ACT II | THE TYRANT'S HUNGER


CHAPTER VII | DEBRIEF


RESISTANCE COUNCIL CHAMBER | TEL AVIV | ISRAEL

His escape from the Triumvirate had turned out to be much easier and less dramatic than he'd anticipated. There had been no shortage of stress as he spent time mentally plotting out contingencies, arming himself with a leftover pistol or two, and calculating the potential numbers of soldiers and KGB operatives he would be up against.

Sagira had found his planning amusing, and had told him he hadn't needed to worry.

Perhaps not, but he didn't plan on going in without a plan. Even if he had some confidence the Traveler wouldn't let harm come to him, he was not going to make assumptions. Better to plan and not need it, than be in a situation with no plan at all. He could improvise only to a point.

As it turned out, the cheeky Ghost had just teleported him away as they were coming in to land after bringing him to an isolated room on the ship.

"[You could have just said you were going to do that,]" he grumbled as he'd pushed his way into the hidden headquarters.

Sagira had materialized by his shoulder. "[I could have, but you seemed to enjoy planning your way out of an impossible situation. Why interrupt?]"

Cheeky little drone. Not completely wrong. He did enjoy a challenge – though it was always better when said challenge had the potential of actually being possible. Escaping a locked down Triumvirate starship in a Triumvirate controlled area, while also being actively hunted (he refused to believe the Triumvirate hadn't figured out someone was on Ares One that shouldn't have been) was an insanity that he would have never attempted normally.

Lucky that it had turned out well in the end.

To say that Hamaza had been surprised to see him show up had been an understatement. Amjah and Liberman were also present, and they seemed equally as stunned that he was back, especially in such a manner. Given that he'd been gone for months, and that there'd been no word after the Traveler had sent most of the Triumvirate back, it wasn't unreasonable for them to believe he was dead or otherwise incapacitated.

He wasn't exactly close friends with all of them; their bond was in their mission. Yet this had been a time where those barriers were lessened, and there were some hugs and sighs of relief that went around. After he pulled away from the Ayatollah's embrace, he looked into the elder's eyes grimly. "Assemble the Council. We need to talk."

"Good news or bad?" Liberman asked, both interest and apprehension in his eyes.

Isaiah pursed his lips. "It's complicated."

That would have normally been followed by additional questions, but given the situation, it was clearly not the time. Amjah and Hamaza went to recall everyone, and even on such short notice it would be hours before they could arrive. Luckily, Jilla was relatively close, otherwise it might have been days.

In the interim, Liberman caught him up on what had happened in the months he'd been gone.

Surprisingly, it had been fairly quiet. He wasn't overly surprised; everyone – Triumvirate or otherwise – had been in a holding pattern. Plans, plots, and operations had been laid out, but the Resistance Council was waiting to see what happened next before acting. Though there had been a few interesting events. The Ghost appearances had extended even to the Resistance, as well as the rest of the world. The Triumvirate had also significantly downplayed the mass-return of people, some of which were being paraded around as celebrities.

As usual, exploiting a situation for their benefit, no matter the truth.

One by one they arrived, and finally they were seated. Sagira had kept out of sight, and he still didn't know if she was simply cloaking herself somehow, or teleporting completely away. All that he did know was that she was aware of what he was doing at all times, and would show herself when the time was right.

As the hours had passed and Liberman and Amjah had updated him on everything, he was struck by just how…small it all was. Before this, his whole world had been the insurgency against the Triumvirate; it had been this world. Anything that was beyond it simply didn't matter; as how could it matter? Why worry about the unknown when the known posed a mortal threat?

But now he did know.

And everything seemed so small.

Not petty, not insignificant, but small.

Everything was small compared to the end of everything.

He couldn't get that out of his head.

"The Triumvirate is hailing the return of their people; a 'mission beyond successful' is what Soviet media is branding it as," Arya opened with, a rolled up newspaper in her hand. "We all know that's a lie, but the Ares One crew came back in a starship - alive. What happened, Isaiah?"

"Did you make contact with the alien?" Liberman asked. "You were apparently chosen by it for something."

"Yes…I did," he nodded slowly. This was not going to be a fun thing to explain. "This is going to take some time, and not all of it will make sense." He paused, knowing the words would sound very strange coming from him. "Keep an open mind."

Hamaza raised an amused eyebrow at that, but motioned for him to begin. He'd rehearsed exactly how he was going to explain this and not have it sound like the product of a drug-fueled binge, but there was only so much that could be toned down. Honesty was the best path to pursue, no matter how insane it sounded.

He didn't start with the vision. He started with the landing on Mars (omitting the hell that had been the initial flight). The sightings of the Ghosts. The rumors, whispers, and plans that had swirled throughout the Triumvirate. He described his meeting and relationship with the Chief Linguist – something Liberman nodded approvingly of – and how Mars had been terraformed before his eyes.

This was not the hardest part to explain; fantastical as some of the events were, they were easy to explain, even if he didn't have an explanation for each and every thing. The science was not his forte, and it didn't need to be. The groundwork laid, he transitioned to the vision; the meeting with the Traveler herself.

As he began describing the interior of the Traveler, the things he had seen and the maddening aspects of it, he saw mixtures of expressions on the faces of his captive audience. Not outright disbelief, but certainly skepticism, especially on the faces of Liberman and Arya. He couldn't blame them, but it was something impossible to fully convey with words.

He described the vision; the story he had been able to partially follow along. The King and Queen, the subsequent betrayal and war. The war between the Celestials and Darkness which (presumably) raged to this day. The apocalypse which had been a shadow over his mind since he had emerged, and the final words of the Traveler.

I am your only hope.

He's paused for a long time after he finished this segment. It was draining just recounting it in this detail. All of them were still enraptured by his tale, and throughout it he'd noticed both Hamaza and Ryan taking a particular interest, and exchanging glances a few times. Unsurprising, ironically they were more likely to take what he said at face value.

