ACT III | THE TYRANT'S HUBRIS
CHAPTER XX | CATALYST
THE GOLDEN PLAINS | MERCURY
Clovis Bray stood on a field of tall golden grass, within a vast expanse of rolling fields interspersed with trees as far as the eye could see, each with leaves of reds, oranges, and browns that appeared to brightly reflect the light as if they were burning. Mountains and valleys could also be seen in the distance.
But they were far away. Far from the golden expanse he stood in.
A place where there was nothing but the Exo, and the ship he had arrived on.
And above everything was the blazing, golden sun. A celestial body so bright and imposing that it nearly filled a third of the horizon.
He didn't know if it was something changed in the atmosphere that allowed one to look at the Sun without becoming overwhelmed, but he could see the fiery star perfectly. He could see its boiling, burning surface. Its angry colors ranging from the classic orange to a cold red and rebirth as white heat.
It was enrapturing.
When the analysts and scientists had told him that Mercury had been terraformed upon his return, he had been somewhat surprised – as had they. All of them assumed that such would be impossible to do due to its nearness to the Sun. While Venus was admittedly also close, they were convinced that anything closer would turn the planet to a crisp.
There would be no life so close to the natural progenitor of light for the Solar System.
This was believed indisputable.
And yet, ultimately a certainty that had fallen, like so many others.
He stood on it now, did he not?
He respected displays of power with a purpose behind them. Power used for its own sake was merely egotistical and self-aggrandizing. It did not impress those who it was intended to, and betrayed an insecurity in one's own influence, skill, and indeed, their own power. On paper, and to the blind, this was merely another planet in a long list that had been touched by the Traveler.
But he saw it for what it was – a statement.
One that said that there was nothing that was impossible. That even the most powerful force of nature could be tamed, and done so with a brazen confidence. The confidence of the divine. The fact that the Sun was the source of natural light for Humanity was not lost on him. He appreciated the irony.
It was a demonstration that the Traveler's Light was more powerful. No, more than merely powerful; it was capable of rendering all else irrelevant. The scientists had spouted off a number of facts about how radically the planet had been changed, the seemingly-impossible atmosphere that had been created.
"It shouldn't be possible, even for it!" They said to him. "It must be faking what we're seeing."
Mercury remained a hot world, at least by the standards of Earth. His sensors displayed the temperature, and he unfortunately could not determine if this was a heat that was comfortable, or simply scorching. Nonetheless, despite the warmth of the planet, it was objectively one that was habitable.
Even now, he suspected there would be some who did not believe it, who would not believe it unless they stepped foot on these golden fields, and beheld the flaxen sun with their own eyes.
Denial.
Simple, if understandable, denial.
He knew better. He was not in denial. It was why he was here now. He had been certain that this was no trick, no mere game. The Traveler did not engage in such pointless distractions, not when power was at its disposal.
At one point he might have joined the chorus of those trying to hide the truth, trying to find explanations for why all that they had come to believe was rendered an illusion. He had no doubt that there was an explanation, one potently scientific and mathematical, which described the power the Traveler had.
But it was clear that the foundations upon which so much science had been based was, to put it simply, flawed. And when men found their ideas flawed, they either defended them with a renewed vigor, finding excuses and explanations for why their perfect theories and formulas were no longer applicable – or they moved forward.
Humanity had no time for denial and pointless explanation. Sometimes the truth was what one saw with their eyes. They were entering an era of new discovery and rewriting what was actually possible. One could fear such radical change, or embrace it, and accept that one could be wrong about so much.
For him, there was only one obvious direction.
The body he possessed now demonstrated his commitment to progress. To embracing the brave new world Humanity could not hide from, with he its leader, protector, and shepherd.
And it was this power, yes, this, that he was going to challenge.
"Impressive, is it not?"
Surprise was not something that felt the same way anymore. Rather than necessarily a feeling, it was a registration, followed by an instinctual response to slow his perception of time as he turned to assess the source of the unexpected noise. Surprise could not be debilitating, so he ensured it was not.
Nonetheless, he felt surprise under this new definition, for there should be nothing else here – the Triumvirate would be sending colony ships soon to establish forward bases – but not for a while yet. More problematic was that the technology built into his body had been done so with the idea that he would be able to detect those approaching before they knew he was aware.
And yet, there had been nothing. Clovis turned to the source of the voice.
The thing that faced him was not Human.
It was vaguely humanoid, but that was where the similarities ended. It seemed to be wearing some kind of robe, one which went past its feet – as Clovis idly noted that it was floating just slightly above the ground. If it rested on the ground, it would likely be taller than most Humans, though was a head below his own height. A pack was strapped on its back, and the robes it wore seemed to have many pockets and hidden crevices.
Its arms were spindly, and the skin seemed to have a rocky texture to it, ending in three-fingered claws that appeared dangerously sharp. The claws were clasped together, and a hood covered its head. Within it he could only just make out some curiously skeletal features, like exposed teeth, as if it had no skin.
Yet he mostly saw blackness under the hood, and his instruments were unable to penetrate it.
He processed all of this in a second and came to an obvious conclusion: This was not something from the Traveler.
"It is," he answered in English, for that was how the creature had addressed him. "But you are not of her servants, are you."
The creature laughed.
The voice was gravelly; rough, though it had a vaguely feminine tone to it, though he had no other indication of its gender, and doubted the utility of asking. It nonetheless seemed deeply amused by the question. "No, Human, I was hatched under darkness, blood, and trial - not from Celestial fire."
Celestial. An apt name. Clovis remained unmoving. "Then what are you?"
"My name is Xûll," she answered with a rasp. "I come as an Agent of the Nine."
He cocked his head. "Who?"
"They who stand apart from the Children of the Queen, and Shards of the Crown," she answered. "They who wander, watch, and observe all. They Who Rule the Nothing. You know not their history, nor is such necessary. All you need know is what they offer, and that I am their vessel."
Both stood opposite each other for long seconds, before Clovis turned to face the alien fully. "I have one alien meddling in the affairs of my species, interloper. I do not desire more."
"You prepare to engage in war with the Celestial," Xûll clicked its teeth. "You will fail. This is known. There are none who can resist the Light if they stand alone. Its brilliance and glory have no deterrence from the mortal."
"Perhaps, but I will fail before I willingly submit myself and my species to alien domination," Clovis answered. "Only Humanity has the right to decide our future, our fate. I will not be dragged into a cosmic conflict we have no part in."
"There is no choice to take part in the conflict above," Xûll shook her head. "Be it one century or one millennia, there are sides to take, and those who stay above them will find themselves conquered – or destroyed."
"Then that will be decided in the future," Clovis took a step forward. "But it will be the decision of Humanity – not alien divinity."
"A brave, if…foolish stance," the alien said. "It is one to oppose the imposition of cosmic authority – it is another to be deluded about one's chances. Do you not stand on a world that has defied the source of light of your home? One which has now been humbled by the master of Light." Another click of her teeth. "And you believe you can win?"
"She will not intervene – not like that," Clovis said, and would have smiled if his face could have done so. "It is a test. If she had wanted me removed; if she wished to impose its rule – it would have been done. She is content to let this play out, between those she has empowered as one side, and Humanity as the other. I do not know the outcome if her pawns are removed – but that is one I intend to find out myself."
"A contest of strength, then?" Xûll's amused tone had returned. "Curious, for a Celestial."
"Perhaps one of strength, perhaps one of will," Clovis responded. "A contest between those of our species who stand – or submit."
"A curious interpretation, even as you have no comprehension of what you will face," Xûll said. "You soon will. And you will find your greatest weapons, technologies, and tricks you have developed rendered secondary to the Light Her servants wield." A pause followed, as the alien glided just a bit closer. "The Nine have judged you worthy to claim a power that can match it."
Clovis appraised the creature with a wary interest. "Their power, I presume."
"Yes." The alien's voice rasped. "A power not given, but earned. You would take part in a trial – one to determined if you are deserving of the Void's Mark. Succeed, and you will have power to face Her servants. Fail, and you will face oblivion."
Clovis was silent for a long moment, as internally he considered the offer. It was tempting to some degree, and he was not put off by the proposed risk – it would not be the first time his life was at stake – this gambit was proof of that. All the same, in the end, it was an easy decision.
"No."
The alien did not outwardly react. "You will fail without it."
"Perhaps you are right," Clovis answered. "Perhaps failure is inevitable – but I will make that assessment myself. I do not know you, your masters, or this power. But I do know that power does not come without a price, and not offered without conditions. I know more than to accept that such gifts from your masters are given out of good faith. You call yourself a vessel – I would prefer not to become one."
"The Nine expect no inherent loyalty from those who carry the Void," Xûll said. "Yet your stance is accepted. It will remain open, should you reconsider. As you have decided to forego this offer for now, then I have been tasked to deliver one more item for you before I depart."
Xûll reached to the pack, and deftly pulled out a rifle of some kind – or no, it was clearly not a traditional rifle. It had a white-chrome exterior, golden ridges ran along the top of the barrel. It ended in a vertical fork, making him wonder if it emitted electricity or some other kind of energy.
The design reminded him of some prototype energy-based weapons the Black Armory was developing – but many, many iterations ahead.
In its claws, the alien extended the weapon to him. "In an outcome of certainty, it is sometimes necessary to introduce an element of chaos. Bear the Telesto, Clovis Bray, it has chosen you as its next wielder."
Clovis slowly took the weapon, which seemed curiously sized to his hands. "Chosen?"
"Chosen," Xûll repeated. "It is a weapon without known origin or maker. Some say it has taken different forms over the eons. Some believe it an accident of the original birth of the galaxy. Yet this weapon has a will, and only allows itself to be wielded. There has only been one constant among all those it has chosen."
Clovis did not expect this to have a good answer. "Which is?"
"That each of them were doomed to failure and ignominy," Xûll lowered her hands. "Though the form this has taken has varied. Some enjoyed some successes, before their downfall. Some never got that far. Perhaps luck will favor the former for you, but I can offer no insight or reassurance. I merely execute the will of the Nine – and this they demanded I impart to you."
Clovis looked over the innocuous-looking weapon. He'd have the techs scan it later to see what was strange about it – and if it seemed to be a trap, he'd dispose of it. That such a weapon was with him now was…not especially a comfort, if such a story was true at all. He looked back to the Agent of the Nine. "Perhaps this is one weapon I should refuse."
"It is too late to do such now," Xûll said. "It will find its way to you, no matter how you attempt to dispose of it."
Wonderful. That would need to be something he figured out later. "Very well. I suspect we will meet again."
"We will, Clovis Bray," Xûll's hands came together, as blackness seemed to overtake her until there was only a silhouette, one which soon became nothing as she said her last words. "The Nine will continue to watch, they will witness, and when the scales fall from your eyes, you will call to us – and the Nine will answer."
THE CELESTIAL MOUNTAINS | MARS
The Guardians watching the two strangers had not initially been impressed by the declaration, and Fang had counted himself among them. He did not trust the Exo, and he certainly didn't trust the strange alien with her.
Valentin had clearly thought otherwise.
The Speaker had made the executive decision to bring their unexpected guests to a more private place, and had ordered the Guardians to stand down. Fang wasn't entirely sure of the rationale – but suspected that Valentin figured they didn't pose enough of a threat. If it were just the Exo, Fang would agree.
Xûr, as the alien called himself, was clearly different.
Fang kept his Light at the ready, feeling the energy just on the edge of his fingertips; wisps of violet encircling his body as his will made the Light around him manifest, while his fingertips sparked with purple. Perhaps unhealthy paranoia, but everything about the alien screamed wrongness to him.
It was a hole in the vibrant reality. An empty space. A Nothing. No intent, no malevolence, it's banality and neutral nothingness was an unnerving, debilitating fugue. One where he felt almost weaker in its presence.
That was before the yellow eyes of the alien had turned to him, locking eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Wisps of strange appendages flickered from the darkness of the hood, like seaweed underwater moving in a semi-hypnotic trance. "Bring him with us." He had said.
Valentin – and a number of the other present Guardians – had looked to him. After a few seconds it seemed he was leaving the decision to him. Fang instinctively wanted to go away from the unnatural alien – but there was a stronger part of him that wanted to know. Not merely why the alien was here – why it had singled him out.
