ACT II | THE TYRANT'S HUNGER


CHAPTER XIII | HUNGER


RESISTANCE OUTPOST RAM | SAUDI ARABIA | REPUBLIC OF INDIAN TERRITORIES

Traveling was something that Hamaza preferred to limit, especially as he got older. Ignoring the assassination risks inherent in leaving the relative security of Israel – an irony which was not lost on him – he was old, and was quite aware of the risks of catching a disease or exhausting himself.

Unfortunately, with the threat facing the Middle East, all of them had to make sacrifices and take risks. He could only put his faith in God and Amjah's soldiers to protect him. It was very unlikely the Indians knew where their outposts were, especially the ones in the deep Saudi deserts.

The Indians had primarily focused on the cities in their initial conquests. They weren't interested in hunting in the mountains, deserts, and caves, which had allowed the Resistance to continue to thrive in the region. "Civilization" was what they wanted to control, and the little fiefdoms that held Indian puppets were controlled, and allowed the hand of New Delhi to have a vast, if weak grip.

A grip which was expected to tighten with the appointment of General Arjun Gala and STAG. It was a name he had not heard in a very, very long time, and one he had hoped that he would never have to hear again. He had only known the rumors of the man's butchery, as he had been infamous even prior to the Resistance's founding.

Certain people were born with a talent, andwith the skill, position, and intellect to make said talent even more profound. Arjun Gala was one such man. Hamaza's desk had no shortage of reminders of why Arjun was taken off the field.

He was known as the Butcher of Arabia, for defeating a force three times his own and slaughtering the fleeing remnants. They called him the Demon of the Sands after he routed every last insurgent group that sprang up after the fall of the Saudi royals.

History labeled him the Indian Mao for his stellar career in 'crowd control' and 'population management' - fanciful doublespeak for his hobby of breaking his enemies. Everywhere the Indians sent Arjun, he displayed the same relentless, overpowering, and indiscriminate cruelty.

Hamaza knew, beyond a doubt, that Arjun enjoyed his reputation. There was a gleeful, enthusiastic demeanor to his hideous acts. An undercurrent of joy pervaded his actions.

The Indians had armed, sanctioned, and granted authority to a man so gruesome that his own allies found him distasteful. From his quiet, insignificant corner, where his infamy could fade, they brought him back. The message could not be clearer.

They had not sent a peacekeeper.

They had not sent a simple killer.

They had sent a problem solver.

Hamaza needed to know how the situation was on the ground. Reports alone gave little more than a sanitized, dispassionate view into reality. He needed to see the truth for himself. What better way than to meet one of the most veteran, skilled, and well-trained cell leaders in Arabia?

Afeed Dar El-Din had been there when the Indians first struck, and, of all cell leaders he knew personally, Afeed was the only one who could possibly contend with this adversary and give him a clear view of the ground situation.

The outpost was in a cave, and Hamaza wrinkled his nose at the dank, musty smell mixed with the odors of the many soldiers who inhabited it, all of whom were likely used to it to some degree. Unpleasant, but a mild inconvenience, compared to what his eyes saw. Bandages, the reek of sickness and the iron smell of blood. Men, rifles on their shoulders, eyes downcast, prayer beads wrapping their hands.

Their eyes lit up as they saw him. He still felt it was a marvel to see the Sunnis revere him so, even if he should be used to it by now. The soldiers he passed cleared the way for him, several with bandages caked in blood and viscera shot up, saluted him with their rifles, even as pain was clear on their eyes.

"[Ayatollah.]" The whispers grew.

"[Ayatollah.]" From a man missing a leg.

"[The Ayatollah!]" The voices grew, hopeful, stubborn, with hunger he couldn't quite place.

He didn't pass a single man, not one, that did not have a wound on him. Queasiness settled over him, as every gaze locked on him became a weight. He could hear prayers, louder now, more profoundly voiced out.

As if his presence changed things. Their lives, their hopes, placed on him.

Amjah was gently prodding him to the meeting room, which was little more than an isolated cave, and Hamaza somewhat reluctantly followed, to get to the business they had come for. Still, he would not come all this way just to ignore the needs of the people who were clinging for some, any hope that could be offered, even from a Shia cleric.

Quite ironic that it took their faith itself being threatened to move beyond the sectarian violence of the past. Not forgotten, of course, but in the face of annihilation at the hands of the Triumvirate, theology was not something to kill each other over. Blessings in disguise, even in the darkest of times.

And times now were dark. Not since the fall of Iran had Hamaza felt the sense of impending doom and hopelessness threaten to become overwhelming. Not necessarily for himself, death had long ago lost its means to concern him, but many did not have his ironclad faith, but others who did not. Though he did fear the collapse of all he had cobbled together.

If the Resistance fell, it would truly be the end for a free Humanity.

Thankfully though, many chose to stand against the sword falling upon them, through whatever means were necessary. The curtain separating the command tent from the rest of the cave was pulled aside, the guard holding it open for him.

With a deferential head nod, the guard let the tent close behind him.

"[Grand Ayatollah, it is our first time meeting face to face]" he was greeted by a notably young man, who couldn't have been many years older than Amjah himself. He wore the clothing of many of the soldiers here, cobbled-together desert gear, with knives, water flasks, and an assault rifle slung over the shoulder.

Desert weathered-skin bore small cuts on his cheek, on a face where resigned brown eyes stared out. A small beard grew, not especially well-maintained, but not wild either. It bore irregularities and jagged cuts that meant it was likely trimmed with scissors or a knife. He was definitely Arabic, though Hamaza couldn't immediately tell which region he came from, likely Omani or Yemeni if forced to guess.

"[Welcome, I'd offer you something to eat and drink, but I had not had the chance]" the man said. "[I've been afraid someone else would visit, the men are relieved to see you. There are things you need to personally know. I am Shaheed Al-Najar, effectively in command of these brothers.]"

His grip was firm compared to the Grand Ayatollah's withered one. "[Where is Afeed? I had been hoping to meet him]"

The young man raised a box, a large metal box. "[On that, I think you need to see what the Butcher has sent us]"

A feeling of dread grew, but he steeled himself and opened the box.

Hamaza's heart plummeted.

Afeed's blank eyes stared out. His head sheared from his body, with what could only be a chainsaw, his face trapped in a rictus of horror and pain. The young man silently closed the box. "[This one was directly addressed to you. Every last cell in the region has had several of these sent.]"

Hamaza took a breath, briefly closing his eyes before asking: "[How many?]"

"[Two thirds of our safe houses. Six hundred men, most of our emergency supply caches, most of our informants, nearly all regional headquarters.]" Shaheed tallied the butcher's tally. "[Every figure of note who was in effective striking distance is now dead, head sent to us as a gift.]"

In the dim light of the tent lamp, Shaheed eyes glimmered. "[The Butcher of Arabia has returned. And he's sent us a welcome gift.]" With a flick of his hand, he threw a letter on the table. "[As I said, addressed to you.]"

Hamza picked up the letter and read.

To the Grand Ayatollah and His Dogs

I am profoundly touched and moved by the depths of your men's loyalty. With no small amount of respect, I inform you that they have performed admirably. As admirably as any man could, when he is executed humanely and peacefully.

Hereby, as one moved to the core by the bravery of your pet animals, I make you a promise. Soon you will not have to spend your nights worrying about any of your street mutts, I believe a time frame of four months is a humble one, for such a magnamious promise.

To these ends, I also wish to inform you that I have sent you a gift. A gift I will repeat with every man who bears your banner.

Mayhaps you will make a collection of them?

With Utmost Sincerity,

- General Arjun Gala, Special Anti-Terrorism Garrison (STAG)

Hamaza's hand set down the letter numbly. "[You seem unbothered.]" It was difficult not to let the accusation ring, for the words slipped out faster than he could hold them back.

"[I am familiar with the Demon of the Sands.]" Shaheed's eyes seemed haunted. "[I've seen his smile, face to face, eye to eye, I remember his features. I remember his demeanor and intellect. For as long as I could bear a weapon, that memory had helped me fight. I am not unbothered by this man, but I no longer freeze upon his very name.]"

"[The pain is old, it does not hurt anymore, many of us here would have gone mad if it didn't stop hurting,]" he continued with a neutral tone. "[Did your reports tell you, Ayatollah, what he did to our tribes and families, out in the sands?]"

"[I've heard the stories.]"

"[Arjun's men were the ones writing those reports, and many of us were boys then. He captured our tribes. Sold the women and girls off to the Chinese black markets, or to Indian elites. I remember well how my mother and sisters screamed, back then, after that he had his soldiers cut off the tongues of our fathers, sent them to mines and sweatshops run by his men, they could tell no tales, nor end their lives.]"

"[For us? The sons?]" Shaheed smiled, a smile that bore suppressed hatred. "[He gave us weapons, had his men train us, and then used us for live fire exercise to bloody his men. There were hundreds of us, back then, there were a few dozen by the end of the first four months. He took a liking to me, and my friends. We survived and killed most of the unblooded men he sent against us, you see.]"

Hamaza felt his fists clench around the letter. "[You need not tell me of your pains, I understand it enough.]"

Heedless, Shaheed continued. "[He made us a deal. Among us, we had to pick half of us to wear suicide vests for an operation he needed done, easier to sneak in kids than grown men. He would kill us, if those we picked didn't do the job. The rest of us, he'd let us go. He lied]"

"[When the suicide attack was done, he had us lined up and shot, then he threw us into the latrines. No evidence of ill deeds when there are pigs to eat the corpses. I survived by pretending to be dead.]"

From the ground, Shaheed picked up a folder. "[From start to finish, he had not wasted a single thing he was given. He sold the women for funds and connections, the captured men as manpower, us as training and war practice. No motion wasted. No resource wasted. Not a breath, wasted.]"

Shaheed looked at Hamaza. Through him, through his eyes and almost beyond him. "[This is the Butcher of Arabia, the Demon of the Sands, he has mastered his art. He lives and breathes violence, and now? He has all the support he needs to finish what he started.]"

The man's voice was deliberately neutral as he described the atrocities, ones which Hamaza had heard the stories of, but so few had survived he hadn't often encountered them in person. So Shaheed was a Bedouin then, or had been raised as such. Given where Arjun had been stationed, he was likely Yemeni then. "[And no one remains to hold him back.]"

"[Back then, he had to make do with what he had, few liked him, fewer enjoyed his existence]" Shaheed said, opening the folder. "[Now. Now he is our nightmare.]" He nodded to Amjah, as the Quds Force commander took the lead.

"[I've made some inquiries,]" Amjah began. "[Checked with the Israelis and British to see not just what he's doing, but what happened once he was removed. The British had little, but the Israelis had a source.]"

Amjah's tone was grim, as it was with everything to do with this subject. "[He was smart enough to stay out of politics. The Indians effectively retired him with honors - quietly - and he's spent most of his time backing Hindu hardliners. When Gopal was killed...well, the hardliners are in power now. His political connections have paid off, and he's back. This time there aren't going to be any moderates to restrain him]"

"[With the death of Gopal, they needed a sign of power, of authority,]" Shaheed was silent for a few moments. "[What better symbol of their might, than their very own demon?]"

"[Do they think this will go unnoticed?]" Hamaza said. "[A monster such as him couldn't possibly not raise attention.]"

"[If he were only a mere beast,]" a brief pause. "[Arjun Gala will find holes, he will find loopholes, and with every day that passes, he will choke the life out of us without a hint, nor moment, of trepidation. The rules have changed, but he's long mastered this game.]"

Fingertips rested on a chipped wooden table. "[STAG is his own proof, a little challenge to his usual methods. He's already adapted, and his men will die before speaking a word of his misdeeds. Religion, racism, and nationalism are powerful tools. Women and money will ensure the silence of any others.]"

There was an uncomfortable silence. "[Arjun was the architect of the attempted Arab holocaust,]" Shaheed finally continued. "[And he didn't do it out of hate, no, only to finish us off and remove the enemy. Convenience, as if we were pests, insects to be killed.]"

Shaheed paused, then chuckled at that. "[No, I suppose it isn't even that. He does it purely because he likes it; likes to do his job well. I have told you all of this, to make you realize that there will be no victory this time. No one on this side of the planet can out plan, out fight, or out smart him. All of us in Arabia are now dead men walking.]"