Taking a drink of a nearby glass of water, he finished his tale. The reorganization; the building of Terra One, the people who had been left behind and worked together to return to Earth. The potential and advancement that he had seen put together in such a short amount of time, and of course how he'd returned unscathed.

There was a short period of silence once he finished.

"Well," Arya said slowly, her expression unreadable. "That was not what I expected to hear."

"Indeed," Jilla concurred, her face stern and lips set in a thin line. "But this puts into context certain Triumvirate actions and what has happened since. I…will not claim to understand the implications of the vision, outside of that there is something coming to kill us all."

Hamaza folded his hands. "The…Ghost that was assigned to you. Is it here?"

Isaiah extended his hand out, palm up, and Sagira materialized in a blue flash above it, hovering. No one made any sudden moves, even if some of them became tense. "I have been listening, and it is a pleasure to meet each of you. Isaiah has spoken of you in our conversations."

"You are an extension of the Traveler?" Hamaza asked.

"I am, a conduit for Her power and reflection of Her will," the Ghost flew to hover above his shoulder. "And he has earned Her attention."

"As interesting as the end of everything is, there is something we need to know," Liberman said, addressing the Ghost directly. "The Triumvirate is still in power, and if they get their hands on technology as advanced as Isaiah is implying, we are simply done for. Is the Traveler going to help us, or are we on our own?"

Isaiah pursed his lips. Now was going to be the hard part. "Sagira has said that the Traveler will not let the Triumvirate abuse its gifts…but it will not overthrow them. It wants to see how they react without threats or interference."

Jilla's eyes flashed. "Then it is a coward and fool. If the decades of genocide, oppression, and terror have not been sufficient proof that the Triumvirate should be destroyed, then nothing will. Trusting the Triumvirate will change is ignoring reality, and allows them to escape punishment for their crimes."

"Agreed," Liberman nodded, narrowing his eyes at the Ghost. "The Traveler cannot be benevolent, and work with the worst monsters that have existed in our history."

The fins of the Ghost spun, and her voice was soft. "Not all in the Triumvirate are monsters. There are good people; the ones who were not sent back. They can be heard now."

"The good people?" Amjah demanded, his tone controlled but angry as a clenched fist rested on the table. "There is no such thing as a good member of the Triumvirate. Where exactly were the good people when Australia was being butchered? When the Indians were slaughtering the Arabs? When the Americans were overthrowing South America? When the Soviets and Chinese purged thousands of their own people?"

The young Quds Force Commander shook his head in disgust. "Anyone part of the Triumvirate is irrevocably tainted. There is no redemption for them, or anyone who participates in the regime. If there are any good people, they are cowards and liars. They have not earned our goodwill, let alone our trust."

Isaiah pursed his lips. If he'd been asked this question before what he'd experienced, he would have had a similar opinion to Amjah and Liberman. Forgiveness and understanding was the realm of Ryan and Hamaza. It was not to say that the views of Amjah were even wrong…but it was too simplistic, he'd determined. He'd interacted with many of the people on Mars, and observed in the background. Defining them as 'good' or not missed the point. People found it difficult to act against a system which had provided for them, and they had been indoctrinated into.

For some of them, it wasn't as if they were blind to the nature of the Triumvirate. They just never considered the possibility of fighting against it. Here, in the Resistance, it was easy to see the Triumvirate for the evil that it was. Outside was…dimmer, and the propaganda had a lessened hold than he first assumed.

Though in the end, Amjah's outburst didn't change the hard truth.

"It doesn't matter," he finally said. "This is the decision the Traveler has made, and we need to decide how we adapt to that."

Hamaza looked at him and asked gently: "What do you suggest?"

Isaiah took a breath. "That we wait and see what happens."

Liberman's eyebrows shot up. "We do nothing?"

"We plan, we watch, we prepare, but for now we refrain," he said. "Continue subterfuge operations, train our operatives, insert more spies – but hold off on the terrorism. If the Traveler is going to watch the Triumvirate…we should see if her actions back her words."

"And what of the people who will suffer in the meantime?" Amjah demanded angrily.

"I don't know," he answered honestly with a shake of his head. "We help who we can, but unless we want to give the Triumvirate a strong reason to destroy us – at least now that they are being watched – we need to think very carefully." He looked at Sagira. "But make sure the Traveler understands that our tolerance has limits."

The Ghost bobbed once. Probably a nod.

"That is my recommendation," he turned back to address all of them. "Do we put this to a vote?"

"It seems only right," Hamaza said. "All in favor of his proposal, please say aye."

Isaiah, Ryan, and Jilla affirmed.

"Opposed?"

Liberman, Amjah, and Arya affirmed.

And left the Ayatollah as the tiebreaker. "It is a difficult decision," he said slowly. "I am hesitant to put trust in this alien, but I see few paths open to us. I approve of Isaiah's suggestion – for now." The Ayatollah's eyes focused on Sagira, and his words were heavy. "Our expectations are high, Ghost, is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Good," Hamaza stood. "Then our course is decided. Let us hope that these people can enact the change you believe is possible in the Triumvirate."


MOSCOW | RUSSIA | SOVIET UNION

The past day had been a whirlwind, from the moment Terra One landed to now. The landing had been performed safely, and they were greeted with hordes of Triumvirate media outlets, blinding them with flashes from cameras, shouts in multiple languages for comment, and largely being very annoying.

His Ghost had materialized in front of them, and projected a blinding white light, forcing the crowds back and making them put up their arms to block the overpowering radiance. A few seconds was all it took, and it ceased projecting a few seconds later, returning to orbit around his shoulder. The media had been a little more respectful after that.

Valentin was growing attached to the little machine, and had finally come up with a good name for it.

Vigil.

A watcher for the Traveler, and to hold those who would abuse its gifts to account. The Ghost had seemed to also approve of the name. As the media quieted down, he realized that there was a massive military presence – much more extensive than he would have expected, even for them.

