ACT III | THE TYRANT'S HUBRIS
CHAPTER XVIII | RESURGENCE
THE RUINS OF ISLAMABAD | PAKISTAN
Little lived in the country that was once Pakistan.
The people had been driven away long ago. Streams of refugees had materialized and poured into the Middle East, Soviet Union, or for the truly desperate - India. All in a vain effort to escape the attacks of the Republic of Indian Territories as the atomic bombs fell from the sky. Mushroom clouds had risen above every major city, and smaller bombs had targeted military bases and strategic infrastructure.
Power plants. Electrical grids. Oil fields. Farmland. Water springs and forests.
Everything that could support a nation was a target, and eliminated with total and extreme prejudice. Millions had died in the initial attacks. Millions more died when the water riots began, and the forest fires broke out.
The prelude to the death of a nation.
The fallout of the atomic weapons had poisoned much of land in the following weeks, and seeped into the water springs, rendering the land uninhabitable. Wildlife died in scores as they ate the poisoned vegetation and infested meat, and drank the tainted water. Fields of dead birds were common, having become sickened from the poisonous air and falling to the ground.
When the plants died, the insects died.
When the insects died, the birds and small animals died.
When those died, the rest of the ecosystem soon followed.
Decades later, Pakistan was a desolate wasteland.
It was a place of death.
It was a place where the only ones who yet lived within it were terrorists, resistance groups, or lone civilians who hid within the very few pockets of survivability that remained within the former nation. The Indians didn't enter usually; their handiwork presenting too great a risk even as the radiation had begun to fade. But mostly, because they had no reason to.
There was nothing in Pakistan.
Nothing but death.
Dead zones surrounded every major city. The remaining land was devastated by the collapse of the ecosystem. What little worth there had been initially had been pillaged by the Indians, who didn't want to risk future contamination of the resources that remained. They hollowed out the mines. They raided the stores for food. They stole industrial equipment.
They had poisoned the body, and desecrated the corpse.
A corpse now reduced to ashes and memories.
Pakistan was a dead nation, one only filled with ghosts and corpses. Its story was over, a testament to the resolve, power, and ruthlessness the Triumvirate would bring down upon those who opposed them. A testament to their inevitability; a testament to their victory.
A warning to everyone else.
India reclaimed their claimed territory, and removed an entity they had seen as a threat.
At a cost where they would be judged by history. Yet they didn't fear the condemnation of the history books.
Not when they wrote them.
And so Pakistan sat, a nameless patch of land, with irradiated pockets contaminating all that mattered. A dead zone on Earth. A place only the insane and the desperate sought to hide in. It's culture and memory only kept alive by the few of the Pakistani diaspora that had survived.
But one day they would die too.
And like many nations in history, Pakistan would be forgotten.
A curiosity to archeologists and historical specialists.
That was its inevitable fate.
Unless there was intervention.
The celestial entity that hung in the sky seemed to peer down upon the corpse of a land that had once housed civilization. The land so far gone that it could not even scream. A land that was not dying, but had died, and it's bones disintegrated long ago. The devastation and horror that had arisen from this decapitation strike was all too clear.
|| Unjust ||
It was a place that needed to be restored.
|| Healed ||
And so it would.
The Indian observers were chattering frantically as the Traveler hovered over what appeared to be their nation. Emergency orders were prepared, the President was ushered to a secure bunker, and missile silos were quietly pointed as the Indians held their breath, fearing the worst.
That was until a single observation was made – the Traveler was not over India.
But over the former nation of Pakistan.
It confused them at first. They conveyed the development, and cautiously lowered their alert levels, even as they sent out warnings to the other Triumvirate members. There was nothing in Pakistan – why would the alien take an interest? More importantly, it had never come this close to Earth before.
Never within the atmosphere.
And never so close to their lands.
It didn't take long before the citizens began to notice. Within hours there were dozens of livestreams from India, from cell phones, drones, and cameras as documentarians and amateurs alike worked to capture what might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Videos by the hundreds appeared across the Internet, and tens of millions more eyes were glued to their screens as the world seemed to collectively hold its breath; all asking one question.
Why?
The answer soon became clear.
Golden Light began emanating from its luminous shell, and the world tensed – especially the Indian observers, wondering if it was going to attack or worse. That was until they saw the Light flow down upon the land, touching the dead and irradiated ruins and dirt, and before their eyes they saw the land before them change.
Through livestreams and video feeds across the world, millions bore witness.
It was slow at first, yet it was unmistakable what was happening.
The nation was being healed.
Instruments that had been set to monitor the irradiated zones began sending back numbers. The radiation was fading, fading until before their eyes they watched it disappear. They saw grass, trees, and flowers grow and blossom. Tainted water turned as clear as crystal.
The ruins of the cities crumbled to dust. Monuments to destruction, symbols of tyrannical victory dissolved as nature returned. Nature which would allow for new beginnings, which would allow for permanent healing. Yet the past would not be forgotten, as the Indian forces that later entered the lands would discover memorials had been created.
Memorials that shared the name of the city, what had happened to it, and the number of people who had died. The Indians would have a heated discussion on if these memorials should be removed, but most agreed that it was perhaps safer to keep them in place.
As word continued to spread throughout the rest of the world about what was happening, millions more gathered to watch the Traveler heal a part of their Earth. For days the Traveler worked, as the Triumvirate watched warily, and the rest watched with awe – until the golden Light finally ceased.
Then with a blinding flash, the Traveler disappeared as quickly as She had appeared. Leaving behind a land that was lush, plentiful, and healed.
For Pakistan was now a new symbol. One of rebirth and hope and life.
And also a warning to those who threatened it.
AFGHANISTAN
They needed to see it for themselves.
Internet was not an always available commodity for those in the Wheel Cell, especially ones this far out into the wilderness of Afghanistan. Luckily for them, Indian control of the country was among their most tenuous, as they primarily kept jurisdiction over the major cities, and ignored much of the wilderness and deserts. They tended to let the tribes live on their own – unless they were found to be harboring dissidents.
Those tribes were often dealt with quickly. He'd seen it happen, and saved many an Afghan from a quick execution or life in prison. Berkay had lived and been part of the Wheel Cell for years now, and knew Afghanistan almost as well as he did his homeland. The graveyard of empires it might be called, but those days it seemed pointless when every empire was aligned against them.
And ultimately, this was not his home. His had been lost long ago.
Until now.
His homeland that they were preparing to go back to.
He'd tried not to become too emotional as he'd watched the videos that had been sent to him. The golden Light that had touched the land and brought it to life. And still he didn't want to get his hopes up. He needed to see it with his own eyes, feel it with his hands, and breathe its air to confirm it was real. His team wasn't the only one going of course; every Resistance cell and team near Pakistan was headed there. For some, to secure the land for operations, and for many more, to step within their home once again.
For the first time in what felt like years, he felt hope.
Something good had happened in the world for once.
Twilight had fallen a short time ago, and they were near the border. The Indians didn't bother to patrol most of Afghanistan, or at least where it bordered on Pakistani territory, because there was nothing of worth there. As a result, the land was desolate – and very useful for their purposes. It would only be a half-hour until they entered Pakistan proper. "[So what if it's all real,]" his friend, Secil said as they walked at the front, while checking her rifle. "[It's still difficult to believe.]"
What if it was real? Well, to that he had an answer. "[Then it's a miracle.]"
A true miracle. The impossible made manifest. He'd never thought he'd see one.
"[And what is the alien then?]" She mused. "[I didn't trust it, despite it supposedly being benevolent. It seemed too…aligned with the Triumvirate. Doing what it wanted. But this…]"
She trailed off, clearly lost in her own thought. He was as well. There were many implications from all of this, ones which he knew would be debated in the highest echelons of the Resistance. They all had a distrust of the alien to various degrees, despite Osiris coming back by its will. However they knew that Osiris was dead now. He wondered if that was a coincidence or not.
Had his death been a trigger?
Had this alien been affected by it?
And why was this how it chose to respond, if this was a response at all?
What did it mean?
He knew the Triumvirate would not have wanted this. Pakistan was their symbol. Their message to the world the consequences of defiance. Their promise of power and inevitability. It was used to break their spirit and beat the rest of the world into submission.
It had worked.
But now Pakistan had been restored. Their symbol broken and remade into a refutation.
I need to see it for myself.
"[I don't actually remember it, you know,]" Secil said quietly after a few minutes of silence. "[My parents lived there. They managed to flee, but I was a baby. They told me stories though; memories. I would spend hours trying to look at pictures of what it was like, and what the Indians took away. It's…strange to feel to attached to a home I don't remember, and barely lived it.]"
He nodded. It was a common story with the younger Pakistani generation. It was to them that preserving the memory of Pakistan would fall, and many had taken their duty seriously. Yet he'd also known that without a connection to the land, the nation itself, in generations this would evolve – or fade. It had kept him, and many of the other survivors of that day up at night, knowing that their home seemed doomed to be confined to the history books, if even that.
But now…
Maybe there was some hope.
We need to see it.
"[We'll both see it shortly,]" he said with a smile, resting a hand on her shoulder. "[When you get back, you can tell-]"
A bullet through his skull ended the sentence.
Secil screamed in shock as skull fragments, brain matter, and blood splattered on her, as the rest of the band immediately dispersed, falling to their knees, raising their weapons, and looking for the source of the sniper. There shouldn't have been anyone out here – not without them noticing. They didn't see any – there was no Indian patrol or army visible.
Where had it come from?
"[Circle up!]" Came the order in lieu of Berkay's death. The soldiers did so, nervous and eyes darting around, looking for any sign of the shooter. Then something glinted in the twilight, and caught Secil's eye – the long barrel of a rifle, poking out from…under the sand?
"[There!]" She pointed, swinging her weapon and already firing at the general area.
Another shot.
Another bullet through another skull.
The rest of the group, now knowing where the shooter was, turned their weapons on it. To their shock they saw the sniper stand, who had been buried under the sand - and they saw it was no man at all. It stood, towering in the distance, easily bigger than any of them. Streams of sand trickled off its chassis. Green eyes glowed as it marked them as targets.
It was a machine.
Exo.
They'd heard the name before, obviously, and they'd expected to fight them at some point. There'd been rumors that there had been a particular Exo that the Indians had been building, one specialized and dedicated to hunting down cells, but those had just been rumors…
Rumors more founded than any of them had wanted to believe.
The Exo marched forward. It's paint pattern was done in such a way as to make it difficult to follow in the twilight, and who knew what technology had been put into it. They fired, and the bullets seemed to bounce off. With robotic precision it slung the sniper rifle over it's shoulder and pulled out an automatic weapon. Those still alive had already scattered, but in the end, it did them no good.
A controlled burst killed one, the augmented bullets tearing through him like paper.
The Exo moved closer. A pistol was drawn in an instant.
Another skull exploded.
The Exo charged forward with inhuman speed and picked up one of the hapless fighters. Flesh was nothing against steel, and she was disemboweled with swift efficiency and the corpse was tossed to the side a second later.
A single shot to the head finished off the last ones.
Silence fell across the Afghan desert.
Its mission concluded, the Exo checked its weapons, refilled its ammunition, and stripped the dead of everything useful – they did have Triumvirate weapons. A poor development, but nothing that could not be handled. It gathered each weapon into a single bundle where it would be dropped and picked up by an Indian patrol later.
Once this was done, it returned to go hunting. That had been one terrorist group that had been exterminated – but they were not the only ones. There was more hunting to do, and for it, this was the only directive that mattered.
The Hunters had been unleashed, and it was past time the Resistance was dealt with – in the mountains, the caves, and the wastes they called home.
For men alone this had proven to be impossible.
But Exos were not men.
They were something more.
And the hunt had just started.
BERLIN | GERMANY | SOVIET UNION
Living in the Soviet Union as a dissident was dangerous, and even the fully law-abiding were always careful with what they did and said. Living as a spy? That was hazardous. If there was one thing the Soviets were quite good at, it was identifying and rooting out spies. America's CIA was infamous, but their society was one which was far more open and thus, more easily exploitable if one knew the channels to navigate.
The British in particular had found that capital was the easiest way to infiltrate and subvert the Americas. Money opened many doors, and closed many mouths. Greed was a central Human trait, and that was deeply exploited, especially when one's society revolved around the acquisition of wealth.
In contrast the Soviet Union was much more difficult. Not that there weren't people to be exploited through bribery, but money was less powerful here when the means of getting it relied on the state. It was easy to buy off a corporation or executive – it was much more difficult to do the same to state officials, especially those who were constantly watched for treason. Even within the Soviet Union, there were of course places far more dangerous than others. Scandinavia for example was relatively easy to infiltrate, as the Soviets kept their focus on the population centers.
Central Europe on the other hand…
Well, it wasn't a picnic.
Germany in particular was considered one of the most assimilated states in the Soviet Union, just behind France. Through the supposed worker's unions the Soviets dominated. But no matter how much the Soviet Union tried, they could never quite stamp out the dissent and anti-Communist sentiment that festered.
Sentiments that he, in particular, worked quite hard to maintain. It wasn't especially hard. The Soviets put on a good face, but underneath there were still movements that opposed Soviet domination. People tended to like the Soviets before they said something that didn't align with the state.
That was the most useful radicalization tool. Soviet society was not free, and when anyone insisted it was, he told them to critique the current General Secretary. There were only certain people allowed to dissent in the Soviet Union – and those were not the citizens. For all the flaws of democracy, especially for the powerful, he did have to think the Americans did it best.
Dissent was a healthy means of suppressing radicalization. Let them speak and get it out of their system, and nothing would ever change. Not that the CIA didn't interfere here and there, but having been both to America and the Soviet Union, he'd found far more people willing to oppose the Soviets than Americans – even if you'd find more people critical of their government in the American nations.
It was a curious dichotomy, but one he was more than happy to exploit.
He had so many names now that he found that he didn't have a preference. So in all work matters, he was simply Operative Helios. The first of the Resistance spies to survive in Soviet Germany for over one year. Now he was going on three. He knew the Soviets were after him, and he had two dozen safehouses in Berlin alone, and many more contacts across Germany – ones which had gone silent.
That had been a warning sign for him to get out.
Losing one contact wasn't necessarily a cause for alarm. It was at worst a sign to be ready to bug out soon. Losing two likely meant that wherever you were at was compromised, and you needed to leave. Three meant the KGB was likely on their way to you right now.
A dozen?
Get out of the country.
So here Operative Helios was, in a crowded airport, wearing a baseball cap, jacket, and sticking with the large crowds. He blended in with the crowd well; he wasn't an ethnic German, but if you had the right skin color and general facial features, no one really noticed. He was still quite proud of the fact that a Slav like him could speak unaccented German. Most of the people he worked with thought he was a native, which was the highest compliment he could receive.
Right now, he, along with many others, were watching what had happened with Pakistan - a blessing in disguise as it meant that a lot of people were distracted. He found it interesting – the alien was something that always had been, but right now he had more pressing matters to attend to.
Like getting out of Germany and the Soviet Union entirely.
His eyes scanned the airport idly, making sure never to rest in one place for too long or make eye contact with the guards of airport personnel. There were always at least a few KGB that disguised themselves as airport staff.
He internally cursed when he saw it.
An Exo.
He was certain that the newly deployed Exos had been the reason the KGB had suddenly become more dangerous in the past few weeks. Ever since they'd begun rolling them out, skilled operatives went missing, contacts went dark, and it had initially been baffling – but he'd been able to piece together why. Soviet Exos weren't like the militarized American ones – these seemed to be specialized as detective units.
Which were perfect for the KGB, and he could only imagine what each one could do.
He'd seen them in action a few times at this point. Were it not for their mechanical bodies, they struck him remarkably similar to people. Supposedly they were people – "volunteers" – but he was skeptical of that. They talked and conversed like normal, but there was something innately mechanical about how they communicated. It was like what he would imagine talking to an AI was like.
Not a person.
Something that was much, much smarter and faster than you.