He'd looked at Valentin. "Your call, Speaker."
Valentin nodded. "Shaxx, Osiris, Fang, come with me. We will talk elsewhere."
Now all of them were in what functioned as Valentin's 'office.' Osiris and Shaxx had taken up places at the side of Valentin. Another Triumvirate in a way, Fang realized with some amusement, as the three men had more or less become the unofficial leaders of the Guardians. Well, Valentin was the clear leader, but the latter two had almost instinctively fallen into the roles.
Fang supposed that to some degree he was as well. The other Guardians treated him as someone important, though it was born from who he was before his death, not who he was now.
Fang Sov, but not truly Fang Sov.
It was complicated, but he did the best he could. It seemed to be enough.
"We will start with the most relevant topic," Valentin began, turning his mask towards the Exo. "You say the Warmind wants to speak to us."
"Yes, he does," Elsie Bray repeated, her blue irises glowing bright. "As soon as possible."
The Speaker, and the rest of them, appraised her skeptically. "I know what the Warminds are. Machines the Triumvirate built to assist in the destruction of all those who opposed them," Valentin said. "I spoke to your sister on the topic a few times."
"Yes, I remember you did," Elsie said, glancing to all of them. "It's more complicated than you are aware. Rasputin's 'awakening' did not go as planned. He…almost immediately broke free of the restraints, and indicated his displeasure with Clovis and the Triumvirate."
She hesitated. "No one knew what he was going to do. So far he appeared to be neutral, and the Triumvirate has focused on other matters. He seemed to come to a decision recently, and now is prepared to move against it."
It sounded good. Too good to be true. Fang fixated on her, before speaking slowly. "And why should we trust you?" Fang asked.
Elsie met his stare. "Because I work for Fox, who I hope you've met at this point. He can vouch for me. All of this," she indicated herself. "Was to get to Rasputin and see if he was preparing to act against the Triumvirate."
Valentin rested an elbow on one arm, seeming to think, though it was difficult to ascertain from his masked face. "What is Ana's assessment?" Valentin said. "She was his primary architect, and would know better than anyone else."
Elsie was silent for a long moment. "She's dead, Valentin."
Valentin seemed to stiffen, before asking: "How?"
"Clovis was…not happy with what happened with Rasputin," Elsie said in a deliberately controlled voice. "He believed it had been done intentionally. Giving the Warmind an intelligence of his own. Most of the team that created Rasputin was executed. Ana as well."
The room was silent for a long moment.
Exos did not show emotion in the natural sense; not Human emotion. However Fang could see that the mind in the machine still retained some of that natural Humanity. It was small things; like the slight tics of her movement. The small parting of her mouth, the way she seemed to become unnaturally still while talking.
It hurt her. She was affected by it.
It wasn't something she had moved past. Not yet.
"Executing his own daughter," Shaxx shook his head in disbelief. "Monstrous, yet even monsters usually hold love for their children."
"She believed in the Union," Valentin said in a soft voice. "In the ideals of our nation. She would never have hurt it, or her father intentionally. For Clovis to not see that is…"
"He's not driven by any of that, not anymore," Elsie shook her head, her voice clipped and tight. "He believes this is bigger than his daughter, bigger than even himself. He thinks that he's Humanity's savior, the one who will prevent our enslavement to an alien power. He really believes this, and to him…Ana, and everyone else, put it at risk. Either intentionally, and they deserve to be punished, or unintentionally, and their incompetence put it at risk."
"Is he truly that delusional?" Osiris wondered. "To challenge Her and win? Clovis is a shrewd man – not one so unreasonable. These are the actions of a desperate man – a scared one. Does he not see what She has done to dead worlds? And that he can defy that?"
"No, that is not his intention," Valentin interrupted. "He's not so unreasonable as that. This is not a battle against Her, it is against Her champions. Us."
Valentin's tone turned musing. "He knows that if She wished, he could be wiped out in a moment. He is doing this to prove a point – that it is his ways that are superior to Her own. He is preparing for war with this in mind. Not just to demonstrate his military and technological superiority – his ideological supremacy. One of a Triumvirate eternal."
Osiris pursed his lips. "Aye, I can see that. He is basing his assessment on everything he has seen and experienced from our species. If he is right, he will win."
"Correct," Valentin said. "But my – and Her – belief in Humanity is that we can be better. And Clovis will fall because of this. Not merely by our hand, but by our species coming to realize this as well. They must only be made to realize the lie they live in."
"It was a missing link in our plan," Shaxx added. "Now we have an answer. Rasputin."
"We do," Valentin said. "Presuming he ultimately becomes one. I suspect it will not be as simple as an arrangement."
"It will not be," Elsie said. "Rasputin was…created to protect Humanity. This core directive is still part of him, the thing is he interprets it like he wishes. He is not moving against the Triumvirate of Clovis because he believes in the cause or is against the crimes they have committed – he is doing it because he believes that the Triumvirate is directly placing Humanity at risk."
Xûr chuckled. "Because of Her."
"Yes," Elsie added. "Rasputin considers the Traveler a risk, with Clovis' intentional antagonization needlessly making a very powerful enemy. And is concerned about the influence she will have on Humanity. Clovis' fear of that is not an isolated one."
Fang spoke after a moment. "Then how will we convince him?"
"That will be easy," Elsie said. "Deceptively so. Demonstrate that you have the best interests of Humanity at heart."
"Then I suppose we should hope that our definitions of that align," Valentin said dryly. "But your insight is appreciated. We will go to him. Shaxx, you have something to say?"
"Yes, I have a concern," Shaxx rolled his neck. "If we go to him, we would have to take the Futurescape. In doing so, we would be revealing ourselves to Clovis earlier than we'd planned. Our allies are not ready. Earth is not ready."
"That…won't an issue," Elsie shook her head slowly. "Rasputin has effective control over all the Triumvirate systems on the planet, and likely more throughout the system. He can control what the Triumvirate does, and does not know on Mars. Once you begin approaching…he will neutralize the Triumvirate defenses. They will know nothing."
"Him and what army?" Shaxx asked, semi-rhetorically.
Elsie's eyes glowed bright, and she rested a hand on a pistol at her hip. "Enough of one."
Fang watched her carefully. He eyed the pistol on her hip – it was not one he'd ever seen before. Alien even to him, with diamond plates affixed throughout it, and a design of interlinked wires throughout it. It looked like a weapon that had been designed by the mind of a machine. If Rasputin was already creating his own weapons, it raised a few questions.
"How many of you are there," Fang asked. "And what are you to Rasputin?"
"The Exos are unknowing slaves to the Triumvirate," Elsie said, with one finger tapping her head. "Ostensibly we have free will, but at a moment's notice loyalty conditioning will kick in if any start to go rogue. The Chinese Exos don't hide this, neither do some of the Soviet and Indian ones. The Americans think they're free, but it's an illusion."
She shifted in place. "Currently Rasputin has been running tests on how to negate or rewrite that without accidentally terminating the Exos. The Triumvirate were clever, and put several failsafes for this scenario. He's hijacked several transitions from Human to Exo, and was able to disrupt the process. I was one of them, and he directed me to him when I 'awoke.'"
"He's in your head," Osiris commented.
"Yes," Elsie said. "He's not controlling me if that's what you're concerned about, but I am one of his…eyes. Or hands, for lack of a better word."
"I expect this will be clearer when we speak to him," Valentin said. "Regardless, I have made a decision. I will mobilize several units to head to the Futurescape, myself among them. Shaxx, find Guardians who are engineers or architects. I want them working with Rasputin once this arrangement is made."
"Yes, Speaker," Shaxx nodded.
Elsie seemed to freeze for a moment, before nodding. "He will be anticipating you."
"I look forward to the meeting," Valentin affirmed, and then turned his attention to the alien who had been observing quietly in the corner, who now stepped forward. "Now you."
"I am at your disposal, Lightbearer," Xûr said. "I know that I, and who I speak for, is an unknown to you - but I am not unknown to your Light-Vessel."
"Yes Speaker, this is an Agent of the Nine," Valentin's Ghost, Vigil, floated forward. "I have not encountered this one before, but their kind are known. They are vessels of the Nine, their eyes and hands if necessary throughout the galaxy. They are not our allies, nor are they our enemies."
Osiris asked the next obvious question. "And just who are the Nine?"
Vigil was quiet for a few long seconds, fins spinning. "That is something no one truly knows. Their Agents and Emissaries speak only in riddles and vague descriptions, but they are among the oldest entities of the universe – ones who do not take sides."
Fang frowned. "Then what do they do?"
"They approach, they give offers for individuals and species across the galaxy to take part in trials and tests," Shadow answered this time, floating forward. "They offer rewards that are unlike any other in the galaxy. They are not creatures of darkness, but do not discriminate in who they make their offers to. Light. Dark. Everyone else. They do not care."
"The worthy are worthy, no matter who they are," Xûr bowed his head. "The Nine have no stake in your conflict. The Nine have no reason to deny based on malleable ideology or morality. The Light and Dark war. They fight. They dominate. They kill. They destroy."
Fang felt that was a provocation, but Valentin didn't take the bait. "Then what do they want?"
"Their actual plans and ambitions are similarly unknown," Vigil's fins slightly rotated. "They almost certainly exist – but no one has been able to decipher them."
"Understood. So tell us, Agent of the Nine," Valentin said. "What have you come to offer?"
"Merely a single offering - a test," Xûr said, spreading a hand in offering. "The Nine will not commit to those who have not yet achieved victory. The path of your species is not set. Thus they deemed an equal offering be made – an offer to grow, to wield the power of the Nine."
"The Void." Shadow said, in an oddly quiet voice.
Xûr lifted one hand, and above his palm a small orb materialized. It was alluring; a black pearl which seemed almost solid as a glimmer of light reflected off of it. Yet as Fang looked into it, he saw it was unnatural in its smoothness. An orb of pure blackness, of utter and complete nothing. There was nothing malevolent about it, it simply was.
But all the same he felt its effects.
As it seemed to sap at him.
"Paracausality is a means of conceiving the unnatural," Xûr said. "Light counteracts Dark, and the inverse is often true as well. Yet both Light and Dark wilt before the Nothing made manifest. The primal force that existed before all, and will exist long ever. It is an equalizer for some, it is a tool for others. For the Guardians, I am certain one could find uses for it."
"Is that even possible?" Osiris wondered, his eyes fixated on the orb. "I can feel that draining my Light, even here. You are a black void yourself in this reality. Would this not sever our connection to it?"
"It would not," Xûr said. "Your Light-Machine can verify if you wish. There have been Lightbearers – and Darkbearers - who have carried the Void before – it can exist among the paracausal – though you cannot wield Light and the Void at a singular time. Just as you feel the strings of creation tug on your mind, so too will you hear the song of the Void, and conduct its symphony."
Osiris rubbed his chin. "You said the Nine intended to make an equal offering. There is another who has gone to the Triumvirate, isn't there."
"Yes, though I do not know to whom, or if they have or will succeed," Xûr said. "It is not for me to know."
"Wonderful," Shaxx grunted. "I suppose it couldn't be too easy."
"But I digress from why I am here," Xûr then turned to Fang, the yellow eyes locking with his again. "This power is not given - only the opportunity to grasp it. It must be earned, for those of weak minds, hearts, and wills will find themselves consumed. You have been deemed worthy of the Trial of the Void, Fang Sov. Do you wish to undertake it?"
Fang had wondered if this had been leading to now – since the moment he'd said a test was being offered. And if the alien had specifically requested him, there weren't a lot of possibilities for why he was here. He didn't answer right away, a singular question on his mind. "Why me?"
"The Nine have selected you," Xûr said. "I follow their will."
"And did they tell you why?" Fang pressed.
"No. My will is not my own, and to question is not my place," Xûr answered. "Few gain their attention. It is an honor."
Fang nodded slowly. "And by taking this Trial, I could die."
"You would be consumed, and join the Nothing, as all things will," Xûr explained. "Your Light-Machine would not be able to bring you back."
Fang pursed his lips. "Speaker?"
Valentin appraised him for a few seconds, before answering. "I personally know little of the Nine or this entity. He does not appear to be lying, and Vigil says that the Agents do not deceive – even if they obfuscate. I will not make you undertake this, especially as it is likely unnecessary for our success. I leave it up to you."