It did not give him a good feeling. The Red Army later cleared out the media as they guided the returned travelers to checkpoints, where they were separated by nation and presumably taken away. He gave a final nod, handshake, and hug to Fang and Liana before going to the Soviet station.

Oddly enough, he didn't see where Jacob had gone to, which was a bit odd. Milya had been in the front with the rest of them, and he'd similarly said goodbye to her. He had a feeling that they would see each other again; all of them would. Of course, this assumed that his own debrief went well.

He had grown more at ease with what was coming. Vigil was watching, and he felt he was protected.

Then again…it had been a long time since he had experienced life in the Soviet Union. No fewer than a dozen of the Red Guard were escorting him; uniformed men and women who were armed and stoic. Men in KGB uniforms stood nearby, and he was uncomfortably aware of the fact that there were likely no fewer than half a dozen snipers trained on his position.

Escorted into the windowless armored car, separated even from the other Soviets who'd returned, he had no idea where he was going. The soldiers had not spoken to him, and his attempts at conversation were met with silence. Two KGB officers sat opposite him, both men, one burly, one more lithe.

They did nothing but observe him, the larger one occasionally making notes in the pad he carried. Standard KGB passive observation, he assumed. He couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive as the hours passed with nothing. He felt trapped in a box, with people who were prepared to kill him if he did something unexpected.

He took a breath.

Vigil materialized beside his head, and caused almost every single soldier to jump and begin shouting at him. "[Enough! It's ok!]" Valentin shouted once he saw several weapons pointing, including both of the KGB Officers' pistols. He lifted his hands, idly motioning at the Ghost whose fins twisted back and forth almost quizzically.

"[He's friendly,]" he stressed to the officers, as Vigil slowly came down to rest on his shoulder. The chassis was lighter than one would think, and the Ghosts themselves were fairly small, more reminiscent of a toy than a lethal paracausal drone. A few tense seconds passed, and the officers motioned to put the weapons down, and returned to tensely watching him.

They did not seem especially comfortable with the Ghost now staring back at them.

Thank you, Vigil.

The drive continued in silence, and finally it stopped. Several of the soldiers were the first to get out, followed by him, and then the KGB officers. He was surprised to find himself in front of the Kremlin, and there was a small attaché of Soviet Kremlin staff awaiting him, dressed smartly in whites and reds.

Vigil had returned to hovering around his head, and had inclined its eye upward, likely taking in the architectural uniqueness of the Kremlin in person. "[Mr. Kozhukhov,]" the frontmost Kremlin official greeted. "[Welcome home.]"

He raised an eyebrow, but took the hand. "[Thank you. I didn't expect to be brought here.]"

She gave him a slight smile. "[Why not? You are in a very unique position, and there are many people who await what you have to say with great interest.]"

She began walking, and he followed, even as the Red Guard tailed at a distance. "[I was almost concerned I was going to be taken to a dark room with this level of security. I don't think I've ever seen this mobilization in my life.]"

She laughed, but it was a calculated one. Normally he shouldn't bring up observations like that, as it could imply he was questioning the necessity of it. Questioning the state was not the healthiest of options. "[Standard procedure, I assure you. You were in contact with an alien, after all. The Kremlin does not want to take any chances.]"

"[No doubt,]" he acknowledged. "[What about the rest of the Soviets who came?]"

"[They are being debriefed, of course,]" she answered with a slight smile. "[Though elsewhere. Do not worry, they are not in dark rooms either.]"

"[Excellent,]" Vigil commented. "[That is most certainly a positive first impression.]"

She seemed slightly caught off guard at her first proper interaction with a Ghost, with said Ghost hovering before them both, and looking down at the escort. She peered up at it. "[I've not met one of these Ghosts before. Are you an…ambassador?]"

Vigil hesitated slightly. "[Not exactly. An…observer,]" he floated back to Valentin's orbit. "[He is the one who will convey the Traveler's message.]"

All she did was slightly nod. "[Thank you…]" she cocked her head. "[Does it have a name?]"

"[Vigil.]"

"[Vigil, thank you.]"

He'd never really been inside the Kremlin before, and from the moment they'd stepped into its halls, he felt a thousand eyes watching him. Disguised KGB operatives, observing snipers, the blank eyes of security cameras, and others who had noticed and were whispering about the man who had met the alien and returned.

Everything they were saying was likely being recorded, and he was certain that his escort would dutifully recount every interaction, word, and impression. She was very likely KGB herself, as were most of the people 'visiting' here. The Soviets could never be too careful when it came to protecting the state capitol.

Up several flights of stairs they went, until they entered a brightly-lit room. Valentin blinked at the absolute extravagance of the room. It was likely by no means exceptional, but he'd never been in a place like this before. It was close to a luxury apartment, with wooden floors, rungs, leather furniture, and a massive floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Moscow.

"[You will be debriefed here,]" his escort said. "[It will be shortly. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. There is a television, food and drinks in the fridge, and if the light becomes too much, there are curtains you can lower. Do you have any questions?]"

"[No…no, I don't think so…]" he said slowly, wandering further in. "[Actually, who is coming to debrief me?]"

"[I'm not at liberty to say,]" she said neutrally. "[Apologies.]"

"[It's fine, thank you,]" he said, and gave her a brief salute which she returned before silently departing. He knew, of course, that the entire room was bugged and rigged with hidden cameras, but at the same time, he was only going to be here for a while. He might as well enjoy it.

Vigil floated away, exploring the room, and scanning some parts of it. Valentin went to the fridge and pulled out a soda, opening it up and watching the Ghost dart around the room, scanning every few seconds. "[Are you looking for something in particular?]"

"[Yes, and there are many more than I assumed,]" Vigil floated up to roughly chest-height, and then emitted a blue pulse. "[There are approximately forty-three surveillance electronic devices in the immediate vicinity.]"

