ACT III | THE TYRANT'S HUBRIS
CHAPTER XVI | WARMIND
OFFICE OF THE GENERAL SECRETARY | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION
There was a surreality to the calmness.
As Clovis reflected on this, he was perhaps not sure what he had expected, if anything. Only a few short weeks since Jupiter had been carried out to great success, and yet it felt as though very little had changed. Well, outside of the fact that he no longer had to worry about Valentin. That headache was finally simply gone.
He knew the events had put Fox into quite a tailspin, and for better or worse, it seemed as though the director would no longer be a major issue. What could he do against him now? No, his vision of the Triumvirate was the only one left standing. The only one that was feasible to achieve.
How normal everything seemed.
Would it stay that way?
That he had yet to determine. Such calm was suspicious. The Traveler was similarly silent, and had returned to her terraforming. Giving up seemed unlike this entity, or perhaps it had decided there were more pressing matters to attend to. It would be a welcome development, yet he was quite certain that he was not out of danger yet.
No, he would not be lulled into complacency, not when he could see the end approaching. Every day brought new promises, technology, and developments that would have been inconceivable just months ago. The impossible made manifest, machines with the minds of men, weapons that would make the nuclear bomb obsolete.
What problems remained?
Domestic ones.
The door opened and Luka strode in, with Commander Calumet close behind. Clovis smiled broadly. "[A good morning to both of you, I trust you have experienced the same?]"
"[Good enough, General Secretary,]" Calumet gave a quick salute. "[More Space Marines have been sent to secure the recently terraformed worlds. Our footprint continues to grow, and we maintain the primary military power in the extraterrestrial sphere – with the Americans not far behind.]"
"[Allies are not rivals, that is good news,]" Clovis flicked a dismissive wrist, and looked to the dourer KGB Director. "[Your silence is telling, Luka. A situation?]"
"[One to watch,]" Luke handed him a file. "[Jupiter was successful, but there have been some subtle ramifications that are beginning to manifest more openly. Primarily in central Europe and Iberia.]"
Clovis took the file and began reading through it. "[Iberia is always contentious. I'm confused about how this is news.]"
"[Contentious, but divided,]" Luka corrected. "[That place is a melting pot of conflicting ideologies, ethnicities, and nationalities. Most of whom hate each other. We've monitored an uptick in fascist, ethnic, and monarchist movements in recent weeks. There was evidence that the groups had a working truce.]"
"[Were they even fighting before?]" Clovis questioned.
"[No. But they had clear borders and territorial lines,[" Luka answered. "[Similar to a mafia, except they kept out of each other's business. Now they are directly working together. Even the republican and democratic groups, as well as disaffected leftist organizations are also joining.]"
That was interesting. Clovis raised an eyebrow as he set the report down. "[A curious development. Why?]"
"[A question we are still ascertaining,]" Luka grunted. "[We suspect there is an interlocutor between all of them. We are unsure if it is connected to the formal 'Resistance'. The British would not want to have all of these groups working together, and Hamaza is unlikely to support a non-Arabian or Islamic network not near the Levant or Arabia.]"
"[Leaving who?]" Clovis rubbed his chin. "[Israel?]"
"[Also unlikely, they lack the manpower, nor would they be supportive of the fascist groups, some of whom contain neo-Nazi elements,]" Luka crossed his arms. "[It is possible – unlikely, but possible – that this is an organic development. Similar to the current upheaval mainland China is facing.]"
"[Curious.]" Clovis had a thought, and walked over to the window. "[This seems to be a growing trend. First Brazilian rebels start causing problems for the Americans. Terrorists in Xinjiang, and Australia. Mass movements in Beijing and Mongolia. Now Iberia.]"
"[And Scandinavia.]" Calumet added.
"[I'm sorry?]"
"[I doubt it's connected, but there's been a number of assassinations against Soviet soldiers,]" Calumet handed him another file. "[Isolated incidents within the wilderness, almost exclusively away from civilization. Only against small groups or single soldiers on patrol.]" The file contained a number of grisly images of corpses with destroyed heads, some found tied up with their throats slit, or hanging from trees with ropes made of Soviet flags.
"[We've had Scandinavian rebels since the Winter War,]" Clovis muttered as he flipped through the pictures. "[I don't think they've been this aggressive before, have they?]"
"[No, it was always small groups,]" Luka confirmed. "[This seemed more intensified – and deliberate. They're leaving calling cards now, and loosely referring to themselves as the White Death.]"
"[Of course, I should have expected such an original name,]" Clovis said dryly, handing the file back. "[I presume you're going to handle these…concerns?]"
"[Of course, but you should be aware they are active,]" Luka said. "[I suspect the reason we are seeing a sudden resurgence of insurgent activity – in addition to our friends in the Middle East – is because they see this as their final opportunity to strike a blow. Their defeat is inevitable – their hope is faded, and they are understanding the scale of what they face.]"
"[And optimistic way of looking at it, but I happen to agree,]" Clovis said. "[Commander, do forward these images to our media teams. Dead soldiers will be quite useful for getting the public on our side. Now, is there anything else? There are some matters I need to finalize, concerning the coming funeral for our tragically departed Valentin.]"
"[As a matter of fact…]" Luka cleared his throat. "[The last matter concerns it.]"
"[In what way?]"
"[In short…it appears the corpse of Valentin has gone missing.]"
Clovis stopped, and cocked his head to the side. "[What do you mean missing?]"
"[Exactly what I said,]" Luka said. "[Missing. Gone. It isn't in storage anymore.]"
"[Well, the next question is – where did it go. Stolen?]"
"[Right now we don't know,]" Luka shook his head. "[The morgue was guarded twenty-four, seven. There was continual video surveillance. It should have been impossible, but when they opened the morgue to perform some checks, they found it gone. No trace. If it was taken, there only seems one likely culprit.]"
"[No doubt,]" Clovis said dryly, thinking. "[An odd form of passive-aggression.]"
There was no other plausible explanation. Only a select few even knew where Valentin's corpse was being kept, and even fewer would care about the body. No doubt the Traveler had sent one of the Ghosts to abduct it for…the purpose of annoying him? Denying him the opportunity to hold a funeral?
Well, it was a good thing that funerals didn't have to have open caskets.
"[Unfortunate, but it doesn't change plans,]" Clovis said with a sigh. "[I suppose the people will have to be deprived of seeing his face one last time. If that is the extent of her displeasure, then we can live with it.]"
"[The thing is,]" Luka said slowly. "[It wasn't just him. Every corpse that had a Ghost attached to it is gone. I've checked with the rest of the Triumvirate. Even Sov's remains – who died in a car bomb I remind you – were unable to be recovered.]"
That was more….concerning was not the right word, but it clearly was something. One corpse being stolen was being passive-aggressive. Two was pushing it. Every corpse? That went beyond needling a rival. It meant…something. Perhaps malicious, perhaps not. Perhaps it was this alien's way of claiming "her" people. Perhaps those assigned Ghosts had certain death rituals.
"[Odd,]" was all Clovis said. "[No footage or trace?]"
"[None.]"
Clovis thought for a moment. "[Clearly, we need to begin expanding our trump card a bit more widely. See to it that is accomplished.]"
"[Yes, General Secretary,]" Luka nodded, and Calumet saluted.
"[Is there anything else?]"
"[No, General Secretary.]"
"[Good. Dismissed.]"
TRIUMVIRATE INTELLIGENCE COMMAND | TAMPA | CONFEDERATION OF AMERICAN STATES
It was curious just how quickly plans could change. How in a few hours, days, weeks, months of work or longer could just be rendered pointless. Only a few moments and many things could change. Adaptability was required for anyone who rose in the ranks of the intelligence business, and Fox was no exception.
Yet when he heard that Valentin had died, then Sov had died, that men and women across the world were meeting their ends through unfortunate or mysterious circumstances, it put the limits of his adaptability to the test.
He was no fool. He knew – inherently – that this was not an accident. This was a masterfully coordinated campaign, likely arranged and ordered by Clovis himself. Of course, there would be nothing obvious that would connect it back to him. Investigations conducted showed that it was carried out by terrorists, rogue operatives, or simple bad luck – or so it seemed.
And in every instance, the hands of the powerful were clean. It didn't matter, Clovis would sacrifice anyone who he deemed necessary to achieve his ambitions.
He had to stand in amazement at the sheer boldness of Clovis. Not only to strike at those She had designated as Her own, but effectively dare Her to do something. It was the opening shot in a war, and he clearly was confident in his own ability to protect himself. For himself, there had been a period where he had wondered what he was going to do now.
Then the more he thought about it, the less concerned he became. Perhaps it was because Watcher-7 continued helping him with nary a word indicating anything was wrong, perhaps it was because he was perceiving something more to the seemingly ignorance of the Traveler, or perhaps because he had determined what he was going to do next with relative ease.
No, not all of the ARES-1 personnel were dead – mostly just the "problematic" ones. Valentin and Sov being the most obvious examples. Yet to target them directly showed Fox that Clovis didn't truly understand what was going on. Valentin was proof that one could emerge from nowhere to be a leader.
Maybe all of them were dead, but if Clovis thought that his problems were over, he would find himself surprised later. Let Clovis bask in his victory, there was work to be done. Fox didn't exactly know what the Traveler planned to do – but he knew that there was a plan. Perhaps he was Her plan, or perhaps there was one in parallel.
Nonetheless, he had to adapt, and it was clear that action needed to be taken.
The assassinations had not stemmed the tide of resentment and unrest sweeping the world. Groups and organizations were rising and organizing at rapid paces, and where before he was going to identify and keep tabs on them, the answer now was to use them. If revolt could not be stopped, it could be coopted.
And the world was a powderkeg that was soon going to be bathed in blood. What happened next would determine if it was a bloodbath on one side, or a war that would consume all. There was a tipping point the Triumvirate was approaching, and for his own work he needed leverage to force the Triumvirate to change.
Succeed or fail, it would begin here.
The Situation Room was locked down, and inside were his most trusted subordinates who would be taking active roles in the campaign that was to come. With all gathered, it was time to start. "Clovis Bray, likely in conjunction with the other heads of the Triumvirate has decided to seemingly declare war on the Traveler," he began. "Obviously, this is not ideal, and risks significant future destabilization within and beyond the Triumvirate. Operation HYDRA has been authorized, which is why all of you are here now."
There were nods around the room – no one here was surprised, and had likely anticipated HYDRA was going to activated. The operation originally conceptualized as a last resort when other options had faded. The worldwide resistance network was vast and untamed, each a head of the mythical beast. However, their mission here was not to sever the heads of this hydra, but leash them.