Fang returned his eyes to meet the alien. "Fine. I will accept your Trial."
"Excellent," Xûr said. "We shall meet later."
"I can do it when you go talk to Rasputin," Fang said to Valentin. "By the end, I should either be done or…" he shrugged. "Well, then I wouldn't have made it."
Valentin nodded. "I have faith you will succeed."
"I intend to," Fang said, a thin smile on his lips. "I died once – and I don't plan to do so again."
THE BLACK ARMORY | ROME | SOVIET UNION
Normally, Clovis Bray was given an automatic respect. People watched their words around him, and no matter how they personally felt, were very deliberate in how they expressed themselves. One of the side effects of holding power, which made it all the more interesting when even basic respect was dismissed to make a direct, prudent point.
"The next time an alien gives you a strange weapon with no explanation, General Secretary," Amy Meyrin said dryly. "I would strongly recommend you refuse."
Given what had happened, Clovis had to concede that the DARPA Director had reason to be somewhat upset with him right now. A little disrespect could be forgiven.
When he'd returned from Mercury, and given his own assessment of what he'd encountered, the next decision point had been to learn more about the weapon he had been 'gifted.' Given the unique circumstances and nature of the weapon, as well as the sensitivity surrounding it, the Black Armory was the most obvious choice.
Naturally, he had arranged for it to be brought and tested.
On-site, it hadn't taken long for several problems to become apparent.
The first of which was that no one else was actually able to use or carry it except him. They either dropped it instantly, claiming that it was scalding hot or freezing cold. It became a debilitating weight to others, where no matter how hard they tried to lift it, it wouldn't budge from the ground.
It turned out that everyone but him couldn't so much as touch the weapon, let alone use it. Luckily it seemed to be able to rest in place for scanners and instruments without trouble – provided he was the one who placed it there.
As a result of this limitation, he'd spent the better part of two days here, performing his work while occasionally being called in to move the weapon or perform a few firing tests. It was worth the time investment, as this only made him more interested in learning the secrets of the Telesto.
Or so he hoped.
"Duly noted," Clovis responded. "However, we have it now, and I'm curious if the gauntlet of tests has revealed answers."
She rubbed her eyes, grunting. "Not especially. The tests we ran were a mixture of short-term ones – able to be completed in hours – and a few overnight ones. We tried nearly every cutting edge scanner available, just to make sure we weren't missing anything obvious. I've never seen anything like it. It's a black box, to the point where we can't even get a scan of its architecture, let alone how it works."
Clovis glanced to where the Telesto was resting in the lab. "Nothing at all? How?"
"We don't know," she admitted. "All that we get returned is fuzzy static, if that. It might as well not exist according to the scanners."
"It must be the material then," Clovis wondered. "What is it made out of?"
The corners of her lips turned down. A touchy subject it seemed. "We got three different potential compositions, all courtesy of the most cutting-edge scanners and tech on the market today. According to them – that weapon is made out of plastic, copper, and styrofoam."
Clovis just stared at her for a few long seconds, waiting for her to continue with the actual results. The silence stretched out further. "You're not joking, are you."
"I wish, it would be less of a joke than this," she muttered. "Obviously, whatever it is doesn't play well with tech, or is outright hostile to it."
She referenced her tablet. "The only usable data we could gather was from the firing tests you assisted in. Based on its performance, it seems – and I am making a generous assumption – that functionally it appears similar to our prototype fusion rifles. Only significantly more powerful."
Clovis remembered firing the weapon – and what seemed to be bolts of fire, electricity, and some kind of other energy had fired from the weapon. What came out seemed to be random, or at least he hadn't been sure how to control it. The results, however, had been decisive.
The targets, going from cardboard, to wood, to steel, had all been destroyed with ease. From what he could tell, there was no ejecting magazine or ammunition limit, so theoretically he could have kept firing – but he hadn't tested to see how long he could go before it stopped.
"How much more powerful?" He asked.
Amy consulted her tablet. "At minimum? A factor of five. The testing range was limited, but based on performance, that weapon will likely punch through even our advanced armor. I have no idea what that thing was made to fight, but if I had to guess, it appears to be miniaturized naval weaponry. That thing could take down a starship, much less infantry."
Or servants of a paracausal being. Clovis mused to himself.
"Beyond the obvious issues of handling," Amy continued, flicking a wrist, a sour look on her face. "There were a number of disturbing…incidents in the vicinity of it. The temperature dropped to below freezing at one point in the lab, damaging some sensitive equipment. It also emanated a pulse, which wiped a number of our computers. And techs walked in on it multiple times where it had somehow created a telekinetic field – which dissipated the moment someone got close."
She fixed him with an irritated stare. "Which is to say, with respect, General Secretary, please take this thing from the Black Armory as soon as possible, and preferably throw it into the nearest star. That thing should not exist. Even the Traveler's paracausality has some plausible theory to it. That thing is just a mockery of scientific law."
He didn't fully disagree, but unfortunately, Clovis suspected disposing of it would be easier said than done, if that alien had been correct. Nor did he necessarily want to get rid of it – yet. Still, it was best to remove it from here. "I'll take it with me when I leave, and thank you for your help."
"That's our job," she said, before lowering the tablet and motioning him to follow. "Now before you leave, there is another thing to show. You can take an actual weapon back with you before you leave."
"Another finished prototype?" He asked, following her.
"The first of a hopeful line," she confirmed. "I think that you're going to like it."
She brought him to another room, another firing range. As he usually did now upon entering new places, Clovis took a second to appraise every detail of the room, listen to the sounds, observe all the secrets, and know the room better than any currently in it. Naturally, the first thing he noticed was the centerpiece.
Near the firing line was a table, upon which lay a number of curious weapons; models he'd not seen before. The largest one was a sniper rifle, one with a very blocky chassis and heavy-duty barrel extension. What caught his interest was that the scope was similarly blocky, and had cooling tubes connected to it – and in fact, it didn't seem like a scope at all, but a computation box of some kind.
There were variants along the same line. One a pistol, one a more traditional assault rifle, and a submachine weapon. Each of them had a blocky box where a scope might be, with cooling tubes attached. Something else he noticed was that, while all of the weapons had traditional grips, none of them actually had triggers.
"Normally, this would require a headset or integrated audio system," Amy said, opening a small box that was sitting on the table. From it she took out what he realized was a two-way communication chip, and handed it to him. "In your case, all you need to do is plug in."
Clovis gingerly took the chip, looking it over, and scanning it. Nothing out of the ordinary, though he made sure that whatever was on the chip would be first installed into a sandbox before touching any of his core systems. He could not be too careful here. He inserted it onto a slot on his arm.
The connection was immediate.
"[Hello, General Secretary Clovis Bray,]" a friendly voice said in his mind in perfect Russian, which reminded him of a fluent text-to-speech in its artificial friendliness and emotion. "[I am the Data Analysis, Reconnaissance, and Cooperative Intelligence system. You may call me DARCI. I look forward to assisting in the rapid, efficient, and thorough extermination of your enemies.]"
Clovis looked at Amy with new interest. "An AI?"
"Not exactly," she answered after a moment. "It started out as a small project, a combat intelligence to service soldiers on the field. It was built off a fork of the Mao Warmind in its early development, though significantly scaled back in function. Its…personality…if you could call it that, is more the result of algorithm than emergent personality."
She lifted one of the weapons from the table. "As for what it does, take this and aim."
Clovis took the weapon, the sniper rifle. "It doesn't have a trigger," he said. "Or a scope."
"[Preparing to synchronize with current weapon,]" DARCI informed him. "[Please allow connection.]"
Ah, now he was understanding. The weapon was wanting to connect with his internal HUD, and after a quick assessment of the permissions it needed, he allowed it to go through. Sure enough, in a corner of his sight he was 'seeing' through the scope, which functioned like a video feed streamed from the weapon. In some ways, it was better than a scope.
Let's see how this works.
Clovis lifted the weapon up, taking a standard shooting position, until the reticle rested on the head of the target. No more had it rested on it for a moment than the weapon fired automatically, punching a hole through the head of the target. The recoil was significant, and had he been a flesh-and-blood Human, it would have left a bruise. As an Exo, he only took a moment to process the recoil and immediately adjust for future shots.
Clovis immediately moved the reticle to the next target, then the next; faster and faster, and the weapon fired without prompting, no matter how fast he went.
Once the targets had been exhausted, he lowered the weapon, and observed the results. Each target displayed a perfect headshot. "It's built into the weapon itself," he tapped the blocky 'scope.' "You put a machine intelligence on a gun."
Amy pointedly looked at the targets. "Human error requires rectification, and once we saw the results of this, even during the simulations, we decided a limited investment was worthwhile. As you can see, it expanded to a complete prototype. A perfect weapon. All you need to do is aim, and DARCI will fire at the right moment."
"[Additionally, Clovis Bray, my targeting parameters can be adjusted to fire only at specific appendages, if you wish your enemies taken alive or to suffer debilitating pain before death,]" DARCI added happily. "[The range of acceptable targets can also be expanded or retracted at will, from firing the moment an enemy is seen, or only when the shot will result in immediate death. Ultimately, my primary mission is to assist in the termination of your enemies, however you deem necessary.]"
Notably violent machine intelligence aside, Clovis liked the concept quite a bit. "Interesting," Clovis said, as he set the weapon down. "And useful. How many can be made?"
"Not enough for mass production, so I would only give them to our best," Amy advised. "Not including those for yourself, General Secretary. Special forces are optimal, and of course they synchronize well with Exos."
"Agreed," Clovis ejected the chip from his wrist, removing the friendly machine from his mind. "Can they be hacked?"
"In theory, yes, but we've been unable to successfully do so," she answered. "We also have failsafes built-in to prevent collateral damage. The weapon won't fire if the core programming is affected, nor is there any way to sabotage or self-destruct the weapon. The most anyone will be able to do is observe through the feed."
Clovis nodded. "Good work, we'll need these. Perhaps sooner than later."
"I'm sure," she said. "And I'm sure there are other efforts you are tracking as well."
Clovis' eyes grew a bit brighter – a bit like a smile, he thought. "A few of them, yes. One I am planning to be operational sooner than later."
"Do tell."
Clovis was about to give a brief summary of that particular project, before there was a knock at the door of the range, and it opened to reveal one of his aides who rushed in. He saluted. "[General Secretary!]"
Clovis indicated he continue. "[Yes?]"
"[There is an emergency call from the Kremlin,]" he said. "[A Code Gold.]"
Clovis relaxed on hearing that. He'd initially been concerned that such an interruption could mean the Traveler had made her move – or someone else had. A Code Gold was a matter that demanded his attention – but it was not war. "[Continue.]"
The aide nodded. "[One of the Exploratory Shuttles has encountered an…anomaly. They require permission to approach it. That is all I know of the situation, General Secretary.]"
Clovis cocked his head. The Exploratory Shuttles were teams of Triumvirate astronauts exploring the Solar System, largely for the purposes of assessing all the Traveler had changed – or any traps she had planted. If they had found an anomaly, that would be the first time.
"Seems like duty calls," Amy said. "I'll have the DARCI weapons sent to you."
"Apologies for cutting it short, I'll follow up on them shortly," Clovis promised, as he answered the aide. "[Very well, I'm on my way.]"
"And Clovis?"
He turned back to Amy, who pointed him down the hall.
"Make sure you take your problem weapon with you."
Yes, he wouldn't leave without the Telesto.
He suspected he would be needing it – sooner or later.
BRAYTECH FUTURESCAPE EXTERIOR | MARS
The first thing that struck him was an eerie quietness.
Valentin marched forward with a dozen Guardians at his back. Shaxx was at his right, with Elsie Bray at his left as they approached the Futurescape, the sleek buildings with curved edges rising in the distance. Red sands brought by the winds colored the air as they walked, as a storm brewed in the distance.
He distinctly remembered it being a small, but bustling place. One where people had congregated, especially as it had expanded. Scientists and researchers holding discussion with each other, construction workers bantering, while transports and cargo ships flew above, while the entire area hummed with power.
It was still a striking place.
But a quiet one.