He opened his own folder, and showed them the first array of pictures. "[You've probably known the Triumvirate are making new weapons, but keeping them under wraps. Arabia is the testing grounds for them. The newest generation of machine guns, each round weighing a full sixty percent less, with twice the hitting power, electrochemical-thermal igniters, recoil absorbing barrels, more accurate, more advanced, and the prototypes already disseminated.]"

Next, a man in black colored armor. Sleek plates, and a helmet with optical lenses attached. An assault rifle of a model none of them could recognise held in their hands.

"[Full body armor, head to toe, breathable kevlar, our current weapons are nearly useless,]" Shaheed continued. "[Short of the optical lens, anything short of hollow points and high caliber rounds only bruises or cracks bones. Our small arms might as well be pellets. That rifle? Same technology, same ammunition, same recoil barrel. Another prototype, said to nearly never jam, and barely need maintenance.]"

Next, a humanoid robot, heavy, armored and armed head to toe. In its hand it carried the machine gun, on its shoulder a grenade launcher, and on it's spare arm a ballistics shield. Besides it, a hover drone with an assault rifle attached.

"[Mechanical robotic shock troops, anything short of a heavy caliber sniper or an anti-tank weapon does little beyond push it around.]" Shaheed pointed. "[Only a few of those used, thankfully. Field testing. That drone? Linked to an experimental AI running the robot, flanks nigh perfectly. All prototypes, limited deployment, but it doesn't matter. Lost sixty men to them alone.]"

Next, a series of men dashing across the street, a heavy suit of armor around them. Obvious mechanical elements exposed, and heavier rifles carried in their hands.

"[Mechanical infantry,]" he jerked his chin at another picture. Of a wall being caved in with a punch. "[A single squad - probably the only one using this equipment - took on an entire safe house, not a scratch, pin point accurate aim.]"

More, and more, pictures of mechanical rovers armed with machine guns. Helicopters dropping these robotics from the air, straight into a fortified building to wreak havoc. On and on, endlessly, repetitively, hammering the point of their inferiority until it became absurdity.

Amjah spoke first when Shaheed had finished. "[This isn't sustainable. Liberman said that the Triumvirate was getting ready to deploy more advanced weaponry, but if it's all of this caliber…]" he shook his head. "[We need a serious reassessment. These tools in the hands of the Butcher of Arabia will result in nothing less than a complete loss if we don't have a plan.]"

Hamaza hated it, but he could see no other true alternative. Life was preferable to slaughter. "[We will need to summon the Resistance Council to determine a solution to this. We can't completely abandon Arabia, Butcher or no. If our operations are pushed to the Levant, it will be over.]"

"[Then we need smaller cells, or consolidation in the north,]" Amjah rebutted. "[The Quds has supported the cells here for years, but it's been primarily material and training support. Not operational. We need to take control if this needs to be salvaged. Arjun is an expert against insurgency. We don't have a choice.]"

"[Yes,]" Hamaza turned back to Shaheed. "[I've seen the condition you and your men are in. What you've shown me only confirms this. Your men need to retreat and heal, and there are other locations they can be sent to.]"

"[No.]"

There was a pause.

"[No?]" Hamaza asked.

"[No]" Shaheed repeated.

"[They think they have us]" Shaheed said, voice heated. "[That we're afraid of them, that we'll run and die like rats and dogs. That we're vermin, our time ending!]" His fist hit the table, dust rose in the air. "[No. Not when they've shown the chink in the armor, the crack in their blades!]"

"[The Indians are corrupt, heart, body and mind.]" Shaheed grinned. "[Their fanaticism hides incompetence, their power hides their fragility, and their victory makes them indulgent. Arjun may be a master at killing and hunting us - but that is his only strength. Already they are indulging in their presumed victory. They've moved their factories here, they've left laboratories undefended, scientists left unguarded, they've unsecured a hundred and one civilian weaknesses.]"

With a sweep of his hand, Shaheed gestured all around him. "[Our deaths are sealed in stone, Ayatollah, we are all dead men walking. There is no escape from that.]"

"[The absolute last thing we need right now is martyrs,]" Amjah said sharply. "[I don't care how brave you are, throwing your life away for the sake of it won't bring you to Paradise. There is no glory and honor in submitting to defeat - not when the war is not yet lost. We need you, and your men alive.]"

"[Not for nothing, never that,]" Shaheed bared his teeth. "[Just because we are dead, does not mean our deaths can or will be for nothing. Our last efforts, our last breath will be in service of shattering the wheel and acting as the poison that sickens their regime. We will not die for nothing. But we will not abandon our homes, because if we do, we will never see them again.]"

"[What can be done, then?]" Hamaza asked, lifting a hand to forestall Armjah's response.

"[Take their power, to sacrifice our lives for the rest of the resistance,]" Shaheed said. "[Of all the Triumvirate, none are as exposed as the Indians are, right now. I beg of you, Ayatollah, let us die with dignity. Do not give us a false hope of victory, not when this, is the only hope we can have, the only possible chance we could grasp. Allow us this final service, even if it is only a vain death.]"

"[Specifics,]" Hamaza insisted. "[I do not accept vain deaths, Shaheed. I will not endorse your jihad for the sake of it.]"

"[Answer me one question,]" Amjah interjected. "[You say their factories and labs are vulnerable.]"

"[Yes,]" Shaheed said with a sharp nod. "[Arjun wants a localized war machine. I'd assume he wants Arabia as his fiefdom when its finished, and needs it to have a strong industrial and research base. We've been too disorganized and hurt to strike - now that we have our breaths, we can perhaps have a chance.]"

Amjah unexpectedly had a gleam in his eye. He looked to Hamaza. "[There may be something we can do. Something which could occupy Arjun.]"

Hamaza's brow furrowed. "[What do you speak of?]"

"[The Egyptians,]" Amjah said. "[Any research and schematics recovered are useless to us. Israel doesn't have a strong industrial base, nor could the UK do such without invasion. Egypt has one that can work - limited as it is.]"

Hamaza bristled. "[The Egyptians are not our allies or friends.]"

"[The enemy of my enemy is my friend,]" Amjah retorted. "[And Egypt is no friend of the Triumvirate. I imagine they've been spooked with Morocco - they refused to deal with us before. Times have changed. Frankly, Ayatollah, we don't have a choice.]"

As far as their options went, Hamaza knew he was right. As unreliable as the Egyptians were...the end was being reached. Egypt, or at least the military, were cognizant of what was coming. If there was ever a time for new alliances, it would be now. With the apathy of the Traveler, and growing Triumvirate aggression, their hand was being forced.

Hamaza fixed his eyes on the young man. "[You have enough men to carry this out? To strike their labs and factories to extract their technology?]"

A nod. "[Enough. There are a few Houthi cells that are still functioning, and there are some disparate ones in southern Oman that can be contacted. We can get it done...with some help. Guns. Medicine. Officers if they can be spared, as Arjun has decimated our own.]"

Hamaza exchanged a glance with Amjah, who nodded. "[I'll have the Quds establish a permanent presence. We can get you what you need and support what we can - so long as it is successful. If you're right, then we'll help you as long as we can. If you misjudged their apathy, we will reassess.]"

"[There will be no need,]" Shaheed said, his eyes gleaming in anticipation. "[We know what we must do. The coming end will be not be silence of defeat, it will be our laughter in defiance of it.]"

"[Good,]" Amjah nodded once. "[Then let's start talking specifics.]"


THE KREMLIN | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION

"[Barring some setbacks, this has proceeded quite well,]" Clovis said, leaning back in his chair as Luka finished his assessment. It was a private Soviet meeting, for once not involving any of the outside Triumvirate – or eavesdropping alien puppets. They would, of course, be brought into the loop eventually, but Clovis figured it was prudent to move some pieces into place with his own people, some knowing the full scope of the plan, others not.

Good to preempt what would come next.

"[Indeed, General Secretary,]" Luka conceded. "[The next steps will be crucial, however.]"

"[Of which I am certainly aware,]" Clovis waved a hand dismissively, though straightened in his seat. "[Let's move to the plan over the next few months. Commander, you may begin.]"

"[Of course, General Secretary,]" Commander Calumet nodded, standing in her dress uniform and formally stiff as expected when addressing a superior. She clicked a remote and the screen across the table displayed several maps. "[Our priority is twofold – the pacification of the terrorist threat and the management of the dissident states. Chairman Ulyanin has briefed you on the steps the KGB are taking to counter these terrorists, but we are seeing far more overt military action from them.]"

Clovis smiled. "[They are going to war.]"

"[As much as these terrorists can,]" Calumet confirmed. "[Attacks are up by three hundred percent, targeting government, military, and industrial targets. Irregular bands of militias, asymmetrical tactics. There is more coordination and strategy from them than previously indicated.]"

"[No civilians?]" Zarin asked, the Chief Foreign Ambassador with a frown on her face.

"[Depends on what we define as 'civilian',]" Calumet grunted, making a face. "[They seem to be cutting back on pure terror attacks. Government officials are still valid targets, as is civilian infrastructure. Power grids, hospitals, farms, all fair game. Law enforcement is having difficulties keeping up in the rural areas, though is seeing success in urban centers thanks to KGB integration.]" Luka nodded in acknowledgement.

"[If I may add, we cannot overlook the digital element in the urban enforcement,]" Alton Bray said. "[Our anti-terrorist messaging has resonated with the public. Approximately sixty-two percent of terrorism charges in the past two weeks were thanks to initial civilian reporting. We should continue encouraging that.]"

"[Agreed,]" Calumet concurred. "[Unsurprisingly, the Middle East has been the most porous. Though attacks have been stifled since the deployment of Arjun Gala and the new Indian STAG. Right now there has been some nominal stability in southern Arabia, though it remains to be seen if it can be maintained.]"

Clovis shook his head at that. Arjun Gala, a truly despicable man, one who was going to make his life significantly more complicated in the coming week. Fiendishly intelligent, a killer without equal - and all of the wisdom and foresight of a sloth. It was almost sad how prejudice and baseless hatred could destroy the potential of a man who could have done great things.

Wasted on his obsession with Arabs. A pity. Arjun was nothing more than a weak man who could only feel strong when ruthlessly oppressing those smaller than him. It reflected poorly on the Indians that such a man had been restored, though it was perhaps unsurprising. Blood they wanted, and Arjun would draw it.

"[Is it confirmed the Indians are using next-generation military hardware in the field?]" Luka asked dryly, rhetorically. He knew the answer, but wanted it for the record.

"[Yes,]" Calumet nodded. "[Arjun wants the terrorists pacified within six months. He's ordered acceleration of prototype deployments. Field testing has been his pitch. We requested he hold off, but the Indians have declined.]"

Clovis' smile was thin. "[Wonderful. There is a non-zero chance the Resistance will acquire next-generation weapons in the future.]"

"[Correct, but it won't change the outcome,]" Calumet shrugged. "[A few more casualties, but they don't have the resources to match the Indians. Irritating as it is, it isn't the issue. That will be once people realize Arjun is back. A potential political crisis will brew. The Indian's won't back down, but I doubt certain individuals will keep quiet either.]"

Unfortunately correct. That was a headache he was going to have to deal with at some point, and it was reaching the point where it might be worth cutting the Indians out altogether.

There was no way the Traveler was going to tolerate an Indian butcher, which meant that he was going to have to be dealt with in some manner. It would be so much easier if the Indians weren't involved in so many Triumvirate projects, and because they were, it made this more complicated. "[I'll be speaking with Interim President Sardar about the appointment and...operations.]"

"[Yes,]" Zarin said. "[We should get in front of this and take a public stance. I can get the Americans on board no problem, the Chinese might wash their hands of it.]"

"[Begin doing that,]" Clovis ordered, before returning to Calumet. "[Do continue.]"

She did. "[The Chinese are keeping control well enough, though the majority of terrorist attacks are elsewhere. The CIA is working to keep South America under strict control, while the mainland has been largely untouched.]"

Interesting, that prompted more consideration. "[Deliberate or coincidental?]"

"[Both, if I had to assess,]" Luka interjected. "[The mainland States are the solid upper class of Americans. They are in the heart of the American influence, similar to how Russia is for us. They are less susceptible to terrorist messaging, and the Confederation has closer control over the propaganda networks. They absolutely retain their hold over the south, but there are far more opportunities for terrorists to grow networks beyond the grip of Washington. It may also be that they want to avoid antagonizing the Americans unnecessarily. The Resistance has always primarily been against the Chinese and Indians, thanks to the scattered diasporas of Japanese, Australians, and Arabs.]"