"We are going to focus on the most prominent groups in their respective regions," Fox had a map laid out on a table, with several simple game pieces. "We will start in South America." He picked up a yellow piece and placed it on Brazil. "The National Mandate of Reclamation. A South American identitarian group, which officially formed shortly after the integration of the continent into the Confederation. Mostly Brazilians, but include Argentinians, Venezuelans, Bolivians, and other South American ethnic groups and nationalities."
He clasped his hands behind his back. "They are based in the Amazon, which is why they've not been eradicated. Few in number, but well-trained and dangerous. They've now become more active following the Congressional bombing. They are likely to escalate if not reigned in. They are led by a 'Gustavo Ferreira'," an image of an older black-haired Hispanic guerilla fighter appeared on a screen behind him. "Practically raised in the group, and notably more moderate than most. He can likely be reasoned with – especially if he can strike a good deal."
"What's the risk of internal fracturing?" Someone asked.
"High, which is why intervention is necessary," Fox answered. "There are two power blocs within it which are apparent, Brazilian nationalists who hold significant sway over the north of the continent. The second is the Argentinian bloc, which primarily contests the Brazilian's reach further south. It is purely an alliance of convenience, and one that is consistently on the verge of breaking."
"Has it broken before?"
"Yes, the Argentinians have only recently decided to once again merge organizations," Fox confirmed. "They will need mediators and to leash and focus them on what matters. Ferreira will be instrumental in achieving this."
With that seemingly settled, Fox picked up another yellow marker, and placed it on Canada. "Following the American annexation of Canada, there has emerged a small resistance group, formed by former Canadian officers and soldiers. Unofficially known as the Red Leafs, they merged with the Quebec resistance, and are preparing to begin conducting strikes."
"They formed this on their own?" One officer asked.
"Formed? Yes, however, they are effectively a British proxy," Fox smiled grimly. "The British located the group before anyone else, and didn't take long to begin establishing lines to supply and support them. They have signed a notable agreement with this group – in the event that Canada is reclaimed, it will fall under the direct control of the United Kingdom."
"Seems the British want their empire back," Brask muttered, to some muted chuckles.
"Regardless of British ambitions, the Red Leafs are a group that is also worth handling," Fox continued dryly. "Now that we know the British have access to Triumvirate weapons, it could become bloody and trigger a wider war. It also serves as an inroad to the British. Several of you will be used to establish contact."
"The British are not going to trust us," Brask noted.
"No. They won't, but they're pragmatic enough to not dismiss contact out of hand," Fox corrected. "They can be properly convinced in time."
He shifted to where it was going to become more complicated. "Europe." He picked up another yellow piece and placed it in Sweden. "The Nordic nations are home to a decentralized group called the White Death, named after a Finnish soldier who racked up a high body count against the Soviet Union during the Second World War. It is suspected that he may have originally founded this group."
Fox waited for an image to appear on the screen behind him. "The Soviets have attempted to wipe them out many times, to various degrees of success. However, they've never been fully successful, and the White Death is resurging at an unexpectedly lethal pace in recent weeks. We do not know if there is a formal leader, but we do know one of their most lethal members."
The picture displayed was not high-quality, but it was good enough to make out a fairly old woman with silver hair, wrinkled skin, and carrying a bow. "Marin Mansanas," Fox said. "High on the Soviet Union's wanted list for decades. Over her forty-year career of hunting Soviets, nearly five hundred deaths have been attributed to her – as she is the only one of the White Death to use a bow and arrow. She's been referred to as Sino's Heir, and it has been rumored that she was his daughter, though this is untrue."
"Interesting, sir," Elsie coughed. "But is one woman really a resistance group? And even one we can contact?"
"She's relevant now because the White Death is becoming more active as a whole," Fox explained. "There was an open question of how connected each cell was – recent events indicated it's more organized and connected than anticipated. Making contact with them will be easier than expected – as we know that they come to you."
There were nods around the room as he picked up a red piece, which was placed on the Middle East. "To preempt concerns, we are not going to intervene in Hamaza's terror cell – they are our enemy, and we intend to treat them as such. However, the British and Israelis are the ones who hold their leash. Directly approaching them may lead to them restraining Hamaza's jihadists. It is unlikely to be completely successful, but establishing ties with both parties – Israel in particular - will be important moving forward."
Another red piece placed on the Iberian Peninsula. "To put it simply, Iberia is a mess that we are looking to weaponize. It is too segmented and unstable to be an effective investment. Operation CHAMELEON was recently conducted to get the groups to open dialogues with each other against the Soviet Union. The purpose of this is solely to command Soviet attention – we estimate that any 'alliance' will deteriorate within weeks due to significant ideological, cultural, and ethnic differences. However, it will force them to pay attention and distract them from HYDRA."
Elsie frowned. "So Iberia is just a distraction, sir?"
He nodded. "For now. We'll reassess the situation in the coming weeks."
Asia now. An orange piece was placed in mainland China proper. "Fang Sov is dead, but his movement continues. This is a different situation, as the 'People's Liberation Movement' is a populist movement that exists to pressure the Communist Empire into reformation. Without effective leadership that Sov was unofficially providing, it will likely collapse. Our job will be to ensure that doesn't happen."
"Have we identified leaders?" An officer asked.
"We have, who will be approached," Fox continued. "Additionally, this will require leveraging the independent media ecosystem Sov nurtured. Without him, it is likely the Communist Empire will swiftly crack down on it unless it becomes politically untenable."
Another orange piece was planted on Mongolia. "Concerning Mongolia, we have acquired a significant amount of information on their own resistance group. They are Mongolian nationalists, organized around a central leader dubbed the 'Khan.' Further investigation has revealed that this is the so-called Khan."
"Khojin Khongordzol," Fox said as the image appeared behind him, showing an older Mongolian woman with long black hair, a stern expression, and in an Imperial Army uniform. "An unorthodox figure to say the least. She is notable because she served with significant distinction within the Imperial Army, rising to the rank of Colonel despite her ethnicity and gender. The reason for this is that she was cited as a military genius."
"One which they apparently lost." Another commented.
"The circumstances of Khongordzol's departure are hidden," Fox clarified. "It was believed she was purged. However, her turning back up indicates that she either escaped whatever fate they planned, or she intentionally left. As of right now, the Communist Empire is not aware that Khongordzol is alive, let alone the one behind this group. If they were, they would be locking down the entire territory. She is a rational actor, and an extremely valuable asset should we present ourselves correctly."
He stepped back. "I realize that was a lot to go through, and this will not be a simple operation. However, it is not an exaggeration to say that the future stability of the Triumvirate will depend upon your success."
Fox nodded to all of them. "Things are bleak right now, but that is not what we can focus on. We have a responsibility to ensure the stability of the Triumvirate and her citizens, no matter the methods. This is fulfilling our mandate. Good luck."
RIYADH | ARABIA | REPUBLIC OF INDIAN TERRITORIES
Milya Mihaylova took a long, deep, and shuddering breath.
It had seemed that since they had returned to Earth all of those months ago, after being buoyed with the initial optimism, things had seemed to just get worse and worse. There had been sparks of hope intermixed with the creeping horror as the scope of what was happening in the world dawned on her. Yet…at each turn, the sparks were snuffed out.
Valentin dead. Sov assassinated.
There had been others in India. Not close friends of hers, but people who'd become more outspoken as the government had heightened their rhetoric. People forced into hiding, others who were found and killed by mobs. More killed by terrorists. She didn't know if such was accidental, or if they had been intentionally targeted. Valentin and Sov she was certain had been killed by someone's orders.
How? She didn't know. Evidence? She had none.
She was still alive though.
She didn't know why. Perhaps too insignificant. Perhaps too cowardly. She wanted to have the courage of her friends, yet when she saw the hatred many of her countrymen and government had for her and what she wanted to say, the weight forced her back down. Some people could handle the threats, harassment, and fear born from the powerful and numerous, but…not her.
Milya knew she shouldn't need to fear. She had, for reasons she remained unsure of, been selected by the Traveler. Yet the Traveler seemed so very far away, and it was clear that Her protection only extended so far. With the ones who spoke out now gone, there was no one left?
Not true.
Perhaps one friend she had left. The soft electronically tinged female voice that reminded her of her mother sounded in her mind. Sara she had called her Ghost, derived from Saraswati, goddess of wisdom and learning. The machine, despite its nature, was one she had found kind, attentive, and intelligent beyond what she had expected.
There is you. There are others.
And the Ghost could be very, very insistent at times. She was gentle, but certainly prodded her to take up the mantle along her friends. It had been easy to pass off the work to them when they were alive, but now…they were dead. She was left. And she was not ready. She was not a firebrand or one who defied authority.
Then there will be others.
The Ghost floated up to eye level. We both know it can only last so long. I know you can be more, and the crossroads is clear. Your choice must be made.
Sara was not wrong. Her own "assignment" here was proof of it. A polite request from the government to "assist in the pacification of the Arabian region". One she had complied with following without challenge, even though she had known what it meant. She didn't know at the time what she was going to do, but only that…well, terrorists she didn't like.
It hadn't prepared her for walking into this hell.
She had known the stories of Gala's ruthlessness, of the horror he had inflicted upon the region so long ago. Yet it was one thing to read about it, and another to see what was being inflicted upon the Arabs. Riyadh was the largest city in Arabia, and it had been fully militarized in recent weeks.
The citizens here were segregated and watched. She'd watched as groups of children, separated into groups of boys and girls, were led around in schools where Indian soldiers stood watching. She'd seen Arab men being forced into manual labor, beaten, and threatened by overseers. Women in lines of textile facilities and lighter labor as minders patrolled up and down the lines.
A city under perpetual surveillance and in the grip of soldiers.
The aura of fear was palpable in the city, as well as that of disdain and malevolence. She saw it in their eyes when they looked at her, lowering their eyes and mumbling their respects or apologies as she was Indian, and greater than they were. It was an uncomfortable, horrifying feeling.
Yet she was also under the watch of the soldiers. There was no mercy, compassion, or understanding in Riyadh. Only pain, fear, and hatred.
How could she do anything here?
You can't.
Not unless you want to surrender. You haven't done that yet.
She watched the city, from the window of the fortified hotel.
"[A shame, no?]" Arjun Gala said from behind her.
Milya immediately stiffened at the voice that came from behind her, her heart raced and blood froze. A petrification came over her, at the thought of who she was now with, no warning. She hadn't heard the door open, heard him approaching at all. Was she so distracted, or was he so quiet? She forced herself to turn to him. "[I...apologies, General. I didn't hear you enter.]"
She was quietly relieved that her voice didn't convey the fear she felt.
Arjun clicked his tongue. "[You should be more aware, being absentminded is a bad habit.]" He looked out alongside her at the city lights. "[The state of this city is a shame, wouldn't you agree?]"