Hence why he was so keen to avoid talking with one, because he knew when he was outmatched, and he was almost certain that any Exo would be stuffed full of every detail on the KGBs most-wanted list – meaning him. The Exos made a point to dress in uniform, so they were easy to spot, but that didn't make them any less dangerous – especially since they only needed to see him to make it difficult.
And there was one KGB Exo standing in one of the security checkpoints, walking up and down the line. His IDs were all in order, he wasn't worried about that. The staff wouldn't know the difference – if that Exo saw anything though, that would be a different story. For now, he kept his head down and moved with the crowd.
"[Citizen,]" his blood froze as he heard the clipped mechanical voice. Calmly, he turned to see that another of the Exos had approached, a female model. The people around him had backed up, and making a point to not get in the way. He kept his face blank, but internally he knew this was very, very bad.
"[Yes,]" he said, keeping calm. Reacting now would be bad. "[How can I help you?]"
The Exo simply appraised him, the red pupils seeming to dilate as random. He felt as though he was being put under the microscope, and sincerely wished there were schematics he could have memorized to calculate if he should be running now or not. Then the Exo stepped back. "[Identification confirmed. On your way, citizen, apologies for the interruption.]"
It took all of his willpower to not release a large sigh of relief. Now that had been a close one. Right, so maybe these particular units didn't have terrorist data, or he'd gotten one which wasn't used by the KGB. He turned around, mentally making notes about the encounter. Now he could only hope he wouldn't be-
An electric jolt surged through him, freezing his body and overwhelming his nervous system and he fell to the ground, unconscious before he could realize what was happening.
The Exo stood over him, as the plainclothes KGB men approached to cuff and bind him - another terrorist who would soon experience the skill of the new Exo interrogators. She was quite pleased with today's catch – especially since they'd been trying to get this particular terrorist for some time.
It deserved a little recognition. Opening her channel to all KGB operatives in the airport, she put a finger to her ear. She couldn't really smile anymore, but she did her best with the limitations of her shell.
"[Ladies and gentlemen, we got him.]"
RIYADH | ARABIA | REPUBLIC OF INDIAN TERRITORIES
It had taken Milya some time to get acquainted with her situation, but when she was alone, she was able to put together a semblance of a plan – or as much of a plan as one could do while surrounded by enemies on all sides, an "ally" who would not hesitate to remove her if she didn't get results, and constantly observed by a hulking giant of a man.
Though Milya had to admit, as bizarre as his name was, Small Turtle wasn't the worst to be around. Mostly because he didn't talk at all, and it hadn't taken her long to figure out that he had some kind of injury that had taken away his ability to speak. She also suspected he was smarter than she'd originally thought. Or maybe it was just because she couldn't see his face and gauge what his intentions actually were.
The initial days after the first meeting had been spent assessing the actual situation she was in. How bad everything really was – and no mistake could be made – it was still extremely bad. Everything she had initially noted when she'd arrived was confirmed in more detail than she would have liked to know.
But she couldn't turn away. Here she was going to do something.
And she'd decided what form that would take.
So, if Arjun wanted her to be the pleasant face of his occupation, she would be that – at least on the surface. She'd requested an official Republican uniform, one befitting of someone who would be answering to the General. She didn't really like the uniform, it was too military for her, and she'd never had an interest in it. But it did have some useful effects.
The most notable being that she was treated with significantly more respect by the soldiers, even if it was sometimes begrudgingly. As she'd found out before while walking on the streets in civilian clothing, there were many soldiers who had no problem harassing an Indian woman, as well as Arab women. Only Sara hovering at her shoulder deterred them – and Small Turtle.
She'd wasted no time getting their names, along with a few other harassers to put into a list to take to Gala and to remove them. If he wanted to change the perceptions of others, they needed to be removed and replaced with better people.
Arjun had just smiled at that, and balled up the list and tossed aside. "[You think that's accidental? It's a clever ploy by New Delhi,]" he'd paced, his tone bitter, but accepting. "[Every army has their castoffs, their rabid dogs, brutes and criminals. In civilized societies we're told those men are dealt with. In reality, they get shuffled away.]"
He'd glowered at the indignity of it. "[See, it's not a mistake that I've been saddled with the scum of the military. Where if I try to do something different from my known modus opperandi, I will be hounded by insubordination and complaints – leading to my 'justified' removal for 'failure'.]"
That had been a problem she hadn't anticipated for. Where even if Arjun was willing to do some changes, he'd just have soldiers who refused and undermined him. She'd risked a goad at the urging of Sara. "[You're not much of a superior then if you let your men push you around like that.]"
To her surprise, he'd smiled at that, and after a few long, uncomfortable minutes, had spoken. "[A fair point. You win.]"
She'd not been sure what he'd meant until she'd gone out the next day and seen those same soldiers hanging from the city square. Small Turtle had not said anything of course, but the slight trembling of his body told her he found the result hilarious. He'd been in a notably good mood the rest of the day.
She'd eventually seen that Arjun had send out a memo stating that further misconduct that 'impeded the mission' would be punished harshly. She'd stared at the faces of those men she'd effectively killed, not sure how she should feel.
She felt she should feel bad for what she'd unintentionally started.
But she really couldn't. Not when she stood in Riyadh and had seen the horror they were inflicting on the population. The soldiers were more controlled now, though she wasn't unconvinced that they were just behaving around her. She'd traveled to several of the other Arabian cities in the following weeks, and there were similar conditions – though few were as large or locked down as Riyadh was.
The "Sandman" as the terrorist was known was very tenacious, and as she'd found out, had a significant undercurrent of sympathy and support over the population. She'd seen his handiwork while speaking to some of the officials – he was wreaking havoc with the weapons he'd taken against the Indians.
But he was very careful in his targeting, she'd noticed. They called him a terrorist, but from what she'd surmised, he'd been very careful to only strike military targets. Soldiers, military convoys, supply depots, artillery, tanks and the like. Not once had she ever heard him hitting a school, a city square, and civilian infrastructure.
No one knew what he looked like, or even what his name was, but he had a reputation – one which was growing and had been growing ever since the Indians had decided to crack down further. Whatever the case, she knew that he definitely wasn't who Arjun thought he was – she knew there were plenty of terrorists that fought the Triumvirate. She wasn't convinced the Sandman fit that label.
It struck her more as someone fighting against an enemy invader.
She'd returned, and started putting together a list of people that were all across the Indian Middle East. City officials, local Arabs that held some sway; all of the power brokers that existed on a small scale. She'd never done anything like this before, but was finding some purpose in it that she'd lacked for the past months of her life. Interestingly, it was the religious scene that held the most uncertainty – and promise.
Islam remained illegal by the decree of New Delhi, due to the overwhelming majority of terrorists being Arabs and the cultural distaste many Indians held towards it. Despite that, she would have had to be blind to not notice that many of the Arabs were definitely still practicing Muslims. Any Imam was among the targets of STAG, or those suspected of illegal preaching. Likely because the Indians knew better than to crack down too hard, so they turned a blind eye – to a point. In an effort to alleviate some of the pressure, the government also had the brilliant idea to invite other faiths into Arabia to presumably convert the population.
There were a respectable number of Hindu priests recently arrived, the ones that Arjun had brought over. From her observations, she saw that they were trying to approach integration into the population in a reasonable way. They didn't really have much of a choice considering they were entering into a hostile environment. She'd talked with a few of them now, and had been rather surprised at how happy they'd been to see her. As it turned out, there was a massive debate raging at the highest levels of the Hindu theology about where the Traveler and the Light fit into Hinduism.
That had caught her off guard, as they had a lot of questions, and she'd spent a whole day being pleasantly interrogated, and where she didn't know something, sometimes Sara would chime in. She'd left that meeting feeling far better than she had before, and it seemed Arjun had told the truth – they did seem to be more like her. That would make things easier.
The divide struck her as interesting, because there remained quite a few who disavowed any connection to the Traveler, Light, and Hinduism – but most of them were centered in New Delhi. The rest of the Hindu clergy away from the cities and spread out across the world and greater Territories had the opposite view. She wondered if she was going to get drawn into that debate soon – but that would not be today. Too much still to do.
Then there were the Catholics. Or rather, Catholic.
There was something inherently odd about the entire Catholic interest here. Reading over the correspondences between Riyadh and the Vatican had been…bizarre. On the surface they were normal, but reading them was like reading something wholly fake. Little nuances of language that were both subtle enough to now appear like lawyer-speak to the average reader, but also allowed for a supreme amount of wiggle room.
She was sure that the only reason she had picked up on it was her own linguistical skill. The nuances stuck out more, and reading the actual intent was baffling. Somehow, the Vatican had effectively been given license to go wherever they wanted, and set up wherever they pleased, but due to the danger, they couldn't guarantee that they wouldn't accidentally attract or shelter 'radicals'.
It was a fine means of covering all their bases, which immediately told her that the Vatican – or whoever had actually written this – had ulterior motives, else there was no reason to indulge in all this wordplay. She could be reading too much into it…but she was quite certain that what she saw was correct.
And once she'd determined that, it hadn't been difficult to find the next place to look.
There was only one Catholic priest in Riyadh so far, and he was something of an odd character from what she'd been able to learn – like everything connected to the Catholics here. Despite that, he'd been able to integrate with the locals easier than almost anyone else, which she found especially odd – odd enough that she'd decided to come down and see for herself.
The Catholic Church definitely wasn't as influential as it once had been, she knew that much. The Soviet Union had almost certainly wanted to tear it down, but unlike pretty much every other religion, they were wary of making a strong enemy of the Catholic Church, mostly due to pressure from America due to the degree of Catholicism in the Americas.
The Soviets hadn't been happy, but they left the Vatican alone – even if they kept a close eye on it, and she wouldn't have been surprised if there were missions to limit the spread of it in the Soviet Union – with the exception of Italy. But it was a European religion – Catholics didn't come to the Middle East, or really the east at all.
A first time for everything, she supposed.
It was evening now, and she was alone. Small Turtle believed she was in bed now, and it had been simple for Sara to teleport her outside, out of his reach. Normally she wouldn't risk this – but if she was right, she didn't want Arjun's watcher reporting back.
It was a relatively humble place. Ironically, the place of worship that had been given to this priest had previously been a mosque, in lieu of any actual Catholic churches. She'd not entered as soon as she'd arrived – instead she'd observed for several hours. There was a surprising number of people moving in and out of it – especially for this time of day. The Indian reports had indicated something similar – they were aware of the priest, but had never looked deeper into him. For now, anyway.
She had a suspicion as to what was going on, and after making sure no one was watching – with Sara confirming, she entered the building. She wasn't obviously in disguise, as she didn't want to spook anyone, or be recognized. Inside, she slowed down while moving through the empty halls. Despite the emptiness, she did find this place relaxing in its own way. There was some soft music that played in the background, and she made her way to what was the 'main' sanctuary.
There wasn't anyone in it, or at least not worshippers – except one. A man in front of an altar, the priest in a white robe. He turned as she walked up and offered a warm smile. "Welcome, child. I usually don't receive people this late. I'm afraid you missed Mass, if you were here for that. Though I can certainly do a small, impromptu communion for you."
English. Definitely a mainland American from the accent. Lined up with what she knew. "Unnecessary, Father…"
"Mills," he finished. "Ryan Mills, I don't mind either way. Formalities are almost a distraction in this day and age."
"A pleasure to meet you," she said, looking around.
He nodded. "It's been some time since I've met another who speaks English."
"I presume you speak Arabic here?"
"Arabic, Hindi, Russian," he listed off. "If one wishes to spread the message, it is better to do it in their own tongue."
"Smart," she nodded slowly. "Where is everyone?"
"Pardon?"
"Everyone here," she inclined her head to the back. "I've watched quite a few people come in, and they don't seem to be here."
He knows who you are, Sara noted. He's hiding it very well.
Ryan shook his head. "Oh, not everyone who comes here comes for the services – the Church is not just a place of worship. I help run a food bank and after-education program out of the church, one which is helpful for many of the impoverished people here."
She noted that he hadn't asked who she was yet, or why she was interested in that particular thing. To not draw Her suspicion, perhaps? "I wasn't aware that was run," she said slowly. "The service records don't list this as a charity in addition to a place of worship."
His good demeanor faded ever so slightly, even if his face remained the same. "Ah, are you a government representative?"
"In a sense," she said, crossing her arms. "But you know who I am. You don't need to pretend otherwise."
"It would be a lie to say that your reputation has not reached my ears," he said, waving a hand, keeping the mask of indifference on. "A face that I hear is being seen around here more and more. I hear it is you to thank for the better conduct of the soldiers."
She smiled grimly. "In a manner of speaking. And my 'reputation'?"
"A good one, from what I've heard," Ryan assured her. "And admittedly a strange one – at least from what the residents here have shared. Some of the previous officials have been…let us say harsh."
She pursed her lips. "We are not all like that."
"No, but many here have seen the worst of your people and government. To have someone different is unexpected, and some aren't sure of your intentions," he appraised her. "So I suppose I will ask you, Miss Mihaylova, whose side are you on?"
"Pardon?"
"There is a saying you might be familiar with," Ryan said. "'One cannot serve both God and man' – a phrase I will note I deeply disagree with, but one whose analogy applies in your case. You cannot serve your superiors in New Delhi and the people you purport to help."
"But I am."
"For now. You will have to make a choice soon," Ryan met her eyes. "So tell me – whose side are you on?"
There was a long moment where the silence weighed heavier on both of them. He was appraising her, listening closely. What she said next would determine what he did. This priest was not going to be fooled easily – and certainly not by Her.
"The people are not wrong to be suspicious," Milya finally said. "I would be in their position – but my intentions are exactly what you've seen. And I need to know the truth. For better or worse, I have the ear of General Gala, and he's in a…precarious situation politically. I have no interest in prolonging this suffering, but to do anything substantial, I need to know what is going on – or at least not accidentally ruin what already exists." She nodded, and Sara materialized by her shoulder. "I am risking much just doing what I have been. You're right – it would only take one call from New Delhi to deal with me. Now ask why they haven't."
He didn't answer, but his eyes darted to the Ghost. Milya nodded. "I have something I didn't know I had before. I can make things better, and no matter where it leads me, that is my mission now. I may die – I believe friends of mine who came to similar conclusions were removed, but that's a different topic. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have brought soldiers. I wouldn't bother with trying to learn. I would turn over the cipher the Sandman communicates with to Gala once I broke it."
She saw something in his eyes shift when she said the last part. Even still he didn't break expression, but it was enough to see that had alarmed him – which told her that he didn't just know of the Sandman – he likely worked with him. She nodded slowly in acknowledgment. "You can trust me."
Ryan seemed to look into her for a long few seconds. Then came to a determination and motioned for her to follow. "Come with me."
She followed the priest down a few halls, then descended into what she assumed was the basement until they stopped in front of a door. There was some hesitation, but then he opened it and indicated that she look inside. There were probably close to two dozen men, women, and children inside, listening as another man stood and preached.
It only took a few seconds to make the connection that these were Muslims holding an illegal service, in a mosque that had been appropriated by a Catholic priest – a priest which was actively facilitating such services. The irregular traffic made significantly more sense now – and implied some certain things about Ryan himself.
A few of those inside turned to look, but they saw Ryan and seemed to just nod and return their attention back to the service. Ryan smiled at them, and then closed the door. "Well, you have seen my little secret now. How soon should I expect to be deported?"
The words were said with a hint of amusement, since he knew she wouldn't turn him in. Still, she pinched the bridge of her nose at seeing this. "Funny, but let's remain serious for a moment. I admit…I didn't expect a Catholic to facilitate this kind of thing."
"Admittedly, most of my brethren don't come here for this reason," Ryan said without bitterness, more disappointment. "Easier to remain in the comfort of the West where there is no persecution or risk. Or worse, those who would see injustice as an opportunity for conversion. I said I would come because the Indians wanted to weaken the Muslim spirit, but you cannot convert a soul which does not wish it. If I am to live in injustice, then I will do whatever I can to help alleviate it."