"[Noted,]" Clovis laced his fingers together. The assessment made sense. "[Continue, Commander.]"

"[We've tracked the mobilization of the rogue nations too, and there are changes,]" Calumet changed the screens to show satellite images of trucks, soldiers, and bases. "[Israel has raised the alert to the second-highest level, likely in response to the Indians moving soldiers near their border.]"

"[Likelihood of armed conflict?]"

"[Depends on how much the Indians want to push them,]" Calumet's face tightened. "[The Indians are led by hardliners now, and they are screaming for war. There is potential for an immediate crisis within the next six months, especially since Gala is in charge.]"

"[Agreed,]" Clovis nodded.

"[As far as the British and Canadians mobilizing, there is evidence they are preparing, but considering the terror attacks, this is not surprising,]" Calumet continued, changing the images respectively. "[Luka has already briefed on their financial ties to the terrorists, so I will not repeat, suffice to say both are calculating that the situation will stabilize.]"

"[Easy to do when they have a guarantee they won't be hurt,]" Clovis commented. "[Right, let's move this forward. The rogue states must be neutered or captured. Zarin, if you would.]"

"[Yes, General Secretary,]" Zarin stood, clearing her throat. "[Obviously, we must approach this carefully. Despite the public disagreement expressed by Cosmonaut Valentin, we handled Morocco by the book, and public approval is overwhelmingly on your side, especially in light of the surge of terrorist attacks.]"

Indeed, it had been. It had been a gamble and a short-term crisis, but one which seemed like it was going to pay off. It was far easier to convince people of your militaristic actions when terrorists roamed and struck. The Other was not worth protecting; not for nebulous "values" or "principles". Such were only held by a small number of people. Everyone else was more than willing to follow the narrative.

Everyone wanted to consider themselves the good guys, after all.

"[So the plan will be the same?]" Clovis asked. "[Media campaign and joint public statements, concluding with annexation?]"

"[Not exactly,]" Zarin said. "[We need to engage economically, diplomatically, and militarily. Britain and Israel are nuclear powers, and unfortunately cannot be treated like Morocco.]"

She was right about that. "[That will be difficult to do with Britain,]" Clovis mused. "[Their hatred of us runs deep.]"

"[But they are not fools,]" Zarin said. "[The Queen and Royal Family are pragmatic. They can see the writing on the wall, especially when we confront them with knowledge that their companies are being used to funnel money to Israel, who directly funds the terrorists.]"

"[They'll deny it,]" Alton snorted.

"[In public, yes, in private, perhaps not,]" Zarin said. "[General Secretary, the Queen has agreed to meet in exactly two months following your correspondence. That will prove an excellent starting point. Prior to that, we should have our teams quietly cut off the most egregious companies. No media campaign – not until we know how the British want to play this.]"

Clovis nodded. "[Feasible. We're not in a rush.]"

"[And the same with Israel,]" Zarin said. "[A meeting should be set up.]"

Clovis raised his eyebrow. "[I will not meet with a rogue terrorist state.]"

Zarin met his piercing gaze. "[Do we want to do this by the book or not?]"

"[The British might capitulate,]" Clovis said. "[In what world will Israel do the same? They would nuke Jerusalem itself before surrendering to us.]"

"[Optics, General Secretary,]" Alton shared an agreeing nod with Zarin. "[We want to do this right, both for the public and for our friend in the stars. Terror state or not, we have little to lose by making the attempt. I can ensure its framed as an ultimatum, and not a simple negotiation. There will effectively be no lie.]"

"[And Israel might make it simple,]" Zarin said. "[They might refuse outright.]"

Clovis didn't like it, but he could begrudgingly see their perspective. He loathed giving legitimacy to the terror state, but it would at least give the illusion that he was seeking a diplomatic solution first. Valentin at least couldn't complain about it, and that was certainly worth something. "[Fine. Arrange it if you wish.]"

"[Of course, General Secretary.]"

"[Speaking of our diplomatic efforts, how goes our African summit?]"

Zarin briefly consulted her tablet. "[On schedule. It's difficult wrangling all of the nations into one place, but Morocco seems to have spooked them into complying, especially since we have the whole of the Triumvirate pressing for a summit.]"

"[Excellent,]" The proposed African summit was going to determine the future of the continent one way or another. An agreement which would solidify the relationship between it and the Triumvirate, forever tying it to them. It would be a slow process if successful, but like the Americans and South America, it would begin the inevitable march towards assimilation into the Triumvirate properly.

And if there was refusal? Well, they had best hope they were not sheltering terrorists. At best they could expect sanctions until their nations collapsed into warlord states – from which the Triumvirate would heroically enter and bring order to the unruly country. At least he suspected that no one would be foolish enough to be photographed with the Grand Ayatollah himself.

He still couldn't believe that had happened. Oh well, their mistake.

"[I believe that wraps our foreign policy discussion,]" Clovis said, shifting in his seat again as he cleared his throat. There were other matters to discuss. "[We can shift to our production and research. Alton, give me the latest.]"

"[Of course,]" Alton said without a beat, shifting to give a long technological and sales update. "[BrayTech has continued development of…]"

The following discussion was long, detailed, and interesting to some degree, but Clovis knew that most of it was contingent on other, more important factors. So long as the rogue nations were in play, and the infernal alien had the power to bring it all down, the promised utopia remained a dream.

Yet one he was striving to every day, step by tiny step.


KNESSET | TEL AVIV | ISRAEL

The Israelis had made their demands clear. He was to come alone, no KGB, Red Guard, or military forces. He was to carry no weapons and submit himself to an inspection. He was to be escorted by Israeli soldiers and Mossad agents. He was permitted to have one media outlet accompany him if he so wished. He would be accompanied and watched every step of the way. Breaking any of these rules was grounds for arrest.

Bold and arrogant of them. He knew full well that they had written these, fully expecting him to turn them down. After all, who would willingly walk into such a hostile state with no protection or help? If there was ever a perfect metaphor for walking into the lion's den, entering the State of Israel alone certainly qualified. Most would reject the Israeli conditions.

Clovis Bray, however, was not most people.

In truth, he was mildly surprised the Israelis had responded at all. The secret correspondence between the Soviet Union and Israel was the first formally conducted in decades. Both had attacked each other in statements released to the media, but government talks of all types had simply not existed.

After all, why would they? Israel was a rogue state, an avowed enemy of the wider Triumvirate, hanging the threat of nuclear devastation over the world. What room for negotiation was there? Personally, Clovis felt this was going to accomplish little, but at least none could say he hadn't made an effort.

Ironically, it was probably going to be easier to deal with the Israelis than the Indians. He was fairly certain he could have a civil conversation with Israel, while it was much harder to convince a group of hardliners to taper back their bloodlust. Ah, the joys of being the de-facto leader of this group.

The air was a comfortable temperature today, for what little he was outside. The Israelis hadn't taken chances relying on Soviet promises. A private Israeli plane was sent to a secret airport, where he boarded with Israeli soldiers standing within. He'd forgone the option of a media outlet – it was prudent to keep this under wraps for now. A dozen, with complete uniforms and machine guns, with a full staff of airline attendants who were probably Mossad.

All for him. With how much firepower they were carrying, one might have thought he was Stalin reincarnated. It was almost amusing; they clearly meant to intimidate him, yet he could only view the soldiers with bemusement. The threatening letter aside, he knew full well that Israel would not lay a finger on him.

They were dangerous, not stupid. Irrespective of their rhetoric, they did not want a war with the Triumvirate. He was quite safe, despite what they clearly wanted him to feel. It was their goal to make him feel isolated, alone, and helpless. Please. The Prime Minister was hardly Stalin or Mao who might have been willing to lay a trap like this.

It was, he conceded, possible they could hold him hostage. Even still, he had a feeling that it would be solved with Valentin using his Ghost to teleport to his holding cell and escape. No, he did not expect Israel to have any hidden tricks or traps. Not this time. Merely a meeting, between two leaders.

He was led into the small, well-furnished room of the Prime Minister. The Israeli and old flag of the Islamic Republic were placed in the corners, telling symbology of the closeness between the Jewish and Islamic States, rather ironic. Curtains of navy blue and white were draped over oval windows, that nonetheless filled the room with natural light.

Prime Minister Inna Sarasohn sat alone at the desk, lacking guards or other obvious protection. He'd never met the good Prime Minister in person before, though was well acquainted with her profile. Like most leaders of the Jewish state, she had a military background, though hers had been longer than most.

She was a stern woman in her older age, her black hair showing clear streaks of grey. Eyes of sapphire as piercing as any bullet, and jawline sharp enough to match. Her face was set in perpetual disapproval, like a teacher he remembered having when he was a boy. A golden Star of David was pinned to her lapel, a family heirloom he remembered being told, and a blue and white band around her arm, a memorial to her husband who'd perished in combat.

A shame she was such a thorn in her side. There was much to admire about her.

He smiled. "[Good morning, Prime Minister,]"

She did not smile, but simply nodded as he took the seat opposite her. "[I'm surprised you accepted the offer.]"

Well, wasn't that a pleasant surprise. Her accent was pronounced, but understandable. "[So you do speak Russian. My people have suspected as much.]"

A smile that seemed foreign to her face briefly appeared. "[It is prudent to speak the language of one's enemy, especially when observing the interrogation of the KGB officers you send into my country.]"

"[Pragmatic, and I would expect nothing less,]" Clovis, ignored the jab. It was hardly an admission of much – the KGB did the same for any Mossad agents they captured in the Soviet Union. He took a relaxed position, appraising the woman opposite him. "[Your surprise was unnecessary. Despite the threatening tone your diplomats took in the letter, both of us know that I am taking no risk by this travel. We can save us both some time, and get to the heart of the matter. I am not one for diplomatic small talk, and I suspect you are not either.]"

"[Bluntness I can work with, General Secretary,]" Inna leaned forward. "[No previous administration has reached out to Israel except to threaten us. You are not here to negotiate, so tell me what you really want.]"

"[On the contrary, Prime Minister, negotiation is exactly what I am here for,]" Clovis rapped his fingers idly as he continued. "[Terrorism rising worldwide, an alien in the sky changing our solar system, your quiet mobilization of soldiers, and Indians on your border under the command of the Butcher of Arabia. The world is rushing towards a climax, and both of us can see it. I cannot speak for sure how it will end, but I can say with confidence that we will be standing at the end.]"

He took a knowing pause. "[I cannot say that for everyone.]"

"[Confidence born of comfort and arrogance,]" Inna scoffed.

"[Curious that you speak of arrogance,]" Clovis smiled. "[You reside in a country smaller than most of the states of America. You govern a population of only a few million people, and an equally small military. You shield the remnants of a failed theocracy. Yet you stand alone, and demand the world to follow your whim. If it is not arrogance to command such miniscule power, and yet expect the world to listen, then I do not know what is.]"

"[Touché, General Secretary,]" Inna smiled again, one with no friendliness in it. "[Yet our arrogance is not born from nothing.]"

"[And neither is mine,]" Clovis laced his fingers together. "[We both know the game being played here, your expedited support and funding of the so-called Resistance to the Triumvirate. We both know it is led by the former Supreme Leader of the Islamic Republic. The exile you willingly gave shelter to. Terrorism thrives because of Israeli support, and it is something we understandably take issue with.]"

"[Of course you do,]" Inna said. "[Perhaps you have considered that before giving the Indians Carte Blanche to invade our land. We were not going to succumb to your rabid Indian dogs who would have burned our people at the stake for the crime of divergent religion. Muslim. Jew. Christian. Atheist. All the Indians have wished to stamp out. We would not succumb to a power that espoused their fanaticism and genocide, or those who enabled them.]"

She rested her arms on the table, leaning forward. "[We have our own spies too, General Secretary. The Soviet Union has aided and abetted every atrocity inflicted by your allies. The systemic purges and rape of the Japanese. The purges and coups of Communists and leftists in South America at the whims of the Americans. And of course, the domestic terrorism the KGB inflicted to fan the flames of the Workers Revolutions. And you dare complain to me about terrorism when your state has been exporting terror for the past half century. Do not claim the mantle of morality unless you wish to demonstrate your delusion.]"