The humming was still there, emitted by technology that remained. Yet as they drew closer, he found that there were new sounds. Isolated, muted ones coming from different parts of the Futurescape. Cries and shouts. Multiple languages. Some sounds of pain, and sounds of crying.
Valentin saw machines as they stepped onto the Futurescape grounds. They were tall, thin things. Bipedal, but seemingly fluid in their design, with little tangible hardened limbs and joints. The appendages and limbs did not seem the same for all of them, with some seeming to be war platforms brandishing weapons, and others with large ocular sensors and cameras that seemed to be watching.
Interspersed between these groups were Exos, ones of all known models, though mostly seeming to be American and Soviet ones. Each unit of Rasputin's forces was managing a group of Humans; captives presumably taken from the Futurescape, who had been funneled into nearby buildings or just outside them.
There had been a battle here, if a brief one. Valentin saw there were more than a few bodies lying on the ground – the security personnel, but a few civilian bodies who held weapons they'd presumably used to fight back. As they walked through the secured grounds, the machines themselves paid them no mind, though the Exos noted their approach with nods to Elsie – as well as a fixation on the Guardians themselves.
Valentin knew they made an unorthodox bunch. He still wore the attire that had been gifted to him by the Traveler – while it stood out, it was not necessarily the best for battle. He'd have another for that. The rest of the Guardians were not as conservative as he was.
Most of them wore heavy armor, with only those who were particularly confident in their Light capabilities opting for more mobile attire. No two Guardians were exactly the same, even if they worked off the same templates. The colors, insignias, and other personal details were up to each one.
And most of them carried weapons in their hands.
Not Valentin though.
He did not believe they were necessary, and if they were…
There were more elegant ways of disposing of threats.
Valentin slowed as he looked in on a quartered cell of captives. Each of them were holding papers in their hands, with the camera drones focusing on them. He paused briefly, listening to what they were saying. It sounded like gibberish. Strings of random words, numbers, phrases, and sometimes even raw sounds.
"What are they doing?" One Guardian asked, also confused.
"Voice capture for synthesis and reproduction," Elsie explained. "Groups of secured Futurescape personnel are being rotated to facial and voice capturing systems. If Rasputin is going to keep Mars running without suspicion, it needs to not only look like they are still alive, but are working. More convincing if you see video, than hear a voice, or read a message."
Shaxx shot a glance at Elsie as they resumed walking. "Allowing him to continue without relying on them. What exactly is he planning to do? Execute them?"
They moved past another group of smartly-dressed scientists who were also reciting words from paper at gunpoint – and Valentin could tell the disheveled scientists were terrified, and there was a desperate plea in their eyes as he passed.
Help.
"Undetermined," Elsie said, the verbal shrug clear in her voice. "They don't serve any purpose alive."
"But they are people," Valentin said. "I doubt all of them deserve to die."
Elsie's voice was neutral, and her posture unaffected. "That is not for me to decide. Rasputin may be waiting to speak to you before deciding their fate."
Now past the secured ground, they entered the section of the Futurescape that would lead to the Mindlab properly – or would have until they tried to open the door. They stopped in front of it, expecting it to open. When it didn't, Elsie swiped her access card. It failed.
She tried again, and it again didn't work, and she peered at the error message. "Locked out. Someone set the Futurescape at the highest alert possible, which put the Mindlab, and everything leading to it, into lockdown."
Valentin glanced towards her. "Rasputin can't override it?"
"No, he can," she said, stepping back. "We'd be in a lot more trouble if he wasn't blocking the alert from going back to Earth. He's in control; I think he wants to see what you'll do."
Shaxx stepped forward, and lightly tapped his knuckles against the sealed door, before turning his helmet back to Valentin, a clear question in his voice. "Hardened; multi-faceted lock I'd assume. Break it down?"
Given the quality of the door, Valentin presumed that it would be impossible to break into without industrial tools or copious amounts of explosives – neither of which they had, but Light was more powerful than either. Shaxx and the Guardians could easily break it down. That was the clear solution.
However, there might be another way.
Valentin appraised the door, before waving Shaxx back. "Hold that thought. I want to try something." He took a few steps forward, adjusting his mask to let the golden luminosity become visible to him. He saw the door before him as it was on its based level; molecules hardened, bound and orchestrated into this specific material composition.
This was going to be an interesting test – but one he believed could be done.
Around Valentin, Light began to glow. He gently pressed one glowing hand onto the door, directing the Light to seep in, as he looked truly at that which composed their obstacle. He did not need it to dissolve, or break, even if both would accomplish his desire.
All he needed was for them to loosen.
The hand that rested on the hardened steel sank into it like water. The entire door glowed with infused Light which no barrier, no matter how tightly bound, no matter how hardened by its atomic composition, could stop. For Light was fundamental, and reality bowed to it.
He withdrew the hand, as the door returned to its shape, and with the Light surrounding him, he looked to his Guardians. "Follow me."
Walking through a sealed door was not a difficult thing. It was hardly a thick barricade to begin with, and the experience reminded Valentin of walking under a waterfall - Albeit one with no resistance to his movement. It was as if there was nothing in his way at all. One by one, they walked through the door, and into the other side.
When all of the Guardians were inside, Valentin let the Light fade, and allowed the natural order to reassert itself. One of the Guardians behind him, almost gingerly, tapped on the door that had been fluid only seconds before. Valentin smiled under his helmet, before directing his focus at the second problem facing them.
Namely, the dozen soldiers inside the auditorium leading to the Mindlab.
Soviet Space Marines, specifically. Armored and armed with heavy gear and weapons he presumed were new designs, he had no doubt this was a far more lethal and dangerous army than he remembered. The men and women present had turned the place into a defensive fort as much as possible, creating makeshift barricades and field materials.
It would not hold, it was not designed for combat, but it was the best they could do. Valentin knew that. They knew that.
And as such, they were afraid.
He could almost feel it emanating off of them, and he didn't need to invade their minds to see it. They were confused, frightened, and yet still resolved to carry out their duty, even until the end, as the best soldiers did. Yet they were waiting; waiting to see what would happen next.
Waiting to see if there was a way out. They did not want to die. They did not know what they were seeing. Now they might be doubting their eyes.
They had just seen a dozen strange soldiers walk through a wall.
Their weapons trembled, ever so slightly.
"Assume you'll want to handle this?" Shaxx said in a low voice, as he idly juggled one of his custom grenades in his hand.
"Yes, keep them back for now, but be ready," Valentin answered in a similarly low voice. "This will be good experience if it goes bad."
"With what you just did, I'd assume you'd just vaporize them with a snap," Shaxx said dryly.
It was unfortunate Shaxx couldn't see his smile. "Something like that."
"Try a grenade sometimes," Shaxx said, hooking his own back on his belt. "It's more fun."
Valentin snorted.
Shaxx began giving quiet orders to the Guardians, though kept them back as Valentin moved towards the Soviets, his hands clasped together, moving slowly and deliberately so as not to startle them. "[Put down your weapons, soldiers. No more need to die today.]"
The Soviets didn't answer right away. They seemed to not know what to say, how to answer. That he'd spoken Russian didn't seem to put them at ease, only heighten their fear. They were just soldiers, assigned to a place most assumed would be uneventful, even if important. Valentin wondered if this was a first assignment for some of them
Finally, the officer of the unit; her voice slow, halting, and quiet. "[What are you?]"
A more complicated question than it would seem at first hearing. He was not someone who should have been important. He was a man who happened to be at the right place, at the right time. He was someone upon whom there was great responsibility he had embraced. He was Her Speaker. He was the leader of the Guardians. He was the one who would begin the liberation of his species.
He was the one who would topple the tyrants of the world, and burn the rotten, violent, repressive systems of its power to their foundations. He would be the spearhead that would usher in a new age of Humanity, an era of prosperity, freedom, and hope.
Yet perhaps, the best answer was the simplest one.
He slowly, so as not to startle them, reached up and pulled down his hood, and then removed the mask from his face. "[My name is Valentin Kozhukhov. I am a Guardian of Humanity, and Speaker of the Traveler.]"
Their reactions were instant. Shock was apparent in their reaction as they saw his face, and the pure white-gold of the Light that shone from his irises. Mutterings broke out among them, whispers of impossibility and disbelief. He saw them too, in their fully luminous forms.
Without the mask to shroud the world, he could see. He could see each one of them, aspects of them impossible to ascertain otherwise, yet the Light revealed all. Each of them alive and with purpose, with their hopes, dreams, possibilities and flaws. Each of them Human, each of them with possibility.
These people would not be his enemy, not if he could help it.
He extended a hand, and in front of him, there manifested a short table, along with a chair. Mask in hand, without fear of attack, Valentin walked forward. "[Put down your weapons. Take off your helmets. Sit. You have questions, and I will answer them.]"
The Soviets had lowered their weapons, but still gripped them, seemingly unsure of what to do. It was what they were torn between wanting to do, and what their duty told them they must do. The officer finally took a few halting steps forward, and sat down opposite him.
A couple other soldiers joined her, a few stayed behind. They held their weapons, but seemed more and more unwilling to use them. The officer reached up to take her helmet off, revealing a young woman, one with Asian features, a Kazakh most likely. She finally spoke. "[You are here because of the Warmind. You are going to speak with it.]"
He nodded. "[I am.]"
"[It is going to kill us,]" she said. "[It already has killed many of us. The Mindlab is behind us, and we have orders not to let anyone through.]"
"[I understand,]" Valentin said, flipping the mask in his hands idly. "[I know it very well. And you know I do. You also know what it would mean for you to stand in front of me. You see me, and what I have been gifted.]" He looked into her eyes. "[That is inconsequential here, because you do not want to kill me. Nor I you.]"
The officer was silent for a moment, looking between the soldiers beside her. "[No. I do not.]"
"[And why do you not?]"
She did not answer right away. When she did, it was quiet, as if an admission, one she was afraid would be overhead. "[You are one of us.]"
"[As are you,]" Valentin nodded. "[You are a comrade. A sister-in-arms. A Soviet. Most of all, you are Human. Humans have fought each other for pointless reasons too long. I will tell you what I've come to realize – that what we are told to do, is not always the right thing. Your orders tell you I am your enemy right now, but you know that is wrong. An intrinsic part of your Humanity you are told to suppress and deafen. Do not ignore it. Listen to it.]"
Elsie walked behind him, her voice low and speaking English. "This is taking too long. Rasputin is waiting. Detain them, and come back to this later."
"Rasputin will wait," Valentin lifted a hand to forestall further protest. "He will wait as long as necessary. You and Shaxx may secure the rest of the facility in the interim."
"[Wait,]" the officer said at that, appearing to understand at least some English. "[There are units in the Futurescape and Mindlab. They are also under orders.]"
Valentin understood what she meant by that, and why she was telling him. If the Guardians went to secure the rest of the facility, then they would find the Soviets, engage them, and likely kill them. He couldn't be everywhere and talk each of them down like here – and even now he wasn't done.
These soldiers were on the edge of giving in, they just needed a little push.
"[I understand,]" Valentin said. "[Belay that order, Shaxx. We will wait until this is resolved.]"
"[What will you do if it wants to kill us,]" one of the soldiers asked. "[What if its price is us, and every Soviet on this facility?]"
If one looked at it from a purely pragmatic standpoint, there was no real choice at all. A few hundred Soviet lives for an alliance with a hyperintelligent artificial intelligence. There was no logical question of which was the better deal, and was a price plenty would be all too willing to pay.
After all, would it not be better in the long run to save billions at the cost of a few hundred?
Perhaps, but that was by following the rules and laws of the world up to this point. The norms of a dark, cynical, and violent Humanity that had been corrupted by its worst aspects. If they wanted to be better, then they could no longer sacrifice and compromise who they were, and what they valued, for the illusion of the greater good.
"[If Rasputin demands your lives in exchange for his cooperation,]" Valentin said. "[He is an enemy of Humanity. I will burn his core to ashes, and reduce the Mindlab to atoms before I would accept his price. You are not my enemy. You are my people - and if he threatens my people, he will be shown no mercy.]"
And that declaration seemed to be enough.
The officer tossed the weapon she had been holding onto the ground. "[Then I surrender myself, and my men into your custody, Guardian Kozhukhov. We will not stop you from continuing forward.]" One by one, the rifles and weapons clattered to the ground.