She nodded at that. "Brave."
"And incidentally," he chuckled. "It's not the first time a Catholic has operated secretly in opposition to tyranny. A few of us did the same during the Holocaust. Religious leaders tend to be overlooked if they smile and nod – and I would be a poor Catholic if I lived here and was complicit in such – Something I had to remind His Holiness in this particular case."
She raised an eyebrow. "You know the Pope?"
"'Know', is perhaps a strong word," he mused. "But I speak to him more often than expected for one in my position."
Milya glanced around. "Does he know about…"
"Officially, of course not, it would be unseemly for the Vatican to interfere in political matters. The Church is a strictly apolitical entity, as the Soviets demanded." Ryan smiled. "Unofficially, he knows when to not ask questions, and when to look the other way."
"The most I can expect he can do," she said slowly, more to herself. "You do more than allow illegal services, don't you?"
He smiled. "I can neither confirm nor deny."
"Right," she said dryly, and pulled out a note. "I assume you know certain people. Give this to them." She handed it to him, and watched him read it.
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I can't read this, and I'm not sure anyone else will be able to either."
She smiled slightly. "You might not, or anyone else. But the Sandman will – or at least I'd hope he can decipher his own code. And if you meet him, tell him that I admire his work."
Ryan carefully put the letter away. "I will do so. I expect he will find what you have to say interesting. I suppose you deserve to know he's aware of who you are."
"Should I be concerned?"
"No," Ryan said. "He…he identified you as someone that could be trusted, long before anyone else. I had my suspicions, as did many others. But now I see what he meant," Ryan inclined his head to her. "Blessings on you, child. May you find peace in the days of strife ahead."
So do I, she thought to herself, so do I.
ISHTAR CITY | VENUS
The colony ship touched down, and Jonathan couldn't help but feel somewhat nervous about what they were about to step into. Flying on the colony ship had been a very interesting experience – to be truthful, if he didn't know he was hurtling through space, he'd never know he had ever left Earth. The most nerve-wracking part had been the take-off, but it had been 'smooth sailing' the rest of the way.
Close to two thousand people were on this transport, and from the numbers he'd heard, there would be a similar number arriving every week until the city was fully populated. The families on board had gotten to talking, getting to know each other a bit before touching down. He'd expected most of this group to be American, but there were actually a mixture from the Triumvirate nations. Most of them were Central European Soviets, but there were a few Indians as well.
It was somewhat surreal to think about. He, his family, and dozens of others were going to be living on a planet that wasn't Earth. It was the first true interstellar colonization effort the Triumvirate was undertaking, or more accurately, the first in Human history. He knew that there were outposts and stations on Mars and Europa, and rumors also had Mercury, but actual civilization? Truly spreading the Human race amongst the stars?
They were to be the first.
There'd been no shortage of people who were signing up to be the first colonists. Millions had applied across the world, with different programs being run by the various Triumvirate nations. They wanted not only the interested and skilled – but those committed to the greatest project in Humanity's history.
Farming wasn't an especially glamorous job – but they needed people like him who would be able to farm the lands. Apparently, Venus was surprisingly fertile, and he would be involved in growing the crops from the seeds the scientists were adapting to the Venus landscape. He was fascinated by that process, and a new challenge - it also didn't hurt that they were paying him very well to relocate.
Right now there was only one major city on Venus, or at least what would become a city – Ishtar. He didn't know why it had been named that, or what the origin was, but he liked how it sounded. It was something in an experiment in architecture and design. The pictures had shown a city that was intertwined with the Venusian nature.
It included some quite radical concepts, such as few roads, no personal vehicles, and limited transportation vehicles. The city was small compared to ones on Earth – it wasn't going to be the next New York, but Jonathan didn't really see that as a bad thing. He found cities too big and disconnected for his tastes – which was one reason this kind of city had appealed to him. Or perhaps more of a community.
He was eager to see it for himself, and the ramp was about to descend as they all waited. Finally, with a loud groan the ramp descended, and they all took their first breath of the Venus air. It was definitely not like Earth, as there seemed to be a faint sweetness to it, but he could immediately tell he would get used to it quickly. He'd definitely been in much worse, and compared to the pollution of some cities, this could be considered an improvement.
There was some amount of embellishment he was expecting. He wasn't an idiot, and knew the Triumvirate would try and make the planet the most appealing they could, so he was expecting it to have some divergence from the curated pictures.
To his surprise though, it wasn't.
As they walked out with wide eyes, he was struck by how Venus looked exactly how it had been promised. A planet with rich vegetation everywhere he could see; plants all colored from greens to oranges and yellows. Streams of pink colored water flowed, and overhead was a perpetually bright brown sky – what must have been the legacy of what had once been a planet of poison, and an oddly beautiful one at that.
And in the distance, stood Ishtar City.
It was hardly the biggest he'd ever seen – but to him, it looked impressive. No towering skyscrapers, but plenty of moderately sized buildings designed in exotic ways that seemed to him a mixture of Roman and Chinese. Small houses and shops were near each other, and in the distance just outside the city, he could see the lands that would presumably be for farming. It wasn't fully finished – it would expand in the coming months, but there was a foundation here – one all of them could build upon.
The few doubts he'd had about taking this step washed away as he saw the future in front of him; one that wouldn't just be for himself, but for Humanity as a whole. He looked to the sky, thinking of the alien that had done this. What power it must have to create something as beautiful as all of this. No, not just power. Vision; an eye for natural beauty.
He didn't know where the alien was now, but he hoped that it would remain with Humanity, and that despite whoever in the Triumvirate it was talking to, it was being thanked. If for no other reason that logically, if it could create – it could also take away just as easily.
There were some Triumvirate officials who were walking up now, with some open-air bus-like vehicles presumably to take them to their residences. They were all smiles as the colonists walked forward. "Welcome to Ishtar!" The leading official greeted. "Welcome home."
OFFICE OF THE GENERAL SECRETARY | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION
Events proceeded, but Clovis had the distinct feeling that the endgame was approaching.
Not anytime soon, he believed, but they were in the prelude to the final moves. Pawns and pieces moved around the world, pieces lost and gained, and mind games between man and god. Games such as these could not last forever, and there would be an end where all the hand was shown.
Winner take all.
Across the world, the Exos were being deployed to great fanfare and success. He had been pleased at the reaction. It had cemented the Triumvirate as the sovereign power on Earth - and was especially good at distracting from any less-savory headlines. There were the ethicists and anti-augmentation crowds, but those were drowned out by the normal people.
Progress was to be celebrated, after all, not condemned.
No, the fanfare was quite good. In most circumstances, with their power remaining entrenched, and their nations prosperous, most leaders would be content to bask in the victory and glory. Most would become complacent. But he knew history, and knew there were weeks where decades happened. No man in authority knew when his end would come, and could not for a moment let his guard down. Not when the stakes were so high.
Not when the destiny of Humanity hung in the balance. His eyes must remain open.
He was the General Secretary of the Soviet Union, and he needed to know the truth.
And the truth was that the stability that reigned in the world right now was an illusion – one which appeared to be slowly coming undone. It started with Monroe – which was ironically the tool they'd intended to secure their hold on the population.
Monroe was doing quite well according to the tests and current operations. That particular AI was managing the flow of information exceptionally, at least in terms of showing exactly what they wanted people to see - and allowing the Triumvirate unparalleled access into their lives. Not even the NSA or Chinese monitors could have dreamed of such insight into the everyday citizen. Now there was no escape from those who would plot and dissent in the Triumvirate.
A primary intention of Monroe was to identify, isolate, and erase those who threatened the underline power structures of the Triumvirate. To identify dissident leaders, nascent social movements, and problematic political trends and smother them in the grade. The population was a dry haystack, and one never knew what the spark would be to set it alight. Understanding this had been key to bringing Europe into the Soviet Union.
The public was a curious entity. It had permanent hidden power, and governments either succeeded or failed based on their ability to keep that power suppressed. Yet even they had limits, and only so long before people began to see through the facades. So nations must change and adapt, or they would fall.
Monroe would allow them to get a head start and map the path towards adaption. To this end, they'd expected a few thousand events, with perhaps a few hundred critical ones to deal with. It wasn't as though people were dissatisfied. Perhaps a bit more uppity than usual, but Clovis hadn't expected a significant amount of problematic cases.
The initial results back of 'critical' cases?
Over sixteen million.
That had been…surprised was not quite the word for him, but more of a wake-up call. On some level he was aware that there were certain things in motion, but what he had underestimated was the severity.
For everyone else, it was quite a shock to see, and had made all of them realize they might have to utilize Monroe in a different way than they'd planned. Most didn't panic at first, the natural assumption was that they'd initially set the parameters too wide, picking up too many false positives. That hadn't panned out, as while many of them were fairly innocuous, they all fit the trends that matched with long term trajectories of instability. Movements always started with the innocuous, which most people found tolerable. What became dangerous was when they evolved and spread.
Growing anti-government sentiment, sustained questioning of establishment decisions, private conversations about events such as the Cairo Bombing and Canadian annexation that were still ongoing. It appeared that even when the news cycle changed, they'd misread the signs. The news cycle might move on, but the people weren't.
There were some things that were sticking with them.
The propaganda was becoming less effective. Their hold on the narrative slipping ever so slightly.
That was a problem.
So on one hand, Monroe had proved to be extremely useful, and had corrected a blind spot that had festered for too long. On the other, it introduced a significant problem that none of them – Clovis included - fully knew how to address. There was a public consciousness that was growing, and ever since Cairo, people were looking more into events that were happening. Not the ones on the news, or just the terrorist attacks, but deeper.
Some positive news that he'd been able to discern was that it was still siloed. Americans talking with Americans, Soviets with Soviets, and so on. Language barriers were continuing to be useful, but there was a concern of what might happen if that particular barrier was broken down.
There were ultimately three topics that were generating the most discussion:
The Cairo bombing.
The Canadian annexation.
The Traveler.
All things he would very much prefer not being discussed one a regular basis, and especially not with questioning or negative connotations towards the government. That was simply begging for problems down the road. So for right now, Monroe was in a holding pattern and silently collecting all of the trends, while a more complete solution was developed.
However, it wasn't all grim news – there were some other achievements he was quite proud of. The colonization effort was beginning in earnest, and the first waves of colonists were being sent out all across the Solar System. It was a monumental achievement, and one which he'd made sure to emphasize.
That was definitely landing well with the wider public, all of whom were united in this achievement of Human brilliance. The Exos as well had been met quite positively – people found them largely fascinating and an aggressive campaign to normalize them was paying dividends. There was definitely not going to be any discrimination or intolerance permitted, and so far it seemed to be taking hold.
The ants spreading beyond the colony to the great unknown. More dynamic pieces to move and play as he saw fit.
So there were good things happening, but there were also new problems emerging. Ones that he was not immediately sure how to deal with – a rare position for him to be in. It was a complex issue that he knew the Traveler was more than content to let fester, as there was no easy solution.
And at the same time, made a countermove of her own. Not the restoration of Pakistan – though he suspected that was an overture to the Resistance, and perhaps the world that her attention was being turned back to Earth – and depending on the individual, the correction of a wrong.
Of course, within hours after the news, there were Indian, Chinese, and American companies that were already salivating at the chance to go into the newly restored Pakistan to mine and extract its resources. Some reports indicated that there were already illegal crews moving out, even though New Delhi - in a surprisingly lucid moment - had refused to grant any permits, foreign or domestic.
Even the leadership of New Delhi could see what that particular act meant, and it rightfully spooked them. The subtleties were lost on the fools that only saw resources and profits. Of course, this was all the "official" line, unofficially, he suspected New Delhi would turn a blind eye, even if they clashed with the Chinese while doing so.
It was amazing how money could make people so blind. At least the Soviet Union had a firm leash on the corporations. None of the others could say the same.
Capitalists. Eternally predictable. Eternally shortsighted.
That was something he was watching, though not with any degree of urgency. Not when there were more interesting things happening. There was something more subtle that the Traveler had done, which he was looking at now. Something that had, in the grandiose production of Pakistan, had gone under the radar.
Clever girl.
In front of him was a file – one that contained pages of images, all taken from social media, journalists, the KGB, satellites, and other media. Yet another problem he now had to contend with. Luka was standing opposite him, his face grim.
Clovis finally set it down, and laced his fingers together, pondering the puzzle before him. "[How many?]"
"[Still counting, and I'm cross-checking with the rest of the Triumvirate agencies,]" Luka grunted. "[At least three hundred in the Soviet Union alone. Potentially more.]"
Clovis rubbed his chin. There was no escaping it. There were more Ghosts that had appeared, and now were with completely different people in all positions of society. From workers to soldiers to executives to government officials. And if it was here, it was everywhere.
With a single motion, all the work he'd authorized to remove the most problematic elements had been undone. He exhaled loudly. He perhaps should have seen this coming. The Traveler was clearly an intelligent entity, and even if he couldn't prove it, she was smart enough to connect the dots, and the dots showed that her pawns had been systemically and deliberately removed.
Of course it wasn't going to take that lying down.
He wouldn't either.
Well, if it wishes a dance, a dance it will get.
He still had a few tricks up his sleeve.
It was essential that these new individuals be identified and plans developed to help mitigate potential flashpoints. Monroe would come in useful here, as he would be able to acquire and process their data instantly, allowing for immediate mitigation plans. Most importantly, all of those people were to be removed from any position of influence or power.
He'd made the mistake of making Valentin something of a figurehead, and that had backfired. He couldn't control where the Traveler sent her Ghosts, but he could control where her new pawns went. They would find themselves 'promoted' to a place more befitting their stature.
A temporary measure, at least until a more concrete plan was developed.
"[What should we do with them?]" Luka asked, as Clovis had been silent for a few minutes. "[Another Jupiter?]"
"[No, pointless,]" Clovis mused. "[She's showing her hand here as well. If we remove pieces from the board, she will just replace them with new ones. A waste of time to repeat something doomed to failure. No, another, more subtle solution will be devised. Develop mitigation plans for those deemed dangerous.]"
"[I don't understand this,]" Luka muttered. "[It's toying with us. It is clearly not our ally, but gives us an illusion of progress. Why not simply overwhelm us? There are certainly more Ghosts it has at its disposal.]"
Clovis smiled.
"[Because, my friend, the Traveler has something akin to pride. Conquest is the mark of a simple mind unless absolutely necessary. Violence has its place, but it is a tool to achieve a greater end. Empires built on extermination and violence will collapse in time. This,]" he nodded upwards. "[Is a conflict on a more fundamental level. It is a conflict for the heart and soul of Humanity. They will align with man – or with an alien. But the Traveler…]"
He paused. "[She doesn't want simple-minded people. No, she wants Humanity to willingly come to her, and submit themselves to the alien. So that is why she indulges in this game – and why she will not interfere when we reach the endgame.]"
"[I'd count this as interference,]" Luka snorted.
"[And our termination of her pawns wasn't?]" Clovis raised an eyebrow. "[The Traveler seems to want the board to be fair. A piece taken off, a piece she will replace. I can respect it, it merely means we must adapt. The alien is clever – but it is principled in a certain way. For its own reasons, it wants our willingness and loyalty. That which we will deny.]"
Luka nodded. "[Man shall only be loyal to our own.]"
"[Precisely,]" Clovis released a sigh. "[No matter the price or cost. Else our souls are lost to the alien – and we will never get them back.]" He shook his head, mostly to clear it. "[I digress. Have we seen any individuals from this batch who are problematic?]"
Luka shook his head. "[No, but we're in the early stages.]"
"[Keep watch then,]" Clovis said, leaning back.
"[Understood,]" Luka paused. "[I've been reaching out to the other Triumvirate agencies, but we're not coordinating this through the TIS. Is there a reason why?]"
Clovis raised an eyebrow. "[Fox is not reliable. He has one of those Ghosts himself, and anyone who has one of those, they cannot be trusted.]"