Valentin shrugged. "[It's the Kremlin. It'd be more surprising if they weren't there.]"

"[Do you want me to disable them?]"

Valentin shook his head. "[No, its fine. We won't be here long anyway.]" Tempting as it was to have Vigil perform that – and he had no doubt the Ghost could do that – he was already on uncertain ground with…well, everyone, and the last thing he wanted was to make things more difficult.

He didn't want to undermine the Union or work against it. He was still Soviet, just with a connection to an alien being. It was expected that people here wouldn't understand at first, but that was his job. To help them understand. To help things change.

And it began with trust.

He trusted they would act in good faith.

Valentin took a seat, looking out over the Moscow skyline.

Hopefully his trust was well-placed.


ZHONGNANHAI | BEIJING | CHINESE COMMUNIST EMPIRE

Fang swallowed and once more straightened his tie. While he was no stranger to Chinese high society, the closest he had ever gotten to the Politburo Standing Committee had been a few dinner receptions where he had been introduced to some serving members at the time. He'd been nervous then, and he was equally nervous now.

Debriefing the most powerful men in the Empire was…unprecedented. He had been shocked when he had been informed he was not to be debriefed by Qiao, but by the Politburo themselves. They never took a direct interest unless they were determined to make major decisions based upon what they heard.

No pressure.

He hadn't quite received the hero's welcome some of the less-connected returnees had, while the Chinese state media had been distracted, he'd been whisked away and put on a plane directly to Beijing – though not before having an emotional call with his family along the way. It had been good to hear their voices, even though he knew better than to talk details before the Politburo decided what he could, and could not talk about.

An MSS Agent was part of the attaché, and had discussed certain things on the flight back. Mostly reminding him that he was going to be speaking to the Politburo, and there were very high expectations regarding his conduct. A pleasant man, and the two of them had chatted afterwards about what had happened on Earth in the meantime.

He seemed especially curious about Mars, which Fang believed could be purely to pump information out of him, but because he pressed largely trivial questions (how was the weather, what kinds of plants were growing, was there any wildlife) he may actually have been genuine. Either way, Fang was satisfied, and glad to be back on Earth.

He wondered how Valentin was doing. Hopefully the Soviets were treating him just as well.

The doors to the Politburo Chamber were opened, and he walked through. Shadow was nearby, though was not visible yet. There was an agreement that he would not manifest until necessary. He took a breath, and walked through the massive doors which closed behind him with a loud thud.

The room was not massive, but it did not need to be. An elevated bench was the centerpiece of the room, made of dark brown oak, behind which sat the five members of the Politburo Standing Committee, the leaders of the Communist Party, and the Chinese Communist Empire.

The walls had carved marble murals of historical moments in Imperial history, and statues of the founders and leaders of the modern Communist Empire were placed in the corners of the room. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, bathing the room in warm light. It was a beautiful room, and he was privileged to see such a chamber of power.

There was only a small desk intended for him though, but to expect more would have been unreasonable. He began with the ceremonial bow, and the voice of Yun Li, General Secretary of the Central Committee, and President of China spoke. "[Welcome Fang Sov. Take a seat.]"

He did so, and faced the Politburo for the first time; five men who were steadily aging, who had been part of the Party for years, and whose families had been involved for generations. Their faces were hardened and unreadable. It was times like this where he almost wished he had been more involved in understanding the complicated politics of the Communist Party.

Fang did not expect immediate acceptance. While his uncle did sit on the wider Politburo, he was not part of the Standing Committee which was the true power in China. President Li had the most authority as Chairman, but the four men flanking him wielded just as much, if not more influence.

Men who were rarely seen in public. Men who knew how to pull the levers of power, and who made the decisions which affected billions. Men he knew he was outmatched against in all realms. His family name insulated him somewhat, but now that he was under the gaze of them, he felt the name offered less protection than he thought it did.

"[You have represented our nation well,]" Li began. "[For that you have the thanks of the Empire. We intend to recognize you, and the other Taikonauts for your participation in this historic endeavor.]"

Fang bowed his head. "[You honor me, Chairman Li.]"

"[We do,]" the President leaned forward. "[However, you doubtless know the circumstances of why you are here. You were personally selected by the alien. Why?]"

"[I can only speculate,]" Fang said slowly. "[The precise reasoning was not explicitly shared. If I wanted to provide you a simple answer, I would suggest that my family name gave me legitimacy the Traveler believed would be necessary.]"

"[And yet you do not believe that is the real answer,]"

"[No. But to give it context, I will need to explain what she has to say.]"

"['She' specifying…]"

"[The Traveler. The alien.]"

"[It is female?]"

"[Or identifies as such; it was how she manifested when we were brought to her.]"

"[Then share, Fang Sov, what does she want.]"

He briefly closed his eyes. "[She wants to protect us.]"

Another of the Politburo spoke. "[Protect us from what?]"

"[From something that will destroy us all,]" his voice turned distant as he remembered. "[She showed us, showed me the end of everything. We are not alone, and we are in danger.]"

That elicited furrowed eyebrows and frowns. Li narrowed his eyes. "[What did she say to you?]"

"[It would be easier to explain what she showed me, Chairman Li. Though I warn you, it will sound…dubious. Yet I will swear on my ancestors that what I share is exactly what I saw and understood to the best of my ability.]"

He nodded. "[Proceed.]"

And so Fang began the retelling.

He actually felt it was going better than he'd feared. His speech was dry and halting at first, and then he fell into a rhythm as he recounted the vision. He and Valentin had practiced their speeches on the flight to Earth, and that certainly helped now, if only a little. It was a bit odd – the more he talked about it, the less strange it sounded.

Even if it was impossible to truly convey the sights and emotions that had bombarded them, he could impart a taste of it. He knew he was not insane; even if what he said might imply that. The Politburo refrained from outright interruption, but he could plainly see the skepticism and near-disgust on some of their faces.