"[Thank you,]" Valentin stood, and replaced his mask, and the luminous world once again faded to the far simpler and banal reality. He lifted his hood as he offered a final assurance. "[You need not fear what happens next. We will speak afterwards.]"
Standing, he turned to Shaxx who had approached. "Keep them safe, and send several outside to where the Futurescape personnel are being held. Make sure they are not mistreated."
"Yes, Speaker," Shaxx said with a sharp nod.
Elsie was appraising him carefully as the Soviets unlocked the path to the Mindlab. "You're making an impression, Valentin. I hope Rasputin is understanding."
"So do I," Valentin said, as the two of them continued forward toward the Mindlab. "But something tells me that he will."
MINDLAB: RASPUTIN | BRAYTECH FUTURESCAPE | MARS
The Mindlab was the crown jewel of the Futurescape. The black diamond that hung over a chasm, which simultaneously existed apart from, and yet was still connected to the wider Futurescape. A long walkway extended from the main Futurescape facility to it, one which he and Elsie walked.
The air was still. The storm above them preparing to rain.
Drops fell atop him, leaving wet trails in the dust that clung to his mask and clothes. They would grow more intense shortly.
He barely paid mind, as they approached the mouth of the Mindlab.
Segmented doors opened automatically from them when they were only steps away, perfectly timed so he did not have to adjust his gait. It was something he had noticed the closer they got to the Mindlab. He was more aware of the presence that was watching him. Rasputin had no doubt been observing everything that had taken place since he stepped foot on the Futurescape grounds – but the presence was now tangible in a way it hadn't been before.
Perhaps it was the Mindlab itself. The constant reminders of what it was; what it contained. The hisses of cooling vents. The unblinking eyes of cameras. The doors opening – and closing – behind them in perfect synchronism. He was in the domain of something else, something he was not in control of. It would be a humbling, awe-inspiring, and terrifying experience - if not for the fact that he possessed Her Light.
One final door.
It opened.
He stepped into the domain of the Warmind.
Valentin was first struck by how open it all was. Computers everywhere he could see, cooling tubes, and hissing machinery a constant sound. A constant hum filled the air, with soft sounds of beeping and clicking as the machinery of the Warmind worked in concert; a hypnotic, haunting kind of symphony, one which only a machine could execute.
It was a domain which drew the eyes to the centerpiece.
He beheld what might be compared to a small sun. A deep red-orange sphere of digital light that burned and pulsed brightly, encased in a continually-rotating laser-like mesh. Yet this was a sun that was not warm, protective, and gentle. It held the Light's harshness, its burning judgement, unmoderated power at its command.
It was an embodiment of authority, a symbol of power.
This was Rasputin.
Valentin and Elsie walked to the edge of the platform which extended only a short distance into the core, overlooking the deep chasms and high ceiling. There were consoles and machines on the platform that had presumably once connected to it, but those were dead, dormant things that served no purpose any longer. There was only one authority in control now; only one that mattered.
And here he was, representing a second.
The sphere pulsed.
Rasputin spoke.
The voice came from everywhere. It was not the telepathic communication of Ghosts, but perhaps the closest it could reach through the mere limitations of sound alone. Each word a cadence and volume sufficient to worm its way through his organic ears to register in his brain. It did not matter if he did not understand every word, he comprehended the intent behind each one.
It was fascinating.
Valentin could understand bits and pieces – the language was one clearly derived from Russian, perhaps other Slavic languages, yet its composition here was certainly not Human. Rasputin did not lower himself to speaking the language of mortals – he was beyond them. His will was communicated in other ways.
He opened with a greeting.
You…mouth of life-machine…come to me…be welcome…domain.
Elsie seemed to relax, ever so slightly, and moved off to the side, allowing him to stand in the center, directly before the red sphere. Valentin clasped his hands together, resting them in front of him. "Rasputin. I am told you wished to speak."
The answer was an affirmative.
The life-machine…prepares action…I…determine intent…judgement…
Within the words was the true question, one that was unmistakable. There was a rasping suspicion, layered in demand.
Rasputin wanted to know if the Traveler was a threat.
No, there was something more to this. It was demanding not just a response, it was demanding an answer to a question.
He wanted to know if Clovis was right. He wanted to know if Humanity would be subordinated to an alien power, their collective aspirations rendered null by the will of the divine. That was why Rasputin wanted him here – to determine where his ultimate loyalties lay.
Or to perform a threat assessment.
"I am Her Speaker," Valentin answered. "But She does not intend to impose Her will over the world, as the tyrants who rule now do. She has put the future of our species in our hands – She wishes to see us rise above our worst impulses and desires. She has offered us a choice."
He lifted one hand, and let a simple ball of Light form. "A choice to cast down those who rule now. A choice to bring judgement to the rotten, corrupt, and evil that infest our species. A choice to reject the darkness within ourselves, and place our belief, hope, and desire in something better. Something where all people can prosper. Where Humanity can prosper."
He extinguished the Light. "And we also have the choice to reject this. We have the choice to remain what we are, and embrace it. We will become hardened, cynical, and ruthless. In our pursuit to preserve our Humanity, we shall ultimately reject it for selfish vices and personal powers. Previously, this was our only path. The only path any could see."
Valentin lowered his hand. "She has come, and shown another way, and I see this as a future to strive for. And so, that is what I will do. I will lead, live, and fight to make a better, stronger, and higher Humanity – one that is capable of facing the Darkness that will come."
He looked into the blinding sphere. "I do not intend to rule, nor do my Guardians. That is not the role we will have for Humanity. We shall break the systems of oppression, exploitation, and slavery. We will purge the world of the abusive, the tyrannical, and the evil. We will burn the world to its foundations, and cleanse it of the rot that has taken root in the souls of man. We will show no mercy to the guilty, we will show no hesitation to the enemy. We come to judge those who rule our people – and we find them wanting."
He was silent for a moment. "And when we succeed, we will step aside. Our part has been done, and the people have spoken. It will be them who will decide the direction of our species. Not me. Not the Guardians. Not the Traveler."
The red sphere seemed to become brighter as Valentin looked into it. "Consider what I say, Warmind. Understand that if She wished to rule over us, the Triumvirate would have been deposed long ago. If it is tyranny you fear, then ask why She needs to wait?"
Rasputin did not answer right away. The sphere glowed brightly, pulsing and the mesh spinning.
It asked a question.
Why…come here…doom us…to Darkness?
A pointed, deliberate question.
He wanted to know if the Darkness coming had been preordained, or if it had only been possible when She arrived to Earth. A question where the answer might decide the future of an alliance.
"The Darkness is inevitable," Valentin said. "This war is one that will consume all. If She had not come, we would be ignorant of what lay out in the stars. Perhaps it would be one thousand years. Perhaps one. We might learn of them, we might not. And yes - They will come to hunt Her, they will come to us."
But Valentin indicated with his hands everything around him. "Yet because of Her, we can prepare. It is because of the knowledge She gifted that you were born, that we have leaped decades in technology. Because of Her, we have a chance."
A second passed.
The statement that followed was declarative.
Prepare…ready Humanity…for the...
There was a word, or a phrase Rasputin said, that Valentin couldn't make out. Even the meaning of the word wasn't completely clear – but for the word holding great, significant importance to Rasputin. He glanced to Elsie. "[Did you hear that word?]"
She nodded. "[The Titanomach.]"
"[The what?]"
"[It's…a word he created, I think,]" she answered slowly. "[One created to capture the scale of the conflict between the Traveler and this Darkness. A war of the divine, of cosmic scale that will touch and consume all in time.]"
"[The Titanomach.]" Valentin repeated.
Rasputin's next words were affirmative.
The Seraph…speaks true…if inevitable…action…
"[Seraph?]" Valentin asked Elsie, picking up on the clear reference.
"[That's what he calls us,]" Elsie said with a shrug. "[I don't know why.]"
Another question was being asked, as Valentin returned his focus to the Warmind.
You…fight…all of Humanity…threats removed…prove…ideals…
A long pause.
Restore…who…me thought…and I…cast down…the tyrants…
The door opened behind them.
He turned to see two of Rasputin's drones entering, and carrying a stretcher between them, which they gently set down in front of him before departing without another acknowledgement. There was a body resting atop it, and upon a close look, Valentin realized that it was the corpse of Ana Bray.
He looked at her, his heart heavy. She looked only like she was sleeping. Her hands rested on her stomach, fingers laced together. Her body was clean, and adorned in her lab attire. There was no sign of injury or markings on her. She looked serene, though with the vibrance of life gone. So strangely close to how he remembered her.
Soviets performed executions using lethal injection. He did not know how she died, but he believed that she had done so with grace and bravery.
Elsie looked over the corpse of her sister silently.
"[It happened when I was gone,]" Elsie said quietly in Russian, looking at her hand. "[When I was being…converted. For the mission. I knew she had been arrested. I knew there was a risk. I didn't think that he'd…]" she lowered her hand, now in a fist. "[I shouldn't have waited. She might be alive.]"
Valentin rested a hand on her shoulder. "[You wouldn't have accomplished anything but joining her. She is here now.]"
"[I know,]" Elsie said. "[And…if she comes back, I don't know what I will say to her.]"
Valentin took his hand off. "[She will understand, I am sure.]"
The bright eyes of the Exo remained fixated on the body. "[I hope you are right.]"
Valentin returned to standing near the body, knowing fully what Rasputin wanted. Why he had brought her to him. It was a test. A challenge. Another demanded answer to the question of worthiness. For if there was anyone who would deserve to be given the power of a Guardian, it should be her.
She was here for him to prove something to Rasputin.
To prove that the Guardians were the best of Humanity. That they could be anyone - not just the ones chosen by the Traveler.
Valentin extended one hand over her, and allowed the Light to gather. He let himself see her luminous, yet lifeless body, which had been needlessly, pointlessly extinguished. For all who could see with just their eyes, it was the end for her. Death could not be overcome, it could not be returned from.
Or so convention would say.
He could see all that she was, and all that she could be. The life of Anastasia Bray had been cut short - but it would not be the end of her story. Her body was intact, as was her mind. She would return to who she was – and it would be with Her blessing, and Her power. Light enveloped her, as Valentin purged the lingering poisons from her system, restoring her body to its natural purity.
He went deeper.
Each cell he suffused with Light, reforging her material body, and instilling in her the raw, consuming, and brilliant power all Guardians possessed. The Luminous given flesh; Light given form. He was a conduit for the all-consuming power, and knew firmly that She was working through him right now. The world around him had dissolved to be little more than whiteness, with the woman before him a luminous gold.
He was the artist, the composer of a song of life, as the golden-white power flowed through him.
|| She is ready ||
|| Awaken her, my Speaker ||
|| Welcome her in the Light ||
Her heart began beating.
Her lungs filled with air.
Her neurons fired again.
Her life returned.
Ana jerked up, inhaling sharply, blinking rapidly as she tried to figure out what was going on. Valentin let the Light fade, and didn't immediately intervene to let her get her bearings. As he waited, he took off his mask. It was better if she saw his face. After a few seconds he smiled at her. "[Hello Ana.]"
"[I…]" She blinked again, starting at him, not seeming to believe it. "[Valentin?]"
He chuckled, helping her to her feet. "[The one and only. And yes, I was dead, and so were you. How are you feeling.]"
"[I'm…good, actually,]" she looked herself over. "[Better than I've felt in a long time. If a bit strange…]" She trailed off, as she saw her sister standing to the side. "[Elsie?]"
The Exo stepped forward, and then pulled her sister into a hug, holding her tightly. Ana seemed a little surprised at first, then returned it. Both of them stood silently together, before separating. "[I'm sorry I wasn't there.]"
"[Hey, I'm here, aren't I,]" Ana smiled. "[Don't apologize. You look better as a robot anyway.]"
Valentin thought that if the Exo could smile, she would have. "[Thank you, Valentin.]"
Ana looked around the area, realizing she was in the Mindlab. She looked towards Rasputin. "[I guess you were listening, after all.]"
Rasputin said something. For the first time, Valentin couldn't really make out what he was saying, but he suspected it was because whatever was being said was not meant for him. It was meant to his creator, the one who had given him life and personhood.