"[Which leads to my second question then,]" Luka said, making a note. "[Are we applying mitigation strategies to him? He should not be in his position if he is unreliable. That is far too much power in his hands.]"
"[It is, but I'm uncertain of the best way to handle him,]" Clovis said. "[Fox is wily, and his mitigation will need to be delicate. However, we are doing so in one way – keeping him out of the loop and our plans.]"
Luka grunted. "[It'll have to suffice.]"
"[That it will,]" Clovis said. "[Return to it. We have a lot of work to do.]"
"[Yes, General Secretary.]"
OFFICE OF ARJUN GALA | RIYADH | REPUBLIC OF INDIAN TERRITORIES
Milya didn't know why Arjun wanted her today; though she was used to summons at unexpected times. It was a good thing he'd done so the following day, otherwise her absence in going to visit Ryan would have been noticed. Regardless, she tolerated it because it usually gave her some insight into what was going on, and she didn't want to arouse suspicions by being absent. With Small Turtle behind her as usual, she entered his office.
Arjun sat there, leaning back in his chair, and a newspaper in hands. "[Right on time. Have you recently looked at the news?]"
Milya exchanged a brief glance at Sara, and the Ghost bobbed slightly as if to shrug. "[No, I've been occupied and I dislike the mainstream press. Why?]"
"[Personally, if it was up to me, I'd have all the press lined up and shot, too much useless blabber,]" Arjun said, a smile leaking onto his face. "[But they have their uses, at times.]"
He tossed her the rolled-up newspaper in his hand, which she caught. She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at his response. Leave it to Arjun to take a comment like 'I don't like the media' and respond by saying he'd prefer to shoot them. Pushing the thought aside, she opened the newspaper and read the headlines which instantly grabbed her attention.
PAKISTAN REBORN. WORLD REACTS TO THE TRAVELER'S RESTORATION
"ON THE RUN" INDIAN FORCES REPORT SUCCESSFUL OPERATIONS AGAINST ARABIAN TERRORISM
INDIAN AND CHINESE STANDOFF AS TENSIONS OVER PAKISTAN'S NATURAL RESOURCES INTENSIFY
The headlines seemed almost fake. Not the one about the Arabian terrorism, this was an Indian paper so it would keep track of that. But Pakistan? And it was restored? She quickly skimmed through the story, and sure enough, it seemed like that had actually been the case. There were pictures included, ones with lush vegetation, clear streams, and healthy trees.
She lowered the newspaper, her mind racing. If the Traveler was doing this, then that implied...
Well, it implied something. Was something going to happen soon then? This could not have been a clearer message to the Triumvirate - and India in particular. She wondered how many panicked calls had been happening in New Delhi. Why didn't you tell me? She quietly communicated to Sara.
The Ghost seemed amused. You didn't ask. Didn't want to spoil the surprise.
"[That glorified golf ball just started a diplomatic incident,]" Arjun said, once he saw she'd finished. "[This mess will get New Delhi and Beijing to fight like dogs for the next few months. They'll be too busy with that, to focus on us. They want to fuck with me, now, its my turn to fuck with them.]"
She frowned, trying to translate what he was saying. "[What? I'm more worried this is going to spook them further for...well, anyone who has a Ghost. Namely, me, and by extension, you. Do you not see what this message is?]"
"[Make no mistake, they're already coming for you,]" Arjun chuckled. "[You think your friends died by accident? Hmm?]"
She bristled, lips twitching. "[You don't have to remind me.]"
"[So it needs not be explained, that I'm not in the business of allowing others to come and get me,]" Arjun said. "[We'll need to secure ourselves, and this is the chance. I'll be dealing with military contractors, landowners, and mining companies.]"
He gestured her over to a table, upon which was a map of Pakistan, Afghanistan, and northern India, with some parts of China and Soviet Central Asia at the edges. "[All this territory? Officially owned by New Delhi. Officially, that is, unofficially, it's up to whoever wins this spat. While they're busy stuck in a spat? We'll give a counter offer, right here.]"
She was not a strategist or really had a mind for politics and the schemes of politicians - but she had been exposed to enough at this point, not to mention knowing Arjun's own inclinations, to see what he was moving towards. His comment about dealing with the various owners and businesses, while taking advantage of the chaos of Pakistan implied one thing.
Arjun was planning to make a play to become the de-facto ruler of the Arabian region - and perhaps the Middle East as a whole. A modern fiefdom. It seemed too ludicrously outlandish, but…
She blinked. "[In what world is New Delhi going to let you get away with that? With this? We want less attention, not more.]"
"[And who, pray tell, do you think, controls what New Delhi hears?]" He seemed utterly happy. His good eye gleamed joyously. "[So long as this spat busies them? They won't know a thing. By then, it'll be too late. You'll be safe from them, and I'll be free of them trying to turn this region into a time-bomb that will kill me.]"
She could see the logic - he was right that this situation would result in New Delhi - and the rest of the world - focusing on Pakistan, and the subsequent implications. His plan, from what she could tell, was to secure control over the resources, the equipment, and do significant amounts of realpolitik and probably some illegal laundering here and there, to make his position politically poisonous to deal with.
Of course...that would also mean placating New Delhi in some way.
And he was clearly expecting her to be on board with it. She wondered...did he really think this was all it was going to take? That by separating from the Triumvirate, he would be off the hook? Arjun may not have been as pointlessly cruel as New Delhi - but in many other ways he was worse.
This is not going to go the way you think, Arjun.
She kept her mouth shut though.
"[You're being oddly quiet,]" he tilted his head. "[I expected more excitement at the prospect of safety.]"
"[Forgive me for not trusting New Delhi to act with logic or reason,]" she said carefully, "[But...I trust that your plan will work. It's a lot though, this was not how I expected this to go today.]" Hopefully he would accept the ego stroking, as he struck her as someone who was quite convinced of his own brilliance.
He nodded, slowly, but surely. "[Sadly, it seems this is going to be a long day for you.]"
Arjun snapped his fingers, and a technician, with a robot behind him, walked in. It was heavily damaged, chassis blown open, missing an arm, and half of its head's internal circuits exposed.
Wait, no, not a robot.
An Exo.
She'd seen the news about them of course, it was difficult to completely avoid. Flashy shots of the…machines? People? They said that Exos were people who had volunteered to be turned into those constructs, but she wasn't sure how much of that she believed. The American and Soviet ones did seem pretty alive, but given how advanced technology was, she wasn't sure.
India had kept their own models quiet though.
Now she saw why.
The Exo towered over her. It was much bigger than she'd expected. It was also much more explicitly mechanical than the ones shown on TV. It was much closer to hunter-killer automatons than individuals you could converse with. This one was sleek and dangerous, painted camouflage colors of the desert, such as tans and browns with flecks of sand stuck to their chassis.
"[This, this, is the one of the best things I've ever owned in life,]" Arjun laughed, taking out a tablet. "[And the single most helpful thing I've managed to scrounge out of New Delhi's cesspit.]"
She couldn't help but wonder how it had been so badly damaged. Obviously from an operation, but against what? More importantly, given how apparently rare these were, it did beg a question. "[How did you get one? I'm assuming it wasn't just by sending a resource request?]"
"[A few missing family members, a few threatening letters, a few bribes, carrot and stick, the usual,]" Arjun shrugged, even as she suppressed a wince at the casual barbarism. "[Took effort, but I must admit, I'm in love with them. Truly, worth every dollar, called favor, and degenerate thug hired to get it.]"
"[And what are they used for?]" She asked slowly. "[Soldiers? I've only seen the American and Soviet ones.]"
"[You see, there are two types of insurgents, Milya,]" Arjun stood up, rapping a knuckle on it. "[The type that is best compared to a blood starved fighting dog, murderous, bloodletting, and ferocious. Admirable, in a sense. But all rabid dogs die the same, with patience and enough bullets.]"
He didn't directly answer her question, though it said enough.
"[And then there's the second variety,]" Arjun's smile fell. "[They're not hungry for blood. They're far worse. They're simmering with indignity, boiling with contempt for injustice. They're not animals. They're proud beasts, waiting for the second you show the jugular. And they will tear it out. For they will not be broken, no matter what.]"
"[You see this?]" Arjun pointed at the blown open chassis. "[The Sandman's handiwork. I knew he was dangerous. But this? I am beyond impressed.]"
"[Is it?]" She wasn't inherently convinced, much as she would like to be. "[We've known they have advanced weapons. Stolen, but they have had them.]"
"[Over the last ten days, these Exos have all but exterminated most cells. Except his,]" Arjun told her, quite proudly. "[They're far, far better than I gave them credit for. I assure you, I've tested it myself, these Exos make short work of most well trained soldiery. Much less insurgents.]"
They had?
She went cold at the realization.
If almost all of the cells were gone now, except his, then that either meant that they had managed to crack the cipher without her - or Arjun now believed they didn't need it at all. Now that she thought about it, she realized that Arjun hadn't asked her for an update on the cipher - which he always did early into their meetings.
This boded very poorly for the Sandman.
"[How did you find the cells without the cipher?]" She asked.
"[Oh, we cracked it,]" Arjun said nonchalantly, and pressed a button under his desk. It split open, and a newly-installed console rose. "[The Chinese are vampires, but there is something to be said about shared business making things easier.]"
He pressed a button, and a red symbol she'd never seen appeared as a holographic projection. "[SYSTEM STANDING BY.]" A synthesized voice boomed in the room.
She blinked, unsure what this was supposed to be. "[This is Mao,]" Arjun said, smiling thinly. "[An artificial intelligence, one specifically tuned for military offensive management. I've managed to get ourselves a connection to it, and it was surprisingly easy. And it's proven every bit as effective as I was told.]"
Milya was quickly processing this, realizing that things were now moving much faster than she'd wanted, she hadn't even known they had AI, let alone AI like this. The cipher was cracked. Cells were being hunted. The Sandman, whoever he was, had only days left at this rate. It was moving too fast.
Be calm. Let him finish before panicking.
"[For a cipher made by an Arab in a cave, with a bunch of scraps, it was impressive,]" Arjun patted the console. "[But not impressive enough, not against this. I've had to fire half of the cipher breakers, once it showed how utterly incompetent they were. I've half a mind to ask the Sandman to work for me. He is, truly, a once in a life-time talent. I'm sure even with your brief work on it, you can attest as much.]"
He waved a hand. "[To be clear, I am certain you could have cracked it, and your progress was impressive. However, we are on a timetable, and we have to use all the tools at our disposal. I hope you don't take offense.]"
There wasn't much she could say. "[No, but I wish I had been told. It might have saved me some long nights.]"
Arjun hummed. "[If you have the stomach for it, I do have a different type of cipher for you to break. The Human type. We've managed to grab one of the Sandmen's men; the stubbornness alone was proof of it. The tenacity practically a certificate.]"
He waved the Exo, and the technician away.
She blinked, not sure if he was serious. Was he talking about interrogation? "[You want me to question him?]"
"[Or take him to dinner and have a long and intimate night with him,]" Arjun rolled his eye exaggeratedly. "[Yes, interrogate him. At this point, you couldn't possibly do worse than those before you. Perhaps a softer approach might work. Take your time, have at it. Consider it consolation for your professional ego.]"
That was not something she really wanted to do, if she was being honest with herself. She lacked the mindset or stomach for that kind of work...or trying to convince someone to give up their secrets. It didn't help that she was not even on Arjun's side. Despite all that...it seemed she had to do it, if for no other reason than because if she didn't try something, then someone much worse would take her place.
"[I can do it,]" she said, thinking quickly. "[But I don't want any observation. No cameras or listening devices.]"
She was expecting a protest, but Arjun shrugged and pressed a button on a nearby security console. He pulled out his badge, and handed it to her. "[The STAG officers on the interrogation floor might stop you. If they do, show them my badge, otherwise, don't use it. Using it too much tends to make them fear it less.]"
Sara floated over, and after a few seconds, sent back: He has done it. I will still monitor when we are in, but he appears to be truthful.
She cocked her head, frowning. "[Just like that?]"
Arjun raised a brow at her. "[I've shown you nothing but trust and courtesy. You've shown me no reason for doubting. And, even if, what would you do? Teleport him? Whisper secrets? Tip your hand? So long as he's there once you're done, it matters little. So, go ahead.]"
'Trust and courtesy'. That was certainly a way of putting it. The implication was very clear all the same. Milya had no idea how she was going to do this, as she wasn't an interrogator, but the threat of Arjun torturing a man if she failed was a good motivator. "[Alright. If he knows something, I'll do my best to get it.]"
Arjun's lip curled up. "[Who knows, maybe your reputation might have a more realistic use.]"
It took her self-control to not react. That sentence implied that he might be onto what she was really doing, and if so, she would be expected to react to it. Internally, she did, but she kept her face straight. That was what he was trying to do, it was a good psychological trick. Guilt was a powerful tell. "[I'd hate for my reputation to not have some effect. We'll see.]"
He seemed satisfied enough with the answer, and she left, with Sara floating at her shoulder. It was several floors below, and she took the stairs down, mostly because it gave her more time to think about how she was going to approach this.
Nothing really came to mind.
What exactly was she going to do "I'm actually on your side, tell me your secrets to help you"? That sounded ridiculous, even in her head. She'd think of something. Worst-case...well, she'd come away with nothing, and need to take another night visit to send out some warnings. Which she was probably going to have to do anyway.
Eventually, she reached the floor, and there were two STAG officers, a man and woman, guarding the entrance, in full body armor and holding the new Triumvirate automatic weapons. They appraised her as she walked up. "[This is a restricted floor.]"
"[I'm here to question the captive,]" she said with as much authority as she could muster, very much relying on Sara to give her the legitimacy her voice lacked. She'd only use the badge if that failed. The STAG officers unexpectedly chuckled.
"[You?]" the man asked, genuinely amused. "[Girl, at least put on some more appropriate clothes. I don't think you want to get blood on those.]"
"[She doesn't even know they're shared,]" the woman chuckled.
Milya cocked her head. "[Shared?]"
"[Oh, gods,]" her shoulders shook, as she struggled to not laugh. "[She doesn't!]"
"[The cells are shared, girl,]" the first one said after he composed himself. "[I'll tell you what - go ahead if you really want to. I'll get a bucket for when you stumble out.]"
He put his hand on a scanner, twisted a temperature dial, then a noised dial, then chuckled at her. "[How long you think she'll last?]" He asked rhetorically as he waved her lazily through towards the cell.
"[Well, girl?]" the woman asked mockingly. "[How long?]"
Milya met her amused eyes, her own hard and irritated. "[However long I need to.]"
"[I like her, she's got some spine,]" the man said, as he opened the door. "[Go on, if you need us to rough them up extra for you, bang on the table. Easy, eh?]"
Milya pursed her lips, but nodded. She had no intention of taking them up on their offer. She stepped in, the door closing shut behind her.
The smell hit her even before the door closed. Dried blood, urine and defecation, rot and sickness. A cocktail that nearly made her sway on her feet and her eyes water. She was surprised she was keeping it down, but didn't know for how long. I don't know if I can do this.
You can. You have to, if not for you, then for them.
She took a few moments to compose herself. Just focusing on acclimating to the climate. Once she had enough control, she actually could take a look at what was inside.
There were five of them. One, chained to a table and chair. Two on each side, hung up by meat-hooks that had to be going through bone. They were missing eyes, nails, and fingers. Steel spikes driven into them and caked blood, pus, and gore around each wound. Infection was a certainty, if it hadn't already started.
Are they alive?
Look closer.
She did, and saw they were. Barely. Quietly muttering. Chanting. Singing in tune. In fluent sing-song Arabic, the man at the chair leading them. She shifted her listening to translating the words, to understand what was being said.
"[O' you, whose mercy is a refuge for the lost. In dire need we flee to You in our woes. O' master of reprieve, with pardon near. You answer all in need, they know that You do hear,]" the man in the chair led.