They clearly did not believe some of what he was saying. Or all of it.

Or perhaps they did believe, and they were afraid of what it implied.

When he finished, there was silence from the Politburo. The microphones had been cut, and all he could hear were vague whispers of the men talking amongst themselves. He waited, oddly enough feeling more confident. He was seeing the Politburo unsettled – a certainly rare feat.

He'd shared enough of the Traveler for them to get a picture of who she was, and what she stood for. And what she stood for posed some interesting complications for the Empire, and the Triumvirate at large. Of course, they could also be plotting his swift, but silent removal to prevent this from getting out, but he had a feeling that was not the case.

Li turned his focus back to Fang. "[You have said the Traveler wishes to protect us from this…threat. These forces of Darkness.]"

"[I did say that.]"

"[And what does she expect,]"

This was going to be the delicate part. "[That the Triumvirate prepare for this threat, treat their citizens well, and unite our species. This is a threat which is larger than any singular nation or people. The status quo cannot be maintained, not anymore. Do these things, and the Traveler will stand with us.]"

"[And if we do not fulfill these…requests…to her expectations?]"

Fang laced his fingers together. "[I do not know. Consequences have been implied, though of what nature I cannot say. But I will say that…it is not wise to test the Traveler. She is beyond us, as has been demonstrated. If we are open to…changes in certain areas…we would be granted the means to take our people far beyond anything we have dreamed. Mars is just the beginning. Under the Traveler, we will enter a golden age our species has not experienced before.]"

There was a single nod. "[Then it seems it would be…prudent…to consider the ramifications and benefits of such an arrangement with the Traveler. Is such a representative accompanying you?]"

Fang held out his hand, palm up, and Shadow materialized. "[Greetings, esteemed members of the Standing Committee. I am an extension of the Traveler, attached to Fang Sov.]"

"[I see,]" Li nodded again. "[Then convey to your Traveler that the Communist Empire will strongly consider entering into an agreement with your patron. However, we will do this in concert with the Triumvirate as a whole. I expect that such will not take long. Is that sufficient?]"

"[It is indeed,]"

"[Then it is settled,]" Li and the rest of the Politburo stood. "[We thank you for your statements, Fang Sov. Go and take your earned rest. You will be informed of the next decisions regarding this topic, and will be consulted if you are deemed necessary.]"

Fang performed a final bow. "[I thank you for considering my words. Glory to the Empire.]"


THE KREMLIN | RUSSIA | SOVIET UNION

It promised to be an interesting conversation.

Clovis knew that he did not have to necessarily conduct this particular interview in person, but he was never one to refrain from taking part in history. To personally hear the story of the man who had spoken to such an enigmatic alien, and delegating such a task to the many faceless KGB, and broken down into a singular report devoid of the nuances and speculation which would accompany it was unfathomable for him.

For certain there carried some personal risk; anyone coming from Mars and accompanied by one of the alien's Ghosts was. But everything indicated that Valentin was not hostile, nor particularly inclined to be difficult. His Ghost suggesting that it could neutralize the electronics, and Valentin waving it off was a very good sign.

The man seemed remarkably pragmatic. Clovis could certainly work with that. It was essential that this man – and the machine – believe him. Comrade Clovis on his side; a task easier said than done, but if there was something Clovis was good at, it was getting people far different from him to listen and work together.

This might even be, he mused, the most important conversation of his life.

The alien represented great danger – but he had seen the initial technical specs for the 'Terra One' starship that had returned. They were, put simply, incredible. The sheer potential promised was beyond anything he could have imagined – and with that he could be the one to lead the Triumvirate into an age of solar expansion.

Securing the legacy of his name and the Soviet Union into the annals of history for all time.

This was a moment where men rose to the occasion, or they did not. History would only remember the decisive and bold – a privileged number which he would join. The man who brought the Triumvirate into a golden age which would stand for millennia.

Ah, maybe he was getting a little too excited. Much needed to be done first, and the alien was still an unknown quantity – if one that was signaling it was willing to extend a hand in cooperation. Yet if one did not take the leap of faith, one would simply stagnate in mediocrity. It was preferable to be Icarus and fail, then remain consigned to the complex prison of laws, norms, and expectations.

He opened the door, and entered. Valentin rose to his feet, and the blood in his already-pale face drained further when he saw him. "[General Secretary!]" He half-sputtered, scrambling to come to attention.

"[At ease, comrade,]" Clovis smiled, motioning him to relax. "[Few in our history can claim to be part of such a momentous event, and this particular one will change not just the Soviet Union, but our species forever. It should be an honor for you, and one I intend to recognize.]"

He noticed that the Ghost had disappeared, though he had noted that it had a tendency to hover around his shoulder. He focused on the empty space. "[I would not, of course, ignore our other visitor. I cannot claim to have personally met one of these Ghosts, but if it is listening, welcome, and I look forward to forging a lasting relationship between the Traveler, and the Triumvirate.]"

Valentin glanced to his right, as the Ghost materialized. It clicked and its fins spun. "[I am pleased to hear that, General Secretary.]"

Clovis waved a hand. "[In here we can dismiss the formalities. Clovis is sufficient, I will not take offense. Let us take a seat, Mr. Kozhukhov. We certainly have much to discuss.]"

"[Yes, we do,]" Valentin nodded and they each took a seat, angled opposite each other, with the backdrop of Moscow behind them. Clovis took a moment to note the expression on his face; surprised, but attempting to hide it. Nervous, but not as much as might be expected. Apprehensive in some part, but not overwhelming. For his part, Clovis' own expression was fully controlled.

It helped to have a poker face in situations like this.

"[I suspect you have a story you wish to tell,]" Clovis laced his fingers together, meeting the eyes of the younger Cosmonaut. "[Take your time; we are in no rush.]"