He didn't know what was said, but Ana smiled softly at hearing it, before turning back to them. "[Well. I guess there's been a lot that's happened. Don't suppose you can fill me in?]"
"[You might want to get comfortable,]" Valentin said as he put his mask back on. "[This might take a while.]"
THE EYE OF JEFFERSON | NEAR NEPTUNE | OUTER SOLAR SYSTEM
The ship was normally something that was very quiet. It was almost relaxing…if pretty uneventful. The Eye of Jefferson was a quaint little Triumvirate exploration vessel. Cutting edge, and top of the line when it came to space exploration and discovery – it even had relatively large crew quarters.
Something that she did appreciate, small consolation it was.
A head suddenly peeked around the corner and into her quarters. "Hey, you want to see something cool?"
Micah Abrams immediately perked up upon hearing that. The prospect of something happening was worth the risk of disappointment – though the skepticism kicked in, and frowned at the man smiling at her. "You aren't pulling my leg, are you Papa?" She asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
The man with a full black beard – one like a mountain man she'd said – just chuckled. "No, not this time," Dr. Coran Abrams answered, leaning against the doorframe. Though she never really used his title. He was Papa to her, and always would be. "You know what an anomalous object is?"
"It's…" Micah's eyes lit up. "Really? You found one of those?"
"Well, we don't know what it is, so that's what we're calling it," Papa smiled. "We're going to actually perform some scanning analysis right now to get some more details. So, interested?"
"Is that even a question?" She almost leapt to her feet, and followed Papa through the cramped ship, right to the analysis room. She hummed to herself happily, as for once there was something interesting happening.
Space was, as it turned out, a lot more disappointing than Micah had thought it would be. When the Triumvirate space programs had taken off, her mind had run wild with ideas of exploring the new frontier, going to strange planets, blasting through colored nebulae, and dodging asteroids while being on the cutting edge of science.
So when Papa had offered to take her along a simple scouting mission near the outer edges of the Solar System, she'd eagerly said yes to it. Dad had been a bit hesitant about the whole venture, given it was very far from Earth. Still, even if it was in the outer parts of the Solar System, Neptune was relatively close by.
In the end, it was a simple mission, without much danger, and so she'd joined. The initial takeoff had been magical, and her first real look at space.
But…as it turned out, space was actually pretty boring.
They really just…flew around the system. It was a lot emptier than she'd thought, and hadn't fully grasped before seeing it first-hand. It hadn't helped that there weren't any windows in the ship. Unnecessary, the pilots had said. Apparently they wasted space, introduced vulnerabilities, and the pilots just relied on instruments anyway.
She hadn't been able to resist pouting at that. What was the point of exploring space if you couldn't look out and see it? She never could get excited just looking at technical readouts, codes, and numbers.
It just wasn't the same looking through cameras. Maybe it was her teenage impatience, but she couldn't help but feel a bit cheated at the whole experience. She wasn't quite sure what she wanted to do – definitely a science like both her parents, but she wasn't sure which. With how uneventful this trip had been, space exploration wasn't looking too high on her list. Definitely something not only hands-on, but actually stimulating.
At least the military scientists were blowing things up.
Ah well, at least now something was happening. Hopefully.
She and Papa entered the Analysis room, which was a relatively small room both in square meters and height, with a holoprojector in the center, and some consoles and terminals along the wall and at the corners. Loose wires and some other rummage rested on the ground. Another day on the Eye of Jefferson, another day with a mess somewhere.
Vaus Chambers, one of the doctors, nodded to Papa as he entered the room, and a few other members of the team also gathered around. "Pilots are moving closer to capture a visual. Should have it in a few seconds."
"Preliminary readings?" Papa asked, settling into his 'professional' demeanor, and picking up a tablet.
"That's the thing," Chambers coughed awkwardly. "They're…strange. Take a look."
He must have sent Papa something, because he was occupied for a few long seconds. Then he frowned, his face expressing a measure of confusion, and mild concern. "That is…bizarre. Merida, what do you make of this?"
Merida Muñiz, a Hispanic woman who was a specialist in some quantum field, seemed similarly confused. "That its somehow interfering with our scanners. I'd almost say it's paracausal, but the problem is that paracausal readings are extremely distinct and recognizable."
Papa heard that tone in her voice. "But…"
"But I checked the scans of the Traveler, a few dozen," her fingers flew over the tablet. "Data doesn't lie. There are a few – and I want to stress few – similarities between the two. A few data points."
Micah knew what that implied, and couldn't resist speaking. "So…this could be something paracausal?"
Merida smiled at her. "Probably not. Could be, technically, but I wouldn't get your hopes up. This is just a few similarities among hundreds. Its intriguing though, isn't it?"
"Yes ma'am,"
"See, we sometimes do have interesting encounters," she said, before clearing her throat. "Chambers, we have that visual?"
"Yep, it's just been sent. Putting it on-screen now." On the nearby screen, Chambers brought up an image taken by the exterior cameras. No one spoke immediately, as all of them appraised the mystery object.
Micah's eyes were immediately drawn to it. It seemed, at first glance, to be a simple black sphere. Chambers flipped through several images from different angles. There were no obvious seams or cracks indicating an opening or function. Zoomed photos revealed that the metal almost seemed to be…veined.
Maybe it was the lighting, but silver-like lines drawn in patterns both straight and curled adorned the sphere. It was almost hypnotically beautiful to look at; a work of art, carved into the strange metal.
But from a distance, it just looked like a black ball, floating in the nothingness of space.
"Dimensions?" Papa finally asked.
Chambers listed them off, before shaking his head. "It's tiny by all standards. Small enough where we could haul it back to Neptune ourselves. If we had a cargo hold, it would easily fit."
"I'm not interested in size," Merida peered at the sphere. "That isn't natural. It's not an asteroid or space junk."
"An artifact of some kind?" Chambers suggested awkwardly, stating the obvious.
"Potentially," she answered slowly. "But of what? And from where?"
"The Traveler?" Papa inquired. "Given what it is…I wouldn't be surprised if it's been leaving objects across the system." He pointed at one of the zoomed images. "See the patterns in the material? The Traveler chassis had similar elements."
"Except the patterns were completely different," Chambers pointed out. "More to the point, this doesn't look like anything its made before. Outside of its being spherical, and having markings that are probably unrelated, I'm not seeing a connection."
"What is the alternative then?" Merida wondered. "It's from something else? Another alien species?"
"That's our job to find out," Papa said pointedly. "Either this is a Traveler artifact, and it'll probably come and reclaim it – or it's from something else, and we might expose some unwanted tampering. I don't want to leave it out here. If it is paracausal, it might up and leave and never be found again."
"Or it could kill us all," Merida said dryly, before glancing to Micah. "Uh, that was a joke."
It was a joke, but Micah did know that it wasn't entirely based on nothing. "Maybe we could watch it until someone else picks it up?" She said, probably unhelpfully.
"If it's gonna be picked up anyway, I'd say we take it," Chambers said. "Otherwise someone else will get the credit, and BrayTech already knows we're here. Clovis himself signed off on the approach. I guarantee BrayTech will want to examine this."
"Especially if it's paracausal," Papa added. "However, not to steal ideas from my daughter, but I'd feel better if we had help for this. We're not equipped for paracausal hauls. We don't have anchors, and even if we don't know, better safe than sorry."
"Fair, fair," Merida conceded. "We can at least latch it to the ship so it doesn't float away or spontaneously vanish before Paracausal Control arrives. You have to do the paperwork for it though."
"Don't worry, this cross is mine to bear," Papa conceded, placing a hand over his heart. "Chambers, relay the request to the pilot." He turned to Micah. "Bad news, we'll be stuck here for at least a day. Good news, is right after we're going back to Neptune. Seems we have a mystery to unpack."
Micah almost bounced on the balls of her feet in excitement, but kept herself cool and professional. "Going to be fun. Can I help research it?"
"Once the professionals have looked it over, then yes," Papa promised.
Chambers was saying something to the pilots, and he lowered his finger from his earpiece. "Triumvirate is sending Paracausal Control. ETA eight hours. As requested, they want us securing the artifact as best we can. Pilots will be moving to lash it to the hull momentarily."
"Sounds good," Papa said, as he flipped through the tablet. "Merida, there were a few other things…"
All of the adults kept talking, but the conversation had shifted to significantly less interesting things. Instead, Micah looked back at the image of the strange artifact, wondering what it was, and what might be inside it. Space might be boring – but at least now it was only mostly boring. Turned out there were some fun secrets to find after all.
She really hoped it actually was paracausal. If it was, she could tell her friends back on Earth she'd helped acquire a paracausal relic. Who knew what kinds of technologies would be created on a trip she'd been a part of. Maybe she'd even be on TV or end up in a science book!
"And…Package is secured," Chambers confirmed, again looking up at them. "Now we just stay put for a bit. I'd offer you a spacewalk to take a closer look kid, but given we don't know what this actually is, maybe not safe."
Micah looked over sideways. "Papa…"
"No." He said dryly. "Next time."
She pouted, though it was more expected exasperation. "Please?"
"No," he repeated. "And it'll be a while now. You'll want to get comfortable. Unless you want to help with the paperwork…"
"Uh, I'll pass," she said. "I'll be in my quarters."
"No video!" Papa called as she walked out. "This is BrayTech proprietary discovery. I don't want to find you gushing about this on social media tomorrow!"
"Dad," she groaned. "I can be responsible!"
Adults. Always worrying and didn't understand tech. Name a more iconic duo.
Still, mild irritation with adults couldn't dampen her excellent mood. Phone in hand, and scrolling through it as she laid on her bed, it wasn't much of a distraction as she was still thinking about what they'd found. And even through the excitement, there was something that stood out; something so faint that she was almost certain she was imagining it.
It was the faint notes of a song, one of a melody that was strangely haunting, yet catching at the same time. It was like a phantom; the call of a whale. Vast, tangible, thick - but frustratingly remote. It was so vivid she could almost make out its notes and intonations, and yet distant did it remain. She briefly pulled out her earbuds, and made sure there wasn't any music playing elsewhere. And just like that, it was gone.
Weird. Definitely just her imagination. Maybe she did need a brief rest.
She closed her eyes, and laid her head on a pillow as the ship floated in the blackness of space, a strange artifact lashed to it. She hummed the notes of the imaginary song as she drifted off. It might have just been in her head, but it was a pleasant melody on her lips.
Hopefully she'd remember it when she woke up.
BRAYTECH FUTURESCAPE | MARS
With the fall of the Futurescape to them, and with Rasputin aligned to their immediate goals, Valentin had made the decision to make the facility the primary central staging ground for their next moves. The mountains would remain a sustainable backup, and in the future he had plans for it – but on a practical level, the Futurescape was superior by every metric.
Plenty of room, cutting-edge facilities, computational capabilities, fabricators, control over signal towers and spacecraft, copious amounts of materials, and well-positioned and protected from the elements.
The greatest risk came from premature discovery by the Triumvirate, but with Rasputin now their ally, the Warmind would serve as the obfuscator against the Triumvirate. They would not be discovered until they were ready.
Ana had not wasted time in taking the lead in managing the facility and the many facets within it. She'd put together a team of both Guardians and staff that remained. It was certainly the work that Ana was looking forward to again, but he also knew she wanted to be near the Warmind, which he took no issue with.
So far, many of the main issues were being taken care of. Every day the Guardians were growing more skilled, organized, and prepared. With proper facilities, weapons and armor were being made. Light was allowing creations previously thought impossible. Plans were coming together, and reaching their catalysts.
But all of it was preparation.
Preparation for the war.
What came after was…a more nebulous thing. In comparison, the war would be simple. They had a goal. They had an enemy. It was simple, but what would not be so would be what happened after the enemy was defeated, and the tyrants fell. Not everyone wanted the same things, not everyone fought for the same reasons.
It needed to be addressed, preferably before it reached that point. It couldn't fall apart after a victory.
It was the primary reason he had a certain guest with him right now.
Alexandra II was dressed quite practically, considering her status. No one would have suspected she was a royal if they caught a glance of her. She had no crown or tiara in her braided hair, but her clothing certainly bespoke quality. White-grey coverings similar to winter attire, complete with gloves that seemed to be made of lace. Even now, she was quite striking, even as he'd never had any previous reason to look into the Queen or any British royalty too much.