The others followed.
"[We beg for relief, redeemer of the weak,]" he looked up at her for the first time, eyes full of steel. "[You are enough for us, both humbled and so meek.]"
"[You who's kingdom can never be stolen, who's wealth may never be taken,]" he ignored her, closing his eyes. "[No strength can match your royalty. No might can breach your just authority. You choose whom to abase or raise with might and majesty.]"
A Muslim prayer, it had to be. She didn't know their religion, but there were few other plausible guesses. She was wondering how, with all the pain and torture they were in, were still managing to speak at all. Saying the prayer...mantra...with single-minded devotion as if they had nothing else.
That might have been it. There was nothing else. None but each other, and the god they believed in.
The man on the chair looked fairly young, with a head of black hair and brown eyes. A filled out beard covered his face, and his already-brown skin was further tanned from the sun. Every scar from every weapon she could imagine marked him.
But unlike the rest, he hadn't been tortured. At all.
The sheer horror and injustice of everything hit her. She knew this was happening; it happened at the hands of governments around the world. But it was one thing to know it happened, and a completely different thing to see it before her eyes. To be confronted with the sight and smell that combined into a potent, putrid combination she couldn't dare look away from.
She felt helpless as she stood, unable to even begin to imagine what they had gone through. She wondered how even the most stalwart defender of torture could look upon this, and ever again consider it right or justified. No one could do this and retain their own Humanity, only monsters could rationalize this.
She didn't have power to ease this pain, or correct this wrong - but she knew that Sara did.
Get them down. Help them.
Instead, Sara hesitated, floating in front of her. Are you sure? Arjun will not approve...and if I heal them, they may be hurt again. Healing may sometimes prolong pain. It is not always the first solution.
It was a pragmatic proposal - any decent interrogator would use it as a bargaining chip. They would approach this clinically. Healing them could tip her hand, remove her leverage, there were any number of cold arguments she could employ.
But for what?
To convince herself to deny her own Humanity?
She couldn't rationalize that. She wouldn't. It didn't matter if it was the 'smart' or 'pragmatic' thing to do. That was what led to men doing things like this. She could not in good conscience turn away anymore, not if she could help. She had the power to do something - and she would do the right thing, consequences be damned. She glared at the single electronic iris of her Ghost. Do it now.
The Ghost bobbed in the air, and flew towards them. Light emanated from her shell as the fins spun and the golden glow enveloped them. She watched as the hooks effectively dissolved into nothing, and the men were caught in a telekinetic field as she lowered them onto the ground.
Wounds closed and missing digits and body parts were healed. One by one they were brought down, as the worst of their suffering was alleviated.
They groaned at first, gasping and coughing for breath.
Sara floated back to her shoulder. They will not recover immediately, but their worst wounds are healed.
Thank you.
The man in the middle opened an eye at her. "[There is often little worse than misplaced kindness,]" he chided her, the other eye still closed. He sat straight, with a pride and dignity maintained that she could barely understand.
Milya crossed her arms in response. "[And there are few greater evils than apathy when you can help others.]
"[And so, nonetheless we strive to be kind,]" he unexpectedly smiled at her. "[Sit, don't stand on my account. I'd offer a drink, but sadly, hospitality is improvised here.]"
The men on the ground began recovering, and pulling themselves into sitting postures, incomprehensible vicious smiles on their faces. They chuckled at his joke. It was absurd, absurd in a way she couldn't understand. It managed to make her smile, in it's own absurd way.
It was like having a fever dream, or an insane asylum. What was wrong with them?
"[Do you wish to stand?]" he asked her.
"[For now, at least,] she said.
"[Then, if only for my sake, sit, sit and be at ease,]" he said.
Why did she feel like it would be rude to refuse? It seemed like she should be leading the conversation, but she...well, she wasn't that kind of person. And she didn't have a good reason to say no, other than the floor being dirty. So she sat crosslegged on the filthy floor, and Sara rested on her shoulder.
"[This,]" he leaned forward, chains on his hands clanging. "[Is not a place for people like you. This is a place for the twisted and cruel. Not for the kind and possessed of an iota's grain of justice. What brings you here, to this evil place?]"
What did bring her here? A desire to help? That was true, but that seemed...inadequate. What could she say? That Arjun had offered her a chance out of the goodness of his heart, and she'd taken it without really thinking? Should she say that?
Or…
No, not out of the goodness at his heart she realized. He'd known exactly what he was doing. He'd known she'd want to help, and knew that she might be able to get them to trust her.
But she knew that now.
"[Arjun sent me,]" she said, looking down. "[Or rather, he tricked me. He offered to let me 'question' you...because he believed I could get you to trust me. I...didn't intend to do that. Not in that way. But if I didn't take him up on it, I worried that something worse would be done.]"
"[There's no shame in fear,]" the man told her. "[Or in weakness. No shame at all. You are in a den of beasts, and they will slaughter you at their convenience. And you are right, they would do worse. It is the way of these men. They have no remorse or guilt. They believe themselves righteous and brilliant. May I make you an offer?]"
"[An offer?]"
"[Advice, I suppose,]" he corrected wryly. "[Leave. Leave this place. Leave this game. I have no desire to see one such as you, added to the pile of dead. You will not win here, do not risk your life, and family for us.]"
She was silent for a moment, thinking about what he said. She wanted to so badly, but the time for that had long passed. "[I tried that, you know,]" she said quietly. "[I tried to stay in the background. To do what my government expected. I tried to ignore the controversies, to avoid changing things. Instead I watched as people I admired did what I was too cowardly to do. I saw how they changed things for the better, and the enemies they made as a result. Then they were killed, and I am alone now. Because they had seen me as a coward, and they were right.]"
She shook her head. "[I have another chance now. To do something. I can't sit by anymore. Even if I die...it would at least be for something. I don't want to live in this world where I could have acted, and chose not to. That is why I cannot leave, and why I don't want to anymore.]"
"[And so, you rise up to that duty that found you, for you must, ]" he paused at her, eye locking onto hers. "[It's that feeling of your blood boiling, isn't it? That heat in your blood. That anger and indignity?]"
She nodded. "[Of that sort. I could only blind myself for so long.]"
"[You understand, they will not hurt you,]" the man told her. "[They will hurt your loved ones. Your family. Your mother, your father, your siblings. They will mock your bravery, they will make an example of your courage, they will rip you to shreds, until you have nothing. Nothing, not even the sands of your homeland. Every dream of victory turned to bitter ash.]"
Milya swallowed. "[I've come to realize that possibility.]"
And come to realize something more.
Not just the threats New Delhi could or would make, or the pain they would cause her, but something else. It struck, talking to a man whose name she didn't even know, in a cell covered in filth and blood, she realized something fundamental about herself. Something that she'd tried to reconcile, trying to solve the conflict within herself.
Now she saw it was not a true conflict at all.
She was afraid. She still was. She was a coward. She wanted to be anywhere but here. She wanted to live an uneventful, fulfilling life. A comfortable one. She had always shied away from pain or conflict.
But that was alright, she realized. It was fine to be a coward; to be afraid. She didn't need to be the hero. There was no shame in that.
What that couldn't do, though, was let that fear dominate her. It couldn't become a crutch or blinders. She could not let it become an excuse for turning away when others needed her. Even if it was scary. Even if it was painful.
She only had to be brave when it mattered.
"[My brothers,]" the man asked, appraising her internal realization. "[Do you bear witness to her resolve?]"
Muted nods.
"[My brothers,]" he said again. "[Do any question her sincerity?]"
A quiet no.
"[The choice is made,]" he said.
The man's wrist snapped, as he tore it out of the cuffs. He did the same to his second. With a snap, he snapped them back into place.
Not even flinching at the pain, as strips of skin were torn off exposing the raw flesh and blood around the wrists. He followed by slammed a fist into his guts, before somehow puking out a plastic knife, splatters of blood following it from.
Its edge gleamed and was somehow sharp. With it in hand, he cut out pieces from the table, all of them the same length, except one.
The men moved closer, as he put the strips inside his hand, before offering them up.
"[In the Rub-Al-Khali, they called me the Lion of Sands, in the mountains of Afghanistan, they called me the Wolf of Daggers, here, in Riyadh, they call me the Unbowed. Few use my name,]" he gave her a smile. "[But all know, I am second only to the Sandman himself, and now, only you know this.]"
The men drew the strips.
One drew the longest. Grimly, teeth grit, he nodded.
The rest gathered up, close, heads raised, necks bared.
She stiffened at the realization that not even Arjun had seemed to know who he had captured - and if this man was second only to the Sandman, then it also explained how he had not broken long before now. Something seemed to be happening now though, and she had many questions. "[What are you doing?]"
No sooner had the words left her lips when, in one quick motion, he slit the throats of those who drew the shorter strips. They shoved their fists into their mouths to mute any noise as bright blood spurted from their jugulars as they bled to death. It happened so quickly, the knife had cut before she could protest. She was about to open her mouth to order Sara to intervene before her Ghost spoke.
This is their choice. Do not lessen their sacrifice.
He turned to the man who drew the strip. "[When I can, brother, when I can.]"
The man nodded.
The Unbowed turned to Milya, a sad consolation in his eyes. "[I apologize for three things. One, I will need to cut off one of your fingers. Two, for giving you false hope that my brothers would live. Three, for the fact that one of us will need to suffer torture once more.]"
The man who lived closed the eyes of his dead brethren.
She just looked at the bodies numbly. Just minutes ago they had been alive, and if not happy, lively. In the short time she had known them, she would not have wanted anything to happen to them. Now they were dead, but this time by their own choice. Her desire to help, to lessen their suffering, had been for nothing in the end.
Not for nothing.
Sara's voice was gentle.
You made their last moments free of pain. You allowed them to choose how they would die. You knew that this wouldn't end happily.
She had. On some level, she had. She'd hoped though, tried to ignore it; deluded into thinking that when she left, they would be safe. But there was no escape here.
She hated all of this.
Hated how little she could do.
Hated how even when she helped, it seemed to mean nothing in the end.
Sometimes you can't change the outcome, Sara soothed. What matters is that you tried. That is what a Guardian does.
It was the first time she'd heard Sara use that word, with an odd emphasis on it. She certainly didn't feel like a protector right now. "[No one needs to be hurt anymore. I can tell him not to do so.]" Even as she said the words, she knew it couldn't happen. Arjun didn't care what she wanted, she would either come back in success or failure, but he would verify all the same.
Because no matter what he said, she knew he didn't trust her. He just gave her a sad smile before he continued.
"[You will give Arjun Gala the following name, Razeel Ibn'Hatham Ibn'Faruq. He will come, he will torture my brother, I will give him the same name, show that I am now bowed. Tell him, you offered me that you'd let my brothers kill themselves, and I accepted your deal. But then I attacked you.]"
He sat in the chair, flicking blood off of the dagger, gesturing for her to sit across him. "[Do not feel disheartened, they are now free of this evil, of the horrors. They have given their lives. And their lives are ours to carry now, to honor them. This is proof of their trust in you. You have seen them, they bore witness.]"
She did, she sat across from him.
The Unbowed licked his lips. "[I am sorry to break your hope of saving my brothers, but the dawn rises after night. Ease comes only after pain. They have trusted your choice. You must trust their final choice.]"
She looked around. "[You knew these men well, and they died for you. How can you bear it? For so many and so long?]"
He was quiet, for a moment. "[We are unbowed. Uncowed. Unbroken. We are sandmen. We endure.]"
Gently, he grabbed her hand, and in one slash, cut off her pinky.
The pain was less stark than she was expecting; it hurt, but she knew she would live; that she would survive. The Unbowed nodded to her, knowing what she was to do next, and she banged on the table for the STAG guards to come in.
Slowly, he nodded. "[Apologies in advance for being rough.]"
He grabbed her by the neck, slammed her on the table, knife rushing for her throat.
On cue the door opened, and both of them entered. "[Know you'd - woah!]"
The sight of the captive - moving on a woman with a knife - seemed to jolt them into action. "[Put him down!]" Their weapons fired, and the Unbowed was thrown back onto the ground from the power, while the female STAG officer rushed to her.
"[He broke free,]" Milya gasped, clutching her hand. "[I thought he was chained!]"
"[Keep him alive!]" The STAG officer called to her partner.
"[He's down, but alive,]" the man pulled up a radio as he circled the bleeding man, shot in the hip. "[We need medical attention down in Interrogation Ward 7B now.]"
"[Hang on,]" the woman told her, guiding her out of the room. "[We'll get you patched up. Did you get anything out of him?]"
She nodded mutely. "[I need to talk to Gala now.]"
The STAG officer nodded, and glanced at her colleague. "[Going to escort her to Arjun. Apparently she got something from him. Have this under control?]"
Milya saw the butt of the gun slam down on the Unbowed's head. "[Pacified. We're going to need a full forensics team to figure out how the hell this happened.]"
She was led away, and felt no relief. She knew that no matter what was told to Arjun, both men were going to be tortured to confirm it, no matter what she demanded. She could only hope that what she was supposed to say had the effect the Unbowed planned.
She'd succeeded, technically, but it didn't feel like a victory.
She is not blind. Injustice shall be corrected in due time.
Soon she was back in Arjun's office, and the officer knocked on the door. It slid open, and she entered, with Arjun waiting expectedly. He stood, an eyebrow raised when he saw her. "[You are wounded.]"
"[I'll live,]" she muttered, holding her hand out to Sara who began exuding the soothing Light, assuaging the stump.
I will restore it shortly. It may raise questions if I do more now.
I understand.
Arjun stared at the STAG officer in a mixture of disbelief and contempt. "[Your pay is docked. You'll work front-line garrison duty for the next three days. You'll be whipped for this incompetence at morning assembly. Get out of my sight.]"
She watched as the STAG officer left, clearly shaken and humiliated. She could muster no sympathy for the woman, or any of them. Even if what had happened had technically not been their fault, what they had done deserved far worse than temporary pain and a dismissal.
"[Idiots,]" Arjun growled.
"[I made a deal with him,]" Milya said, using the cover story that had been decided. "[The lives of his men for what he knew. He killed all but one of them, and then attacked me. Before that...he gave me a name. To let my guard down. Razeel Ibn'Hatham Ibn'Faruq. I don't even know if it's real or useful, or why he knew it.]" She needed to keep the story up, and hope it worked out.
"[Razeel Ibn'Hatham Ibn'Faruq,]" Arjun repeated under his breath, typing it into the terminal. Fingers tapping on the table.
"[You should keep him alive,]" Milya said - that had to be done at all costs. He was important, and if he died, the Resistance would be perhaps irreparably damaged. "[I think he's more important than you think. Or at least the way his men reacted to him, he seemed to be.]"
"[I would be disappointed if he wasn't,]" Arjun muttered, fingers still typing. "[It took a full squad of Exos to grab him. You've seen the damage. However, keep him?]"
She hoped that the name was more than it seemed. "[If the name checks out.]"
"[Even still,]" Arjun sounded…not necessarily skeptical, but not convinced. "[Arabs hold grudges to the edges of hell. It's the only virtue the savages have, that, and tenacity. I doubt he'll overcome his hatred of you, even if you saved a baby from a fire. He took your finger; you're lucky he didn't take more.]"
She bristled at the unbridled bigotry, especially after she had talked with him, but kept her voice calm. "[I think it's worth a shot – and it'll be more effective than torturing him.]"
There was a ping in the terminal. She glanced at the screen, then at Arjun's face, a face bleached of emotions.
"[I'm going to slaughter them,]" he said simply.
It took her a minute for her to realize what she was looking at. It was a multitude of screens that had various social media accounts on one, bank transfers on the other, and images of very prominent Indian politicians and officials connected to the account numbers. More screens showed messages from them to the individual in question.
It seemed that Razeel Ibn'Hatham Ibn'Faruq was not only real - he was well-connected to the top of the Indian political scene.
Arjun's glass eye rolled, as he pursed his lips. "[I'm going to slaughter them,]" he repeated.