She was sharp-tongued, quite interesting. "[Prime Minister, when have I ever indicated this was about morality,]" he chided. "[We know the reality of the world. Morality is as pointless as truth, and as malleable as ideology. I don't care that you fund your religious terrorists. Let them kill each other for all I care – but when they pose a direct threat to my nation? Now that I'm afraid I take issue with.]"

"[And I will ask you again, General Secretary,]" she repeated. "[Why are you really here?]"

"[It is over,]" he said simply, though in a kind voice. "[You may refuse to accept it, at least outwardly. But we both know how this ends. The days of Israeli independence are ending. However, I do not believe it needs to end violently. It would serve neither of us, though you have for more to lose than we.]"

"[The fact that you are here indicates that it is far from over.]" She narrowed her eyes.

"[Prime Minister, I am here because it would reflect poorly on me and the Soviet Union if I unilaterally crushed your terror state into pieces, and condemned your people to the mercy of the Indians,]" he responded sharply, letting the friendly mask slip, though kept his voice controlled. "[I do not wish to give your nation legitimacy. You have earned nothing but the right to be wiped off the face of this earth – a judgement I will gladly execute. But my own desires come after what is best for my nation and the Triumvirate – and what is best is offering you an out.]"

"[Do tell.]" From her tone, he doubted she was actually considering it.

"[Simple,]" he said. "[You first disavow and turn over Grand Ayatollah Hamaza el-Hussein and his inner circle to us. He'll get a trial in Geneva, where he will be found guilty of terrorism and conspiracy against the Triumvirate. You will immediately cease all funding and training operations for known and hidden resistance or terror organizations. You will also turn over all atomic weapons fully or partially completed, and shut down all nuclear facilities.]"

He paused. "[In return, the Soviet Union will publicly guarantee your independence from the Republic of Indian Territories,]" he continued. "[The Indians will argue, but their complaints will be ignored. You, the Knesset, and the Israeli military and intelligence services will receive full and pre-emptive pardons for any actions you may or may not have taken. No reparations needed, and the sanctions against your country will be lifted in full.]"

Inna was appraising him closely. "[You came with a legitimate offer. I am surprised.]"

"[I do not waste my time on pointless symbolic gestures and toothless intimidation,]" Clovis said. "[We are both adults, and beyond the petty games of juvenile politicians. I have an objective I seek to fill. I am not an unreasonable person – I find that such mindsets often fail to get far in diplomacy. I would prefer to not have to refer to you as a terror state, and this will be your singular chance to have the slate wiped clean.]"

He lifted a finger, and reached down to the briefcase and opened. From it he withdrew several documents. "[There is another element you should take into your calculus. Let us say it is a state secret, but one I think will prove that your days are numbered.]"

The Prime Minister flipped through the documents, her eyes lingering on the pictures and schematics. "[I presume these are what I think they are?]"

"[The ATLAS,]" Clovis rested his arms on the armrests, allowing the satisfaction to show on his face, the feeling of a man who held all of the cards. "[The Traveler has provided us with knowledge you simply do not have. The next-generation missile detection and elimination systems. Your nuclear weapons will be useless if they are blasted out of the sky. We will surround your borders with them, and end the threat you pose.]"

He lifted a hand. "[Now, I'm sure you could smuggle some in somewhere, but that will be slightly less effective when we install detection systems throughout cities, and overhaul our security infrastructure. Thanks to the terrorist attacks, we have the appropriate justification to do so.]"

He let her read for a few minutes more. "[Again I will say – it is over. This will be the first and only offer you will receive.]" He forestalled a response as he stood. "[I do not require an answer now – I would hardly expect you to make a choice like this spur-of-the moment. Consult with your advisors, your legislature. Discuss the future of your country.]"

Clovis let the satisfaction and cheer fade from his face, as he locked eyes with the Prime Minister. "[Choose your path wisely, Prime Minister. This chance will not come again.]"


TRIUMVIRATE INTELLIGENCE COMMAND | TAMPA | CONFEDERATION OF AMERICAN STATES

They lived in interesting times.

The TIS continued to do their jobs, update the Triumvirate on various operations and attacks, all of which were cordially accepted with nothing said or communicated in return. Fox now wasn't the only one to notice the cool dismissal of the agency by the rest of the Triumvirate, and the subtle removal from important affairs.

It was even more obvious when there was a wealth of terrorist activities happening around the world. Not a day went by when there was an attack of some kind. The intelligence reports were grim. Militant insurgencies in the Middle East even after Arjun's crackdowns, partisan groups forming in China, and indications of ethnic hardliners in South America.

Now more than ever was the time for the world to come together and end the terrorist threat. Unfortunately, that did not seem to be happening – or at least it was happening without him and his agency. He didn't know what had possessed the Indians to appoint the literal Butcher of Arabia without any consultation - and it seemed they hadn't bothered to ask any other opinions either. If there was anyone who would elicit sympathy for terrorists, it would be when stories of Arjun's ruthlessness reached the media.

Wonderful.

If only it was just insolent Indians, but there was the matter of the silent omission of his own agency. He'd initially wondered if it was largely targeted to him, but his discussions over the past couple of weeks with his staff showed that it was definitely an agency concern.

One which none of them were quite sure how to handle yet. Or rather, how they should handle it. There were contingencies, some more risky and extreme than others. Ones that he had always been afraid to pull out, but the trends were clear. The Triumvirate was changing, and it wasn't in a positive direction.

A pile of documents were placed on his desk. The sun was going down, and his wife was going to be upset he would be working late again. Difficult as it was, times like these were why he made a point not to discuss work. It was a risk for himself, one which he would not pass on to her. Best that she be spared the weight of the world he now carried.

The world had entered a new technological age. Data and digitization had become the new currency, and it was an unquestionable leap forward. No more did agents have to dig through dozens of poorly labeled filing cabinets for one obscure file, now they could perform a few searches in a database and have the information they needed. It was easier to secure, convenient to use, and was infinitely replicable.

At the same time, there was something to be said about the old ways of physical storing. Times like these, it was a benefit. It was the reason he had these documents physically in front of him instead of signing them digitally like he'd prefer. Each of them were blue papers, the official format for operational authorizations.

If the Triumvirate wasn't going to cooperate, it was up to him to figure out what they were doing. They didn't want his help with the terrorists for whatever reason, and even that alone was concerning for security reasons – but if that was the case they could manage on their own. He disliked that truth, as these terrorists needed to be neutralized for the good of the citizens, but there was only so much he could do, and running parallel ops without coordination would only lead to misunderstanding and likely condemnation.

Thus, alternatives.

Each mission was assigned to someone who he knew he could trust, or who others he knew did trust, who would put the Triumvirate above nation. Such were somewhat rare, even in the TIS, but there were enough. The missions ranged from observation, to infiltration, and contact. From the Black Armory to BrayTech the TIS would find out what exactly was so secret that they would risk defanging the sole joint agency that had existed for decades in a period of unquestionable strife and uncertainty.

He had a strong suspicion that everything revolved around the Traveler. That had been the catalyst, an understandable one for sure, but one which had clearly altered the calculus of every Triumvirate nation. For good, ill, or otherwise, he needed to know the truth for this shift. He hadn't decided what he would do with it.

That was a decision to make when the time came.

It began with the personnel of TERRA ONE. Each of them had been deliberately kept on Mars while the others had been taken back. This included terrorists, albeit only one. He was ignoring that for the moment, as it was the others he was more interested in. The past weeks, Morocco in particular had shown something he felt like a fool for not recognizing earlier.

It was beautifully elegant when the pieces came together. The notion that the Traveler was off doing her own thing, and ignoring the politics of Earth was simply that – a notion. The people she'd chosen were far from the ideal Triumvirate citizen. They had opinions, beliefs, and backgrounds that didn't mesh with the existing societal order.

And what happened when you gave dissidents influence? Trouble.

China was the case study of this particular phenomenon. Fox had watched with bemused detachment and amazement as a single man was openly challenging the established order, and continuing to succeed. The other Chinese personnel of TERRA ONE were starting to echo Fang Sov, and link closer to him. Independent media was growing, and the Chinese censors were forced to let slightly more deviant talk thrive for fear of Sov calling them out.

Massive state-run corporations overseen by the Chinese oligarchs were being forced to raise standards after strikes were organized, and the wages of their workers increased – something that would doubtless affect worldwide supply chains in the next year. The Chinese surveillance state was starting to crumble, and he had it on good authority that President Li had absolutely no idea how to properly handle it.

Something had to give sooner or later. There was a line that Sov would cross one day, and the state would step in. Now it was no longer a matter of if it would happen, but when. Regardless, Fang Sov and his band of dissidents were individuals to contact. If he could scare the Communist Empire that much, he needed an ally before he had an "accident" befall him.

In contrast, Clovis Bray had done a far superior job keeping his TERRA ONE personnel placated – although despite the masterful display of political maneuvering and placation, it had still not changed Valentin completely. If the Soviet poster child was speaking out, then there were certainly others.

All of whom should also become connected. Fox had been in this long enough to know how these governments operated. Even the purported democracies offered no protection to those which threatened power and the status quo. He'd prefer that the dissidents not needlessly throw their lives away; not without some grander strategy.

Very clever of the Traveler to do this. Far easier to change a people through elevating sympathetic and like-minded puppets than through simple conquest, easy as that might be. In a way, he knew that he was part of this, else there was no other reason Watcher-7 would have been sent to him.

The only piece that didn't make sense yet was the terrorist. That continued to be the question mark, though one he would solve at some point.

The pen scribbled his signature on a dozen blue papers, and tomorrow he would sign a dozen more. No digital record would exist, only filing into a single cabinet deep underground in Triumvirate Intelligence Command. Less chance of certain individuals snooping and finding it. His staff were aware and trusted, they were all motivated by something greater than nationalism and global supremacy.

The dream of the Triumvirate might be threatened, but none would say they hadn't done their part to preserve it.

"Finished, sir?" Brask asked as Fox signed the last papers.

"For now," he picked up the sheets, and straightened them into a neat pile before handing them to his Chief Organizational Analyst. "I'll make the calls shortly."

"Yes, sir," Brask nodded, despite the clear trepidation on his face. "I hope this doesn't backfire."

"You and me both," he agreed.

"Has this ever been done before?" He asked after a few moments.

"Operations relating to the Triumvirate itself? Yes, but rarely," Fox answered. "I know because I made a point to find out any precedent when I updated our agency contingencies. Minor things mostly, and never without as least the leadership of the Triumvirate being aware. Usually corruption or terrorism connections. Not like this."

"Ah, wonderful."

"On the bright side," Fox smiled grimly. "They seem to not be paying attention to us."

Brask snorted. "Their loss. I still don't get it. There is always an inciting incident."

"I'm quite sure I know the inciting incident," Fox jabbed a thumb towards Watcher-7 hovering in front of the side window. "Unless you can think of another, that's the one I'm going with."

"That'd made more sense if they weren't already involved everywhere," Brask put the documents into his bag. "You can't see a press conference now without a Ghost flying around somewhere."

"Yes, but as far as I know, I'm the only one who wasn't on Mars who had one of these show up," he looked over to the Ghost in question. "Unless there is something you'd like to share?"

"I cannot confirm or deny," Watcher-7 said, in a tone which was effectively confirmation.

"Cheeky," Brask grumbled, lifting an eyebrow. "Do all of them have sarcasm as their default setting?"

The fins of Watcher-7 spun. "No, only the defective ones."

"You didn't mention it was a joker," Brask said.

"He's normally not," he fixed Watcher-7 with an intense look. "I don't know what's got into him today."

"Mood levitation," Watcher-7 said. "This is a period of risk for both of you. The Traveler commends your initiative."

"Tell her thanks, I guess," Brask shrugged. "Have a good night, Director. Let's hope this goes well."

"Indeed," Fox agreed.

It had to go well. Otherwise there was a very good chance all of them would end up dead.


KNESSET | TEL AVIV | ISRAEL

Visiting the center of Israeli government elicited mixed feelings in Hamaza. Not the least of which was because there were elements in the Israeli government who were very much against the housing of the Iranian exiles, and because to be summoned in this manner was usually not good.

Despite the close cooperation between Israel and the Resistance, those ties were often obfuscated as much as possible, and the leaders traditionally communicated through intermediaries or backchannels. Even if it was effectively an open secret Israel was supporting the Resistance, optics remained important, and enabled others such as the British and Canadians to maintain neutrality.

