"It won't be enough," Isaiah shook his head. "So long as the same structures and people exist, the Triumvirate will never change. It must be completely destroyed and rebuilt. Neither Sov nor Valentin seem willing to do that."

"But they are useful for destabilizing the Triumvirate further," Jilla pointed out. "We shouldn't take that for granted."

"Only in the most basic sense," Isaiah refuted. "Media outrage and questions isn't change. You can argue Sov has made tangible internal changes. No one else has, and have the overall mission and capabilities of the Triumvirate diminished? No, they haven't. I'd be wary of hoping for massive destabilization. When the protests and riots start, we can talk more about that."

"Enough. I think we've discussed this at a long enough length," Hamaza said, briefly closing his eyes. "Isaiah, has there been word from Egypt?"

"Nairouz is being tight-lipped about what he's doing, but he assures me that 'things are proceeding,'" Isaiah said dryly. "I don't know the details, but I expect he is moving forward with his 'plan' – whatever that is. I have Dead Cell operatives standing by near Egypt in case he needs support. Hopefully he's not planning on doing something stupid, because we'll need him and his industry no matter what comes next."

Hamaza wasn't especially thrilled at the prospect of allying with such a man – but Isaiah was right that someone like him was more useful aligned than opposed. It wouldn't have been the first time they'd allied with a former enemy. Still, he was fairly unrepentant about how he'd purged his government of Muslims, and that inherently made the Grand Ayatollah uneasy.

Events were moving fast now, much faster than he'd originally thought they would. The coming weeks would show if they were going to be fine – or if it was ultimately going to come crashing down on them. There was cautious reason to believe they would emerge intact for a while yet, though their future was nowhere near secured.

Even considering the big picture, the Triumvirate was experiencing mild unrest, and in the smaller picture Arjun was securing victory after victory, and adapting to whatever they threw at him. That was the immediate threat, but one they could hold out against for the immediate future.

"One more thing," Liberman said. "The Brazilian insurgents, we might have an opportunity to look closer into them. The Mossad has a few agents they're planning to deploy to South America – there won't be a better time. I can recommend that they make an effort to locate them."

"Do so," Hamaza said. "We will need every ally we can get for what is coming."

What was coming, they didn't know. But Hamaza had a feeling that one way or another, it would be decisive.

---

THE KREMLIN | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION

Clovis had some hope that the following weeks would be less exciting, or at least exciting in a way which was in his favor. For the most part, they had been. He'd not had many conversations with Valentin since his attempt at brokering Canadian independence, as he'd seemed content to stay away, for which Clovis was privately thankful for.

He'd been going off to who knew where thanks to his Ghost, but other than that the KGB were still monitoring him when he was in Soviet territory, and now everyone else had their eyes on him too. The Americans in particular were extremely miffed, and it hadn't taken much convincing for him to tacitly support the monitoring of Valentin should they happen to find him.

Though now, it seemed that there was yet another development.

"[General Secretary, there is a…situation.]"

The words every leader wanted to hear. Now in the situation room, with Calumet and Luka, the Commander turned on the TV which was playing a news station he'd never heard of. Arabic text scrolled underneath, and the speaker in question was clearly a military figure, he made note of the flag behind him.

Egyptian? Then the man speaking was…Nabeel al-Nairouz? It had to have been. Now that was a name he hadn't thought of in a long, long time. He was privately surprised the man was still alive, let alone still influential. Though his profile was impossible to mistake, few had his presence.

"[What is he saying?]" Clovis asked, not clear on why he was being shown this, though considering the context, he could make a guess – one which boded quite poorly.

"[In short? That, effectively immediately, the military is assuming control of the nation and nearby region to ensure the freedom and safety of the citizens,]" Calumet summarized. "[He has invoked both Canada and Morocco several times, as well as the Chinese invasions and American terror operations.]"

A term caught his ear. "[The region?]"

"[Yes,]" Luka consulted the tablet in his hand. "[This is happening in real time. We're not getting clear information, but there are military coups happening in Libya, Algeria, Tunisia, and there are Egyptian soldiers marching into Morocco as we speak.]"

Clovis blinked. "[They're invading?]"

"[In the most accurate of terms, yes,]" Luka said matter-of-fact. "[Which that would normally be not as much of a concern, were it not for the fact that the Egyptians are using these.]"

He handed the tablet to Clovis, who took it and appraised the pictures. Most were not good, poor resolution, bad angles, or blurred, but what they showed was unmistakable. Egyptian soldiers in advanced body armor, carrying next-generation weapons. Not all of the Egyptians were equipped like this, it seemed to be small teams or officers, which meant that their resources were likely limited.

Nonetheless, the fact was that the Triumvirate forces stationed in Morocco were not equivalently equipped. Not to mention the native Moroccan forces that were being integrated. He set the tablet down. "[How bad is it?]"