She eyed him closely; suspiciously. "[What does it mean?]"
"[What it means,]" he started. "[Is that the Volkov-Fen have been smuggling weapons, soldiers, and money, for the Sandman. Right under my nose. With the tacit approval of half of the Triumvirate.]"
A cartel. The Unbowed had given her the name of a person connected to the largest opium cartel in the world. Even she knew the Volkov-Fen were the one criminal group that was infamous for being unable to be put down.
The Soviets couldn't, the Chinese couldn't, and the Indians certainly hadn't - though the rumors went that this cartel had bought off a good portion of the Indian government - and potentially had agreements with the Chinese as well.
One thing she was certain of? The Volkov-Fen were not working with the Resistance.
Regardless, it was a very plausible story, which also helpfully explained to Arjun why the Resistance had never been really dealt with before. When there was money at play...Arjun could fill in the rest. The Unbowed had known how Arjun worked and thought, and had to know this was how he was going to react. And if what she was seeing was accurate…
That meant that Arjun was going to be making a lot of new enemies. Because he didn't care if he broke up the revenue streams if it allowed him to presumably hurt the Resistance. He might even get away with it.
She could only wonder what the consequences would be beyond that.
"[So be it,]" Arjun said, cold fury brimming beneath. "[When vermin come outside the sewer, they need to be returned to it.]"
He turned away from her, returning to planning an operation on a holotable with Mao, and she left, quickly thinking about what she was going to do now. Whatever Arjun was going to do, it was going to kickstart something big - and she had to figure out how best to use it.
Because if she didn't, then many more people were going to die.
THE FIELDS OF ISLAMABAD | PAKISTAN
There still wasn't a city here, but there weren't any ruins either. To the outside observer, it might seem as though there had never been anything here at all. That the land they saw had always been simple, untouched nature. Grass spread out as far as could be seen, over a land that was dotted with trees and calm streams that cut through where the city had been.
Hamaza had known it was dangerous to come here, but it was something that he felt he needed to see. He still remembered the day the nukes had fallen on Pakistan very well, as that had been the day when he'd realized that it would be the beginning of the end, and soon after, the Indians swept west after neutralizing their largest rival.
British, Israeli, and Quds elite forces protected him; a show of force from his allies that he hadn't expected, though he believed that they were just as curious to see this as he was; how all of them were. Amjah had rushed to him once the Traveler had appeared and begun healing the land, and he'd watched in awe.
Never before had he seen everyone gathered around, watching in silence as the impossible manifested before their eyes. They'd watched, overwhelmed with emotions, and with tears in their eyes. Jilla had cried. He'd never seen her cry before, or anything of the sort. Her heart had been hardened by what she had experienced; hardened at what she had lost.
But he had held her all the same as she cried, and everyone present had expressed nothing but understanding. She was far from the only one to react in such a way. Even the Arabs and Iranians were emotional watching it, with many of them joining the Pakistanis in their celebrations and joy. Cells and cities across the world had rejoiced.
It was one thing to know it, and another to stand on the land restored.
There was only one remnant of the city of Islamabad, where the center of the city had once been. It was a tall monument with a base that seemed to be embedded deep into the soil. At first glance it seemed bare, but the closer one got to it, they could see what it truly was.
A memorial.
The names of everyone who had died were etched into the monument, and while he was no geologist, there was something unique about this stone. It seemed to be almost a lighter color, but according to some of the scouts, the Indians had tested the strength of the base – which was made out of the same material, and found it couldn't be cracked.
The names were so small, and there were so many of them, highlighting just how many people had been senselessly killed in an instant. Jilla had been standing in front of the memorial for nearly an hour now, perhaps looking for a specific name, perhaps just absorbing everything that had happened. At being home, and that home no longer being poisoned ash.
Hamaza looked to the sky, and wondered at how he'd been wrong. He'd misjudged the alien, had believed that it had failed them, and it couldn't be relied upon. Yet all the same it had come and done this. There was no reason it would do that if not to correct a wrong, or at least to send a signal to the world.
No matter what, he would always be grateful for the Traveler for what had been done. Its motivations might be incomprehensible to him, but perhaps it understood more than he thought. Perhaps it did have a part to play in the grand design, and he wondered…
Well, he wished that Isaiah was here.
He would have wanted to see it.
Jilla seemed to finish, and walked back over to him. "[How are you doing?]" He asked.
She smiled, a genuine one; one he hadn't seen in a long time. "[I may not sound it, but…I don't know if I've felt better,]" her voice was exhausted from the emotions she'd been processing, but her eyes were alight. "[It's hard to believe, but it's real. It happened.]"
"[It happened,]" he embraced her. "[Hopefully it is a sign of things to come.]"
"[I wish that one of those machines were here,]" she mused. "[I don't expect to see the alien myself, but I hope that it knows just…what it meant to us. I don't think it does, but it should.]"
"[I have a feeling we'll have our opportunity soon,]" Hamaza chuckled. "[I can imagine the Triumvirate is furious about this.]"
"[And perhaps a little afraid,]" she added. "[I would be. But now…we can live here again. Once we win, we can live. I thought I would die away from my home, but now…]"
"[Yes you can,]" Hamaza squeezed her shoulder. "[After we win, as you said.]"
"[Well, then we shouldn't waste more time,]" she rolled her shoulders. "[Let's change the world.]"
TRIUMVIRATE INTELLIGENCE COMMAND | TAMPA | CONFEDERATION OF AMERICAN STATES
There was an endgame approaching, and the more days passed, the more Fox was certain that something significant was going to come. It wasn't just the atmosphere of the Triumvirate Intelligence Service as contacts across the Triumvirate went dark, the officials began stonewalling, and agents reported they were being watched.
It was a coordinated isolation.
Aimed specifically at him – and the agency that was now fully backing him.
It placed him in an uncomfortable situation; in one where he considered his mission unchanged – his role was to ensure the stability of the Triumvirate, but now the greatest threat to the Triumvirate was not some exterior force, but the leaders within it. Clovis may be the instigator, but he was not shy of using his influence to turn the Triumvirate on him. Subtly, of course.
Death by a thousand cuts.
However, Clovis was not a spymaster, and despite his arrogance, espionage he seemed to prefer delegating to others. There had always existed contingencies that took these situations into account – but he'd never thought he'd be in a place to draw upon them. For now, things were calm, if tense, but Fox knew very well that at some point, the kidnappings, assassinations, and sabotage would begin as a shadow war gripped the Triumvirate.
Likely coinciding with the events that were coming.
And he could not forget the fact that the Traveler was indicating as much. She had taken time out of Her seemingly whimsical terraforming journey across the system to return for a very explicit purpose – to facilitate the restoration of Pakistan.
If that wasn't a rebuttal against the entire Triumvirate, he didn't know what was.
That had been the opening move.
The appearance of more Ghosts across the world had followed. Including a fair few in his own agency.
He'd taken some amusement when he'd first read those reports. He could only imagine what Clovis' face looked like once he'd heard that after all the effort he'd gone to in removing the "problematic" individuals, the Traveler had just found more. If Clovis had thought the Traveler was just going to ignore what had happened, well, now he knew better.
That was of some concern for him, and in particular he was uncertain of the Traveler's justification for it. Clovis, for all of his many flaws, was a very intelligent person. Given the opportunity, he would refine his approach, he would change it, and he would get better. There were only so many chances that were given before it became unjustifiable.
It was clear that the Traveler considered Clovis unworthy, but She seemed intent on keeping him around. There was something he was clearly not seeing, and he wondered if She was intentionally pushing Humanity to make a fundamentally clear choice between Her and the Triumvirate.
If so, that was a very risky and destructive gamble.
The Triumvirate was too entrenched; too powerful; too embedded in society for it to be removed with anything short of a violent revolution – which might come, but unless a miracle happened…that revolution was dead in its tracks. No matter how much work they did, it was going to take a miracle.
Still, if it came down to it, he knew which side he was on.
And there was a plan to mitigate Clovis' inevitable countermoves - if a risky one.
He'd deal with that a bit later. There were additional interesting developments taking place. Operation HYDRA was proceeding well, and had already borne a significant amount of fruit, as well as indicated some areas of correction that he hadn't anticipated. Which presented headaches, but also opportunity.
Of which were situated around the Middle East and Hamaza's network.
He'd found it difficult to believe at first, but the number of reports that he was now collecting, along with agent debriefs painted a pretty stark picture – and after they had established contact with Khojin, it was confirmed.
That the so-called Resistance was more important, dangerous, and useful than he'd originally believed it was. A terrorist network they might be, but there had been a shift over the previous months, one that he couldn't in good conscience deny just because of their past. There had been a clear operational change - and was believed to have come from Hamaza himself.
Operations were still being conducted by these rebels, but they were not indiscriminate terror attacks targeting whoever happened to be in the area. Instead they were exclusively directed at Triumvirate military forces and government officials. Both kinds of operations had taken place, but this was the first time there had been a stretch without simply pure terror tactics.
Fox was very curious as to what could have been behind this shift in tactics – normally when backed into a corner, extremist organizations became more radical and violent – not less.
It was very odd. It had baffled his analysts to no end, especially as they repeatedly pointed out that the Resistance was made up of multiple parties. There was some speculation that the Resistance had lost some leadership, perhaps more hardline terror advocates, but there was no confirmation of that theory yet.
Still, Hamaza wasn't a normal terrorist leader – he was the former Grand Ayatollah of Iran, and former heads of state didn't generally become orchestrators of terror as a fallback place. Especially since he knew from everything he had been able to find, Hamaza prior to the fall of the Islamic Republic was a relative moderate by Islamic standards, and wouldn't have approved of any terror actions.
He was still a theocrat, but Fox was no longer convinced he could simply be defined as a terrorist.
The dynamics in the Resistance certainly played a role, and many of their cells operated independently of each other. There had always been a question of how much Hamaza controlled it even though he was their public face. The problem with that is if Hamaza had always been a figurehead, he shouldn't have been able to take direct control like this. There were too many question marks, chief of them being why?
They'd initially suspected British pressure, but according to the contacts he had established in Buckingham Palace, that wasn't the case. The British seemed just as surprised by the operational shift, though had refrained from commenting directly. Israel similarly seemed unlikely to be behind it either, since the Zionists historically had never had issues using terror against their enemies, which again begged the question of why.
Perhaps, Watcher-7 had theorized, he realized terror wasn't working, and if he was going to lose, he wanted to be remembered as a freedom fighter – not a terrorist.
It was an interesting theory, though one Fox wasn't convinced of – yet. If they lost, it didn't matter how their conduct had been, the Resistance would be remembered as a bunch of failed terrorists. There would be no positive legacy he could expect. There seemed to be no upside to this operational shift – unless Hamaza knew something he didn't.
The man was busy as well – he'd beaten them to Khojin, and was similarly expanding his reach in Asia. It seemed like Hamaza was preparing for a final battle, one way or another, which dovetailed well with the way events were shaping the world. Fox needed to address and investigate this himself - hence why Brask and Elsie were here now.
"There is something that Clovis Bray is overseeing," Fox began the meeting, handing Elsie a file. "We know he spun it up recently – it seemed Pakistan and the new Ghosts were the trigger. Indications are a contingency of some kind. It's a Europa project – done through the Black Armory directly, not using BrayTech or the company fronts. We believe it is specialized Exo model, but that is uncertain as our insight into the Exo Project as a whole is less comprehensive than we would like."
She took it, nodding and reading. "I assume you want me to see what I can find?"
"In effect, yes," Fox stated. "You've proven you are reliable, and considering his growing antagonism towards us, I would prefer we be aware of his contingencies. The more moves the Traveler makes, the more he will feel inclined to respond. I would not put it past him to bring the Triumvirate into another war to eliminate what he would see as alien meddling."
Elsie looked up thoughtfully. "Normally, I'd say that would be difficult – but I think I have a solution."
He nodded. "Go ahead."
"Clovis…called me recently," Elsie said slowly. "The first time in…a while. He just wanted to talk, and we did. This was…after Ana was arrested. I know they talked, and I think it bothered him. He…doesn't understand what she did, and I don't think he can. That's not who he is. What Ana did…it makes him feel like he lost control over his daughter; failed to teach her the right way."
That was not a pleasant situation at all. Elsie hadn't talked about it, and he hadn't asked. He didn't know or necessarily care about Ana, but it was a good indication of Clovis' mindset, as well as Elsie's.
"That's why he called you," Fox laced his fingers together, thinking. "He's afraid of losing you too."
"That was my impression," Elsie pinched the bridge of her nose. "I think that we can knock out two birds with one stone. I've been thinking, and I believe I should undergo the Exo project, gain insight into it, and also get closer to Clovis at the same time."
"That's risky," Brask interjected, blinking. "Extremely risky. There are almost certainly protocols in the Exos that prevent betrayal or subversive activity. If that was something he floated to you, he did that for a reason."
"Perhaps, but it may have to be a risk I accept," Elsie scowled. "I've done my own investigation into it, and everything I've found appears to indicate the process is legitimate. More importantly, I've seen what these things can do, and there should be at least one you can count on. As for those particular risks, I might have an idea."
"Go on."
"Rasputin."
"The AI?" Fox again frowned. "We don't even know if it's on anyone's side, let alone our own."
"Ana never did things halfway, and everything I know implies that Rasputin is more dangerous and powerful than the Triumvirate want to believe," Elsie said. "And I wouldn't be surprised if he knows most or everything that is happening. I'm Ana's sister, and even though I don't know if that means anything to him, the fact that I'm not on Clovis' side might be enough."
"Potentially," Fox mused for a moment. "That is a big unknown."
"Let me try," Elsie said. "Get me to Mars, and I'll find out – one way or another."
Fox exchanged a look with Brask, then nodded. "Fine. Otherwise I won't permit it. I can't afford the risk that you would be compromised, even if it might get you closer to Clovis. We have alternative methods if that is unfeasible." At her nod, he looked to Brask. "Your own report."
"I've finished the initial gathering of data in Arabia," Brask handed him his own file. "Contrary to Indian chatter, the man commonly called the 'Sandman' has been a fixture in the region for years now. It's only recently that he's become more prominent, once Hamaza ceded control of Arabian operations to him."
Fox opened the file, reading the contents. "It took a lot of resources, time, and manpower, but we know who he is," Brask continued. "Shaheed al-Najar. A Yemeni, who commanded the cell there for nearly six years until his recent promotion to Arabian cell commander. Notably, he's not formally part of the Quds. He was a resistance fighter who organically made contact with the Quds and was given nominal authority to manage operations."
"Is he effective?" Fox asked.
"Extremely," Brask nodded. "The Indians brought back Gala to help put him down for a reason. Everything indicates he's a master of guerilla warfare, and knows the region better than anyone else. Yemen was always a nightmare for the Indians for this reason; they could never subjugate the nomadic tribes because Shaheed's men would ambush and slaughter them repeatedly. Now he's in charge of the Arabian resistance, and his public profile is rising."
Fox rubbed his chin. "That seems eerily effective. Has he had any previous military experience beyond his insurgency?"
"Not that we have learned."
"But he's successfully giving Gala a problem," Fox said skeptically. Something didn't seem to add up. "Advisors from Iran and Israel? Is he close with the Supreme Leader?"
"Unknown, but the two have met at least once," Brask said. "He's very much one of the people, and fighting for the Arabs as a whole. Which leads to one potential explanation."
Well, that was both curious and disturbing. "A Ba'athist, then?" Fox laced his fingers together. "Interesting."
"Unconfirmed, but if he isn't a Ba'athist, then he has almost certainly been taking advantage of it and signaling his adherence to it, and other pan-Arab ideology." Brask clarified. "We're confident that the collapse of Egypt played a role in this. If anything could explain the sudden elevation of a pan-Arab ideology, Ba'athism or not, it would be the collapse of Egypt and the rest of North Africa."
Fox nodded. "The Ba'athists and Arab nationalists have flocked to Shaheed."