The same principle was applicable here, as both parties did their best to limit the potential media exposure and resulting fallout. He was escorted by Israeli soldiers in an unmarked van into a controlled entrance into the building. While technically there was nothing concerning in the note Prime Minister Inna had sent to him, she wouldn't risk sharing the real reason for her summons until he was in person.

With India on the borders, the Israeli military beginning to fully mobilize, and the world becoming more chaotic every day, there could be one of many reasons for now being the time she wanted to speak. The path to her office was similarly covered by stationed soldiers, preventing anyone from seeing his escort throughout the Knesset. She really didn't want this to get out.

Unusual.

The Prime Minister was sitting down as he entered, though stood as he approached. "[Hamaza, welcome,]" both spoke Arabic, and it was a much more natural language for them to speak then English. He knew she spoke Russian, but unfortunately that was one he'd never learned.

He smiled. "[You as well, Inna, it's been too long.]"

"[Realities of government and politics,]" she said with a tired resignation, returning to her desk to sit down, which Hamaza copied until both leaders were seated opposite each other.

Hamaza smoothed out some wrinkles in his robe. "[What is happening, Inna? You would not summon me for pleasantries.]"

"[As much as I wish that were the case, you're right,]" she said, resting her clasped hands on the table. "[I received a visit from Clovis Bray.]"

His eyebrows shot up, and a surge of alarm went through him. "[Here?]"

"[Here, and in the flesh,]" she quickly raised a hand. "[Before you say anything – we took every precaution. The Soviets reached out to us, and wanted to arrange a meeting. We thought it was a trap, and sent back a list of conditions. Conditions they, surprisingly, accepted. Just Bray, no escorts, bodyguards, or spies. We picked him up in Soviet territory with our plane, flew him here, and returned him. Controlled every step of the way.]"

"[And he agreed?]" Hamaza found it difficult to contain the incredulity.

"[He did, though mostly because he's smart and mind games don't work on him,]" Inna begrudgingly admitted. "[He knew very well we wouldn't do anything, and called our bluff.]"

Hamaza rubbed his beard, the reason why she had called him swiftly becoming clear. "[I'm surprised he wanted to talk to you at all. Neither he nor the Triumvirate have had kind words for Israel.]"

"[He basically admitted he was only here for optical reasons,]" Inna snorted. "[There seem to be some people in his government – or the Triumvirate - pushing for more diplomacy, and combined with the Traveler, he's forced to be more cautious and do things he otherwise wouldn't want to do. Still, the fact is he swallowed his dislike, and came.]"

"[And what did he say?]" Hamaza wondered. "[To deliver a threat?]"

"[Not as explicit as that,]" Inna pursed her lips. "[He had an offer. We turn over you and the Iranian exiles, end our support of the Resistance, and denuclearize. In return we are guaranteed against Indian aggression, have the sanctions lifted, and have the diplomatic slate wiped clean so to speak. No reparations, public apologies, acknowledgements, condemnations, anything.]"

The bad feeling he'd had returned at her words. What she described was far from the implicit threat he would have expected from the Triumvirate. That, in contrast to expectations, was a legitimately fair offer – at least in context of the history between both parties. An offer that he knew was tempting.

A long moment of silence stretched. "[Are you considering it?]"

Inna's hand idly rested on the table as she sat back, her eyes briefly unfocused. "[Between us, he made a tempting offer, one that if I went before the Knesset, I would be pressured to accept. I don't want to do it, Hamaza. I really don't, but…]"

"[He's a Soviet, do you truly believe you can trust him?]"

"[In this instance, Hamaza? Yes, I do,]" she said. "[He's dangerous and cunning. He isn't a comically evil and inept leader like we'd prefer. He has no reason to go back on his word, not when this deal would doom the Resistance movement forever. He's not stupid enough to risk that because his ego demands Israel be brought under the Hammer and Sickle.]"

Hamaza shook his head. "[He promised protection from another Triumvirate nation. That is a lie. He wouldn't insult India like that.]"

"[Maybe,]" Inna's voice was unconvinced. "[India has become more radical, and the original three have never liked India. It's far from inconceivable that the Soviets would take a harder line, especially since India is putting people like Arjun in important positions.]"

Hamaza took a breath, and briefly closed his eyes before meeting her own again. "[Is this a warning to flee while I can?]"

"[Not today, not yet,]" Inna shook her head. "[My country made a promise to your people. I will not willingly break that. At the same time – I'm not under illusions about what is coming. The Triumvirate cannot be beaten, not anymore. We have our nukes, but what happens when those aren't a threat anymore?]"

She wouldn't say that unless she knew something. "[What did he say to you?]"

Without a word, she pushed forward a small pile of documents, some of which were pictures and others technical documents. He picked them up and flipped through them. Much of the terminology was alien to him, but from the pictures he could make several assumptions about what they were.

"[Missile defenses, new generation,]" she said after a few minutes of reading. "[Designed to intercept nuclear weapons. Radiation sensors to detect any hidden in cities. Potential misinformation to scare us, but I've had my people look them over. They're legitimate. Clovis wouldn't make something like this up, not unless he has it or will have it.]" There was a pause. "[Those copies you can keep. Verify them yourselves, maybe you'll pick up something we didn't.]"

She pulled her hand back into her lap. "[You fight the good fight, but I have a country to consider. My citizens can't live as insurgents in caves and deserts. They are not fighters and survivors like yours are. They're tired of the conflict. They're tired of always feeling scared. They're tired of the sanctions. They want this to end. I can't keep supporting something that isn't going to materialize, or a victory which is impossible.]"

"[Victory is not impossible.]"

"[Spare me, Hamaza, I'm not one of your jihadists,]" Inna snorted. "[The situation has changed. Liberman has shown me the weapons the Indians are using. There is an alien power supporting the Triumvirate now. We're going to lose our sole deterrent within a year, minimum. I can't rely on things like faith and hope when the alternative if you're wrong is the destruction of my nation and people. We can't just pick up and leave.]"

She was right. He hated it, but on a rational and detached level – she was right. From her perspective, this was potentially the best outcome she could hope for. A client state of the Soviets or Americans was better than complete annexation by the Indians. And yet they couldn't just give up now.

But what could he promise her? That they would be able to topple the Triumvirate? This was now a battle for survival, much less one to achieve their original aim. He couldn't reasonably make that case to her, and it was pointless appealing to her sense of morals and righteousness. She wanted to keep helping, she had been helping. But the realities of the world were crushing her, she couldn't be blamed for losing hope.

"[You can't give in now,]" he said. "[Even if Bray is telling the truth – what is the future for your nation? Domination by the Soviets and Americans? What happens when they are pressured by the Indians? Are they going to risk conflict with them for Israel?]"

She shrugged. "[I cannot see the future, Hamaza. Is certain death preferable to potential death?]"

"[Then don't make decisions based on it, not yet,]" he insisted.

Her voice was skeptical. "[And what's going to happen, Hamaza? The Triumvirate is just going to collapse? It'll see the light and change? Is the Resistance going to move beyond simple militant strikes? The stakes are becoming too high. At what point do both of us need to realize that it's not working. Your people are willing to move and die for the cause. I'm not in a situation where it's that simple.]"

"[Did he give you a timeline?]"

"[To accept the offer? No, but he implied it should be sooner than later,]" Inna said. "[Which I take to mean, ongoing until he decides to withdraw it. He probably assumes that we'll give you a chance to leave. He doesn't care, because alone…you won't be a real threat to him.]"

"[Six months,]" Hamaza said. "[Give us six months. If then, if things are the same…do what you need to do. That's all I ask.]"

"[You ask a lot.]"

"[Because as you said, the stakes are so high.]"

There was a stretching silence. Inna's face remained still and unreadable. Hamaza believed she would do the right thing, but she was a woman who was pragmatic. Perhaps this was an issue where she would not be nudged, and had gone past the point of no return. Her lips parted in a small sigh, as her body became slightly less tense. "[Six months, Hamaza. No more.]"

The deadline was set.

He nodded. "[No more. Thank you.]"

"[Don't thank me,]" she said softly. "[Win. Don't force me to make this choice.]"

He wanted to make that promise, but all he could do was nod in acknowledgement. The stakes were higher than ever.

The clock was audibly ticking, and the end now approached with every second.


BRAYTECH FUTURESCAPE | MARS

The Futurescape was coming along very nicely in the months since he'd decided to visit Mars again. Most of the outward construction was winding down, or had shifted outside the original boundaries. Most of the work Valentin could see was being done by landscapers and cosmetic teams to make it look suitably professional – and rather futuristic. He liked it.

Most of the workers and personnel didn't pay a lot of attention to him as he walked along the sidewalks. As far as Mars days went, this one was…good? He idly felt like checking on the Martian weather patterns, since he knew they existed, but inclement weather was not quite as common as on Earth. Still hard to believe that it had just been a barren rock not too long ago.

There were other worlds and moons that had now been changed by the Traveler, and those he'd have to travel to some day. However, he was here for a specific reason, if one he was a bit rattled by. His business bag was clutched tightly to his side, as if it could slip out of his grasp at any point.

Paranoia, which he probably shouldn't have.

Couldn't be helped in some cases. Like now.

He still wasn't completely sure what he'd found, but given the sheer amount of information he had access to, he was somewhat concerned that there was more hidden that he hadn't found, or wasn't smart enough to understand. It might be nothing, but he wasn't really comfortable with approaching Clovis.

It had maybe taken him longer than it should have, but it was looking more and more likely that Clovis was intentionally misleading and placating him. It was a conclusion he could only come to when he wasn't around the man. It was unsettling just how charismatic he was, and when he was allowed to speak, it was difficult to refute him.

It was impressive, if not somewhat scary to consider. Even now he was wondering if he was just jumping at shadows. Maybe he was, but what Clovis had done with Morocco had deeply shaken his faith in his word. It was very clear that regardless of if Clovis was being straight with him or not, he was much smarter than Valentin was, and on his own it'd be difficult, if not impossible to gain a concrete perspective.

Liana was still busy with some American project, and she was probably being watched to some degree, not to mention she seemed on board with whatever President Quinn was doing. He was willing to follow her lead on that – American politics were not his area of expertise. Fang had been a more solid foundation, although to be fair, the Chinese leaders didn't exactly obfuscate who they were.

In fact, it was Fang who'd convinced him to come here at all. It was a bit of a risk, but unlike her father, Ana Bray seemed like she could be trusted. Or at least she didn't have a larger agenda. Which was all he needed, a few questions answered.

"[Excuse me?]" Valentin instinctively froze at the voice, and willed himself to relax. He turned to see a surprising sight.

He awkwardly coughed as a reflex. "[Yes, what can I help you with…]" he hesitated, then decided to go with his memory. "[Miss Bray?]"

Elsie Bray seemed amused. "['Miss' Bray? I'm flattered. Both at the title, and that you remember me.]"

"[We only met for a few minutes at the security briefing,]" Valentin answered. "[And you tend to remember Brays, even if you've never met.]"

"[An unfortunate side effect of fame, of which you're no doubt finding out,]" she chuckled. "[But you can just call me Elsie.]"

"[It's not been so bad,]" he indicated Vigil floating in orbit around his shoulder. "[I can usually leave whenever I want.]"

"[I wish I had one of those,]" she mused. "[Does the Traveler have sign-ups?]"

"[Vigil?]"

"[It doesn't quite work like that,]" Vigil said slowly. "[If She wishes someone to be given one, it will be done. I'm afraid I can't explain the criteria She employs, only that it is to Her alone.]"

"[You can say 'no', I won't be offended,]" Elsie said, bemused. "[Interesting though. But if I might ask, Valentin, why are you here?]"

Valentin quickly ran through what he knew of her – most importantly that she was part of the Triumvirate Intelligence Service. A spy. Which meant that she was very well-connected, and probably trained in figuring out if people were lying. And also connected to her father, which came with its own risks.

He decided to go with most of the truth. "[To see your sister, actually.]"

"[Ana?]" She raised an eyebrow. "[That's funny, I've just come from a talk with her. She didn't mention someone else was coming, let alone you.]"

"[It's a bit impromptu,]" he vaguely explained.

"[Really,]" while displaying some amusement, she was appraising him more carefully. "[Do tell. Well, as her sister, I feel a need to pry a bit when strange men take an interest in her.]"

He instinctively bristled at that, and turned slightly red. "[That…it's definitely not anything like that.]"