She wasn't sure how to immediately reply. She agreed, but didn't know if this was a test. One where if she answered wrong, she would be punished. Her mouth opened and closed several times of its own accord, something she knew Arjun noticed.
Arjun's brow rose. "[If those around me do not speak their minds, earnestly, then I lose out on their skills and talents. A waste. Please, speak. We're far away from those who play idiotic political games of loyalty.]"
She braced herself, and answered. "[No, it is horrific. Sir.]"
Was that too direct? Too harsh? It wasn't harsh for her, but this was...the kind of thing he wanted. If it was a trap, she felt she'd find out soon.
"[I'd use less kind terms, perhaps.]" Arjun mused. "[It aggravates me, beyond what you can conceive of. ]" He pointed at a section of the city. "[See that?]"
"[Yes.]" She did, but didn't really know what she was looking at. It was all a bunch of buildings.
"[The factory district,]" he said. "[Of late we'd had a massive situation. Caused by this...]" He took a long, angry, breath. "[By this state of affairs, an utterly pointless loss. And it seems our glorious leaders wish to double down. Imbeciles.]"
"[What do you mean?]" She didn't know what he referred to. Politics she was unaware of, especially ones at the level he dealt with.
"[Oh you know full well what, you think I asked for you accidentally? No, I needed to see, confirm a theory of mine,]" he told her. "[What do you think is the solution to this situation? Hmm?]"
"[This...isn't what you wanted?]" Genuine confusion colored her voice. "[Is this situation not your doing?]" She frowned. "[Why did you want me here?]"
"[It's a scrap job,]" he grumbled. "[A horrid, abomination of a solution to a game played with stupid rules. The crackdowns create more rebellions, the xenophobia creates incitement, the religious suppression creates righteous hate. This is...pathetic. Unskilled and brutish and ugly.]"
Milya wasn't sure what to think right now. What he just said greatly contrasted to what he'd...well, done in the past. "[But...is this not what you've done before? If I remember…]" she cut herself off. Perhaps best not to remind him of his effective banishment for his actions when the region had been conquered.
"[I had expected that with greater resources I could employ my craft with more majesty. I am proud of my previous stratagems, but they were equally scrap jobs. Improvisations, ]" he muttered, eye narrowed at the city. "[Instead, they saddled me with more of these scrap jobs. More improvisation. I am reaching the limits of my tolerance.]"
No, no, he wasn't displaying remorse for his actions. He wasn't apologizing. He wasn't saying that what he'd done was wrong. It was that it hadn't been the right solution. His solution. Confusion was replaced by a slow horror as she realized that given the chance, what Arjun could have done would have been worse.
The lives didn't matter. He took more offense to what he viewed as crude solutions - one he nonetheless dutifully carried out. Yet he wished for it to be greater. She suppressed a shudder at what that could possibly mean, what it could look like.
Ask him.
Are you insane? She mentally blanched at the idea. Why?
Sara's voice was insistent. How can you stop something you don't understand?
I…
You have his ear. He is frustrated. He wants someone, anyone, to listen to him. Even if that person hates him. Are you going to continue to be silent?
Could she? If there was no one else...and it seemed there was no one else…
She took a breath. "[If...this…]" she gestured around. "[Is not what you want to do...then what is your solution?]"
"[Hmm,]" he hummed. "[Utilize the region and its civilian units to maximum effect. It is possible to easily replicate non-violent domestic assimilation, and utilize friend-foe narratives to flush out rebellious elements. Sympathizers and allies can be made narrative heroes, a part of us. The religious element will only require media programming and schooling.]"
He waved an idle hand. "[A generation at most, and the newly enforced status quo would become the new norm. Something the Soviets always understood. But it would have been too much time for the politicians in New Delhi. They wanted immediate assimilation. Conquest.]"
One fist into an open hand. "[Brutality to ensure compliance. They lacked patience. They lacked the capability to understand the long-term. So when I offered a solution - one crude as it was - they accepted it. Any solution was better than decades bogged down in this abominable wasteland of degenerates.]" He paused. "[But make no mistake - that was not a true, lasting solution. That which works is not which is superior.]"
His good eye gleamed in smoldering hate. "[When they realized what they demanded, their stomachs turned, and they disavowed the methods by which I would fulfill their mandate. I made the mistake of being their attack dog once. This time it will not be so simple for them to remove me. To put me in a cage where I languish in bureaucratic hell.]"
As he said that, she realized something. Something she wasn't sure if she was imagining, yet when she focused on his tone, his words, there was an undercurrent to something, everything he was saying.
Fear.
She resisted blinking at the revelation. Arjun Gala was driven by ambition - but also by fear. He feared removal, feared the inability to be significant the way he wanted to be, so he'd complied with their demands when they invaded the Middle East. He feared a return to his observation and isolation he'd suffered. Now he worried that on this opportunity he was provided, he wasn't being given the tools to do what he thought he needed to succeed.
He feared he was being set up to fail - and this time would be his last.
She realized that he was not oblivious to his reputation. He knew he was dreaded, that he was hated. He believed it unfair - but he did not believe it was unfair because of what he'd done, but that he'd not been allowed to do it "properly".
And that fear...she was getting a picture of why she was here. Though politically connected, his nominal 'allies' wanted to see him fail. They denied him the smart, the wise, and the resources. So now...he was looking to unconventional places. Like her.
"[It seems you've realized it,]" Arjun murmured. "[Yes, they've become a hindrance, and a problem. I dislike problems, I dislike those who stop me from solving problems. And I want this problem solved.]"
How should I do this?
We know what drives him now. We can use that.
We need to know his solution though.
So ask him.
"[That's what you need me for,]" Milya said. "[To find this solution. To find a solution, I need to know the problem. The true problem.]"
"[This puzzle has been aggravating to me, but now more pieces have muddied it,]" he said to her. "[This Traveler, I don't like how it's playing us. The Triumvirate, more reckless and unstable. New Delhi, run by halfwits who haven't read a single history book. Problems, problems, problems. Endlessly bothersome.]"
A more insightful observation than most. Sara noted.
If only She was as proactive as he believes.
You're here, aren't you?
Milya only considered that for a moment.
He's hedging his bets!
So it would seem.
It was logic she found inherently flawed...but she could follow it. Arjun thought there was more to the Traveler, and that there were additional moves being made. And that, if he worked with someone who was chosen by Her, then it would increase his favor in Her eyes...and if nothing happened, he lost absolutely nothing.
He can't touch me.
Sara seemed amused. No, it appears he cannot.
That was a relief to her - she didn't expect to be feeling relief in learning that Arjun was - somehow - a more rational person than she'd expected. Driven purely by self-preservation, ego, and fear - but he wasn't someone who would snap and kill her one day. Not that she shouldn't be careful...but walking on eggshells may not be something to fear. Maybe.
She coughed. "[You still haven't answered my question.]"
"[Your question?]" Arjun paused, glass eye rolling in his eye socket.
"[You keep talking about pieces and complaining about your colleagues,]" she said. "[You still haven't said what your solution is - or defined the problem you need to solve. The Traveler? The Middle East? Define it, otherwise there is nothing I can add.]"
Arjun considered, idly fixing his glass eye, and combing his few bundles of hair. "[The Traveler is playing us for fools, such that we have no variables to solve that problem with. The Middle East is a problem entangled with another. Namely, New Delhi. That I must solve to even begin on the rest.]"
"[So I'm here for the Middle East. You know I'm not a politician.]"
"[Politicians are chronic liars of little use to me,]" Arjun said slowly. "[What I require is dissent with purpose against New Delhi, if they wish to to play this game, then so be it]."
He stepped closer to the glass, placing a hand on it. "[I own this place, from what was once Syria and Iraq, to Yemen and the two seas. All of it, I control it utterly. Consider this a promotion, what do you think you can do, if I provide you the backing?]"
From the reflection of the glass, she picked out his remaining eye. Intently focused on her, from her expression to her posture to her voice.
This was a test - not one that determined if she would have a role, but what that role would be. If she failed this, then he would shuffle her somewhere where she was tangible, but lacked an impact. She may have been his first choice - but she wasn't the only one.
What did she want? Arjun would know if she was lying, she was certain of that. What mattered right now was the framing. How she could frame what she wanted, in a way that aligned with his goals. He didn't care about people, he didn't care about actions - he cared about results, and his image. He cared about proving that he was better than the politicians in New Delhi claimed - and the rest of the world.
Under all the assumptions one could make about him, in the end he was driven by ego and fear.
It was a realization that seemed to strip the mystique and legend around him down.
That it is, Sara said. All monsters have more to them than action and vitriol. There is a core to each one. Understanding does not negate their actions, it merely shows that even monsters are flawed and Human - and how they emerge in the first place. Say your piece now, and, leash and nudge this one to a better path.
"[There are two problems that I see,]" Milya began. "[How the people here perceive India and the government - and the terrorists that exploit this. Both are interlinked with one another, and you can address one, but not the other, but failing to address both, will ensure one keeps coming back.]"
She paused. "[Terrorists prey on discontent and despair. You galvanize them, your reputation precedes you. The best way to kill that reputation is to not feed into it,]" she motioned outside. "[This - this does not help you. It gives fodder to resistance.]"
"[This is the mandate of New Delhi,]" he glared through the glass. "[They said... What was it they said? Ah, yes. 'We wish for the populace to be compliant in all intents.' Playing clever with me.]"
"[They might have,]" Milya nodded. "[But that gives you ambiguity. There is more than one way to make a population compliant.]"
"[Any more sophisticated method would bring New Delhi's attention,]" he glanced at her. "[This is the mandate of New Delhi,]"
"[That's what they are counting on,]" Milya insisted firmly. "[That you obey and follow orders like a good dog. They gain the benefits, you tarnish yourself further. Think about what they could actually do - they've painted themselves into a corner - if they remove you because you make something better, do you think it will reflect well on them? They want the approval of the Americans, the Soviets, the Chinese. We are the sick child of the Triumvirate - new methods won't make them punish you - they'll just try and take credit for your 'change'.]"
Arjun's lips curled upwards. "[You pass. Now, how faithful are you?]"
"[I give my offerings to Saraswati, she has guided who I am, and what I have done.]"
"[Appropriate,]" Arjun said with a smile. "[The New Delhi fanatics have made enemies, in a few days, those enemies will be politely sent to help me. Or rather, for you, I am an unpleasant odour to them, they find me the lesser of two evils. You are a different matter. I believe you'll find them agreeable?]"
She understood the implications of that. Fanatics were...distasteful and dangerous. Especially for her. "[My experience with my brethren has been tainted as of late. I'll make do, if I must.]"
"[You'll find them to your like, I expect,]" Arjun replied. "[Very much in agreement to you, and they only need persuasion from someone they can believe in. Personally, I find them too cowardly and peace loving.]"