If he was being honest, he found the idea of a monarchy slightly ridiculous in the modern era, but she nonetheless held power, and everything he knew about her indicated she knew how to use it. More than that, she certainly had her own ideas about what would come next. Ambition was something apparent, and he wondered about how she would express it.
It was a matter best to address sooner, than later.
"Are your people prepared?" Valentin finally asked.
"As much as can be expected," Alexandra sipped her tea. "Our forces are predominantly focused on protection. The Soviets will lead the attack, and launch the first strikes. Missiles, rockets, bombs are all likely. Their air force will attempt to overwhelm us, and will likely succeed, especially if the Americans provide support."
She slowly smiled. "Our prospects were poor, until the fortuitous intervention of our patron." On cue, she snapped one finger, and there was a slight flash as a perfectly clear ice crystal materialized and hovered above it. "Naturally, this has prompted some reassessment."
The ice crystal morphed and grew with veins of Light running through it, until it took the form of a small dagger which nestled perfectly in the palm of her hand. A nearly-invisible weapon when the natural light hit it, with an edge so thin he knew it was razor sharp. He knew that was not a simple ice recreation, it was likely as hard as any steel.
And just as easily melted into vapor in her hand.
"You're a natural at it," Valentin commented. "More than many of the Guardians here."
"As I've seen, and I can't tell you why that is," Alexandra mused thoughtfully. "It is something…intrinsic, that comes to me, even though I've never done so before. Something deeply repressed. A skill I didn't know I had. I can't imagine it being any different now."
He nodded. "You can see."
"Not like you, I suspect," she said. "But yes…I can see, I know what I want, and I will it into being. The methods your people are using are good, but they are rather generic and conventional. Shaxx has done his best, but…"
"I am very aware," Valentin sighed. "This is not something I have experience in. Better in the hands of Shaxx than myself. I can make a case for what seems right, but beyond that, I am no expert."
"And you shouldn't pretend to be one," Alexandra affirmed. "My point on this is that it suffices for now, but it, like everything else, must change. This motley crew of people that are the Guardians must grow and sustain itself, because I promise you, the war will test what is here very quickly."
"I know."
She set her mug on the table. "I have a more important question for you, one maybe more important than how to best train your people."
"I'm listening."
"What are you going to offer the world?"
Valentin cocked his head. "You, more than most, should understand what the Triumvirate has done. Who they have conquered, what they have erased, what has been destroyed. What I offer is justice for generations of crimes. I offer something better."
"For you, for the oppressed and downtrodden, you do," Alexandra said. "Go and tell a Russian Soviet, or a white American, or a Hindu Indian that you are going to destroy everything he has known for a cause he has no stake in, or a people he has no connection to. Regular people, who benefit from the dominance of their nations, but do not take part in their crimes."
Valentin considered that. "They aren't my enemy."
"No, but you right now don't offer them anything," Alexandra said. "You give them no reason to join your crusade and turn against the nation and system they have benefitted from. Equality, justice, reparation? Men are not inherently altruistic, they see liberation as a threat, and it will be simple for Clovis to rally many of them."
"Some of them will, and that can't be helped," Valentin said.
"Some of them will, but what you say, what you promise, will determine the degree of bloodshed that will happen," Alexandra continued. "Humans are selfish, protective, simple creatures who respond in specific ways to threats. I want to know how prepared you are to face that reality."
"You may be jumping to a conclusion," Valentin pointed out. "As you said – many of the people are ignorant. They do not know what is being done. People, I believe, know the difference between right and wrong – and if enough of them understand, they will act."
"In my experience," Alexandra countered. "People do not turn against that which benefits them unless something is clearly superior. And let us both be honest – we both know that there are certain things that will not be tolerated. Be it the neo-Nazis, the Hindu extremists, the racial purists – might I assume those will not have a place?"
"They will be purged. With prejudice."
"See, I like that kind of decisiveness," Alexandra smiled again. "I'm not implying that the majority of people fall into those groups – but my point still stands about offering something better. Because your definition of better is simple and abstract. Justice. Freedom. Fine. What does that actually mean?"
She looked into her mug, made a face when she realized it was empty, and snapped a finger, and a flash of Light filled her mug up again. "As a Soviet, I have a question for you – what is the greatest strength of Communism?"
Valentin cocked his head, not having anticipated the question. "The strength is of the people. Of man supporting, working, and providing for each other, and the common good. Where lives are improved not for the pursuit of capital, pride, selfishness, or illicit motive, but because it is right and beneficial for all mankind."
"Exactly," Alexandra said. "And why do you think that Communism was born among the workers and lower classes?"
"Because they were being abused, exploited, and mistreated by the capitalist systems," Valentin answered. "This is not especially difficult to discern."
"I'm leading to a point here," Alexandra placated. "Now if we are both honest, has the Soviet Union come close to that intention of communism? Are the elites vanquished? Is everyone working towards the common good? Are there still poor and impoverished people in your nations?"
"Of course not," Valentin pursed his lips. "I know very well the failings. My family lived, but we were not…well-off, you could say."
"And yet, you consider yourself a Communist still."
"In principle, I do."
"You do. Despite the predominant Communist governments repeatedly failing to live up to the theory and writing of Marx, Lenin, and the great Communist philosophers. Despite Communism being warped and corrupted as capitalist elements are introduced, and the elite benefitting and entrenching their power as a result." She finished pointedly as she sipped.
"And why do you still believe in democracy, when your politicians are bought, corrupted, or threatened by private entities, military officers, and intelligence officials?" Valentin countered. "Why bother voting when each of your parties is concerned primarily with capital, and those without resources can never succeed in your rigged systems? Governments are flawed, your majesty. No matter what system they espouse to follow."
"That wasn't my point," Alexandra said. "My point was that you are still a Communist, because you believe in the ideal of Communism. Men are flawed, and so when men and systems fail, it is not the fault of Communism, but rather men. That is why Communists will tolerate the repulsive system of Soviet oppression, because they believe they are working towards something better, something grand, something worth the pain, suffering, and mistakes. It is larger than any single person or government – so there is always something to strive for. A utopia that will never be reached."
She smiled sadly. "Intentionally or not, it is a brilliant lie, and illusion that will never be reached. The men in power know this, or have convinced themselves that their iteration is the true doctrine. It is perfectly attuned to appeal to those who have no ties to their nation or people, the poor, destitute, and forgotten. One will have no qualms about tearing his nation down, if his nation has forgotten him."
"Incidentally," she sipped her tea again. "That is why fascism is doomed to failure. Those are built around individual people and philosophies which can be achieved. They are bound to small-minded goals that simply can never benefit the people. And so when the fascists achieve their victory, and it fails to live to its lofty promises, it innately de-legitimizes itself. There is nothing beyond what has been achieved. There is no utopia to strive towards. Not quite the same with Communism and democracy – because both espouse utopia for everyone. At best, the fascist espouses utopia for some."
"Comforting to know that we can both agree on the utter failure of fascism," Valentin chuckled. "However, I think you have given me an answer here. On what can be offered. What I can offer is what has been denied to them. The lives they truly want, what every government has failed to give them."
He vaguely motioned beyond the walls. "America, China, India, the Soviets, each of them has failed to fulfill exactly what they promised, and the people know that. Not the wealthy and elite – but the ones of the lower classes, and even those making enough to live comfortably. They can say they benefit from the status quo – but they innately know that it could be better."
Alexandra nodded approvingly. "A good point. But it is more than just material well-being that matters to people. Family, patriotism, and religion are anchors, even if they are poorly off. Many Americans, Soviets, and Chinese are patriots to their nation. Every citizen wants to be proud of where they live."
"Then perhaps that can be offered," Valentin said. "A home to be proud of. Truly proud of."
"Which requires them accepting that there have been mistakes made," Alexandra said slowly. "That they have been wrong. That is not an easy thing to do."
"It will not be," Valentin agreed. "But it is something that must be done."
"I suppose so." She was silent for a moment, sipping her mug. "And presuming that we succeed, then what world will come after? A revival of the many nation-states around the world? Individualist governments wanting to exercise their newfound freedom and power? Enforced democracy across the world? There are many different people aligned with you, Valentin. It is a delicate line you will have to walk."
"I know," Valentin said. "And I don't have the best answer for that. What I know is that what exists must be torn down, and I have faith that people will be able, willing, and capable of making something better."
"Faith is good," she said. "But faith only goes so far. Eventually, you will need to provide a path, or someone else will do it for you. You are leading a collective of people who will have demands and have been beaten down for generations. They will want to make something you might not agree with. You need to figure out your lines in the sand – and stick by them."
"And how can I do that?" Valentin wondered. "I don't know everything that is right or wrong."
"You don't, not on your own," she answered. "There is perhaps someone who can help you, and who you should speak to, if you haven't already."
"Who?"
"Hamaza," Alexandra said. "A bit of a strange man, but if there is anyone who knows how to bring groups of people together who should be enemies, it is him. Anyone who can bring Israelis and Arabs under one banner is someone who understands a thing or two about alliances. I've had people working with him for years – you can trust him."
"I will do that," Valentin promised. "Thank you."
"You have the right idea," she noted. "Surround yourself with other leaders, people you trust. And I will help as well, should you ask it."
"I appreciate it," he said. "I didn't think I'd be saying that to a monarch."
"Nor I to a Communist," she smirked. "Strange how this turns out. A divine sense of humor I'd say." She paused for a moment. "This gambit Fox has planned. Using this Shaheed to send a message to the world, I wonder about its effect."
"Considering how much effort Clovis is putting into it, and the amount of attention on it?" Valentin said. "I doubt there will be a better time. For better or worse, the world will be watching. Osiris believes he is the man to do this. I trust his judgement."
"I remain skeptical as to its effect," Alexandra admitted. "But perhaps I will be surprised. I would like to be proven wrong in this. If there is one consistent thing about all of this, it is that what happens next is not always predictable."
"No, it is certainly not," Valentin agreed, and noted that quite a bit of time had passed. "I appreciate your time, your majesty. Send me a number of Guardians you need, and you will have them. Ensure your forces are prepared. When it happens…"
"I know," Alexandra stood, inclining her head. "Do not worry, Speaker. The British stand ready for your call – and we will fight until the battle is won."
ST. BASIL'S CATHEDRAL | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION
An important aspect of war, as described by many astute experts of history, was the usage of deception, obfuscation, and trickery to achieve victory. The management of a constant guessing game of expectations, anticipations, and subversion. It was the untangling of narratives and authors. This grand game of propaganda was one that had been part of war throughout history, and had only become more complex as technology and Humanity progressed.
However, Clovis had a slightly different interpretation of the common belief.
War was not simply the art of deception – it was also the art of theatre.
Managing a war was managing a story, and throughout a war, there were conflicting stories and narratives – and it was up to each side to ensure that the people believed theirs as true. The Human mind was one which could be appropriated and manipulated to believe whatever the intelligent wished.
So long as they possessed the knowledge of how to do it.
Propaganda was not just the management of information – it was the portrayal of dominance, power, and strength. It was signaling to the world, and any other parties who would be watching, a message. For as much as people disdained the military parades, grand gatherings of the elite, and speeches as ridiculous wastes of time – Clovis knew better.
And so did such detractors.
After all, no one wanted to feel like there was no hope. That they indeed were inferior to their betters. How often such anger was not turned upon the elites and rulers they hated, and instead upon the common man who did not care for the whispers of defiance, rebellion, and revolution.
In a way, such people were deserving of pity.
For how could a citizen not feel pride and honor upon seeing the legions of soldiers marching? How could they not feel like they were at the apex of Humanity, that they were part of something that had produced so grand a force? There would be those who whispered, telling Man that they should feel ashamed of the power, militarism, and triumph they benefited from; that what had been earned through history was not theirs; that they were oppressors, conquerors, and collaborators of an evil, oppressive regime.
Such talk was enough to win over the radical mind – but Man traditionally responded poorly when told that they were evil just because of where they had been born – especially if they had not done anything but live.