Elsie unexpectedly chuckled. "[Teasing, don't worry. Besides, you're not her type. And you're too strait-laced to go through some kind of weird secretive surprise meeting – which makes me even more curious.]"

"[That's a bold assessment from a few minutes of meeting.]"

"[Call it a gift,]" her eyes shifted to the bag. "[I don't suppose it has anything to do with what's in that bag?]"

Yes, this definitely seemed like more of a friendly trap, and he really just wanted to have Vigil make him disappear, but that would be both rude and insanely suspicious. At the same time, she was going to wrangle out everything by asking nicely if he didn't extract himself sooner or later.

I don't suppose you could make her leave? Set off an explosion maybe?

Ahem, no. I think this is good practice.

I'd prefer a bit of practice before being thrown into the final test!

I don't think she's dangerous. Besides, isn't there a Human saying: "The best way to learn to swim is be thrown into the water"?

I'm convinced you completely made that up.

Paraphrasing – and you should probably say something before she does become suspicious.

He forced a tight smile. "[Technical documents, if you must know. I've been reviewing some Triumvirate papers – quite a few of which are pretty technical. Ana said to come to her if I had questions with things I came across – I thought I'd take her up on that offer.]"

That 'offer' was a lie, of course, but mixed in with enough truth that hopefully she'd buy it. To his relief, Elsie nodded. "[Sounds about right. I'd offer myself, but technical stuff isn't my forte, much less anything to do with computer science.]" She checked her wristwatch. "[…And I've held you up long enough. Have a good meeting, or discussion, or whatever you consider it.]"

"[Appreciated,]" Valentin resisted a sigh of relief. "[I'm sure we'll see each other again.]"

"[Very likely, it's a small world, after all,]" Elsie smiled, and patted his shoulder as she moved past, before briefly pausing, contemplating. "[Can we use that saying now that we have multiple worlds? Ah, doesn't matter. See you later.]" With a final wave, she finally turned and departed.

"[You too,]" he said, watching her mingle into the small crowds. When she was fully gone, he exhaled and took a moment to reassert himself.

She put a listening device on your waist.

What!

Don't make any moves. She's still watching – changed her appearance. Quite impressive.

Ok, I'll take it off once I go inside. He began walking into the Futurescape, still communicating with Vigil.

Maybe you should leave it.

Why would I ever do that?

I think we can trust her.

Based on what? She's a Bray and a spy!

Not all Brays are necessarily bad. We are going to talk to one, after all.

And unlike her sister, Ana was clearly not trying to wring as much information out of me when we talked.

Do you trust me?

Yes, but-

But I would leave it – this is just harmless technical talk.

Valentin bit his tongue. He didn't like the idea of having a third party listening, but Vigil was adamant, and annoyingly may be more right than he was willing to admit. Elsie didn't set off his alarm bells, but any good spy would be able to do that. Hell, Clovis himself proved that you could be nice and considerate and not necessarily be on his side.

He shook his head, deciding to just focus. Best to just watch his words.

Fine. But after this, if she's still watching. This is what we do.

Vigil concurred, and they soon found where Ana was, thanks to some of the Futurescape staff. He was slightly irritated with himself that he hadn't just asked Elsie where she last was. But soon enough, they entered a much more complete lab, of which Ana was standing and having a conversation with one of the scientists.

She spotted him and seemed briefly taken aback, but ended the conversation. "[Valentin! I didn't expect you here!]"

"[Sorry for the surprise visit,]" he said. "[But I have something I'd like your opinion on.]"

There was a question in her eyes, but she nodded slowly. "[Sure. What is it?]"

He looked around. "[Do you have an office? Or someplace not out in the open?]"

"[Yep, this way,]" she led him a short distance to an office with the exterior of clouded glass. An immediate answer, he was thankful she didn't ask the obvious questions yet. She opened it with her keycard, and gestured him inside. It was a fairly bare room, with a couple plants, a couple picture frames, one with her family, one with her sister, and another where she was in a uniform with a man he didn't recognize.

"[Sorry it's a bit bare,]" she said, and he returned his attention to her. "[I generally don't spend a lot of time here. Not until they install a lab computer, which they're slacking on,] she crossed her arms. "[So, this is something classified then. Are you even sure I can see it?]"

"[You're the Rasputin Project Lead,]" he said. "[I'd imagine there's not much you couldn't see.]"

"[Not quite how that works, but I'll roll with it,]" she said. "[So what is it?]"

"[I've been doing some research into several ongoing Triumvirate programs,]" he said. "[I found something I'm a bit confused by. It's a bit technical for my liking, maybe you could explain it to a layman, for lack of a better word.]"

"[Well, let's see then,]" she said, biting her lower lip and her eyes alighting at a potential challenge. Valentin set his bag on the table, and pulled out the documents. There were not too many, mostly overviews and summaries. Ana took them and began pursuing. He expected something after a few moments, but Ana unexpectedly frowned, and went to sit down.

She pursued through the documents for minutes that stretched out longer than they should have. Her expression maintained its serious demeanor that shifted from bafflement to concern. It seemed like whatever this was, she didn't like it. He finally spoke up. "[Is something wrong?]"

"[I…don't know,]" she said slowly.

"[Do you know what it is?]"

"[Yes, I can understand it just fine, but it's…odd,] she trailed off.

"[How…?]"

"[In layman's terms…this is effectively describing the application of an artificial intelligence to microtech. Nanotechnology to be specific, which is odd because…nanotech at the level its describing doesn't exist yet. It's being prototyped, yes, but we've hardly mastered the basics, let alone what this is implying…]"

Valentin waited. "[Maybe they're further along than we think?]"

"[Not ruling that out,]" she said slowly. "[But even if they were…I'm not sure why you'd want a true artificial intelligence to manage it. That only has a few applicable circumstances, none of them really good.]"

"[Why 'not good'?]"

"[I guess it depends on your perspective,]" Ana said. "[Mostly weaponization. Potentially medical uses, but that's unnecessarily complex. And I shouldn't have to say that the weaponization of nanotech is a stupidly bad idea.]"

"[At the risk of sounding ignorant…why?]"

"[Because it can grow out of control,]" Vigil unexpectedly interjected, causing Ana and Valentin to look at him. "[A species once wished to use swarms of nanites to protect their worlds, in the event that they were invaded. They did so – and then it was accidentally triggered, and they were consumed by the machines designed to protect them. Their worlds were reduced to husks, until the Traveler came and brought new life to them.]"

"[Huh, so we actually have proof of a grey goo scenario,]" Ana said. "[Well, there you go. Basically, that. I'm not saying that's what this is, but…]"

"[Maybe it's not AI related? Just a basic machine intelligence?]"

"[It's not,]" Ana motioned to the documents. "[A lot of these terms are ones I'm using every day. You don't use them in the context of simple machine programming. It's definitely AI – specifically Warmind AI, and that's really odd. Do you mind if I keep these? I'm going to make a few calls. Someone should be able to answer this.]"

"[Sure,]" well, at least this was proving he hadn't made a misjudgment. All of what she'd said did not sound good. "[Though…be careful, I guess. I might have found something I shouldn't have.]"

"[I wouldn't worry,]" Ana smiled grimly. "[Lucky for you, I'm someone who is immune to reprisal. The Bray name comes in useful every now and then for something other than nepotism, and if there's a Triumvirate scientist messing with weaponized nanotech, they'll be fired by the end of the week, you can be sure of it.]"

Well, that was good news. "[Thank you. I'm glad you could figure it out.]"

"[I should thank you, actually,]" Ana said with a lighter smile now. "[For trusting me. Most people are afraid we're going to relay everything back to my father.]"

"[Have to admit, I wondered that,]" he said. "[But…I had a good feeling.]"

"[Keep listening to that feeling then,]" she encouraged. "[Although now that I think of it…how did you even get here?]"

He gestured to Vigil. "[The wonders of instantaneous teleportation.]"

She chuckled. "[Wish I could do that, but sadly us mortals are stuck within the laws of physics and limits of technology.]"

"[For now, anyway,]" Valentin said. "[From what I'm hearing, there's new discoveries being made every day.]"

"[That there are,]" she agreed. "[Well, as good as this talk was…]"

"[You've got work to do,]" Valentin finished. "[I won't bother you again – and if I stop by, I'll try to give a bit of a warning.]"

"[Which I would appreciate,]" she said. "[Take care, Valentin.]"

"[You too,]" the farewells over, he stepped out of her office.

That went well.

It did.

Is Elsie still on the planet?

One moment.

Vigil blinked out of existence a few seconds, then returned.

Yes, she's still here.

Excellent, let's say hello. Again.

There was a flash of light, and they materialized in a place on the outskirts of the Futurescape, where they could see the massive Mindlab being built. The shell was effectively complete, and it was quite the impressive sight. They were a short distance from Elsie, who was indeed leaning on the balcony, looking quite innocent.

He didn't know if it was something he'd just missed, or she'd put it in, but there was a small device in her left ear. He cleared his throat, causing her to jump, and her eyes widened when she saw him, and briefly flashed with fear. "[Hello there!]"

"[I…Valentin,]" she awkwardly coughed. "[Hello…again.]"

"[Conversation as interesting as you hoped?]" He asked, not wanting to waste time on small talk.

"[I-]"

"[Save it,]" he lifted the extremely small device in his fingers, before approaching with a cold smile, and placing it into her palm. "[I may not be a spy, but I do have a friend who watches my back. Isn't that right?]"

"[Always,]" Vigil bobbed, while his center eye turned yellow. Elsie visibly swallowed.

"[In the future,]" Valentin said, adopting the similar false levity in his voice. "[Don't spy on me again. And on your sister for that matter. That's just wrong. Otherwise…]" He nodded towards the Ghost, as Vigil's eye shifted to red. He had to admit, it was quite satisfying to see the spy on the spot for once, instead of the controlled cool agent. "[Are we clear?]"

"[You've made your point.]"

"[Good,]" Valentin motioned for Vigil to return to normal. "[Now we can say goodbye – for now.]"

He didn't want for her to respond, and had Vigil teleport him away. Overall, this had been a very productive few hours. One Bray he could probably trust, and one he probably could not. Better to know than the alternative.

Now he would have to wait.

Or maybe do some more digging. After all, he'd found something that probably shouldn't be happening. There might be other things to find as well.


BUCKINGHAM PALACE | LONDON | UNITED KINGDOM

The British were as paranoid as the Israelis when it came to secrecy and meetings. The British demanded their own planes, and insisted he fly in them. He supposed there were worse things he could deal with than spending a few hours with a plane full of MI6 agents. Although there was a distinct difference between this flight and the Israeli one.

The Israelis had largely maintained an air of professionalism and neutrality. They didn't like him, but they followed the philosophy of "if your enemy is comfortable, they'll let their guard down and maybe reveal something". Not that it worked whatsoever, but he could understand and respect the outlook.

In contrast, the air around the British was tense.

The MI6 operatives kept their stone faces still, but he could see the sheer hate in their eyes whenever he took notice. Their voices were clipped, and only conveyed the absolute minimum to him. There was no pretext of civility here. Each person here wanted nothing more than to kill him.

They wouldn't, but they made no secret that they deeply wanted to – and it spoke to how deep the hatred of the Soviet Union ran within the British.

He couldn't entirely blame them. He would likely also be bitter if they had slowly and completely shattered the regional hegemony he enjoyed, and reduced their status from a worldwide empire to an island with a storied history. Like Israel, the influence of the United Kingdom was no longer relevant.

It was a new world, and some were adapting to it better than others. The British had enjoyed their time as the world's superpower – now it was time for others.

It struck him that he was the first Soviet official to step foot on the British Isles in…four decades? Longer? Probably longer. The point being that it had been a long time, and while there was no media to record this historic occasion, he would have to satisfy himself with a meeting with Her Royal Majesty herself.

Monarchs. It was amusing to consider in the modern day. Aside from a few self-declared African nations, the British Monarchy was the last of its own in the world. Largely because the Triumvirate had systematically abolished every monarchy they'd come in contact with. The world had moved beyond them.

There were more civilized ways of deciding and elevating leaders who were far more fair and efficient then being born into the right family or bearing the right bloodline. Yet so long as the United Kingdom remained intact, the Royal Family would maintain their chokehold on British politics. Ironically, Clovis believed that the Triumvirate was likely the reason for the resurgence of the Royal shadow government.