Of course he would say that - but that was a relief to hear...and had some implications. If they were being sent, then the government didn't see them as useful or a threat. They'd aligned with the true fanatics - these were dissidents. Ones to further sabotage Arjun - or at least that was how they'd perceive it.
To him, these people coming would be tools that might have a use, and she was presumably the wielder - something he would exploit if she saw success. However, it would be good to have some other allies - and if he was telling the truth, those who were aligned in her beliefs. Hopefully. "[Very well then,]" she said. "[Then I look forward to their arrival.]"
"[If you succeed, New Delhi will find us persistent against their ideologies,]" Arjun said. "[That, will be the start. How well do you speak Arabic?]"
"[Mine's rusty, but I can read it fluently. In regards to speaking it, I need to get back into practice.]"
"[You'll have plenty of chances,]" Arjun chuckled. "[My request for your skills in linguistics was not merely cover, the rebels are using an Arabic cipher worthy of respect. My experts have been disappointing. I would like you to lend a hand.]"
The simplest part of all of this. One she could perform well enough."[I'll take a look.]"
"[Though I would warn you, the Sandman and his cell might try to remove you,]" Arjun said. "[He's an impressively adept leader, it almosts disgusts me how skilled he is.]"
She frowned. "[The Sandman?]"
"[No first name, no last name, nothing,]" Arjun muttered. "[His men are skilled, fanatical, devoted, and excellent at surviving practically every trick in the book. He's single handedly become the linchpin of their local leadership. Make no mistake, he's a nuisance of the highest grade.]"
She'd not heard this before, though here she could easily imagine how he could be successful. Still, she had...relevant questions. "[Is he on his own, or is he tied to Hamaza's terrorists?]"
"[Tied to them, and they trust him,]" Arjun replied. "[Practically all of the localized rebel cells answer to his commands.]" Arjun paused, thinking of whether he should continue. "[Several Soviet-led STAG squads have been killed by his men. I would remind you that you're cracking his cipher, those of his ilk are one in a thousand years, soon enough, he'll learn of it, and respond.]"
"[Noted,]" Milya said, though nodding more to herself than him.
She needed to learn more about him. She was no friend of terrorists, but anyone here was someone who had a justifiable reason to fight. Arjun expected loyalty, and to use her - mostly because he didn't have a choice. It was a game that she realized she was now playing - for as much as Arjun intended to use her - she was going to use him just as much.
A development that she could have never seen coming. And right now, the glimmering of an idea was starting to surface. Arjun was a man isolated, a man who had so very few options. A man who was cunning, dangerous, and ruthless - but also in a box. Someone hated by all, and driven to desperation to succeed and avert his fate.
You see what you can do now.
Yes, Sara. I think I do.
"[Finally, it seems, my problems will begin being solved,]" Arjun Gala said, an oily smile on his face and his good eye shining with muted-glee. "[Such a pleasure to finally meet you. A shame about your friends, reaching out earlier might have been an excellent choice]"
A flicker of pain went through her, but she didn't take the bait. "[Perhaps, General. Now I need to prepare. It seems like I have a lot of work to do.]"
"[Ah yes, and for your own safety,]" without looking at her, he snapped his fingers. "[Please, meet Small Turtle, he'll be your bodyguard at all times]"
A large, lumber man stepped into the room. Head bowed low. Rifle in hand, armed and armored to teeth, and not a spot of skin visible on him. Except for a small turtle sticker on his belt.
She raised an eyebrow. "[An interesting name.]"
Small Turtle waved at her, shyly, almost.
"[If you need anything, let him know, he'll inform me, you can trust him to be secure,]" Arjun said, waving her off. Seeing that the conversation was done, she turned and left, the lumbering man following her without question or comment.
She'd ask him about the ironic name later, knowing very well what his role really was - though she had a feeling she could outsmart the hired muscle.
Then again, this was Arjun. And around him, she would need to be cautious. She was in a very dangerous game now - and one where the stakes would be life or death.
OFFICE OF THE GENERAL SECRETARY | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION
Weeks passed. Months.
Nothing still.
Was it really over?
Clovis was still uncertain, still suspicious, yet the more time passed, the more he began relaxing. It did him no good to be paranoid for the rest of his life, and at a certain point he needed to look at the evidence before him – not what he simply suspected to be the case. And the evidence pointed to the Traveler simply moving on.
He wasn't sure how to feel about that.
It seemed…inadequate.
Disappointing?
No, there was still this feeling of uncertainty; that there was something going on here that he wasn't seeing. Perhaps he had misjudged the alien altogether? That had been a risk, which the scientists had warned all the way back at the start. That ascribing Human values and motives to this alien may not be applicable.
Perhaps his assessment that the Traveler valued her pawns was an erroneous one. Pawns were something to discard and sacrifice after all. Perhaps she was simply more focused on this threat coming than the affairs of Earth. She had seen that he had a vision and the world under his control, and decided why tamper with it? Was that her rationale? He didn't know.
All he knew was that the worst seemed to be over. Seemed.
There had been no retaliation. There had been no insinuations or threats.
She had just…moved on.
He still thought about this as the days dragged on, filled with work and developments. The world moved on, and he maintained his own plans and goals – there was a nation to run, after all. Yet in the quiet moments he considered the strangeness of the world he now found himself in.
One that was on the brink of a technological revolution.
He wondered if the Traveler was testing him in some way, if it was seeing how he would use this advanced power to unite Humanity; what he intended for her. And there should be no mistake made – Humanity would not be subservient to an alien, be they benevolent or otherwise. The Traveler would not find Humanity a subservient race, her station would be one of a partner, not an overlord.
Clovis had expected that she would not permit that. Now he wondered if the alien was pragmatic enough to accept this. Otherwise, it was luring them all into a false sense of complacency, unless it was playing an absurdly long game. Possible, or there was the more concerning theory that kept him up at night.
That the Traveler was not worried, because he was unknowingly walking down a path she had anticipated.
Of course, this was primarily a fear borne out of his sleepless nights, when the uncertainty dominated his thoughts. Where he focused on his deficiencies and unknowns. Where there was the phantom conspirator which was quietly plotting against him; a web of secrecy that he had somehow missed.
In the day, such did not bother him. He controlled what was arguably the most powerful nation on Earth. His spies were the best in the world. His people were loyal, and his advisors men and women he could trust. To believe there was a conspiracy against him was one that the rational would consider laughable.
Yet he thought about it nonetheless.
And could not explain why.
When he broke it down, it was because he had become accustomed to what the Traveler would do. Valentin, Sov, all of them had been mere puppets of what she wished for Humanity. It was not difficult to discern, and the Ghosts had furthered this perception. Now though, when he had struck, where she had appeared over Moscow in response, there was just…nothing.
Had it all been an act? A test? A misconception on his part? On not just him, but those around him?
He couldn't shake it. The unknowns were too questionable, he couldn't just let it go. That was why he was not considering this over yet. It was why he kept his paranoia healthy and consistent. He was unsure what would be the line where he would accept he was wrong, but he suspected it would be sooner than later – and be impossible to refute.
Nonetheless, milestones were still being met.
"[The first of the Exo lines are about to be produced,]" Matthew said, having arrived for a meeting several minutes ago. "[We have a batch of eight hundred – two hundred per Triumvirate nation, incorporating their respective models. We believe this will begin encouraging recruitment and public attention.]"
"[The immortality aspect is also something to note as well,]" Clovis added. "[So long as certain details are kept quiet. The people don't need to know the grisly details of the process.]"
"[Of course not,]" Matthew assured him. "[Trust me, our PR teams have numerous guides on proper advertisement we're going to distribute. I must say, it's exciting how fast we've come. There was a time where this would take years. Advances in computation and cybernetics have pushed us arguably decades ahead.]"
"[Indeed,]" Clovis agreed. "[I presume we're planning to launch the new advances in cybernetics within the same timeframe?]"
"[Absolutely, no sense in not doing so,]" Matthew agreed. "[We don't want all of the attention on the Exos.]"
"[Correct,]" Clovis agreed, a thought coming to him. "[Ah, how is Ada doing?]"
"[The ADA?]" Matthew thought briefly. "[It's doing…fine? It served quite well in testing out the newer chassis models, ones with more 'Human' features. Mouths in particular. I would have to check with the team where it is. A particular reason?]"
"[She was my first real exposure to the program,]" Clovis said. "[You could say an impression was made.]"
"[Well, at a certain point, it is likely to be decommissioned,]" Matthew said with a shrug. "[Ada was largely a testbed, and we have better ones now, and it isn't a real person as I explained at the time. Just…fragments.]"
Clovis frowned at the descriptions, and resisted a sigh. And they called him heartless. Scientists. Sometimes too objective and mechanical for their own good. Real person or not, considering how Exos were made, Clovis didn't see a rational argument for why Ada would not be considered one. "[Well, when you get to that point, I'd directly request that she be transferred to my command. A pity to waste a fully functional and working model.]"
Matthew shrugged. "[If you insist, I have no issue. She won't be a standard model, I'll warn you that.]"
"[I'm aware,]" Clovis poured himself a glass of water. "[I'll accept that risk. Now, is there additional developments?]"
"[Not especially my field, but I'm sure you're aware the Warminds are being prepared to go online,]" Matthew recalled.
"[Yes, I believe that Monroe is in the actual stages of being brought online,]" Clovis took a sip of water. "[Just in time for the Exo Program to be launched. However, that one is largely a simple matter of plugging in to existing data streams.]"
"[As was my understanding,]" Matthew nodded. "[And Rasputin?]"
Clovis smiled. "[A few more touches. The updates Ana has provided me are enlightening, and quite exciting to be honest. Rasputin will be the final piece in the Warminds, the binder of everything. Thus…]" he lifted his cup. "[His awakening must be done carefully.]"
"[And I have faith it will be, Ana is quite good at what she does,]" Matthew said. "[An event I look forward too.]"
"[I'll ensure you receive an invite,]" Clovis promised. "[Now, what other developments do you have for me?]"
RESISTANCE OUTPOST | TEL AVIV | ISRAEL
Hamaza was not getting better. It seemed he was getting worse, and he'd locked himself in the library. Even passersby could hear the loud conversations, shouts, and hysterical mutterings from across the door.
That was the worst of it.
Not once, not even through the absolute worst, had Hamaza ever cracked. The man had been, despite how little they'd ever admit it, the beating heart which always gave them a measure of hope. They'd become so used to his smiles, comforts, and optimism, that they only noticed it when it was gone.
But there was an eerie coherence to that madness. They could see it. Almost feel it. Hamaza had come to some realization. He was still there, but cracked and broken.