"That is our assessment," Brask nodded. "Since Egypt had a more modern military, along with trained officers, we can assume that many of them are now with the resistance. Shaheed's effectiveness is explained not by his own skill necessarily, but the support he's now received. I still wouldn't discount him at all, as by all accounts he's very charismatic, which is likely why the nationalists are rallying around him."
"But he likely wouldn't be that figure if he didn't adhere to some of this ideology," Fox finished with a grunt. "Wonderful. He might fancy himself the next Nassar."
Elsie had been quiet during this, looking pensive. "The Middle East isn't my area of expertise, but are we sure that is the correct understanding? All of this seems to discount that Islam is the dominant religion. Is it possible that we're misinterpreting pan-Arabism as pan-Islamism?"
Brask considered that for a moment. "Possible, but unlikely. Islam incorporated into political ideology on a regional scale was last done through the Ottoman Empire, and that has been dead for decades. Efforts since have been ineffective and disastrous, to put it mildly. It's why later decades saw pan-Arabism rise, centering around shared language and culture, not religion. It's not relevant or important anymore. Arabism is."
"I'm not sure about that," Fox frowned. "At least in the sense that Islam isn't relevant. The overwhelming majority of the Arabian resistance is Muslim, including the Supreme Leader. I do agree that it's likely not the foundation of their ideology, nor would it grow popular."
"Agreed," Brask looked back at Elsie. "Even if Shaheed was a political Islamist, he'd run into opposition from the Ba'athists and Arab nationalists. Another reason Islamism has failed is because the Arab Nationalist movements were significantly more successful and well-run, in contrast to whenever Islamists took power, which was…"
"As he said," Fox finished. "Ineffective and disastrous. A final point is that outside of nations like Israel, states centered around a shared religion are not viable in the current political climate. For better or worse, the age of theocracies is over. The last one of note was Iran - and that no longer exists. Even if Hamaza were to succeed, he would be willing to establish a secular republic to maintain positive relations."
Brask seemed to agree from his nod. "Does that answer your question?" He asked Elsie.
She didn't seem fully convinced, but did nod. "Well enough, I suppose."
"At the end of the day," Brask turned back to Fox. "We're almost certain this fundamentally idealistic pan-Arabism has driven his tactics, recruitment, and successes which, if you notice, are notably reflective of Hamaza's operational shift. I don't think that he's the reason for the shift, but it is telling that he was the person Hamaza put in charge."
"And the important question," Fox set the file down. "Would he be open to a meeting?"
Brask hesitated for a moment. "Unknown. Nominally, I would say yes. Practically, Shaheed is almost certainly suspicious of, and distrustful of non-Arabs. The interest of the Triumvirate Intelligence Service would not engender immediate trust. I can begin the process…but I would advise we approach Hamaza directly."
"I agree," Fox said. "And that will be something I need to conduct personally. Hamaza will not believe it unless it comes from me. Reach out, and establish the meeting. Give him what guarantees he needs to make it happen. With how fast things are moving, this must be done sooner than later."
Brask nodded once. "Understood. There is one more thing."
"Go on."
Brask consulted his tablet. "It seems Arjun Gala has launched a military operation against the Volkov-Fen. Directly. Against Indian and Chinese nationals who are implicated. This has only just come in."
Fox blinked, and frowned. "What is he thinking?"
"Apparently, he believes that the Resistance is working with the Volkov-Fen," Brask said, half-amused. "Or his communications to New Delhi imply such anyway. There is an...interesting undercurrent to them."
"How did he come to that?" Fox demanded. "Does he not know that the Volkov-Fen explicitly do not operate in Resistance hubs because of how hard they crack down? Israel and Britain send their intelligence services after them if they dare start operations? Is he that ignorant?"
"Doubtful," Brask said with a shrug. "We know that Gala and New Delhi have had a worsening relationship. My analysis? He's using this as an excuse to strike at his political enemies and a cartel for good measure."
Elsie whistled. "He's going to regret that. You don't interrupt the largest opium operation in the world - especially when half the Indian government and who knows how many others are getting rich off of it."
"Exactly," Brask nodded. "I imagine that the Middle East is going to get more violent shortly. Bad for stability, but it creates a permissible environment."
"Indeed," Fox was surprised this development had taken place, but it was one that could be used. "Keep me appraised of developments."
"Yes, sir."
"That will be all. Dismissed."
OFFICE OF THE GENERAL SECRETARY | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION
It seemed like a good portion of his day now consisted of reading intelligence reports from across the Triumvirate. Ideally, when it came to matters like this, the TIS would be the best suited for compiled intelligence. Unfortunately, as Fox was still in charge, anything that was produced from it was unreliable. Fortunately, the KGB was on good terms with their partners, and KGB were more than capable of producing products that also gave him insight into the state of the world.
Including anything his Triumvirate allies preferred to keep to themselves.
The most problematic region right now was, to the surprise of no one, the Middle East. Apparently attacks there were being stepped up, and since Gala had been deployed to the region, clashes between the Indians and terrorists had intensified worse than before. Gala seemed to be securing the region, but it was coming at a cost.
Namely, kickstarting a war with the Volkov-Fen.
Clovis wasn't explicitly displeased that the dog was going after the cartel - they'd proven remarkably difficult to dislodge from Siberia and Central Asia, and were frankly too much of a hindrance to devote stamping out. So long as they didn't pollute Europe and Western Russia with their filth, he tended to focus on more important matters.
Afghanistan, Pakistan, those were the heart of their operation, and the reports indicated that Gala had ordered STAG into the opium fields, burned them, executed three dozen of their thugs, arrested twice that number, and had publicly accused a few prominent Indian officials of 'Supporting the terrorists'.
Clovis had no idea how Gala had gotten the idea that the Volkov-Fen and the Resistance were connected. They emphatically weren't. At most the KGB had determined that both sides tolerated each other, but Hamaza was emphatically anti-drug, and Israel and Britain even more so. Drugs were lucrative, but that wasn't what was funding the Resistance.
There was likely some other motive at play, one which we would watch closely. And all in pursuit of a single individual.
Supposedly, the terrorists in Arabia were being led by a single individual – the so-called Sandman. It had Iranian hands all over it, but it really was likely a native leader who'd been elevated. He did wonder if it was an Israeli psy-op – build up a narrative and send the Indians on a ghost hunt - or towards an unrelated entity like the Volkov-Fen. If Gala had been manipulated like this, he had to admire the results. Regardless, the recent terrorist resurgence in the region was attributed to this Sandman, and that was driving all of Gala's decisions.
This demanded a closer look, sooner than later. He'd deal with that in due time. One of many matters to attend to.
A knock sounded on his door – urgent knocks in quick succession in fact. Clovis set the report down, frowning to himself. He'd not expected anyone right now. "[Enter.]"
Commander Calumet practically ran in, and performed a rushed salute, her other arm holding a tablet. There was something very wrong. He could tell that just by looking at her. Her breath was coming in shorter bursts, she was extremely tense, and pale beyond all belief. His frown deepened. "[Are you feeling alright, Commander?]"
She swallowed. "[We have a situation, General Secretary.]"
That was never a good start. "[Elaborate.]"
"[This happened approximately thirty-six minutes ago,]" she said, handing him the tablet which had security footage playing on the screen. "[The Vyatka silo.]"
That made his hair stand up on end when he heard that. Anything to do with their nuclear facilities was extremely sensitive. The footage showed the cameras, which were segmented into a quad view on the screen, each on different parts of the silo. The launch tubes, the missile storage, and the maintenance areas.
They were also among the most protected places in the Soviet Union. The terrorists had made more than one effort to try and sabotage or steal from them – which had never once succeeded. His first fear was that one of the bombs had somehow exploded, but no, if that had occurred, he would have been notified the moment it happened.
He watched as the footage played – and then he saw it. A flicker no larger than a speck on the small screen, but still unmistakable. A Ghost. No, not just one – a dozen. All of which materialized in seconds, and immediately began flying around. He had a very, very bad feeling about what was going to come next.
The Ghosts floated over to the missile stockpiles, and their fins spun as Light emerged from their shells. Tendrils of the power seemed to wrap around the missiles, linking and coordinating with the other Ghosts present that were doing the same thing. It was eerily similar to witnessing the ARES ONE vanish before his eyes.
There was a flash, and the next moment, all of the missiles were gone.
No mess, no debris, just…nothing.
Clovis felt a chill set upon him at the implications. "[I'm assuming this was not the only facility.]"
Calumet shook her head. "[No, General Secretary. It's all of them.]"
He stiffened. "[All of them?]"
A nod.
"[Even the submarines?]"
"[We received a number of emergency communications from our nuclear fleet,]" Calumet said in a small voice. "[I think you can guess what they said.]"
Clovis exhaled heavily, mind racing as he moved to adapt to this news. A bit beyond balancing the board, I would say. "[What of the rest of the Triumvirate?]"
"[Unknown, we will reach out on your prerogative,]" Calumet said, grimacing. "[We no longer have a nuclear deterrent. That information should only be shared at your orders.]"
"[Reach out,]" Clovis ordered. "[If this happened to us, I'm certain it happened to the rest. This is…]" he shook his head. "[A major escalation.]"
"[I wonder if the English and Israelis have the same development,]" she said, shaking her head. "[No. They wouldn't be sabotaged like we are. If they learn of this-]"
"[They won't learn of it,]" Clovis interrupted, standing. "[And I'm not convinced they were exempted. Get me Luka in here within the hour. I want every agent we have on that abominable island working to figure out if the British have their nukes or not. If they don't, then the Israelis won't either.]"
Her head snapped up and down in a rapid nod. "[Understood, General Secretary. I'll disseminate your orders. In the meantime, I assume we keep as much to ourselves.]"
"[Yes, no need to announce this to the world,]" he said. "[And quarantine every single worker in the silos and the nuclear subs. I don't want a single one going home until we can confirm they'll keep their mouths shut.]"
"[Yes, General Secretary!]"
She almost jogged off, and Clovis returned to his seat, making a deliberate effort to calm himself despite the development. He poured himself some water to calm his nerves as he set to thinking. There was a very clear message being sent here. The Traveler was deliberately trying to provoke an escalation, but not one which would result in nuclear destruction.
It was a dangerous, dangerous gamble. If he was right, and the 'aligned' powers of Earth hadn't been exempted from the nuclear purge, then that opened the door for a final victory. There was an obvious path here if that was the case – without a nuclear deterrent, the British or Israelis had literally no deterrence left.
It seemed too obvious. It struck him as a trap.
And he would have to consider very carefully what to do next. There were layers of subtlety at play here on all sides, along with potential risks and rewards. One thing was certain, the Traveler was moving towards the endgame, whether he was ready or not.
Fine, let us dance.
He would wait for the intel report, but he was growing more certain the Traveler wanted this to be fair – and if she removed his own deterrence, those of others were removed as well. So it was his turn to be proactive. If the Traveler wanted to accelerate the endgame, then so be it, he would oblige.
He could see the game here, and she had made enough moves. It was time for one of his own.
And he realized that there was no other choice. A confrontation was inevitable, and his own sacrifice for Humanity must be made. He brought up the hologram of the final model, one that had been carefully sculpted and designed. All the pieces had been proven, the parts all worked, it just needed to be put together and he take the final step.
He picked up the phone and dialed a number. "[This is the General Secretary. Initiate construction on the PROMETHEUS-Class – and schedule the procedure to be completed as soon as possible.]"
"[Understood, General Secretary.]"
THE CELESTIAL MOUNTAINS | MARS
The atmosphere within the Celestial Mountains had changed since Valentin had returned from his journey to the Traveler.
It had become more focused, more preparatory; he'd experienced a similar phenomenon many times before. It was the atmosphere of a people that were preparing for war. The knowledge that was settling in that they would soon enter battle and kill or be killed – although the circumstances in this case were slightly different.
Never in history had there been an army that was invincible.
Never had there been an army that would rise after being killed.
It would be a nightmare to wage war against the Guardians – of that Osiris was certain.
Granted, their numbers were very few. Their army of hundreds was to face one of hundreds of thousands. It would be facing the missiles, weapons, and tools of mass slaughter that the Triumvirate had refined over centuries. Osiris knew that victory was not necessarily assured – or that there was no way they could die.
Or in the case of some of them, lose their memories if the damage was too great. As much of a risk as a permanent death. The Ghosts had their limitations too, as he'd inquired – if a Guardian was reduced to atoms there wasn't going to be much that could be done to bring them back.
So perhaps it was not quite accurate to say that they were invincible – but that nothing short of a full atomization would keep one of them down. And that was something that he could be comfortable with.
Now they also had a true leader.
Osiris was not surprised that the moment when Valentin had returned, he had officially claimed the mantle of their leader. The title of "Speaker of the Traveler" he said had been bestowed upon him – and no one was going to challenge that. There was something different about him now, in some ways it seemed almost like Valentin had aged a decade. There was a firmer, somber confidence to him that hadn't been there before.
But no uncertainty. No hesitation.
This was his role, and he had decided to wholly embrace it.
The new uniform only reinforced that. He'd returned in white garments that seemed a mixture of a robe and battle armor, while also wearing some kind of mask, which he'd worn almost constantly since returning. There was something atypical about it, and it had the odd effect of when it was turned to him, it was like the person behind it was starting into his soul.
As the Guardians had gathered, Valentin had informed them that they would soon be returning to Earth – and they were to prepare for the liberation of the planet. The Triumvirate was incapable of reformation – and there were greater threats to prepare for. It had not been a surprise for any of them – but now it was real.
And now they were to prepare.
So began the transformation of the Celestial Mountains into a place of tranquility into one mobilizing for war. Where the fields were turned into training grounds, the mountains turned into forges, and the men and women into soldiers. In a way, it was like coming home. Preparing for war was an old friend, and now he held power beyond imagining.
Though power alone was not enough without discipline, skill, and tools.
He was a veteran of war, but there were many who were not. There were only a few here who had military experience, let alone had seen actual combat. Valentin had charged them with organizing them into a militant force, so the initial tasks were to figure out who had which skills. The Guardians were diverse in their inherent interests and talents, and war was a multi-disciplinary affair.
Osiris found it somewhat ironic that he was now working alongside soldiers and officers that he would have once killed without hesitation. But they were beyond the past now, they were fully united in a singular, greater mission.
The destruction of the Triumvirate.
A fair few had been identified as being capable of being able to produce the equipment they needed. There were engineers, weaponsmiths, and armorers among them – and thanks to the Light, resources were never an issue. The Ghosts were capable of producing the raw materials, and with those, they could be turned into anything. As was becoming clearer to him, the only limits a Guardian had were their imagination.
Now he stood on one of the rolling hills looking over one of the training arenas, one which housed a number of mock structures and vegetation to simulate urban, jungle, and agrarian scenarios. He could see Guardians running inside it, firing their weapons and using their Light.
A short distance away was a more traditional exercise field, though one altered to account for some changes. Due to the Light, their bodies were effectively at peak performance – though that didn't bestow other important skills and instincts. The Guardians still needed to master their bodies, and that field would test their reflexes, coordination, and precision, and a good number were running through the courses.
Valentin stood near him, along with the other man who'd become Valentin's other de-facto general, in addition to himself. They were the ones with the most knowledge and combat experience, and together with Valentin, were able to create a plan. "How do you think they look?" Valentin said, hands clasped behind his back.
"They're green, but they've got the right spirit," the man said with a wide smile – that was one thing that Osiris found both endearing and slightly exasperating about former Space Force Captain Jormund Shaxx. He was simultaneously the friendliest man he'd met, and utterly brutal to anyone he happened to be training.
He certainly cut an imposing figure. Easily one of the largest men he'd ever seen, Shaxx was also surprisingly fast and precise in his movements. Osiris was well aware of how difficult that was to do – and it didn't help that Shaxx had figured out how to use his Light to move faster than the eye could perceive. He'd been dared to shoot him to prove it – and when he'd fired, it seemed as though Shaxx hadn't even moved.
