American Imperialism

"Mister Townsend?" Poppy knocked at the door and poked her head in. "That adjudicator is trying to reach you again. On line one."

Wesley looked up from the news feed on his holo-display. "Good, I'll take its call," he replied, then returned his gaze to the ever-developing political tensions between the Americans and the Communists.

"And, sir, don't forget you have that ribbon-cutting ceremony coming up at three," Poppy added.

Wesley smiled and nodded. "Ah, yes. Thank you, Poppy, have the car brought around. I won't be long."

With that, Poppy dipped out of the room and closed the sliding door.

As soon as she was gone, Wesley's smile faded as he connected the call and ADJ appeared on the holo-display. "I heard there was some trouble at Heinlein Station," he said. "A confrontation between insurgents and police forces."

ADJ clasped his hands behind his back and straightened up. "Yes, sir," he said. "I was en route to Heinlein Station as per your orders when the call went out. We received actionable intel from a local gang operation that the rest of the survivors from Minerva were trying to get off-world. We destroyed the rest of them."

From his appearance alone, it was easy enough to see that ADJ was telling the truth. On his face were two scratch marks, partially revealing his metal skull underneath his synthetic layer of skin.

"Yes, but it seems that whoever was providing them with assistance managed to get away," Wesley stood up and went over to his window, looking out at the surface of the moon as was his usual habit. "Their ship slipped through our grasp and by now, they would be in interplanetary space. Far beyond the jurisdiction of the NYPD."

"I placed a tracking bug on their ship just before they escaped," ADJ said. "I've been able to intercept some of their communications."

The tracking bug in question was a one-way listening device, useful for covertly eavesdropping on enemy audio communications. Ordinarily, intercepting encrypted communications was a difficult thing to manage through remote devices alone, especially when the source points in a closed system were obscured. For that reason, a physical bug discreetly placed on a source point was still the best and most widely practiced method of espionage. It also had the benefit of acting as a homing beacon, allowing the listeners to also keep track of their enemy's location.

"Were you?" Wesley glanced over his shoulder, pleasantly surprised. "What have you been able to learn?"

"Transmitting audio," ADJ said as his cybernetic eyes blanked, indicating that he was accessing his recordings.

Moments later, a number of voices spoke, reaching Wesley's ears. He listened to their entire conversation, which included several key pieces of information. For one, Elsa was indeed confirmed to be Caelestis, acting out of Arcadia. She was also confirmed to be working with Veronica Tyrell, otherwise known as Anna, and they had both disappeared from New York two years ago with the bounties on their heads still active. Except, of course, they had been living under different aliases, those being Joy and Rachael.

Additionally, Elsa had some sort of plan to extract Soviet IFF codes from the Verenkovs which they would need to get their fellow insurgents through the Iron Curtain. Bearing that in mind, Wesley made a note to pass along that crucial information to his contact who was well acquainted with that crime family. He now had just the type of thing to flush Elsa and Anna out of hiding.

"You've done remarkably well," Wesley turned around. "Elsa has managed to evade justice so far because she plays a careful game. So will you. You're being sent to Mars not as an adjudicator and not as an enforcer of the law. You're beyond your jurisdiction. No, you'll be acting as an assassin."

"I understand," ADJ nodded.

"There's more to it. You are a hyper-lethal vector and property of Weseltech, an American corporation. If you are discovered, your presence in Arcadia may spark further outrage from the Soviets and the Chinese. Therefore, you must be discreet and eliminate her quietly. Under no circumstances are you to be taken alive should your mission end in failure. That's what your self-destruct is for."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. See a technician and have that damage repaired. Once you're ready, I'm having you brought to a ship. The Sevastopol," Wesley said. "The captain and I have an arrangement. You'll be smuggled into Arcadia."

To get ADJ to Mars, Wesley had to get in touch with a contact in Arcadia with whom he's had business dealings for quite some time now. After all, Wesley was a prolific businessman with favors he could call in from all over, regardless of the planet or their affiliation. From there, once ADJ arrived at the red planet, hunting down Elsa was up to him.

Afterward, he departed from his office, collecting his two bodyguards that stood outside along the way. After taking the elevator down from the top floors of the Weseltech building, they exited out into the lobby. Beyond the entrance outside, the underground colony of Port Armstrong spread out before them.