Calumet and Luka exchanged a look. "[We don't know yet,]" Calumet said. "[Networks have gone dark, but there are indications that the Moroccan forces were part of this plan, and several sources say that Triumvirate soldiers surrendered and are being held. If that's true, we should expect an announcement on that shortly. Networks are only now starting to pick this up.]"

Clovis briefly recalled the other countries. "[This was coordinated then. Multiple coups at once,]" he fixated on Luka, his voice allowing some clear irritation to seep into it. "[I want an explanation, Chairman, how we had no indication of this – and more importantly what the fucking Egyptians are doing with our weapons!]"

Luka to his credit maintained his demeanor. "[A short time ago you will recall reports that the terrorists hit several Indian labs and factories Arjun was setting up in the Arabian region. At the time, we were concerned that they had been compromised. We were assured that wasn't the case, and only material damage had been inflicted.]"

"[Turns out, the local Resistance to Arjun has been relentless.]" Luka said. "[Their strikes have been nothing short of zealous, effective, and precise. Their success has given them a morale boost, and the Arabian cell is being locally referred to as the 'Sandmen.' They've been lionizing them, making them recruitment propaganda. It seems to have had the intended effect]"

He knowingly paused. "[Given the evidence we have now, I would say that someone was lying. Unless the Egyptians have moles in our development teams – which is absurdly unlikely – it is not out of the question that the terrorists passed the schematics they found to the Egyptians. They've not been on our radar – at all – which is why we had only minimal operations, and even then our sources reported nothing out of the ordinary.]"

Clovis closed his eyes, feeling the distinct urge to hit something as he considered the implications. "[So, to ensure I understand this correctly, the terrorists hit Indian labs. These labs contain our next-generation schematics. They exfiltrate with said schematics. So you're saying that the terrorists have these, is that right?]"

"[That appears to be the case, General Secretary.]"

"[Wonderful,]" Clovis breathed. "[And if that is the case, then it is guaranteed that the Israelis and British also have them, and their industry is much more developed than the Egyptians.]" He realized his fist was clenched, and he directly relaxed himself. It did little good to cloud his mind with rage.

No. Cold. Directed focus. That was what he needed now. Clarity.

His voice was calm, if laced with ice as he addressed Luka. "[I want you to have Arjun give a complete inventory of what the terrorists now had – and also convey to him that if he lies to us again, then he will have far more to fear than these terrorists.]"

"[He'll likely insist someone else lied to him,]" Luka said.

"[Of course he will,]" Clovis said slowly. "[Bring the CIA and MSS into the loop. Purge every single Indian operative in our countries and send them back to New Delhi. I believe that should send the message clear enough.]"

Luka nodded grimly. "[Understood, General Secretary.]"

"[We've coddled the Indians long enough,]" Clovis muttered. "[This is becoming untenable.]"

"[Mistakes do happen,]" Calumet risked saying.

Not when there is so much at stake. "[There are times, Commander, where mere mistakes mean the difference between success and failure. Right now we are dealing with an African uprising because of his mistake – in what is already a precarious situation, while knowing that the terrorists also have these weapons. They should pray that only weapons were stolen.]"

"[It's confirmed,]" Luka interrupted. "[Social media is lighting up. There are Egyptian officers in the other North African countries, the respective leaders are giving speeches now. Troops are surging into the major cities, local police are making arrests and detaining attaches and foreigners.]"

"[It seems Nairouz released a statement,]" Calumet said. "[He says that all Triumvirate personnel who surrender will be deported without incident. He claims to not want confrontation, but he does not believe the Triumvirate has the interests of Africa at heart, and 'seeks to enslave Africa under Western rule once more'.]"

"[I suppose he forgot about the Chinese,]" Clovis muttered.

"[He's also confirmed that this is a coordinated and sustained effort by all the previously named countries,]" Luka added. "[This is the official declaration of the apparent North African Junta, which he says will remain in effect until it can be safely determined that the independence and safety of the Junta is assured.]"

"[Not especially subtle,]" Clovis snorted. "[At least he's being honest about what it is. No thin veneer of democracy this time. Can't call him a hypocrite. Has he mentioned the terrorists at all?]"

"[Not that I've seen,]" Calumet shook her head. "[Not surprising. Nairouz is savvy, and he hates Islamists. I doubt there is a sustained alliance, it's more likely that they gave the schematics to him out of a hope he'd do something, not because they wanted to help him. Thus far neither Israel or the United Kingdom has made a statement, I don't know if we should expect one.]"

"[The question now is how we respond.]" Luka said. "[We have options. We engage the Junta diplomatically, and see if there is an agreement we can come to. This is unlikely to work, considering Nairouz's historic distrust of the Triumvirate, and that three of the countries were previously in economic agreements with us. He's going to want concessions, tangible ones, which we won't provide.]"