As it turned out, he'd moved out of the way of the bullet, and back into place before he could register it.
All the while with a big smile on his face. His black hair was kept short, but always groomed back, and while he didn't have a very long beard, it covered his cheeks and lips. It was certainly an interesting look on his squarish face, and by all rights he should be a very intimidating person.
However, his personality really made it difficult to get that impression from him, though that certainly didn't mean that Shaxx went easy on any of them during training.
Osiris would never forget when he – in one of the simulated war scenarios he'd put together – had taken on a dozen of the Guardians being trained, and beaten them with nothing but his fists and Light. He'd not been gentle, he'd broken their limbs, crushed their organs, and accidentally killed one of them by punching through their heart – though with death no longer being permanent, it wasn't a big deal, though of course he'd apologized profusely for the incident.
Osiris had seen warriors before, and Shaxx was easily one of the most dangerous he'd ever seen. While it hadn't been explicitly confirmed, Shaxx had implied that he'd been American special forces before entering the Space Force. Which Osiris believed; training alone couldn't confer this kind of skill. Also critically, Shaxx was quickly becoming accustomed to wielding the Light, though in a smaller-scale way. Such as moving faster than the speed of light.
"That wasn't my question," Valentin said.
"Most of them have never fired a weapon in their lives, and are not inherently aggressive," Osiris said, not quite as jovial as his new colleague. "They're getting better and stronger, but they're not a legitimate fighting force yet. We need to get them to the point where they can reliably tear apart a platoon."
Shaxx chuckled. "That won't be difficult. The hard part will be preparing for the artillery, the airstrikes, and the orbital satellites."
Valentin turned his mask to Shaxx. "Do tell."
"The satellites?" Shaxx rubbed his beard fondly. "Drop orbital metal rods onto the Earth. Exceptionally devastating. No one really felt there was a good reason to use them since the collateral was too high. I'd heard they were going to be decommissioned, but I suspect that when we show up, they'll be willing to use them just to kill one of us."
"Agreed," Osiris nodded.
"We'll get there soon enough," Valentin said. "However, they are improving."
Shaxx smiled. "That they are. Once they have the basics down, and are categorized, this will go easier."
Osiris agreed with that. All of them were training together now, but they had put together a battery of tests that would determine aptitudes for the Guardians once the "basic training" had been completed. It had been split into "Light" and "Militant" categories. The Lightbearers who grasped the most wide-scale and unique powers would be placed under him, while those who manifested their understanding in smaller or directed ways would be put under Shaxx.
Once that was figured out, he could split them further. Some people were excellent at destructive uses of the Light, some more restorative, some otherwise specialized. He was finding his own skills were fairly expansive, to the point where even Sagira seemed impressed by it. Whatever the reason, wielding the Light was almost natural to him. He spent every moment now working and experimenting, especially when he realized that he really didn't need sleep anymore.
The potential the Light embodied was truly limitless. He was only scratching the surface of what he could do, he was certain.
Shaxx would be organizing the others, which was likely to be the majority of Guardians. He'd had a good idea to arm the Guardians with firearms – which initially struck Osiris as rather primitive, considering they could remake reality at will now – though Shaxx had, kindly but pointedly, pointed out that very few were as skilled as he was.
Which was fair.
Following that logic, training to incorporate the Light into more conventional combat made sense, and it helped that thanks to their Ghosts, they didn't have to worry about death – as much, at least. However, since they couldn't wait until they were in combat to really get them ready, Shaxx had come up with the solution that led to the training arenas.
Having them fight - and potentially kill - each other.
Valentin had approved this – so long as there were strict rules in place. Being able to be resurrected didn't come without risk, and in these war exhibitions Shaxx refereed, everything was fair game except for the head. Painful deaths were still very possible, but brain damage was a hard limit.
The intent was twofold – to get the Guardians used to being under fire, and also getting them used to killing. It was very clever, and it prevented initial trauma since any kills were immediately undone. So far it had worked without incident, but it would likely be weeks yet before they were ready for something more serious.
In the meantime, other preparations had to take place.
"We need to begin returning to Earth," Osiris said. "The Triumvirate will not have stopped. The Resistance needs to know we're alive – or at least that I'm alive."
"Not to mention the others who weren't unceremoniously killed," Shaxx agreed. "Holliday's been shuffled around so much since Canada; too popular and ranking to just kill, but She's not really a fighter against authority. Goes against everything we're taught. Which I will note, is going to be a problem."
"How much of a problem?" Osiris said dryly.
"We are intended to overthrow the civilian government of the United States," Shaxx smiled widely. "Presuming that we want some defections, that's something of an issue for any decent soldier. Holliday is a good woman, but she believes in the principle. I can break through to her, but it'll be dicey with the rest of them."
"Both of you will be the respective ambassadors," Valentin nodded. "You to the Resistance, Osiris, and you to Holliday, Shaxx. I will need to reach out to two others who can help us."
"Who?" Osiris asked.
"Milya for one," Valentin said. "I know she's alive, and she should know what is happening."
Osiris frowned. "Risky bringing her onboard. If she was kept alive, it was because she was a passive and unthreatening presence. She'll crack under any pressure."
"I'll make that judgement," Valentin said in a tone that made it final. "The other is Hayden Fox."
Shaxx coughed incredulously. "Who?"
"Correct me if I am wrong," Osiris said, rubbing his chin. "But I'm assuming you don't mean the Triumvirate Intelligence Director Hayden Fox?"
Valentin's voice was amused. "That is exactly who I am referring to."
"Hah!" Shaxx laughed. "How did that happen?"
"I'm not quite sure yet," Valentin admitted. "But he's had a Ghost almost as long as all of us – the only person not from ARES ONE to get one until recently. He is an ally, and he needs to be brought into the fold."
"Never would have seen that coming," Shaxx shook his head. "Well, that is going to make this much more interesting."
"That it will," Osiris nodded. "Though we shouldn't become overconfident. The Traveler will not win this war for us."
"Indeed," Valentin confirmed. "That will be up to us – and up to the people to seize it themselves. The Triumvirate will not be able to stop us – but they are going to try."
"And we shall face them together," Shaxx finished.
"That we will."
"It will be a battle for the ages," Shaxx rolled his shoulders. "If there is nothing else, Speaker, I've got a planned time to break some more rookies in. Call if you need me."
"Until later, Shaxx."
Shaxx left to return to oversee the training of the Guardians, and Valentin walked closer to him. "There is one more thing," Valentin said. "The Traveler. She wants to speak to you."
Osiris frowned. "Why?"
"For the same reason She called me, I believe," Valentin said. "There is something you need to see, or at least She believes so. I don't know what it is, but it is important for you."
Osiris wasn't very surprised – he'd wondered if he'd have another vision, or be given that treatment. It seemed it was going to happen now, and he nodded slowly. "When?"
"I don't know, but soon," he patted Osiris on the shoulder. "I would be ready. Do not be alarmed when it happens. Just watch and pay attention. You have an important role in the coming conflict, Osiris, that is why She wants this."
He took a long breath. "Then I'll be ready."
"Good," Valentin stepped back. "Until then, there is much to do, and if you have time, I'd like to see what you've been experimenting with. Vigil has mentioned you're being very…" he searched for the word. "Innovative."
Well, that he could certainly do. "Well, this way Speaker, we might be here a while then."
BUCKINGHAM PALACE | LONDON | UNITED KINGDOM
Clovis had expected that it would not take long before he knew the truth.
He had been right.
It had only been a short time before Soviet spies were able to ascertain if the United Kingdom had also lost their nuclear armaments. The British had tried very hard to hide it, but it was impossible to do so for those who knew what they were looking for. The spies had returned with good news, relatively speaking.
Clovis would be lying if he hadn't felt some relief at that. Good, he could move forward.
The chessboard was even. The Queens were removed from the board.
But he had plenty of knights, bishops, and rooks left to play.
If a final clash she wants, it will be a clash she gets.
The other Triumvirate nations had similarly confirmed the loss of their own nuclear weapons, though the world yet remained ignorant. Even if someone in the media happened to get a tip, it was impossible to verify, and easily deniable. It was unlikely to enter the public consciousness due to the unverifiability of it.
Unless the Traveler decided to interfere in a more obvious way.
Clovis suspected she would not. No, that would be against the informal rules that were present in this curious back and forth they were engaged in. This was not a lawless game they were both taking part in; there was a code of sorts, an understanding. The alien was something he could respect as an opponent – and see as a fair one.
His turn to make the moves.
Gaining another audience with Queen Alexandra had not been difficult – he wondered if MI6 had implored her to refuse, or if they'd pushed her to take it to see what could be gained. He could see either being plausible. Yet it faded to the back of his mind, as while he was escorted once more through the Palace, he felt there was a weight upon him.
The weight of history. This conversation would be one of the most consequential. His only regret was that the history books would not know this moment. He wondered how many similar moments had taken place in history, where men and women of power determined the course of peoples and nations, while those whose fates were decided were left none the wiser.
However, he supposed that was his role. He was the man upon which history would turn. He was the one who would ultimately determine the path Humanity walked upon.
For better or worse.
Alexandra was dressed similarly to how she had been the last time. A tasteful white dress and tiara, though he noted she was wearing gloves – ironic considering he was also wearing such. An interesting coincidence, and both of them waited until the escorts and guards left. This was a conversation only to be held between them.
Clovis smiled, and spoke first. "A pleasure, your majesty, it has been too long."
She did not outwardly react. "The past months have been productive for you."
"No doubt your people are keeping you informed," Clovis clasped his hands behind his back. "I hope they are. It is inspiring to see how far Humanity has come, would you not say? How all of the Triumvirate is prospering. A shame that your nation has been neglected during this prosperity."
Her lips curled up. "Subtle, General Secretary. We have not been idle either."
"Oh, I am very much aware," Clovis waved a dismissive hand. "The weapons stolen from Indian incompetence, reverse-engineered and smuggled through your terrorist networks. We're both adults here, we can speak in plain truths. But weapons do not mean all, as I'm sure you know."
"But they do defend a nation."
"Quite so," Clovis nodded. "But we are a civilized people. I would like to think between the both of us, war is not a desirable outcome. There is no reason for our peoples to shed blood to settle this…" he rubbed his chin. "Dispute between our nations."
"I agree, General Secretary," Alexandra rested her hands on her lap. "Mutually assured destruction ensures that war remains too costly. We may not have your arsenal, but we will make your people scream all the same."
Ah, so she was going to keep up the façade, likely she didn't know that he knew – or didn't know that they were also affected, which he found unlikely. "How dramatic," he smiled. "Let us both be honest with each other. We both maintain the elite of the espionage agencies, and we know certain truths about the other. I know your nuclear arsenal is gone – as you also know ours is."
It was a gamble, assuming that she knew. He didn't care too much if it was new, because it ultimately didn't matter. It only mattered if they had kept theirs, and theirs was gone. From her lack of reaction, she had definitely known. "Curious that you admit to this. Admit that your ultimate power is gone."
"Indeed, the world is no longer at risk of self-annihilation," Clovis said good-naturedly. "Something to perhaps celebrate, though it introduces a conundrum. We no longer have our weapons – but you no longer have your deterrent. Which ultimately, puts the United Kingdom, Israel, and what few nations hold out in…let us say a precarious situation. You have no deterrent. You have no threat."
Alexandra's face was unreadable, though her eyes were cold. "I wondered if you would be coming here to threaten me."
"Not threaten, your majesty. I am here to provide you an ultimatum," Clovis paused. "Your nation is incapable of withstanding the might of the Soviet Union, let alone the Triumvirate. You lack our fleets, our fighters, our technology, our soldiers, and our drones. It is past time this pointless resistance ends. A new future for Humanity awaits, and I intend that no one is left behind."
He inclined his head. "You can fight, of course. We wage the War to End All Wars, as your nation is subjugated. But both of us know how this ends. It doesn't matter how brave or skilled your people are, they will not be able to overcome the might of the world. So I ask, your majesty, that you peacefully integrate. I am willing to make concessions to accomplish this without violence – but your submission will be total."
The Queen unexpectedly chuckled as she stood. "You are a man who reads his reports, Clovis Bray. You read my dossier the KGB provided for you, as I read the one on you MI6 provided me. And that is how I know – how both of us know – that it would not be so simple or easy as you sell to me."
Her cold eyes flashed as the thin smile maintained on her face. "For decades Britain has prepared for the day when the Soviet Union would storm our shores, with or without the rest of the Triumvirate. At my call millions of the British, Scottish, and Irish will rise and take up arms to defend their home. Our cities are fortresses. Our coasts are lined with missiles and guns. Our agents seed your Soviet Union."
She took a step forward, her voice undercut with controlled fury. "Understand this, General Secretary, you will not take the Home Isles without paying for it in blood. For every Breton you kill, we will slaughter one hundred more of you. Send your men in waves upon our beaches, and the sands will find themselves soaked in crimson. London will become as Stalingrad, and no matter how many you send to us, we will grind up your men and women and spit them into the seas until bodies wash upon the shores of Normandy."
Another step. "So send your armies, General Secretary. Send the French, the Germans, the Spanish, the Belgians, the Italians, send your puppet states to throw themselves at our walls, and watch as we kill them all. Not a single step will be taken back. We will burn England to the ground before we allow the Hammer and Sickle to fly above our cities. Our people are prepared to fight and die – are yours prepared to do the same?"
"That is what soldiers do, your majesty," Clovis answered. "And there is no greater cause than the final unification of Humanity. Your words are brave and bold, but they are words of desperation. You intend not to win, you merely intend to make it costly – and there is no cost that I am unwilling to pay."
"Not desperation, General Secretary," Alexandra lifted her chin. "Promise. You forget you are no longer the only power that matters." At her final word, he saw the reveal, and a Ghost floated from behind her shoulder, its fins spinning as it hovered beside her.
Well, well, well.
Clovis smiled. "I'm almost disappointed."
"Do tell. I expected a reaction."
He chuckled. "Your majesty, I have been aware of where this has been headed since the moment Ares One vanished and the chosen of the Traveler returned. I am far beyond you in perceiving the cost and consequence of this outcome. I had thought I was dealing with an equal, but I see you are yet one more pawn in the designs of the alien."
"An alliance of necessity," Alexandra said. "And one that confirms you have no comprehension of what you face. If it is a war you want, Clovis Bray, then there will be a war you shall get."
"If you insist, your majesty," Clovis inclined his head. "May we decide the future of Humanity."
"You came here to intimidate me and my nation into submission," Alexandra slipped off her right glove. "There are no more excuses or options. You are right about one thing – it is time for the future to be decided, and this feud to be ended once and for all. Prepare your people for war, Clovis Bray, for you will find only death on the British Isles."
She tossed the glove to the ground before him – a challenge displayed in chivalric terms that he found almost endearing.
Yet the message was unmistakable, and the die was now cast.
He nodded solemnly. "So be it, your majesty. War it shall be. I hope you understand that you have condemned your people to death."
She clasped her hands together. "Perhaps, but if they die, I die alongside them. Neither of us are the type to have others fight our battles, Clovis Bray. Perhaps I will see you on the front lines."
"Perhaps you will," he mused. "Good fortune to you, your majesty. God have mercy on your soul and people, for I will have none."
Queen Alexandra II laughed, as she returned to her throne. "I would expect nothing less, General Secretary. Let this last war ring through the ages."
Clovis did not know the specifics of how this war would go down – they would emerge victorious of course, but he fully believed that the British would fight to the bitter end. It would be a magnificent last war.
And he would ensure that when it came time, history saw it the same way.
It would be the end of the old order, once and for all.
And the rise of a new age of Humanity.
TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER XIX | REVELATION
A/N: Happy Destiny day, hope this tided some of you over until the showcase, for everyone reading later, hope you enjoyed it. Special thanks to King for helping write the Milya scenes, think they turned out very good. Thank you all for reading as always.