In this particular instance, he knew that it was going to be far more informative to listen than question. Valentin nodded. "[I warn you that some of this will be difficult to believe, but I will do my best to share what I experienced.]"

It was going to take quite a lot to surprise him, considering they had watched a formerly dead planet be transformed into a living one, and simultaneously seen hundreds of people transported from Mars to Earth in the blink of an eye. Yet Clovis had a feeling that, because Valentin doubtless also knew this, there was something truly unique he had to share.

And he most certainly did.

Clovis' poker face was put to the ultimate test as Valentin described the interior of the Traveler; something which sounded utterly fantastical and nonsensical, but there were enough details and tones he could observe from his face to indicate that he was not lying. He did not know especially what it meant, and to hear it described was difficult to visualize.

Paracausal. That was what the scientists had deemed it. With that context, this was almost exactly what he would expect from such an object or entity.

Then he began describing the vision, and Clovis was enraptured.

A tale of origin and creation rivaling any religion in its creativity, scale, and absurdity. No doubt there was actual scientific explanation for what had actually happened, but it was easily enough to convey the story of love, betrayal, and war that comprised it. A story of order and stagnation, and a conflict which had ravaged reality if he was understanding the implications.

A conflict that was described as still ongoing to this day.

This alien was not the only one of its kind.

This alien also had enemies.

Enemies which were capable of destroying worlds, corrupting and genociding species, and held swaths of the universe in their grasp.

Wonderful.

And now, like it or not, they were part of this war because the Traveler had arrived. If this Darkness had not sought them out before, it would now. It was a somewhat brilliant ploy – an easy method to convince a willing species to join in a crusade they previously had no part in. Of course, the implication was that their fate was sealed, and now with the Traveler, there was a chance at survival.

Clovis was not quite so naïve, and it seemed like this alien was similarly minded. That was reassuring in a way; a comprehensible objective and situation was something he could work with, and build an idea around.

Albeit one he would have to handle very, very carefully. He heard Valentin describe the many other species these Celestials had uplifted and weaponized against their enemy. Species which embodied the values of these higher beings; justice, compassion, loyalty, selflessness, and sacrifice.

Already he could see there were going to be some…philosophical differences between the Triumvirate and the Traveler, as he suspected that their definition was not quite the same as the alien hovering over Mars. However – the potential flashpoints were not severe enough to where it wanted to intervene.

It wanted to talk. Negotiate.

Perfect.

And with that, he had a plan.

Valentin finally finished, and Clovis took a few seconds to contemplate everything – or give that impression. He had determined the only viable path well-before Valentin had finished his tale. The vision retelling had given him all the context he needed. Sure, one could argue that taking such a vision seriously was folly of the highest order, and independent verification was necessary.

However, this was not an ordinary moment. This was not an ordinary situation. This was not an ordinary entity. Action needed to be taken now, else if the wrong move was made, the Triumvirate itself would collapse. It was clear that the Traveler was powerful beyond compare – but also desperate.

It was cut off, otherwise it would have returned to its people, or its arrival would have been heralded by the arrival of other ships of these allied species. No, it was unlikely to be here because it wanted to be – but because it had no choice. Humanity was something it was settling for, and that it needed them.

If it did not, it would destroy and wage war. He was most certainly not buying the reasoning that it 'wanted Humanity to decide its own path'. Please. Against such a supposed apocalyptic threat, such reasoning was beyond pathetic and naïve. It would work on a man like Valentin, but not him, nor anyone who had a more realistic view of the world.

They were in a poor situation here, but it wasn't necessarily as bad as he had feared. He had been dealt a very bad hand – but he had enough cards that if – and only if – he played them perfectly, he could win. A single mistake would not only be the end of him, but the Triumvirate.

Great care needed to be taken.

"[It is clear,]" he finally said. "[That great changes must be made.]"

Valentin seemed slightly surprised at that. "[In what way?]"

"[Well, it seems obvious, comrade,]" Clovis said, putting a touch of melancholy in his voice. "[I am not so blinded by history and ego that I cannot see the implications. We can ignore this threat that you describe, and continually focus on our internal politics and rivalries, or we can come together as a species against it.]"

He rapped his fingers on the table idly. "[Perhaps…perhaps it is time for the Triumvirate to transition. To meet this moment head-on, and to lead. With such a threat on the horizon, we can do no less, is that right?]"

"[I…yes. I almost expected more skepticism.]"

"[Ah, I've seen too much to be as skeptical as I once was,]" he chuckled. "[And I can tell if someone is lying, and I know that you, comrade, are not lying. I will not claim to understand the intricate nuances of what you experienced, but I understand enough to know the message you – and the Traveler wishes to convey to me. We are nothing if we cannot adapt, are we not?]"

"[I should certainly hope so, General Secretary,]" Valentin definitely seemed more relaxed now. Very good. "[I'm happy that you're open to changes. With what the Traveler offers, we can change our species for the better.]"

"[Indeed,]" Clovis smiled genuinely. "[I envision we will do great things. Of course, this must be done in conjunction with the Triumvirate. I will call a meeting with the heads of state, and together, we will formalize our alliance with the Traveler. As for you…]" He trailed off thoughtfully. "[You have the strongest connection to the Traveler, and she has clearly designated you as someone of note. Thus, I believe you would be useful as an advisor of sorts. To ensure that we remain within the acceptable bounds of her desires.]"

Clovis indicated the room. "[Fortunately, we have a place of residence here, if you are willing. I understand it is a significant responsibility, but one I believe you can rise to.]"

Valentin's eyes widened, and his voice reflected the shock. "[I…thank you, General Secretary. I will accept this position.]"

Decisive. Excellent. In this rare instance, putting someone into an 'oversight' position without any actual experience in oversight would prove to be a benefit. Valentin was a fairly smart man, but he was no genius. The first card had been played, and it was a success. If the Traveler had insisted upon using the Ghosts, it would be more problematic.