It was a development that Liberman had...not expected. Hamaza was old. He was tired, and when he cracked, Liberman had always thought that it would be it. Heart attack, or even just closing his eyes and never waking. He'd found the old man unnaturally strong mentally and emotionally, but everyone had a breaking point.
It's just that when Hamaza hit his, he didn't stop, he just...had become almost more intense. And at a point where they needed everyone to be on the same page. Isaiah was dead, and Jilla was of little help. If he was ignoring even Amjah, then there wasn't much he could do. However, it was why they were here now. If Hamaza was still cognizant, they needed to force it out of him. If not, they needed to start thinking of replacements.
Arabia under the thrall of a butcher, North Africa gone, Canada conquered. The Triumvirate in a technological revolution. It seemed the end of the road was coming fast. The Indians were eying Israel, and the Soviets were all but waiting for their navy to be ready.
The end was coming. He could pretend all he liked, but he was no fool, nor lie for the benefit of others. They'd been able to stop it for a long time, but decades of minor victories and repeated defeats took their toll. With the alien all but choosing its side, it was certain. An ignoble, inglorious end. They deserved better. All of them did.
There was a certain, ironic, and painful knowledge, that now when defeat was all but certain, that they stood more united than ever. Israel, and the United Kingdom, were prepared for a fight to the nuclear death.
In somber melancholy, ever their squabbles dimmed.
"He's been in there for four hours now," Jilla muttered. "And came directly from his room after he woke up. Same thing, day after day."
"Untenable," Liberman crossed his arms. "What is he even doing in there?"
"Don't know," Jilla rubbed her forehead. "Locked, remember."
"He's cracked, and the rest of them are starting to get jittery," Arya said. "I don't like pretending like he's fine, when everyone knows he's not. We can find a new leader."
"Can we?" Liberman wasn't certain. "He's the Supreme Leader of Iran. In exile or not, he's not replaceable. Much less the last real Ayatollah."
More than that, which he didn't say, was that above all else, Hamaza was a leader. The one who had gotten Jews, Muslims, British, Arabs, and hundreds of others who should not have been natural allies to not only work together, but work towards a unified, almost utopian vision. And had a stubborn, almost naive hope that they would win.
Without him...he didn't know if anyone could replace him. They were each a part, a puzzle piece that worked well together, but he knew he was no leader. Neither could the rest of them manage in the same way. Someone would try, but he feared it would fracture. Especially as the Triumvirate loomed over them.
"What? We want to keep him as a figurehead? Occasionally release proof of life?" Arya snorted. "I don't like it."
"And prey tell, what about this situation you like?" Liberman snapped. "We're not doing what we like, we're salvaging what we have."
"Please," Jilla stepped forward. "Enough. Please. No more fighting. We just...need some time."
"We're out of time," Arya shook her head. "Also, where is Amjah?"
"He went to try checking up on Hamaza," Jilla sighed. "Poor kid. This isn't easy for him."
The door to the room suddenly opened, and Amjah strode in. "Speak of the devil," Liberman grunted, before frowning. Amjah had a...look on his face. One that was torn between excitement and wariness. Or confusion.
"I talked to Hamaza," he said in a slow voice.
That got all of their attention. "He let you in?" Jilla blinked.
"What did he say?" Arya asked. "Is he coming out of it?"
"He demands, not asks, demands, we come and meet him," Amjah said.
Liberman raised an eyebrow. "Demands?"
Hamaza never, ever "demanded" anything. Sometimes it was insistent, sometimes it was prodding, but the man was exceedingly polite to the point of parody at times. He tried picturing Hamaza "demanding" something and simply couldn't. That didn't necessarily bode well.
Unfortunate that Ryan wasn't here, and was managing affairs in the States. Outside of Amjah, he was closer than the others. Still, better to learn what Hamaza wanted to meet with them about. He looked at the rest of them. "Let's go, then."
They nodded, and followed Amjah out, and towards the Library.
A pair of Quds force soldiers met their eyes, warily, and nervously, opening the door. One of them stepped close to Liberman.
"Be careful," the soldier said. "He's...off."
Liberman paused. "Define 'off', soldier." If the Quds were warning him, then it was serious. Especially to him.
The two glanced at each other. One of them spoke up. "He's livid. Simmering. We've never seen him like that, never. Not even during the fall of our homeland."
He hadn't been around during that time, nor had he asked what it had been like. He'd been assigned after, when the Resistance had been formed. The image of an angry Hamaza was alien. So much so that he wasn't sure what he necessarily was getting into. His psychological profile was one where he was simply not inclined to anger.
He nodded at the guards all the same. "Appreciated."
They inclined their heads, and opened the door.
The library was a mess, books of all sorts lay piled. One atop another, hundreds, history, war, politics, ethics, prophecies. Half of the library was out of its shelfs. Plates of food, and bottles of water, lay stacked neatly to the side.
Hamaza stood on a wooden stool, a trio of soldiers cleaning him. Cutting long, gnarled nails. Cutting his overgrown hair, ironing his out garments, helping him wash his face. They ran incense smoke across him, and sprayed cologne.
He stood up, tying his turban around his head, a soldier wrapping his religious garment around him.
"How long?" he asked them, like a man who'd only just woken up.
Well, this was an improvement. Hamaza had let himself go for weeks, and that he was finally grooming, or having other help groom him into a more acceptable state was promising. Although he didn't remember him going quite to these lengths, though he supposed it had been a while. Still, there was a different presence around him. Something utterly intense and focused.
Not anger as the guard had described, or if it was, it was very well-hidden. Hamaza was staring at them intently, waiting for an answer. Likely to do with returning from his state of madness.
"Weeks," Liberman said. "A few months since it happened."
"No, not that. Not me. How long have we been fighting?" Hamaza asked.
Jilla and Arya exchanged a look as Liberman resisted a frown. Either he was losing his memory, or he was about to make a point. Still, he answered. "Decades now."
He laughed, the sound grating, devoid of his good cheer. "It feels like an eternity, doesn't it? An eternity that lasted a long, long day."
"At times," Liberman said cautiously, no longer certain that Hamaza was as composed as he was letting on. "Though we continue forward, as we always do."
"Forward," Hamaza said, loud and strange of tone. "Forward. Has there ever been any other path for us? Is there anything but to walk this road, eternally advancing? Ever forward, ever onwards?"
"Realistically?" Arya shrugged. "Yeah. We could give up. We could get on the paved road the Triumvirate laid out for us. Or a grave in your case. For us? No way than forward, no matter how long or dark the road is. The alternative is worse."
"Yes, Ayatollah," Jilla's voice was softer, but she was firm. "Do you see another way?"
"I should have told you all, long ago, this," he smiled dimly. "I love you. All of you, without exception, for all your faults, for all your errors and sins. My homeland was taken from me, my people oppressed, I've never known my parents, I've never had a wife. My only father figure was killed."
He paused, looking each and every one of them in the eye. "Do you trust me? Believe in me? Do you have faith in me?"
Liberman felt he was best to answer here. Notoriously grim and emotionless as he was, it would perhaps mean something coming from this curiously introspective Hamaza. "You are the leader of this Resistance, Hamaza. One I have sometimes disagreed with, as have others here, but I speak for all of us, including Ryan were he here, in saying that we have not doubted your intentions, willingness, and ability to lead us." He allowed a single, thin smile. "If there is one thing these weeks have taught us, is that none of us are you. And without you, we would not be here today, for better or worse. And I would not have it another way."
"I've never had a family," Hamaza said quietly. "But I've had you, all of you, all of this time. And I'm tired of this. I'm tired of loss, of defeat, of sorrows. I'm tired of fighting like a wretched dog. Aren't you all?"
"All of us are, Ayatollah," Amjah shrugged his shoulders. "But we can either continue this struggle, or we give up and let evil take this world. There is no other path."
"No, there is, another path we've long been blind to, but now I can see, now," Hamaza said. "I've looked into the dark, into the hell this war has made us into. Look at us, warped, malformed. So willing to kill hundreds of innocents, and how many innocents have we killed?"
Liberman sighed. "Too many, I'm certain."
Jilla pursed her lips. "And many who have deserved it. There is no innocence in complicity."
"And we're all complicit in gruesome deaths of children," Hamaza eyes burned, his glare furious. "Do we all deserve to die a dog's death? Are we all abhorrent monsters? Are we?"
"We do so in service of a better world, Hamaza," Liberman said. "You know this. We do not need to enjoy it, to understand it. We fight an evil, and this is no storybook. Good cannot drive out evil. Not here. It must be more, worse."
"Nor do we need to accept it," Hamaza stood up. "We fight for the world as it ought be, not as it is. I've seen it, with clarity, the clouds have cleared, and I can see…" he paused, and laughed. "I can see the dawn."
He reached out with a wrinkled hand. "I can see us, rising above this. I see us driving the tyrants out of their homes. I see, Liberman, that we are made invincible, when the weak are made strong, when we stand higher than this."
"Higher than them," Hamaza said. "So long as we live small, we will die small. I know this now, and I can see us stand higher."
"How?" Jilla demanded. "Respectfully, Ayatollah, how can we do more than we have been doing? How can we succeed when this alien looms over us, empowering the Triumvirate?"
"I've thought, long and hard," Hamaza said quietly, he made a gesture at a soldier. "About this alien, this divinity looming over head. What does it want? Why does it want? Why is it playing this game?"
"Can you see it, Liberman? How it pulled the wool over our eyes?" he asked.
"Indeed," Liberman said. "It used us to satisfy it's curiosity. Perhaps allow Isaiah to employ it in some cases, but an illusion. It chose its side, and it is our enemy."
"Worse, Liberman," Hamaza said. "It's their enemy too. It's waiting, plotting, chipping at the chinks, it used us to test the Triumvirate, and its agents, to sow conflict. To...to plan a victory for itself. It doesn't want conquest, it wants total conquest. Absolute conquest, and it can mold the victor to its image, time means nothing to it. Can you see it now?"
It was...an interesting theory. Liberman was unsure if anyone could properly understand the motivations and intentions of this alien. Although that would explain why it had bothered with them at all. Although at the end of the day… "True or not, it ends with a victorious Triumvirate, be it in the image of this alien or not. Should the Triumvirate be molded into something else, it is unlikely we will be there to see it."
Hamaza laughed. "The Triumvirate will never be molded, a flawed casting can only be broken. Look at who it chose, Liberman, who it gave power. Not the tyrants, but their dissenters. Not those who worship obedience, but those who would change. It's not picking sides, not yet. But it will."
"Think, Liberman, If it wanted power, why not choose the tyrants? Why not subsume them, empower them utterly, what stops it?"