The United Kingdom had been on their way to effectively making the Royals obsolete, outside of a cultural curiosity. But the expansion of the Soviet Union, the abandonment by America in favor of the Triumvirate, the rise of an independent India, the fires of the Workers Revolutions all over Europe, and the infighting and incompetence of British politicians had forced the hand of the Royals, who'd suspended Parliament and dismissed everyone and built a new government from the ground up.

One dedicated to the opposition of the Soviet Union.

The hand of the Royals had been guiding the British ever since, and ushered in the security state which was ironically Soviet in its execution. He quite admired how elegantly the British had employed their media and intelligence agencies to rapidly shift the public opinion. Communists and most left-wing parties were outright banned, unions had been abolished, strikes had been answered with bullets, and each existing party was one flavor of nationalism and anti-Soviet rhetoric or another.

The Royals were irrelevant on the world stage, but he had to admit that they had made excellent use of their power to seize control of the country. Which was why there was no point in interacting with the puppet Prime Minister. Not when he could go to the source of British authority.

The Buckingham Palace Guards stood as still and silent as they always were as he was marched through the building, though even through their expressionless faces, they could not hide the disdain they felt at his mere presence. The eyes truly were windows to the souls, and in many of the British souls, there was hatred.

Ah well, expected of a fading nation.

He was finally brought before the small throne room, one which had once held dignitaries from all around the world. Leaders and officials who came on state visits to see the Royal Family, perhaps have some tea and crumpets, and the other staples of a visit with the monarchy. These days it was sealed to only the most trusted of the Royals.

It retained its ornate nature, with perfectly polished tiles and bright red carpet which led to the slightly elevated throne upon which the Royals had sat. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and light illuminated every corner. Yet otherwise, it was surprisingly bare. Perhaps that was to be expected, given the lack of need to entertain fawning state officials any longer.

Animal mounts were fitted on the walls, filling the space with stuffed hunting trophies - ones which immediately caught his eye. Bears. Newly stuffed, newly cleaned, and newly installed bear trophies.

Clever.

He did have an opening above his fireplace, perfect for a new mount. It would be a fitting souvenir. What animal to choose would be the hardest question. Something he would ponder on the flight back.

It was customary that there were two thrones, which in reality were little more than ornate chairs, and as the rumors went, uncomfortable to sit in. One for the King and Queen, or one of the Monarchs and sometimes a state official to sit in for a photo op. Now there was only one who was worthy to sit in the place of British power.

Queen Alexandra II was not someone who was ever supposed to sit upon the throne. In the wake of Queen Elizabeth's unfortunate death after contracting a quite nasty flu, it had been assumed that the line of succession was clear – were it not for the schism even within the Royals about how to handle the retreating Americans, the encroaching Soviets, and European Chaos.

Alexandra had married into the family, and by rights she should not have ever had a chance, even if she was married to one who was. It had been widely suspected that it had been Alexandra who had convinced her husband to make a push for the throne, and there were few Royals who were as shrewd as Alexandra was. The throne had clearly been her ambition for years.

It had been her who had rallied the British against the Soviets, ushering in a new age of nationalism. While Royals had previously been reluctant to exercise their power, for fear of being perceived as despots, Alexandra had her finger on the pulse of a British people who were scared, desperate, and angry. A villain was needed.

Years of external and internal politics had seen the contenders in line to the throne abdicate, withdraw, or support her instead. What had sealed her ascension was the death of her husband, which was widely believed by the British to have been a Soviet assassination. It wasn't, and the KGB had been inconclusive on what had actually killed him.

The most conspiratorial was that Alexandra had ordered him assassinated by MI5, as she had developed close ties with British Intelligence, and it was widely believed they were her personal agency. However, Clovis doubted she was that cutthroat. More importantly, it made no sense since her husband was just as dedicated to her ascension as she was. Far more likely in his mind that it had simply been an accident – albeit one she exploited.

No matter the story, there were few who could deny she was worthy of the throne. At just past the age of sixty, hair graying, she sat upon the throne, dignified as Clovis approached, looking down on him with the disdain he had seen from the other British here. The Royals had moved beyond the unnecessarily gaudy costumes, and Alexandra was dressed tastefully in white, with a small silver crown resting on her head.

He briefly inclined his head. She was mad if she expected him to bow. "Your majesty."

"General Secretary," she answered neutrally. "I hope you like the new decor?"

A moment of silence passed. "You certainly know how to make a guest feel welcome. I must confess, I expected the traditional British hospitality."

The Queen smiled coldly. "You would not like the hospitality we normally arrange for Soviets."

Ah, this was already promising to be entertaining. "Threats already, your majesty? Can we not speak like civilized people."

"We are, General Secretary, which is why I have not arrested you and put you before MI6 - I do owe them an early christmas gift, after all," the Queen answered dryly. "I feel there is little to discuss with you. You come for what reason? To threaten or elicit the capitulation of the United Kingdom?"

"While I would like nothing more than to bring the British Isles into the thriving Soviet Union, I have come to accept that will simply not happen with the current status quo," Clovis said with an exaggerated sigh. "No, today I wish to discuss the immediate future. Relating to the support of the United Kingdom to terrorist groups operating under the orders of the deposed Supreme Leader of Iran."

"So you say," Alexandra said emotionlessly. "I am afraid that we cannot help you in this aspect then, General Secretary. I am certain that we would not provide such support to terrorists."

"Is that so?" Clovis mused, putting his hands behind his back and starting to pace. "Quite curious then. There must be a misunderstanding somewhere. In light of these horrific attacks worldwide, the CIA and KGB have been conducting an investigation into the tangled web of terrorist finances – and a notable number of British companies have been implicated."

His smile tightened. "Normally, that alone wouldn't raise too many alarms. Companies in your capitalistic system pursue profit above all else – and terrorist money is as good as any other. No, no, what truly raised eyebrows was the methods by which resources were funneled across the world. Hundreds of shell companies, shadowy intermediaries, more proxies than most actual intelligence agencies."

He inclined his head again. "I must commend British Intelligence on their stellar work. It is a level of sophistication and elegance that my own KGB Chairman expressed admiration for – and he is a hard man to impress. Nonetheless, it was capable of being unraveled, and we know the extent of your meddling. Something we, frankly, should have suspected earlier. Only your country could reliably sustain these terrorists for so long."

The Queen seemed unperturbed. "And you only have accusations?"

"Proof, your majesty. I would not bother making this trip on mere conjecture and theory. I have too much respect for you to waste your time."

She raised an eyebrow. "I question that."

"Believe it or not, but I do find it a shame our nations hold such disdain for each other," Clovis sighed. "The world is changing, your majesty. Irreversibly. The Traveler has ensured the continuation of the Triumvirate for a thousand generations. Your resistance is admirable, but futile."

"The United Kingdom will never submit to the Soviet Union or the Triumvirate," Alexandra leaned forward. "No matter what you say or threaten, the only way you will gain what you wish is through Soviet blood."

"Soviet – and English blood," Clovis said. "Your hatred for my nation is strong – but how long will that last in war? How many mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters will die before the people realize their hopeless situation, led by a Queen who believes that dogma and nationalism were more important than their lives."

He paused his pacing. "You are a woman with a vision, your majesty. I can respect that. But the truth of the matter is this – the days of British influence are coming to an end. The British Empire has fallen, this time forever."

The Queen was silent for a few moments, then her smile returned and sharpened sapphire eyes fixated on him. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. I seek not to restore the Empire, General Secretary. Tempting as the idea is, I am not delusional. Yet I know how the levers of power and influence work in the modern era, and it is sufficient to make a small nation powerful. You know this, else you would not be speaking to me, when the sheer landmass of the Union, and the allies you have, dwarfs anything we have at our disposal. Yet you still come to me, and have the gall to say that my nation does not matter. That I do not matter."

She sat back on her throne. "You come to me as an equal, and say that we no longer matter. That might work on some leaders, but I am not one of them. You underestimate Britain's citizens. You underestimate our resolve. You underestimate what we are capable of. You speak of the empires you and the Triumvirate have created, while the old ones have shattered or faded. If there is one thing I can say with certainty, General Secretary, it is that all empires, no matter how large, come to an end – and rarely do most see it coming."

Her tongue was sharper than Inna's, and she had slightly more backbone. A challenge he could enjoy. "And will you say that when we reveal the extent of British corruption throughout the business world? When the world levies sanctions as they did to Israel? When the Americans formally sever the last ties they have with you?"

"Then I wish you luck," the Queen's smile was maintained. "Whatever proof you believe you have, it will not be enough. Do you sincerely believe that our supposed business corruption will result in consequences? Will the Americans risk sanctioning some of the largest companies in the world? Will they destroy the stock market to endorse your petty rivalry with a nation which continues to deny you?"

She flicked a wrist. "If we are so insignificant as you claim, then who will care? The common citizen? Hardly, especially since the general American public views us positively. Do you believe you are the first Soviet to threaten us? I've seen and heard it all. Assassinations, economic devastation, international ruin. The threats are endless and overt. And each time, it has failed. This is no different."

Alexandra rested her fingertips together. "And you would do well to be careful when bragging about the stability of your nation; of its 'thousand generations'. I have seen your puppet start to question your aggressive actions. I am receiving daily updates on a brewing revolution in the Communist Empire. Each day more Americans become aware of the system they are in, and how their nation contributes to supporting oppression and tyranny across the world."

"Says the woman who herself is an unelected despot."

"I said oppression and tyranny, not democracy," she corrected with a smile. "And the worst we have done pales in comparison to the Soviet gulags, the ethnic cleansing of the Chinese Imperials, the burned corpses by the hand of the Hindu fanatics, and the South American death squads of the Confederation. And what have we done?" she waved a hand. "Destroyed the ideologies and mechanisms which permit their rise."

"And done so quite effectively, I might add."

"Indeed," the Queen nodded. "The point I am making, General Secretary, is that your nation and alliance is more fragile than you want to admit. You portray strength and unity, when the order threatens to unravel more each day. Make your threats, follow through on them if you wish."

A lioness with fangs and claws.

Irritating, expected, predictable. However, Clovis had to admit that he admired that she had the spine to say that with such…confidence. Yes, it was going to be enjoyable to break this nation into pieces. "I have said all I need to then. My offer was given, and I can do little if it is rejected. I hope you are prepared for the consequences."

"Do not worry about us, General Secretary," Alexandra said. "We will manage just fine. Enemies for centuries have tried to destroy us, and they have failed. You will be just one more. You'll find that the sun does not set for our banner."

"We shall see, your majesty, we shall see," Clovis said, and with a final nod of farewell, he turned around and departed, his mind running through the next steps to be taken. If the British wanted to call his bluff, well…

That could certainly be arranged.

Perhaps a royal English mount above his fireplace would make a fitting memorial. A tribute to the lioness, stuffed and mounted on his wall. Yes, that would be most fitting, and he hoped she would appreciate the gesture when next she came before him in defeat.


THE CAPITOL BUILDING | WASHINGTON D.C. | CONFEDERATION OF AMERICAN STATES

It was an odd feeling being this close to the center of American power. Isaiah felt slightly naked in his tourist disguise, but today was the big day. Time to make an impact which would be heard and felt all across the world. He was confident it would work – and if it didn't…well, he would go down fighting.

Today was an especially important day for the Confederation Congress. The first day of a new session. One where every single Senator and Representative would be in attendance, and ready to begin the new legislative year. There would also be other important people in attendance. The CIA Director, Secretary of State, Secretary of Defense, and other members of the President's cabinet.

President Quinn was unlikely to be attending, unfortunately. It had been a choice between the Capitol and White House, but the latter was too high risk for failure. The only point of striking it would be to take out the President – and that was too much of an unknown to risk. But the legislature itself?

More likely to be successful, and have an impact.

Tours were still going on, of course. The capital of the Confederation was always a bustling place, and it was easier than one would suspect to latch onto a group. The most important thing was to get inside. Once they were in, it was simply a matter of following the maps and striking fast.

Isaiah and six of his best Dead Cell operatives were with him, a mix of Arabic and Caucasian ethnicities, as it was an unfortunate reality that if there was a group of Arabs, they were likely to be profiled and delayed. That would be unfortunate. This risk was further reduced by having two teams, each assigned to different groups.