But this alien was generous with her trust. Exploitation needed to be done carefully.

Quietly.

The roles were set.

"[I'm pleased to hear it,]" Clovis stood and extended a hand which Valentin shook. "[Now! With this formality out of the way, I believe it is time to relax. There is a celebration happening below, one befitting of this momentous occasion. There are quite a few people interested in meeting you personally.]"

"[Me?]"

"[Of course!]" Clovis rested a fatherly hand on his shoulder. "[You are a national icon now, comrade. One who is being written into the history books as we speak. Enjoy, you earned it.]"

The man had doubtless been a skeptic of himself and the government when he'd entered the Kremlin, but looking into his eyes, Clovis could see that he was being won over. Perhaps this was all he needed – recognition and the impression that what he suggested was leading to change. And it most certainly would – though not necessarily in the way he intended.

Today was only the beginning of a long, treacherous, and dangerous game.

One he was determined to win.


TRIUMVIRATE INTELLIGENCE COMMAND | TAMPA | CONFEDERATION OF AMERICAN STATES

The sun had set and Hayden Fox sat silently in a dim room, the lights intentionally minimal. It reflected his mood right now, slow and methodical. No sounds played but the air conditioning which breezed through the room, with the light pattering of rain hitting the windows.

It was the end of the workday for most of Triumvirate Intelligence, and he considered joining his colleagues in turning in for the night. His wife would appreciate it, but she knew him well enough to not be alarmed at the fact that he would not arrive home until much later. No, she would know that something needed his attention.

And his attention was needed.

He had been in this line of work long enough to see certain patterns and implications most others could not, or simply did not want to see. The truth could be ugly, unsettling, and challenging, and this was a fundamental flaw of Human nature. People claimed they wanted the truth. But in reality, they did not. They only saw what they wanted to see; everything which did not fit into their pre-conceived bubble was swept aside and rejected.

Exceptions existed, of course, but they were minimal.

Even he was not immune to this, although he at least had the ability to look at the truth with some degree of objectivity, even if he could ignore it. One did not reach a position such as this without understanding this. So much of work was not telling the truth, but twisting it; outright lying in some cases, to achieve the necessary outcome.

Especially handy in politics.

It was tiring.

It was only going to get worse.

He'd thought that with Clovis Bray elected, perhaps the Triumvirate could get back on track; the growing schisms between the Triumvirate could be healed and the world would not degenerate into a third world war. In a sense, he had gotten what he'd wished for, but now there was another problem.

The Traveler.

He knew a trap when he saw one.

And the Traveler was offering bait. Irresistible; all-encompassing; all-powerful bait that even the most suspicious would find nearly impossible to ignore. He knew his peers, Clovis would no doubt believe that such an entity like the Traveler could be tricked and manipulated. Fooled into believing he could outwit an entity older than the entire Human species.

Fox was many things, but he was not arrogant enough to assume that this celestial entity could be manipulated.

At the very least, it could not be manipulated and end well.

He'd seen the transcripts and watched the videos of most of the Ares One crew who had returned – including the four who had been selected. The one terrorist had disappeared completely, as expected – though few were noticing the implications of that yet. He had perhaps the clearest picture out of everyone what was going on.

And it was a trap.

The Traveler was playing a game where all ends lead to a victory, the trap was a question of which victory it would get.

He couldn't even say it was a subtle trap. Clovis himself could see the trap, but was almost certainly arrogant enough to believe he could avert it. Yet after listening to the testimonies of the crew; how they had lived on Mars; how they had interacted with the Ghosts that had been assigned to them, it was clear – beyond a shadow of a doubt – that this was no naïve alien whose mercy could be exploited.

Not permanently.

This was not even getting into the reality that this alien was not alone, and that there were much worse things out there – one of which was coming for them…eventually. While in theory, the Traveler could be manufacturing consent for reshaping the Human race and such a threat didn't exist, or was so far off into the future it didn't matter, he didn't believe so.

If the alien wanted to conquer them, it could have.

If the alien wanted to shape them, it could do so.

If the alien wanted to destroy them, nothing could stop it.

Instead it was giving a choice. A clear one to his eyes, but a choice nonetheless.

He feared that the Triumvirate was not going to take the hint, and go down an irrevocably destructive path, which would be a disaster for everyone involved. The game was rigged against them, and they couldn't hope to change the rules, much less win. Not without a miracle. He had a feeling the Traveler also knew that, which was why she was giving his species a choice.

The question remained what he was to do next.

His ears picked up a new sound; a series of subtle clicks and twists he had tuned his ears to hearing after dozens of videos sighting them. For some reason, he was not surprised to turn his chair and see one of the Ghosts hovering in front of the window. This one was made of silver metal, no paint that he could see. A red eye glowed, flicking around as it appraised him.

It was a feat of engineering, and slightly unsettling, to witness how expressive these machines actually were.

"I will say," Fox said, leaning back in his chair. "That I did not expect to see one of you here."

The fins turned quizzically and a very generic male voice spoke. "Your basis for that assumption?"

"Drop the voice," he instructed with a waved hand. "I'd prefer we not speak with each other trying to exploit psychological weaknesses."

"If you insist," the Ghost's voice shifted to a robotic monotone, though not one completely devoid of emotion, but effectively genderless. "The question still stands."

"My assumption?" He raised an eyebrow. "Data, mixed with some extrapolations. Every member of Ares One who remained was disconnected from Triumvirate leadership, with the exception of Admiral Holliday, who is a rather unique case on her own. Your Traveler does not trust the Triumvirate, and I am among the highest placed."

"And you do not trust the Traveler?"

"Trust?" He smiled thinly at the Ghost. "No, not that. If anything, your creator is being remarkably transparent in her intentions. There is a saying we have, and it is applicable here. She is giving us enough rope to hang ourselves with."