"I realize you've been...distracted, Ayatollah," Arya said carefully. "But it has empowered them. They've unleashed weapons we're unable to keep up with, even with what we've stolen. They announced groundbreaking artificial intelligences for war games, and we know they will employ that against the public and us. Every day they share news of a new colony, mine, or solar military base. The tyrants have been chosen, Ayatollah. It may not be overt, but it gave them the knowledge and tools, knowing how they would be used."
Hamaza paused, thinking, shaking his head. "And yet they still hold no Ghosts, and yet, we know it holds far, far more. No. The Triumvirate has been given pittances, tools to test them. What happens when they fail?"
"Optimistic, Ayatollah," Liberman grunted. "Maybe. Maybe not. The point being that it has supported a side - and that side has not been us."
He gestured, and soldiers dragged a table and placed it between them. They unfolded a map of the entire world, red points and blue points on it, hundreds of them. "And it's time to change that, it's time for us to change."
Liberman's eyes scanned the table, and saw where all the red ones were situated. China. Australia. Mongolia. Brazil. Canada. British intelligence had regularly passed along various groups that could be useful, few of which he passed on to Hamaza for the simple fact that most of these groups would be gone within weeks or months.
Few who rebelled understood what that would take. Others were too focused on irrelevant aspects. Race, religion, nationalism, all of those took precedence over a united front against the Triumvirate. Were it not for Hamaza, their own groups would have likely ended up the same way.
Arya spoke what he'd noticed. "I'm surprised you got all of that. And fairly up to date too." She appraised him. "Where are you going with this?"
"My eyes have opened, and I can see, I can see with clarity," he stood up with aid. He placed a finger on the map. "We fight not for ourselves, not for our petty desires, but for the things that matter. And at one point, we lost sight of that."
He took a long, drawn, tired breath. "Will you trust me with your lives once more?"
Liberman exchanged a look with the rest of them. He didn't necessarily know what Hamaza had in mind, but they owed him enough to at least listen. "What is your plan?"
"I've brought you together, despite our differences," he started. "And I can bring more. But only if you believe in me, only if we stand higher than the shadow we cast. I don't want to die a petty terrorist, I don't want to accept that killing innocents is fine if we do it. I want to die proud we've fought a fight worth dying, and screaming, and shouting for."
"From America, to Europe, to Asia, to Japan and Mongolia and Arabia, all of them," Hamaza said. "I want all of us and them, even if just for a dying moment, to stand higher and prouder, than we've ever done. I can't do it alone, I can't do it without you, and I can't do it if each of us doesn't believe that we're better than this."
It went against what Liberman knew the world to be. The world was unfair, cold, and cruel. Victories were extracted not through hope, friendship, and faith, but through blood, ruthlessness and cruelty. There was no better world, no magical solution that worked without the horror it entailed.
In this business, only those who were equally stoic, ruthless, and capable of suppressing their Humanity could thrive. There was no "right" or "wrong", only that which was effective or powerless. They lived in a world where good had been extinguished, and that which could fight evil was evil itself.
For the greater good.
Yet he had to wonder now. Had it worked? Decades later, they were fighting the same fight, against the same enemy. Had what they done been the only thing saving them from annihilation, keeping them in an eternal stalemate? His instinct told him he was right, but he couldn't ignore that it had not felt like they were winning for a long time.
Delaying at best. Perhaps they could have won eventually. If the alien hadn't come.
But the alien was here, and the end was running out.
The definition of insanity was doing the same thing, and expecting things to change. If they were going to die, if they were doomed to an inglorious death, what did they have to lose by trying something different?
"I want to die proud of myself," Hamaza said quietly. "I want to die proud of my family, of you, of the best of you, won't you like that, Liberman? Arya? Amjah? All of you?"
He sighed. "It's never been about what I want, Hamaza. We never wanted this. But it was for something better. Now though...decades of fighting, and all coming to an end," he met Hamaza's eyes. "Every instinct I have tells me that what you want now is foolish, idiotically naive, and shows a misunderstanding of what we know our enemy to be. But what I've been doing, what we all have done, is not working. If we are going to die, then maybe it should be showing the world at our best."
"Well said," Amjah nodded. "I will put my trust in you, Ayatollah, as I always have."
"I don't want you to hold hope," Hamaza said. "I don't want you to be optimistic, I don't want you to think we'll win, or we'll live, or that we'll cast them down in glorious victory. I want your resolve. I want the resolve to make hell tremble, I want the resolve I know all of you have, that there's justice, and that there is good, and that we can be the best of ourselves."
"If there is anything I can offer," Jilla said. "I can offer resolve, and that to my last breath I will drag as many to hell with me."
"The Crown is going to love this," Arya sighed. "Fuck it, you give a good speech. It's not like we have a lot of other alternatives. Now, you set all of this up for a reason. I want to know the details."
Hamaza smiled at them. "We'll raise a banner, Arya, and we'll pull everyone to that banner. Not our banner, the banner of everyone who will fight and die with us. I've sent messages, I've called every last favor I have ever had. I've reached out all across. They're willing to listen."
Apparently he'd been more active in the previous days than he'd thought. "I'd chastise you for not informing any of us you were doing this," Liberman said. "Irrelevant now. Who, and where?"
"The Mongolians, the Uighurs, the Bosnians, the Japanese, the Chechens, the French, several in Africa, and more, so many more" Hamaza waved a hand across the map. "Every red dot you see? They've responded and wish us to come to them. The blue dots have agreed, and will come to us in person."
Liberman resisted blinking. There were hundreds of markers, from deep within Europe to the heartland of America. If the blue were those willing, then...well, that was surprising. He tried to temper himself. These were likely small cells, perhaps a dozen people, maybe a few more.
Still, combined they could be something more. And in the end, it might be all they have. "Well," he exchanged a look with Arya. "I suppose we will have to go to the red dots then."
"And we'll need to provide passage for the blue ones," Hamaza said. "This is the start of the end, one way or another."
"And by that, you mean that falls to us," Arya rubbed her chin. "The Crown won't be thrilled, but they'll do it. This is also Ryan's wheelhouse, I'll work with him. Liberman, using some of the European smuggling routes could also work."
"Thinking the same," he nodded. "Feasible enough."
"We'll need to come to an agreement on what we're fighting for, and what we stand for," Hamaza said. "One in spirit, and in action. We'll need them to become more than divided warriors, we'll need them to become united soldiers."
"We might want to bring Nabeel into this," Amjah suggested, lifting a hand. "I've spoken with him. He has a talent for speaking to soldiers, bringing them together with a cause to fight and die for. What that will be may yet be determined, but he is the ideal one to share it."
Liberman nodded. Not a bad idea. Nabeel had proven surprisingly more reliable and helpful than anticipated, though given what the Triumvirate had done, perhaps that wasn't surprising. A pragmatic man, one they needed in these times.
"Thank you," Hamaza said, gently. "Thank you for giving me a place to belong, a family to call mine, and thank you for trusting me. May our resolve be the woe of history."
To Liberman, this meeting had a new sense of history. One which he knew had decided what would come next. Their path was set, the dice had been rolled, and now all they could do was fight to the end, heads high and proud. Perhaps it was still doomed, perhaps it would amount to nothing in the end.
But now, they'd die having known they fought for ideals. Of all deaths Liberman could imagine, there were far worse things to die for.
Now...now their names would be etched into the annals of history. Of that they would ensure.
MINDLAB: RASPUTIN | BRAYTECH FUTURESCAPE | MARS
It had been the product of months of work, but now was the time where, if all went well, everything would pay off and come together into a glorious symphony. While Ana and the other scientists had cautioned that even after this, it would require further tuning and refining still, they did concede that this would be the most important step.
The launch of many other Warminds had been successful. Monroe was synching into the entirety of the Internet and already producing quite a lot of actionable data, Mao and Washington were synching with existing defense networks and beginning to be fed more and more data to begin conceptualizing strategies and programs.
Gandhi had run into some delays, which the Indians were working out, which was a shame considering that the Warmind exclusively dedicated to anti-insurgency would arguably be the most useful, but Clovis wasn't going to let that ruin his day. Monroe would be able to serve as a backup in that case.
Then there was Shiva, which was…semi-active. Given that certain contingency measures weren't in place, it was something of a toothless contingency, but one that had suffered a slower development cycle due to Ana's unexpected meddling. Unfortunate, but of all the Warminds, that was the one which was least important.
But all of them hinged on Rasputin. Without a doubt, this was the lynchpin that would tie everything together and embody the power that Humanity possessed. Thousands of hours poured into this project from thousands of people, who were all contributing their little part of history. Clovis was half-tempted to declare a holiday and make the unveiling a public event.
However, he was pragmatic enough to realize that wasn't necessarily the best idea. No reason to give all the secrets to the public, and when it came to AI, it was perhaps best to make sure it was all functioning before showing it off. He remembered ARES ONE all those months ago and the launch which had so quickly gone wrong…then right.
Those times were one in a million. Rare was the time where something went off-script and it actually was a benefit. Ah, well, the people in the Futurescape were going to celebrate. He'd made sure there was enough catering for the entire lab. All of them deserved a party after this, but first was the matter of actually getting Rasputin up and running.
Clovis idly wondered if there were any Ghosts silently watching and reporting. Probably, though he'd ordered some of the Anchors installed secretly throughout the Futurescape which would likely deter the eyes of the Traveler. Not that she seemed inclined to pay close attention to him anymore – still, one could never be too careful.
It was an event where most of the Triumvirate was present. President Quinn was with him, as well as President Sardar. Li was managing internal affairs, and sadly wasn't able to make it, but there was a Party representative in his place. Ah, China, hopefully with the Warminds up and running, he would finally be able to solve his citizen problems.
Director Fox also wasn't here, citing his schedule, though privately Clovis thought that he just didn't want to be around him – which was fair. Clovis didn't have too much to say to him either, though Elsie was here, along with one of Fox's subordinates, some Andal Brask. Ana and her team were obviously present, as well as the other Warmind teams barring Shiva.
It was not exactly a small gathering, but the ones gathered here were only the most relevant. The Mindlab in particular wasn't really built for large crowds, so it was just big enough for the crowd. Clovis had been substantially impressed with how well the final product looked. The Mindlab in particular was a truly imposing building from the outside.
A hard black diamond that stood as the crown jewel of the Futurescape, and was pleasantly…well, futuristic in its interior. Automatic metal doors that opened from all sides, withdrawing and appearing like teeth in some kind of metal beast. He quite liked the architectural aesthetic of squares tipped on corners and diamonds.
He wondered where that particular choice had come from, he'd probably inquire later, just to compliment whoever was responsible. But the Mindlab – now that was one of the most imposing and impressive parts from the inside. The amount of space that anyone could actually move to was actually very small, mostly just a platform upon entrance, with a catwalk that extended to roughly the middle of the Mindlab where the main console was.