No weapons, tools, or explosives this time. They walked through the gates with smiles on their faces and lazily waved through by the underpaid and bored security guards. After all, who would even think of conducting an attack on the capitol of the Confederation of American States? Madmen, or those with a death wish.

Of which Isaiah was neither. Well, maybe a bit mad, but they were backed into a corner.

The clock was ticking. Their timetable was down to months before the Israelis considered pulling their support, and if they pulled out, the British would soon follow, or be significantly hampered. He wouldn't have considered this operation otherwise. It was risky, but the payoff would be…

He didn't actually know. Not yet. What he did know?

It would shake the Americans to their core. It was past time that fear returned to them, and the rest of the world. No one was safe if you were in the Triumvirate, no matter if you were on Soviet, Indian, Chinese, or even American soil.

His tour guide was an enthusiastic woman, who was happily explaining the history of the building, the expansions as the Confederation had grown, and how each of the chambers contributed to the functioning of the government and so on. Isaiah listened with a bemused detachment, as he mentally marked security cameras, exits, guards, and other useful landmarks.

Once they reached close to the chambers, they broke off from the tour group. They would have a few minutes unmolested before things turned interesting. There was a bathroom all of them went into, which would serve as the hub to properly prepare. There were a few people inside it, who were quickly subdued – although one of them was identified as a congressman.

His neck was snapped. One already down.

They quickly secured the bathroom, neutralized the outgoing security cameras, and barricaded the door, preventing anyone else from entering. Once Isaiah was satisfied, he sent the signal.

Sagira, we're in position.

Before their eyes materialized a prepared crate, with the Ghost hovering over it. They obviously weren't going to use her in the operation – no reason to tip their hand, but she was useful for operations like this. They grabbed their military vests and threw them over their civilian disguises, while loading them with grenades, pistols, automatic rifles – and a couple other weapons.

"[Remember,]" he told them. "[Government only. No tourists.]"

A chorus of nods acknowledged his order. He clicked the camera on his chest. "[Are we live?]" A thumbs up confirmed they were streaming. Only a few views now, but that would soon change. With a motion, she disappeared, taking the crate with her. They opened the bathroom door to a very angry man who opened his mouth to probably say something. He was in a fine suit, a Delaware pin on his lapel. Isaiah remembered his face.

"Who-"

Isaiah raised a pistol to his head and fired. Blood splattered the wall behind him, and the gunshot rang out, echoing in the immediate area. Everyone nearby froze at the noise, and turned to fear as they saw the team of armored soldiers surging towards the chambers with purpose. The security guards screamed for some help, but twin bursts of automatic fire put them down.

That broke the stasis that had fallen over the gathered crowd, and pandemonium broke out. People fell to the ground, others began a stampede away, and a few remained frozen, hands helpless as they seemed to want to intervene, but knew they were doomed. There would only be moments until the Capitol went into lockdown, and he didn't have time to deal with cutting through doors.

Fortunately, they had a rocket launcher.

One blast, and the doors to the chambers were blown open, and everyone not wearing hearing protection likely suffered hearing damage, made worse by the enclosed area. After several more guards were terminated, they stepped over the splinters and into the chambers where the roughly six hundred men and women who dictated American policy prepared their next year of oppression and terror. Today they would reap the fruits of their years-long labor to expand the American empire.

His eyes scanned the faces which were frozen in utter terror. Mostly old faces, but a few young ones were interspersed. The next generation of American war criminals, who would continue the support and domination of the Triumvirate regime. Their young would not save them today. There was only a single command to give.

"[Execute.]"

There were no wild sprays of gunfire. Such tactics were done by young terrorists with the intent on only causing chaos and mayhem. The Dead Cell were professionals, and no professional sprayed wildly and hoped to hit a target. They aimed. They shot. They killed. Staccato bursts of assault rifle fire punctuated the Chambers of Congress, and six men and women died as the bullets punctured their chests and heads.

Two of his team rushed forward, with an eye towards the upper levels, where the Senators and guests would be seated. With practiced hands, they lobbed frag grenades into the stands while the rest of the team terminated the other targets on the ground. The sounds of rifle fire were joined by the shaking of explosions and screams.

Secret Service along the walls, and the Sergeant at Arms moved to defend, the latter yelling into his walkie-talkie, cut short when Isaiah riddled his body with bullets. The rest of the Secret Service were similarly killed, even if they were forced to briefly take cover. They were confused, disorganized, and incapable of fomenting a coherent defense to the Dead Cell's actions.

Some representatives who carried weapons had pulled them out, and were quickly shot down. Row by row they walked, firing short bursts wherever there was movement, dragging hiding congressmen out and executing with a bullet to the head. The Dead Cell operative who'd carried the rocket launcher had loaded it up again, and a large section of the upper level was now flesh, wood, and shrapnel.

Isaiah pushed through the chaos towards the center of the Chamber. The Speaker of the House was there, cowering behind his podium. One burst, and another target dead. The Senate Majority Leader also perished, even as she tried to flee. They likely now only had moments before the military began storming the Chambers.

He raised his voice. "[Expend and regroup!]"

His operatives shouted affirmations, and promptly used the last of their dwindling explosives and drained the magazines of their guns. The screams had largely died as had most of the people in the chamber. A few of the remaining congressmen tried to run for the exits, but they were immediately gunned down in the back. The corpses of men and women were haphazardly laid out across the destroyed chamber, many of those on the ground riddled with holes and blood, and the upper chambers largely destroyed with grenades.

Isaiah noted that some of the doors were open, so at least some of them had escaped. Acceptable, they were never going to get them all. It would be hours before the extent of the death toll was known, and no matter what, he knew it could be chalked up as a successful operation. More gunshots were joining the symphony, which signaled the end, and he saw the glimpse of Confederation soldiers approaching as confirmation.

"[Smoke, and cut feeds!]" He ordered.

All of them pulled out the smoke grenades and dropped them, putting their goggles on. The Chambers filled with obscuring smoke as his operatives pulled to his position, more smokes grenades dropping every few seconds. Once they were together, he nodded once. "[Cut feeds.]" The cameras which had been livestreaming the entire attack were shut off, one by one.

This next part wasn't for the cameras.

Sagira, take us home.

The familiar sensation that he'd come to associate with teleportation came over him, and in a moment he was out of the smoke, and in the designated safe house. Without wasting time, he immediately grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV to the sight of news anchors staring shell-shocked at the devastation coming from the Capital.

He smiled.

Message received.


OFFICE OF THE GENERAL SECRETARY | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION

Clovis sipped his coffee as he watched the muted screens, each one with the blaring headline of "ATTACK ON THE CAPITOL BUILDING | HUNDREDS DEAD | PRESIDENT QUINN PROMISES IMMEDIATE RESPONSE" or some such equivalent. To say that the event was disturbing was an understatement, but he was far from panicking.

This had been intended to send a message, but Clovis was taking a different interpretation from the one the terrorists had likely intended. There was still no clear indication of how this had happened. The KGB was scrambling to put together a coherent report, and the Americans were sharing scattered bits of information as they learned.

Thankfully, it turned out that there was a livestream of the attack. Within hours it had racked up hundreds of thousands of views. It was quickly removed, of course, but copies kept appearing. It would take a few weeks for the Americans to stamp out every copy, and even then they'd probably fail to some degree.

However, the video had shown several things.

The terrorists were well-trained. Clovis found himself impressed by their brutality and efficiency. Easily the training of a special forces unit, or the terrorist equivalent. These were professional killers who had a plan, and the good news is there probably weren't too many of them.

The terrorists were also disciplined. This was an attack specifically on the legislature of the Americans. They didn't kill tourists and civilians – which fit their more recent modus operandi. They had their targets, and they executed them to the letter. Impressive, likely from Israeli training.

The terrorists were well-equipped. The rifles he'd seen were top of the line, and they had enough explosives and rocket launchers of all things that supplies clearly wasn't something they were worried about. They had outfitted themselves perfectly to hit this specific target, from rockets to break in, grenades to breach the upper floor, and automatic rifles for burst kills against unarmored targets – and the occasional guard.

A decent kit for fighting a military force, a perfect arsenal against a primarily soft target.

Finally, and most importantly, these terrorists were not acting alone.

Or he should say, they were getting help from someone quite alien indeed.

There was exactly no chance that they were able to somehow smuggle all of that equipment inside the Confederation Capitol Building. A pistol and a few grenades? Sure. Body armor, assault rifles, and rockets? Clovis knew logistics and training could work miracles, but he wasn't born yesterday.

Now, what was more likely? That the terrorists had a mole on the inside who had smuggled in enough equipment to outfit a spec ops team and was able to perfectly pull it off without a hitch – or that the Ghost that was with the terrorists had teleported them, and the equipment in – and out.

Oh no, he had not forgotten about that little detail. Not in the slightest.

The terrorists had, quite literally, seemed to disappear into thin air, which should have been impossible. The military had secured the exterior and all known and hidden exists. SEAL Teams were sweeping the Capitol room to room – an operation which was still ongoing, but Clovis knew that they wouldn't find anything.

The terrorists were safe, likely in a safe house in the Middle East and popping champagne as they watched the shell-shocked reporters share the horrific death tolls. Nearly the entire House of Representatives, and half of the Senate had been confirmed dead, plus just under two dozen guards and Secret Service.

It was the bloodiest terrorist attack in American history, and a decapitation strike which would paralyze the government for months. President Quinn had given an emergency address, and invoked emergency powers to handle the immediate fallout. Special elections were already being planned to fill the many, many seats, and there was serious talk of just holding elections and starting over.

Another sip of coffee.

They were getting desperate. He knew about the Ghost. Or perhaps there was more than one. No matter, this was usable, and while previously he might have refrained from pushing Valentin further, he knew that even Valentin would be horrified if he knew exactly what the Traveler had enabled.

The perfect excuse to bring certain elements of the plan more into the open, and accelerate their development. This was as close to a declaration of war as he could see. The Traveler would not remove him directly – but she would enable the terrorists to bring the Triumvirate down.

Well, fortunately he had his own people who would be willing to fight back. And she might find that these kind of actions wouldn't have the effect she was hoping for. The Americans, and indeed, the world at large, was stunned by what they had seen. But that shock would turn to anger, and then to hatred.

Ah, the Traveler still didn't understand how Humans thought. Not truly.

He did though, and with every subtle action she took, she tipped the balance of justification ever more in his favor. Short-sighted fools, who would do nothing but ensure the Triumvirate endured.

Another sip.

He thought back to Queen Alexandra's bold declaration. That no matter what would happen, they would stand firm. She had dared him and the Triumvirate to act, arrogantly believing that the American's wouldn't have the spine to care or intervene. Perhaps at the time, she might be right.

Today, well, Clovis suspected that Americans would suddenly start to care a lot more about terrorism – and those who enabled them. While a tragedy, the terrorists had gifted them exactly what they needed to bring this to a close. To move past this dark and unstable period of history into prosperity.

And it was already beginning.

FBI operatives performing raids on billion-dollar businesses, placing CEOs and shareholders under house arrest. The Stock Market had been frozen for an indefinite period of time. Border Patrol was marching into shipping ports and conducting raids and inspections. SWAT was moving in on dozens of suspected terrorist safe houses, and informants and moles were receiving visits from men in black.

The American Navy was moving across the Atlantic, and KGB analysis showed an intent to blockade the Mediterranean and major African ports. It was likely to keep a certain distance from the Royal British Navy, but there were three entire war fleets heading towards the British Isles. The Americans were not asking permission.

In the States, soldiers were massing on the Canadian borders, both from the mainland states and Alaska radar showed troop transports moving to the isolated state. There were indications of a true mobilization – the one the Americans would only begin when they were truly prepared to go to war. Intercepted messages indicated the Canadians were panicking, from the citizens to the government, and even the British were nervously eyeing the encroaching American fleets.

The world was about to see the awakening of the full might of the American war machine unless a miracle happened.

Clovis finished his coffee.

He felt no pity for what came next. Actions had consequences. They could fund the terrorists if they wished – but they could not assume no responsibility when they are used to kill, maim, and destroy. It seemed that the annexation of Canada – long a desire of the Americans, was going to come to fruition, albeit in a way no one expected.

The coming weeks promised to be interesting.

He leaned back in his chair, and continued watching the screens, and waiting for the inevitable call from Quinn, as the Eagle spread its wings, and prepared to bloody its talons.


TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER XIV | CONTINGENCY