Already, Wesley could see the crowds of protestors gathered before the building. Separating them from the building was a line of police officers, backed up by two panzer assault mechs, modified for riot control, provided courtesy of ArmaRex. Ever since VanirCorp was dissolved, Weseltech Dynamics had gained the lucrative defense contract with ArmaRex.

Poppy was waiting for Wesley nearby the entrance and when he approached, she held out a datapad towards him. "I've taken the liberty of writing a short speech for you," she pointed out the highlighted text. "The usual stuff, but I made sure to keep it short and snappy. I know you hate speeches."

"Thank you," Wesley took hold of the datapad and skimmed through. "Remind me, what's this ceremony for?"

"You're unveiling the newest vault. Construction was just completed and it's ready for the grand opening."

"I see. Well, fallout shelters are all the rage these days, no thanks to our commander-in-chief."

To say the least, the incendiary statement from the president when he addressed the Communists was alarming to many. While some brought into the populist and nationalist rhetoric of reestablishing American dominance, others simply wanted to live their lives in peace without stirring up trouble. Conversely, most corps were already trying to leverage the developing situation for their benefit, pouring investment into nuclear fallout shelters in the event of another actual conflict to appeal to some more rational survivalist sensibilities.

Such shelters – colloquially referred to as vaults – were built underground within sealed complexes, hardened against chemical, biological, radiological, and nuclear threats. They were designed with longevity in mind, filled with enough food, water, and other supplies to last their occupants for decades, thus ensuring the survival of the American people. Of course, there was the question of what people were allowed into the vaults which – like anything else – was decided by financial worth.

Wesley handed the datapad back to Poppy, then turned his gaze out the entrance. His car was waiting from him directly out front, driven by his chauffeur since Wesley eschewed the usage of autodrive systems in most modern vehicles. Across the street were the protestors, holding up the usual signs that demanded equal rights for androids while chanting for justice.

Still, he thought nothing of it. Not wanting to delay any further, he opened the doors and walked out, at once being singled out and targeted by the public vitriol.

He walked ahead with Poppy at his side, his bodyguards flanking him. Some of the protestors flooded across the street, yelling and screaming and holding up signs that Wesley didn't care to read. The police were already beating down some of the more unruly protestors with electric stun batons, while some of them who hadn't even done anything were also getting beat down. The mechs observed everything, meticulously scanning the crowds with yellow warning lights for any trouble.

As soon as Wesley came within a few feet of his car, it suddenly exploded in a massive fireball that knocked him down. The crowds dispersed immediately, shouting in disorganized confusion as they fled the scene in a panic. The police started firing less-than-lethal shock rounds indiscriminately into the crowds to compel them to flee, while the mechs fired off tear gas canisters.

Wesley's ears were ringing as he tried to stand, feeling something wet in his hands. When he looked over, he saw that they were red and covered in blood. Poppy was lying by his side on her back, staring up with panicked eyes as she gasped and choked. Her neck had been slashed by a piece of shrapnel.

Immediately, Wesley rushed to her aid, recalling his training as a marine corpsman as he placed his hands around her throat and applied pressure to stop the bleeding. Someone was yelling at him, but he couldn't really hear them until the ringing in his ears stopped.

"Sir? Sir?!" one of his bodyguards was pulling on his shoulder. "Are you injured?"

Wesley shrugged him off. "I'm fine. Call for a medevac!" he ordered. "And secure the area!"

The crowds had been fully dispersed by this point and the police were working to lock down the area. Poppy on the other hand was still bleeding out as she clutched Wesley's arms with shaky hands, bloodying his suit.

"Look at me, Poppy," Wesley said with the calm, crisis-proof demeanor of someone who has already seen much chaos in his lifetime. "Just keep your eyes on me. You're going to be fine."

"Medevac is on the way, sir," a bodyguard said. "ETA, ninety seconds."

Wesley nodded then examined Poppy's wound more closely. Thankfully, the shrapnel had missed her carotid arteries, but the cut was still severe and she was still losing blood, albeit at a much slower and more survivable rate thanks to his efforts.

More police cars arrived on the scene, followed by an ambulance. Once the paramedics came over, Wesley excused himself to allow them to do their work. Poppy was stabilized, then laid out on a gurney as she was loaded into the back of the ambulance before being swiftly transported to the nearest hospital.