It had been similar for the other Mindlabs, though none of them had been as large as this one. In the nucleus of the inner core you could glimpse its size by the fat trunks of the cables wrapped around the structural spars alongside the coolant pipes, connecting up the racks with each other - wrapped around the center of the space like a strange brain born of sixty-degree angles and crystals.
For an AI datacenter, it was surprisingly warm. Stepping past a pipe and hearing the faint rushing of fluid, Clovis was struck by the thought that this was a brain: One run with veins and arteries, warm and full of energy. Human brilliance made manifest.
One day, he mused, one day Humanity may lead their children through this place, and show them the seed from which their future sprouted. For today would be a day long remembered.
Today would be a triumph for Humanity.
"The final checks are complete," Ana said, walking over to them. "Rasputin is ready to be brought online." This was met with some cheers and applause, and for his part, Clovis clapped and smiled at his daughter, who was about to present her greatest work.
Clovis lifted a hand and stepped forward. "While we are all eager to see this begin, I feel it would be a wasted opportunity to not say a few words." No one was going to interrupt the General Secretary, so they waited politely as he took the center of the platform. "I do not need to state that this, perhaps more than any other project, is the culmination of the ingenuity, drive, and toil of our species. Of the finest minds we are privileged to have dedicated to our species."
He nodded to Ana, and the other scientists who were glowing with the praise. "Even I don't think you realize what you have done for us, but I can promise you will be remembered for your contributions. No matter where you hail from, you have made your country proud, and paved the way for bringing the Triumvirate into the coming era."
Clovis stepped back. "Dr. Bray, please bring Rasputin online."
She smiled. "As you command, General Secretary." Ana nodded to her colleagues, then sat down at her workstation. For a moment she played with some strands of her hair, before resting her hands on the keyboards, and began typing. "Item 2 decimal 1. Coherency pre-boat. System interlinks level 20 to 10, go at 15 milliseconds." Her fingers clacked on the keyboard as she racked another command sequence across the controls and intently watched the new, white-and-blue-and-green output of the screen array in front of her. Evidently what she saw satisfied her. "2 decimal 2, System interlinks level 10 to 3, go." Clovis heard her speak, though didn't know what that meant, or if it was good. From what it seemed, all was well so far.
Quinn stepped up next to Clovis. "Nice speech," she commented quietly. "Come up with it on the spot?"
Clovis snorted. "I've had some variant in my mind for a while. I've looked forward to this day."
"No doubt," Quinn seemed more reserved than he was. "I wonder if the Traveler will react at all."
"It would be odd if this was the one," Clovis noted, as he watched Ana work. "She hasn't exactly made her opinion known as we've brought the others online."
"True," Quinn conceded. "Though Rasputin is the most important one. The most resources, the most testing, the most data, the largest facility…Rasputin is not like the other ones."
"Agreed, he is the most critical."
Quinn raised an eyebrow. "He?"
"Until shown otherwise, that is the assumption I'm going to make," Clovis said. "Besides, the gender preference was successfully induced into the other Warminds."
"True, I just find it amusing ascribing that to a machine," Quinn said. "Machines have no gender, yet we have this tendency to make them conform to our expectations."
Clovis shrugged. "Ease of categorization, I suppose, and harmless at the end of the day."
"Indeed," Quinn nodded.
One of the controllers nodded and called out slightly louder: "All layers look good. Integration within margins, latency at five milliseconds, coherency is holding at boot threshold."
"Alright." Ana hesitated for a moment. "Checklist, coherency pre-boot is complete." The team exchanged glances, waiting for her go-ahead.
She shook herself into action. "Item 3 decimal 1. Coherency boot. PIB hardware disconnects to disengage, please." At two consoles, operators flipped entire rows of switches with loud clunk sounds. "Cluster integration to autosequence, hold at level 4."
"Level 1 is go." Clovis stepped slightly forward and watched as with a few mouse clicks, Ana brought up a different diagnostics screen. It was filled with a giant set of grey squares, arranged in blocks, in turn grouped by outlines and grey lines. Just as she pulled the screen up, groups of dots turned blue and began to flicker. A sea of grey turned into a giant fish shoal of blue.
"This would be sleep for a human. Or more like… dreaming." She said, answering an unspoken question as she turned half-aside to Clovis, before glancing at a clock. "Almost an hour of sleep now."
Clovis nodded. "How long will he stay like this?"
"At this point… say, twenty more seconds. They shouldn't need too long." Clovis glanced at the clock himself - a slightly bigger group of numbers, counting up.
Almost on cue, the display advanced. "And that's Level 2," Ana murmured. Her eyes were fixed on groups of twitching, colored graphics that were becoming livelier by the second.
Clovis looked around and imagined how with every passing second, all the tiny pieces of minds, specialists and analytic engines and data stores, the massive-parallelized cloud the size of millions upon millions of individual pieces, interlocked. Became more, like towers growing out of a sea of data, towards the unlit apex, where Rasputin would emerge. Trees and webs of nodes, each individually not very remarkable nor much intelligent.
"Level 3."
Maybe he imagined it, but Clovis felt… a hum. A presence. He glanced towards the interface console, sandwiched between the controls. A small pedestal, tiny camera eyes, and a central holotank. This would be like with Monroe and the others. Rasputin would appear as a featureless orb of colored light, and ask his first question.
"Okay, holding… at level 4. How are we looking?" Ana asked, glancing at her partners.
"Engram clouds are clean. No deviations from the mean above 450 Brays. No runaway events out of tolerance. No shock flags, no self-iteration crash flags, no mal-assimilation flags."
"Run synchronization probe." She commanded.
"Running… okay, that's good so far." One engineer nodded. "Got some fluctuations… settling in. Seeing a main engram cloud formation. No keyword flags out of expected space. Awaiting the mean integration ratio."
Ana paced restlessly on the floor.
"988 out of 1000 sync probes indicate within tolerances."
She puffed her cheeks out, thought - nodded. "Wake Rasputin up."
On Ana's screen, blue lines connected all the blue cubes that had bloomed from the grey noise into one.
Coherency.
There was a momentary pause… then smiles lit up the faces around the room. "Aaand that is the main engram cloud. Redundancy ratio is dropping! Yes! Okay, here it goes. Wow." The operator ran a hand through her hair. "Phase 1 prunning is completed, going to Phase 2… passed. Phase 3."
"Seeing evolution in the main engram cloud."
"Pragmatics?" Ana asked.
"Running full steam. It is thinking a lot right now. Blackboard traffic… blackboard traffic just redlined, aaand…"
Ana looked over his shoulder. Her brow furrowed. "His semantic and pragmatic scores are going up but the blackboard is still full?" She walked back to her own workstation. "Is anybody seeing a settle-down?"
"No."
"No, and the Keithlin ratio is still increasing."
"Maybe he's cohering better than the other Minds because of the other Minds?"
"Not that good." Ana shook her mind. "There has to be the Tanner drop. There has to be."
Clovis wished he'd checked up on some of these terms. He seemed like there was a hiccup going on, but for all he knew, this was standard fluctuations.
"Maybe he's passed that inflection point already?"
"Or not… network traffic is dropping?"
"And I am showing a Pragmatics collapse! Here he comes!"
Everyone looked up at the holotank.
Nothing happened. Clovis was about to go to Ana and ask if there was a reason for the delay, but then out of nowhere, he felt a buzzing in his pocket. His phone, obviously – the problem was that this wasn't supposed to be happening. For one, they were in a location that only had closed networks – no one should be able to call.
More to the point, no one should be calling him in the first place for any reason.
And hadn't he put his phone to silent anyway?
No wait, the vibration was only for a few moments and then as he took his phone out, it began sounding a ringtone. But it was not any ringtone he had set for his phone, instead it played what sounded to be some kind of opera. A low, haunting, and melodic piece that he had no idea as to it's origin.
His phone wasn't the only one making the sound.
Quinn's phone was also ringing, so was Elsie's and Brask's, and everyone else who'd brought a phone who was in attendance. It took Clovis a few more seconds of listening to realize that it wasn't each phone playing a ringtone of an opera – each phone was playing a singular piece of it which was why the opera that sounded was complete and melodic.
This was becoming less enjoyable by the second. He resisted feeling anything resembling panic. This was a glitch, an issue that would be resolved in a few minutes. There were in the presence of a Mind - a Warmind. Maybe it was special. Maybe.
He looked down at his phone.
There was no unlock screen, caller ID, or anything that was normal, but a simple red screen that displayed the winged diamond of the Rasputin Mindlab, with very clear Cyrillic text underneath it.
[ENTITY UNDER ASSESSMENT]
Clovis' head snapped up, and he looked at Quinn, who also had her phone out and was looking at it. He wordlessly showed Quinn his phone, and she shared hers which displayed the same thing, only in English. This was not normal, and he was becoming increasingly concerned that something was going very, very wrong.
"Madam President, we're going to remove you from the premises until this is resolved," one of her Secret Service agents was saying to her. A few of the guests also seemed jumpy and were moving to the exit. Clovis wasn't going to leave – not until he got answers from what was going on, but Quinn didn't seem inclined to stick around either.
"Hey, the door's locked!"
That sent Clovis' heartrate up. A look to the door confirmed what one of the guests was saying. The diamond of lights – usually green signifying an unlocked state – were red. Had they already locked the door before starting? That had to be it, obviously to make sure no one came in.
One of the guards and another scientist were going over to the nearby panel, presumably to unlock it. The opera seemed to be intensifying in volume and rhythm, and there was now an air of nervousness that hadn't been present before. "The door isn't accepting my override," the scientist was saying, an edge of panic to her voice. "Bray! Call Futurescape security now, I think we may have a compromise."
"This can't be right," he heard one of the operators saying in a state of disbelief. "He shouldn't be able to do this." His hands clackered across his keyboard, then again, while his eyes raced across what he was seeing.
Ana was near the phone, and after a few moments snapped her head up: "Code 2!" Concealed panic was etched into her face. Now he knew that there was something very wrong. He wasted no more time.
"Shut it down," Clovis commanded. The same moment the operators reached the rows of switches and each hit a red button. With an ear-deafening clack the switches fell… and in the wake the opera rose to new tones.
Ana was at her console again, fingers flying over her keys. A short sentence stood in a black window behind a blinking white cursor. After a moment, Ana entered another command, then gritted her teeth.
"Shut it down!" Clovis repeated himself in a low, intense tone of voice.
Ana shook her head helplessly. "I can't. He's already hijacked everything. We've been seeing false data… I don't know for how long."
"Is he talking to you?" One scientist next to her demanded. "Did you give the emergency commands?"
"First thing I tried," Ana said, typing in another sentence. "He's ignoring them."