"You do not believe your colleagues will be reliable."

Fox snorted. "Rhetorical questions I dislike, machine. I know that your Traveler is not likely pleased with certain functions of the Triumvirate, and if you expect the natural progression of nearly a century to cease because of a warning, I am afraid you are mistaken."

The Ghost bobbed in the air, shifting slightly. "The Traveler is confident in the individuals she had selected to pass along her message. You know that the Triumvirate is far from perfect, even as you perpetuate it. You know that there must be change – and that the status quo is far from ideal."

"Is it?" Fox laced his fingers together. "I happen to disagree with that."

"On which part?"

"That the status quo is far from ideal," Fox said. "I do not know if you appraised our history. Let us say that if the Triumvirate had not existed, it is very likely that we would have destroyed ourselves through nuclear apocalypse. It is miraculous that the leaders at the time were pragmatic enough to put aside their many, many differences, and find a path – no matter how brutal – that would not kill us."

He shrugged. "A nuclear cold war was averted. We have been at peace for decades now and we are not on the verge of another near-disaster. If the Triumvirate didn't exist, we would be in a perpetual state of a cold war, with a dozen nuclear states pointing their weapons around the world."

"But they would not do so, because it would ensure their own destruction," the Ghost pointed out.

"I'm aware of the mutually-assured destruction theorem," Fox said evenly. "And I am not willing to wager the entire Human species on it. It doesn't matter if the majority believe they will never have to use their weapons – it only takes one to trigger an apocalypse. We are not on the cusp of nuclear war, and so long as the Triumvirate exists, we never will be. Pandora's box has been opened, and it can never be closed again. For this reason alone the Triumvirate must endure."

"And that is how you justify the actions the Triumvirate has taken in the interim?"

"Justify? No," Fox shook his head. "But I hate the revisionist history employed by the so-called 'freedom fighters' and critics in Israel and Canada. Pakistan outright stated their intent to use a nuclear weapon on India. Australia and Japan were conspiring to release a bioweapon in Beijing. South America was overrun with despots and corruption."

He fixed his eyes on the Ghosts. "In each situation the Triumvirate exploited the conditions already there. It did not spontaneously happen. The so-called democracies that detractors claim were crushed by the Americans and Soviets were rare and misleading. How exactly do you think South America fell without enough corrupt officials and a lack of state power to permit it? How did the Soviets engineer worker revolutions if the conditions were not already to the point where so many only saw revolution as the solution? In both cases they merely exploited the situation, not create it."

Fox sighed. "Irrespective of methods, the fact remains that every single region touched by the Triumvirate is more stable and secure than it was before. Condemn the methods, I will not contest that the Triumvirate went too far in some cases, but understand that the few who dream of the past have in mind something which does not exist."

"Your acknowledgement does you credit," the Ghost twitched. "That is rare for an official in your position."

Fox narrowed his eyes. "I would be a poor director of this esteemed office if I was unaware or ignorant of the facts, irrespective of the Triumvirate's own whitewashing of the past and present."

"And you perpetuate the Triumvirate, even knowing what they have done and continue to do?"

"Yes," Fox straightened. "And I assume you want to know why. My purpose, and the purpose of the Triumvirate Intelligence Service, is to preserve the Triumvirate. That was unlikely to have been the original intent, but that is what it has become."

"Why?"

"Because if we do not, then it is the end of the world as we know it," Fox said, each word deliberate. "The Triumvirate are allies – but they are ultimately independent of each other. They are run by men and women who are flawed and centered on the power of themselves and their nation. Our job is not to protect the Triumvirate from some unknown outside threat – it is to make sure it doesn't collapse from within. We know – all of us do – that if we fail, we trigger the third world war that we will be lucky to survive."

He shook his head. "To be as blunt as I can me, Ghost, it is over. The Triumvirate won before I was born. The only thing I can do is make sure it doesn't fall apart. If it collapses, we are unprepared for what will follow."

The Ghost hovered silently for a few moments. "You believe that now, the Triumvirate will collapse."

"Brought down, is how I would describe it," Fox looked out over the Tampa skyline. "You do not understand how these men and women think. I am not naïve enough to believe that they can outwit an entity like the Traveler, and I also do not believe your patron understands the consequences of what happens if the Triumvirate falls. Anarchy, violence, revolution. You will not have a united Humanity, you will inherit a splinted and warring one. Our species is not enlightened enough to see past pointless division; to move to a people beyond nationalism, religion, and race."

"You are a pessimist, I see."

"Forgive me for understanding my species better than you, drone."

"You used the example of Pandora's box." The Ghost met his eyes. "Two things came out of said box."

"Sickness and death." Fox replied, ignoring the correct answer.

The Ghost whirred. "It is, perhaps, too early for you to decide what is inevitable. You are a man of influence – using it should be your first resort."

"I certainly will," he said. "Though I will not be surprised if my suggestions fall on deaf ears. I hope your patron is vigilant, and understands the consequences of actions taken."

"I can assure you," the Ghost said, floating a bit closer to him. "The Traveler always has a plan."

Fox gave the machine a single nod. "Then for the sake of everyone, let us hope it works out."

For no plan survives contact with the enemy, he did not say.

The Ghost blinked out of existence, and left Fox alone, staring out into the darkness, and contemplating the uncertain future that threatened to be tumultuous.


TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER VIII | POTENTIAL


A/N: New season is out, and it's a pretty interesting one. Think we may be entering a period of good Destiny writing. Am optimistic about the current writing team, although some of the things implied in Beyond Light are...well, they need to executed well unless Bungie is prepared to do a lot of severe retcons. Cautiously excited, and lots of interesting stuff to adapt here. Gotten a few questions since the last update, and I tend to address those in PMs or on the Discord. Story updates aren't really the place for in-depth answers on questions, but I am more than happy to engage outside it.

Thank you all for reading, as usual!

- Xabiar