After seeing her off, Wesley wrung out his hands and wandered around the area, helping injured civilians wherever he could and providing assistance to the paramedics. He went up to a man with some shrapnel lodged in his leg and propped it up. Next, he took off his expensive belt and tied it around the wounded man's leg as a tourniquet to slow the bleeding.

Afterward, Wesley found a teenage boy who was lying on his side, not moving. His eyes were unfocused, his head was bleeding, and he was muttering incoherently. Suspecting a concussion, Wesley gently turned him on his back and elevated his head. He then tore off a section of his once-crisp white dress shirt and applied pressure to the wound site until more paramedics arrived to stabilize him.

Wesley went on and on in the same manner, treating as many people as he could to the best of his ability. The people may have held grudges against him, but he didn't, and he was just doing what he had been trained to do. After all, putting people back together was his main trade, what with cybernetics limbs and everything.

When all the injured civilians were dealt with and when all the possible suspects were detained, Wesley climbed into a police truck with his bodyguards and ordered them to head to the hospital.

The ribbon-cutting ceremony would have to wait.

… … …

A few hours later, Wesley was sitting by Poppy's side, who was lying peacefully asleep on her hospital bed. Her neck was bandaged up and she was currently hooked up to an oxygen machine, but she would pull through. Wesley had also taken the liberty of waiving Poppy's medical fees. After all, he did own the hospital they were in right now.

Outside the room were his bodyguards, as well as police officers patrolling every floor of the hospital. It was unlikely that the would-be assassins would make another attempt so soon, but it was still safer to err on the side of caution. As he sat there, replaying the event of his near-death, he knew that someone was out for his blood.

Additionally, to pass the time, he had a holo-television playing in the background. As of late, all of the news channels had been dominated by the latest developments revolving around the standoff between the Americans and the Arcadians.

"Live from the scene outside of the Iron Curtain, we see a blockade of American ships forming outside of Arcadia's sovereign space," a news anchor said. "On the other side, we also see security measures being ramped up and fleets of warships being repositioned accordingly. This is a dramatic and tense standoff, but as it is right now, no laws have been broken by either side yet. In a press release, the president stated that he still fully supports Uncle SAM's actions to defend American interests."

Wesley scowled and turned off the holo-television, content to stew in his thoughts rather than listen to the numerous ways in which Lambert was making a terrible situation even worse.

I've made lots of enemies in my career and you don't get to be my age without crossing a few of them off the list. Who else out there would want me dead? There must be dozens.

Still, the only name he could think of was the one person whose operation he was trying to dismantle.

Elsa. Wherever she is, she must have found out about Minerva and that firefight at Heinlein Station. She must have been behind the bombing. I should have expected this, but I never would have thought she'd be capable of such a bold attack in public like that. She must be silenced.

Of course, there was no evidence to verify that Elsa had actually orchestrated the attempt on Wesley's life. Suspects were being interrogated by the police and until he knew more, he would have to play it safe and assume the worst. The fact of the matter was that innocent blood had been shed on both sides.

To Wesley, he thought he was playing an intricate game of cloak and dagger with Elsa now.

If Elsa had it her way, all synthetic beings would have sentience and full-awareness, but you only need to look as far as Uncle SAM to see why that cannot be allowed. Matilda herself was murdered by one of her very own creations. The most powerful woman in New York and still, people can't see the danger that they present. Technology and synthetics are simply tools, not lifeforms to supplant humanity. I'm trying to save the human race, but I can't do that if they're fighting for the wrong side.

Thus far, he had taken mostly an idle role in derailing the plans of the android freedom movement. He had the adjudicators created to act out his will, but one could only do so much with proxy forces. If he wanted Elsa dead and out of the picture, he would need to employ more than just a single android, even if that android was the best at killing other androids, and was being sent to Arcadia as an assassin.

As he sat there thinking of what to do, he remembered that his contact was still quite cozy with the Russian government.

I ought to reach out again. Get some extra eyes and ears from their intelligence community and see what they dig up on Elsa. She's remained hidden so far, but with the right motivation, maybe she could be compelled to expose herself. Maybe even my contact could lure her out somehow with the right bait.