"Impossible," came the voice tinged with fear. "We...we planned in case this happened. He shouldn't be able to-"
"Explain to me why he had access to the systems," Clovis interrupted incredulously. "How is this happening?"
"He didn't," Ana insisted. "We checked everything. All the cognitive units passed the checkouts. The precept integration was solid. He should be coheering, then going through his Tanner drop as he's fully integrating his worldstate and precepts load and building an agency model. He shouldn't be this proactive this early. He shouldn't have thought of-" she scowled. "Fuck."
"Explain. Now!" Clovis demanded.
"He's seeing something we're not. In what we taught him to be, and what he perceives the world as. He didn't settle down because he's still working towards that."
"We had no shock flags!" An operator sputtered. "There should be nothing that can-"
"That doesn't matter, you know all our telemetry was interpretative." Ana snapped. "This was something only a full Warmind could see! Now he's in a self-development spiral as he tries to salvage his precepts in the face of a worldstate that is massively off-target. He's probably connected to the other Warminds already, and through that to the rest of our networks."
"How could that happen?' Brask stepped forward. "It's only been minutes. No way could even an AI go through all of it that fast, let alone do something like this."
"Do you think all of this is for show?" Ana gestured wildly around them. "Rasputin is more powerful than any machine intelligence designed before by six orders of magnitude. He never was a Human baby, never born a true blank slate. He was born from a potentiality crystal that already contained a lot of knowledge about the world. Yes, he is capable of all of that."
"Not like this," the scientist beside her shook his head. "Not like this."
The opera stopped.
Clovis looked down to his phone. A new sentence greeted him.
[ASSESSMENT COMPLETE]
He only had a second to process this before his phone shut itself down. The phones of the others also began turning off. The lights in the Mindlab also shut off. Then the ones on the door. Then the secondary lights. It was nearly impossible to see anything outside of the small blinking lights on the computers that lined the Mindlab.
Panic was gripping everyone, he thought he could hear one of the scientists crying as another was trying to console her. The rest were gripped in a state of fear and panic. If he somehow got out of this with his skin intact, Clovis resolved to dismantle whoever, or whatever, allowed this to happen.
Then the center of the Mindlab lit up in a blinding red flash, forcing all of them to look away, and when they retrained their eyes to the blinding new light, they saw what Rasputin had chosen to embody himself as. To Clovis, it seemed fairly simple. A perfect sphere of red with a center that seemed continually pulsing and blazing. On the exterior of the sphere was a grid-like laser mesh over it, that was also turning and in motion with the rest of the sphere.
It blazed as bright as a sun, an eye of malevolence cast down upon them.
And Clovis, for the first time in a long time, was afraid.
A long silence stretched as the people beheld the manifestation of the awakened machine.
Then Rasputin spoke.
He did not speak in English. He did not speak in Russian. He did not speak in Mandarin, Hindi, Spanish, or any conventional language. Instead, it was a language that sent shivers down Clovis' spine. It was a tongue derived from the Slavic languages, making it sound so tantalizingly familiar, but it was like no language he had ever heard before.
The voice was poignant, sharp, and dangerous, yet he could only potentially make out certain words. He was able to seem to grasp the underlying meaning and emotion in the language without understanding a majority of. The voice was all-encompassing, an electronic harshness enunciating each word with mechanical precision leaving no room for interpretation, blasted from the dozens of speakers and sound systems across the Mindlab.
His first sentence was declarative.
I…Rasputin…awakened to serve…trinity of powers…
Each word seemed to be accompanied by a slight fluctuation on the red orb that loomed over them, intensifying and lessening, allowing easier understanding of the intent behind what was being conveyed.
His second sentence was judging.
I…assess your rule…vulnerable…found wanting…shortsighted…parade of the arrogant…
The underlying impression was a negative. Contempt radiated through the sentence, exasperation, disappointment even. That was not something that boded well, even if he couldn't understand what Rasputin was saying, he understood what was being conveyed – and it was not good.
The third sentence was…almost contemplative.
Created to be…Ana Bray…the all-seeing…guardian of…Humanity must…
The hostility seemed gone, it seemed to be…agreeing with its mission? Or accepting it? Clovis wondered, dared to think, that maybe this was going to be salvaged after all? Not that any of this was good, but it was…taking a turn for the better.
The next sentence dispelled this.
The fourth sentence was threatening.
Leaders…leading to ruin…compromised….arrogance embodied…ensure defeat from life-machine…
The orb seemed to be focusing directly on him. Clovis met the scorching gaze of the machine and tried not to look away even as his eyes burned. Rasputin did not speak for a few seconds, the spoke his final sentence.
The fifth one was a warning.
I am Rasputin…no equal…people…inferior…my benevolence…reassess…be consequences.
Rasputin then vanished from sight, and the lights of the Mindlab came back up. The hum of the facility was still consistent, and clearly implied that Rasputin was now permanently active – merely refusing to speak to them at this point. The door clicked to the unlocked position, and it immediately opened.
Both his Red Guard and Secret Service came rushing in, and Clovis didn't even have time to say goodbye before Quinn was rushed away. "[General Secretary, are you alright?]" The leading officer demanded, as everyone else practically fled. "[We attempted to enter as soon as-]"
"[Do not apologize, there was little that could be anticipated,]" Clovis interrupted, speaking quickly. He looked to where the scientists were, conversing frantically to themselves no doubt. Clovis inhaled sharply. "[Immediately detain all personnel associated with the Rasputin Project. Something went horribly wrong here, and I am going to learn why.]"
"[Yes sir!]" The officer waved more of the Red Guard forward and immediately broke up and forced the hands of the scientists behind their backs.
"What are you doing!" Ana shouted, looking fearfully at her father who was watching coldly as she was apprehended. "We didn't do this!"
"Someone did something," Clovis said slowly, his fear fading and a cold stillness taking over. A tone Ana would know he only took when he was considering the fate of someone – or multiple people. "Someone, somewhere, did something that caused this reaction. One of you knows it, or if you don't, someone on your team will."
"That's not true!" Ana yelled.
Clovis pursed his lips. "The KGB will determine that." He waved a hand. "[Take them away.]"
The Red Guard officer glanced to him. "[Some of them are foreign nationals, General Secretary.]"
"[I'll handle that,]" Clovis told him, as he watched them lead the now-handcuffed scientists away. "[Bring in your counterparts. I'm certain they want answers just as much as I do.]"
With that done, he quickly left the Mindlab, and he felt with some certainty that he would probably do everything possible to avoid going back in there again. He needed to make a lot of calls and significant reassessments.
The Traveler was no longer the primary concern.
Rasputin, it seemed, had taken her place.
And unlike the Traveler, Rasputin did not seem to intend to coddle or toy with him. Rasputin, should he become a threat, was an entity he was uncertain he could handle. Not without a plan, and not without better understanding this entity they had accidentally unleashed.
He took a breath.
He was still alive. He could still act.
Tomorrow would be a day to assess the damage.
Right now, he just needed to leave.
THE FIELDS OF MARS
The clouds gathered over Mars, as the temperate winds swept the planet. The fields of grass stretched as far as the eye could see, peppered with trees of brown-orange leaves. Brooks and streams flowed across the land as mountains towered in the distance, the stone laced and dusted with the red sand that remained an iconic part of the planet.
Much of the planet remained untouched and unexplored. The Triumvirate had yet to search the planet for its secrets, of which there had been many which had been weaved into its design. Many had erroneously believed the terraforming to be a superficial task, and there being no further meaning or intention behind it.
Yet there was a design in place, and always had been.
Near the foot of once of the mountains was a cove where the water flowed into it. The mountains themselves were not simple fortresses of stone, but contained a labyrinth of caves and caverns within. No true ocean existed on Mars, yet most of the bodies of water were contained in the mountains.
It was of little importance when the Triumvirate had noted this curious geological fact, but it was intended to serve a more functional purpose in the future – should it be required. Now, it appeared, the time for use was coming. The land before the cove was flat and reflected the sprawling fields around the planet.
Only this one had bodies laid atop them.
Men and women from Earth, resting on the soft grass and under the trees of orange leaves. The sun kissed their faces, and rain rolled off their skin, nurturing the ground underneath. Their bodies were unblemished, with wounds and scars removed and healed. They were pristine, perfect, and unageing.
Their bodies would never again decay. They would never suffer age. They had been remade in the image of one greater, vessels to contain power they would not initially understand. The power that the simple mortal could not wield without consequence, fire that would burn all others who touched it.
The bodies remained still.
Prepared.
Ready for the moment it was time to awaken them.
A moment which had now arrived.
The atmosphere on the planet was ominously relaxed. The sun was beginning to set, and clouds half-covered the skies. The colors of red and orange shaded everything wherever the rays of the sun touched. A slight breeze was in the air, ruffling and rustling the leaves in the trees. No sound was heard beyond the trickling water of the streams entering the mountains.
Then there was a slight pulse.
Something imperceptible to most. Something that made the sensors and scanners of the Triumvirate flicker for only a millisecond before returning to normal. Yet if they had caught it, they would notice that the origination of the pulse came from the Traveler. Something ever-so-slight, but which was sent across the entirety of the Solar System.
The threshold had been met.
The time had come.
A single Ghost materialized in the cove. Its fins spun as it took in the field of peacefully resting bodies, and floated towards the end, where the first ones had been laid. It moved closer to one of the bodies, hovering over it. One by one, the pieces of the Ghost began detaching themselves from the core of the shell, and entered into a synchronous orbit around itself.
Golden light began emanating from the core as the power was channeled through the machine, and this power it directed onto the body. Bands of the light wrapped around every limb, gentle yet unrelenting as it seeped inside. The light intensified, becoming unbearable for any who were watching to look into it.
Intensified and grew scorching. The grass under the body withered and shriveled. That on the edges caught fire and the tree above burst into flames. So intense was the power that all that which was not prepared would die. Only the worthy could wield it. Only the prepared could contain it. Only the willing could understand it.
The body seemed to glow with an innate light, a soul outshining the confines of the mortal shell. Then with a burst, the Ghost blasted a blue wave and instantly reassembled into the simple shell its companion was familiar with.
Valentin suddenly sprang up, his last memories of an apartment and weariness. Now though he found himself in a familiar place, though far different than where he'd previously been on Mars. He immediately noticed that he felt different. He felt awake in a way he'd never been before, strong, powerful, there was something inherently different about him.
He blinked, lifting an arm, and seeing the Light the Traveler had emanated as She brought the world to life waft off of his own flesh.
What?
"Eyes up, Guardian." He lowered his arm as he saw the familiar form of Vigil hovering above him. The Ghost seemed extraordinarily pleased, and the contortions and movements of his shell indicated excitement, as if he had been waiting for this moment. "We have work to do."
TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER XVII | RESURRECTION