"[Second, we ignore them,]" he continued. "[They want attention to some degree. If we starve them of attention, resources, and the spotlight, it is possible the regime will collapse. While we don't know if there will be significant reforms, or if this is only signaling, it is unlikely a unified Junta over Africa is feasible in the long-term, especially given the high Muslim populations in Algeria and Libya, which will undoubtably clash with Nairouz's anti-Islamist policies.]"

Another, final pause. "[Or we put this down immediately, and end any direct threat to us. This would normally not be suggested, but they have our technology. It could be justified. This would further alienate Valentin and other TERRA ONE personnel, but it is arguable that this outcome is inevitable.]"

"[Noted,]" Clovis said, rubbing his chin. "[Your recommendations?]"

"[My instinct says the second option,]" Luka said. "[The first is a waste of time, and I'm concerned the last one could play into his hands, or could be easily anticipated. This Junta will not pose a threat, and will likely collapse in the near future. Applying sanctions and media pressure will turn them toxic to the continent.]"

"[Or it could inspire Africa to form an independent bloc,]" Calumet added.

"[Possible, but unlikely,]" Luka shook his head. "[The Africans are hardly a united group. They break along religious, ethnic, and national lines the same as the rest of the Human species. They are not going to ally with each other just because they come from the same continent.]"

"[Hatred and a perceived larger enemy can be a powerful binder,]" Clovis said thoughtfully. "[They would not need every African to join – only some of them. If Ethiopia did so…that would be problematic. Even smaller ones would give them necessary staying power.]"

"[Regardless, this is hypothetical,]" Luka said. "[Based on what we know now, that is what I would recommend, General Secretary. As well as calling a meeting of the Central Committee.]"

"[Which I will do,]" Clovis waved a hand. "[However, both of your opinions matter more, and I do not intend to waste time with frivolous debate when such a situation requires action. Commander?]"

"[My recommendation is simple, General Secretary,]" she jutted her chin out. "[Crush this Junta before it has the chance to thrive. Purge these insurgents and remind the world the fate of those who intend to defy us. Nabeel al-Nairouz wishes war. Give it to him.]"

There were two clear options. Normally, he would defer to Luka's approach. Logically, it made the most sense. It would give an easy diplomatic win, would likely placate Valentin and the other Traveler puppets who would cry about "aggression" otherwise. Perhaps the Junta would collapse, or perhaps it would endure.

Clovis wasn't convinced that the terrorists weren't involved in some way, and if the Junta was allowed to thrive, it was laughably short-sighted to think the Israelis and British wouldn't exploit it for all it was worth, and perhaps force it to stay together. If there was an alliance, then that might be how Nairouz planned to keep the Muslims in line.

However, he was…tired. Tired of pretending that these insurgents, terrorists, and rebels deserved the benefits of the doubt, that they deserved being treated like equals. That they deserved the opportunity for diplomacy, that they should be ignored as if they would go away. But they would not go away, they never went away, attention or not, they would always come back and cause chaos and defiance.

Pretending to restrain himself to appease the moralists and ideologues was a pointless endeavor. It didn't matter what he did, how he treated the enemies which threatened all he had built, it would never be enough. They did not want consideration or compromise, only complete slavish capitulation to their own visions of the world, complete with sickening self-righteousness.

He was so very tired of compromising now. This was a situation that demanded a firm action, one which would solidify who he was and what direction he intended to take. This was not a choice between diplomacy, ignorance, or invasion – it was between if he would allow the Triumvirate to be threatened by insects or exterminate them like the pests they were.

The velvet glove had failed. These were people who wished to see the Triumvirate destroyed and he dead.

Why should he coddle them?

Why should they be treated as equals?

If the Traveler took issue, if Valentin intervened, then they would simply have to live with it. They were welcome to make their move, and if this was going to accelerate to a new phase, then he had best prepare for it. If he capitulated now, he might as well hand the reins over to Valentin for good.

These were the times that defined men.

"[Commander Calumet,]" he finally said. "[Prepare the Red Army for deployment. Within six hours, the Soviet Union will enter into a state of war. I will no longer tolerate any entity that threatens the Triumvirate. Crush this insurgency, Commander, and scatter the ashes to the winds. Is that understood?]"

She saluted, a gleam of approval in her eyes. "[Yes, General Secretary. It will be done.]"

---

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER XV | JUPITER

---

A/N: Special thanks to Sevoris for writing most of the Deep Stone Crypt section. Very revised and improved from the original scene I sent to him, and properly conveyed the right tone I was going for in how the Exos are created here. Hope everyone reading had a good Thanksgiving, and Merry Christmas for the coming holiday season. Thank you for reading.