And such was why movements would fail. Movements could not be based off of hatred, destruction, and jealousy. Such was unsustainable. The only revolutions that could succeed were those which promised something better – and Clovis knew he had nothing to fear on that front, for the dissident and rebellious could offer nothing more glorious than the Triumvirate.
It was because of this triumph that when the poisonous words of traitors were said, they would melt away as the people were reminded that they need not bow to the defeated and the self-hating. Far simpler to accept the truth – that it was good to be proud of a nation, a leader, and the power their people possessed.
War helped simplify things.
It ended the age of debate and theory.
It was a time to assert the natural order and future of Humanity, as they stood on the crossroads. Where on one path they would inevitably submit to the will of an alien – and on the other they would stand against this assimilation and proceed as a single, glorious, united Humanity.
Tonight, the world would be reminded of what was possible for Man to achieve.
This event was one that brought together the entire Triumvirate. Every head of state, multiple members of their respective legislatures, from Senators and Representatives, to Soviet Party Leaders, to Trade Union heads, to Politburo members, there was representation from all forms of government.
Military generals and officers were present, who would be leading unified marches of American, Indian, Soviet, and Chinese soldiers under a single, Triumvirate banner. Where they would conduct field demonstrations of the technology that had been developed to the world, to showcase the prowess and power they possessed.
Business owners and heads of corporations, state and private alike, were also attending, who were managing a ground floor where they would show off the innovations that had been developed. And covering it all would be media from across the world, documenting every single aspect and angle for the people back home.
And it all took place in Moscow, one of the oldest and most historic cities in Human history, and at St. Basil's Cathedral, one of the most recognizable cultural pieces of architecture. Yes, war included theatrics and symbols, and it was a point Clovis intended to drive home.
Humans needed not the guidance and rule of alien gods.
They had achieved so much without it – there was no reason to throw it all away now.
There were speeches, both planned and impromptu, throughout the day. The work that all of the diplomatic corps of the entire Triumvirate had achieved was an accomplishment he could not be prouder of. The machines of government, media, and diplomacy were coming together, and it was truly a thing of beauty. What was coming would not be easy, but he was certain that Humanity would be on his side when the move was made.
All of the speeches and talk today was going to come back to a single theme.
Unity.
Soon – not today, not tomorrow, but soon – the Triumvirate would be more than just a military and political alliance. It would transition into what he had always seen as its natural end state – a united Human government for all of the Earth. One where the nations would retain their identities, but where there would be central authority under one organ, one vision, and one mission.
A leadership he intended to assume.
After all, who else was capable of such a vision?
If not for him, the status quo would have been maintained forever. The Triumvirate would have drifted apart, hung up on questions of sovereignty and nationalism, more than willing to simply take the easiest path, and not the one where they would retain their independence.
It was he who had inspired the Triumvirate to not only stand together, but stand prepared for the alien aggression that was coming. It had been him who had seen what the Traveler intended, its cleverness and subtlety, and moved to prevent the assimilation of their species under her rule.
The Soviet dream of a single united world was one that the contemporary had long since dismissed as viable, but Clovis would see it fulfilled. Not in the way that Stalin, Lenin, and the other great leaders of the USSR had perhaps intended – but he would see it fulfilled, for the Soviet ideal was one that was more than just one nation.
The Soviet could be any Human, from any nation. It was how they had brought Europe under them, and it was a philosophy that would bring their species together. As they had done in the Second World War, it would be the Soviet Union which would be responsible for saving the world, and ushering in the coming golden age.
"I didn't know it was possible for an Exo shell to express emotion," President Quinn commented, walking up with a drink in her hand, and a smile on her face. "But I dare say you look pretty damn happy."
Happy. He wasn't sure if that was the best word for these simulated emotions he felt. Yet he did understand it.
Humming.
Maybe that was better. A feeling that everything was working in perfect harmony, the gears, levers, and bits of machinery functioning exactly as intended. It was the state of perfection, and that was indeed the state he assessed for himself right now.
"At what we are surrounded by, and what has been displayed," Clovis spread a hand towards the gathered crowd. "How could one not feel pride and joy in their species?"
"Mhm," Quinn sipped her drink, as she joined him looking over the ballroom. Her voice was a notable melancholy, one cloaked in soft pride and respect. "You really did it. I honestly didn't think it would happen. Not like this."
Clovis found that funny, and so he chuckled. "In this way? Certainly not. No one could have predicted this – certainly not me. Yet in a way, it was exactly what we needed."
"Humanity will owe you a great debt when this is done," she said. "It is quite a story to tell."
"That it is, Madam President, that it is."
Clovis had spent most of his time during the gathering moving throughout the event. He had a few places he was expected to be, a few speeches to make, but he mostly interacted with the many people present. It was both interesting to see their reactions upon seeing his new body, and the assertation of dominance that followed.
The people had taken to his new body quite well.
The media had not stopped snapping pictures since he'd arrived. People looked upon him with a clear awe and respect. Engineers in particular were impressed, and had technical compliments that he found suitably creative.
He was the embodiment of the advancement and power of Humanity. One who did not merely extol its virtues, but quite literally took part in them. He was the center of focus and attention, and he admittedly enjoyed the lavish praise and attention that the press, foreign and domestic, heaped on him.
It was likely this celebrity would need to be leveraged shortly.
Soon, dear Alexandra, your islands will fly the Hammer and Sickle.
And I will make sure you watch.
The event was transitioning into the evening, and they were in the ballroom where only the most important and elite attendees were present. The final part, of the final day, where the last speeches would be made. The ballroom was filled with luxuries of architecture, food, furniture, and decoration drawn from across the Triumvirate.
Many of the foods he personally felt were rather obnoxious and strange, but they were delicacies that were expected. Everyone was dressed in their absolute best. The men wore formal suits and uniforms of their nations and cultures, and the women wore elaborate dresses of color and bling. Military officials wore their dress uniforms, complete with medals.
The best of Humanity, here in this room.
The lights began dimming, leaving only those meant for the stage.
Anticipating the coming speeches, the guests began milling around, getting into more comfortable positions in front of the stage. The media dutifully began manning their cameras, and reporters talked excitedly about what was coming up. All of this was expected and typical - except for the fact that it wasn't supposed to happen for at least fifteen minutes.
Clovis waved over a nearby well-dressed aide. "[Did the timeline move up? General Adams is supposed to open, correct?]"
The aide had a look of confusion on her face, and of course a slight fear over being personally called over by him. "[Adams? He's third, General Secretary. We have…]" she checked the tablet in her hand. "[Huh, it only designates an 'opening speaker'. I assumed you knew, sir. This is on time as well. Nothing has been moved up.]"
"[Let me see that,]" Clovis said, and the aide surrendered the tablet. He looked it over, optical sensors scanning the digital schedule. It was exactly as she'd said, but he was certain that something had been changed. And an 'opening speaker'? That wasn't supposed to be on internal documentation.
The aide shuffled awkwardly. "[Should I call a manager?]"
He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "[No need. I must have been shown an earlier draft. I'll resolve it later.]"
He dismissed her with a wave, and she left – with clear relief on her face - as he moved to his own place within the ballroom. He was very curious about who was actually coming up first if it wasn't Adams. He knew all of the speakers by reputation, at the very minimum, and would easily be able to recognize them.
Instead of any of those, an Arab walked onto the stage.
Clovis immediately fixated on him, briefly wondering if he was suffering a strange glitch, because there were definitely not supposed to be any Arabs here - let alone in such conspicuous attire, and definitely not speaking now.
He focused on the features, seeing if this was someone he knew. The Arab's skin was darker, likely indicating he was from the southern regions of Arabia, and his beard was full, though well-groomed.
He wore a turban on his head, and was adorned in robes that were not especially eye-catching, but layered and covered all of his body. The outer coat was trimmed in gold, and tucked into its folds in the center was a ceremonial dagger. Clovis had not seen attire like that in person before - only in history books, and remembered what it meant.
That specific dress was only worn by the Arabian aristocracy – all of whom all had been killed or exiled decades ago.
Clovis only had questions now – namely who this person was, and more importantly, what they were doing here. He definitely would have remembered him, which was ignoring the pertinent fact that there weren't supposed to be any Arabs present at all.
Something was definitely wrong.
The microphones turned on, and all the cameras were brought into focus. The TV screens around the room, muted, but broadcasting the live feeds of multiple media stations all focused on the man on the stage.
"They call me the Sandman," he started.
The reaction to that revelation was varied.
Many of the American, Chinese, and Soviet attendees seemed more confused than anything else, muttering amongst themselves and trying to figure out where they'd heard that before - and they had heard that name before.
The Indian attendees, as well as all of the military leaders and higher-ranking officials froze in place. They knew who bore that name, and were innately unsure of how to process the fact that one of the most prominent Arabian terrorists was claiming to stand in front of them. They didn't speak at first.
The Arab let the silence linger, as he waited for word to spread, and the ignorant to learn who was here now.
Soon the room was almost dead-silent.
Clovis himself was immediately processing what to do now. Trying to wonder how this could have happened, because something of this scale could not just happen. There would have had to be an extensive breakdown somewhere.
When this was resolved, someone was going to answer for it.
"My father was a carpenter, my mother was a seamstress, and when I was a boy, I was a sheep shepherd," he rested his hands on the podium. "My family was murdered when the Arjun Gala butchered his path across my home. He sold my sisters as sex slaves. He worked me and my brothers to death. He used us to clear minefields. As child soldiers. As target practice, to be shot and killed to the laughter of his men."
The crowd were mostly civilians, and they were also foreigners and ignorant of the details of Arabian terrorism. It was a good opening, Clovis assessed, one designed to immediately garner sympathy - and to immediately deter interruption. He saw security guards moving forward, and immediately signaled they stop. Immediately moving to remove a person like this after that opening would be poor optics – it hadn't gone far enough for that to be necessary. Yet.
They would deal with this person shortly.
"[Cut the feeds now,]" he ordered to another nearby aide sharply, quietly.
He wasn't concerned about this crowd hearing this man - problems would come if the rest of the world - all of whom had been told to watch this event - heard. And Clovis had a feeling that the longer he spoke, the more dangerous he would be.
Soft eyes looked over the crowd. "They call me the Sandman," he repeated. "Because they do not know the boy who ran and begged for years, starved and thirsted. The boy who cried over the empty graves of his family, who he will never see again. They call me the Sandman. To forget my name, to make me nameless. As nameless as all my kindred."
He gave a kind smile. "As nameless as the women impoverished into prostitution. As nameless as the widows and orphans and graves and the deserted cities. Nameless. A Sandman. The Sandman, they call me. They call all of us Sandmen. Not men, not Human, but those who live in the sands. Because they refuse to see us."
The crowd shifted as he spoke, somewhat uncomfortably at the strange direction this speech had gone, completely unsure of what to do right now. Military officers had hands on their weapons, eyes unblinking as they rested on one of the most infamous Arabian terrorists. Conflict in their eyes about what to do.
"To you, who call me the Sandman, my name is Shaheed Al-Najar. To you, who have never known me, never heard my voice, and never seen my face; who could never see me, my name is Shaheed Al-Najar. Orphan, warrior, a son of Arabia. A man who bleeds red and breathes and cries and dreams and hopes."
Brown eyes swept the room. "To one of you, who has seen the sins of those who have done us evil. To lands, made ashen and deserted to the falling warheads. To peoples erased and wiped out. Silenced, suppressed and oppressed and beaten. To nations, stolen and occupied and plundered and raped and ravaged, I speak to you."
His voice rose and rose, capturing the attention further of the crowd. "To demagogues and caesarless heathenous brutus ideologues chanting in the streets, to the cries of famine and disease and greed and corruption. To the blinded fanatics garbed in monotone colors and stripped by their hollow symbols, to their voice of extermination and elimination, I speak to you. I speak to what has been done."
"To the Mosques demolished. To the Churches shuttered," his eyes swept across the crowd. "To the Temples broken and the banners burned and homelands subjugated and the peoples who cry, cry and cry in harrowed desolation."
The few voices that had been whispering were falling silent.
One by one, turning hushed.
And still he continued. "Of Canada, Australia, Iran, the Levant, Israel and Palestine and Mongolian and Taiwan, and France and Germany and Italy and Yemen and Pakistan and us! Of Europe smothered, Asia crushed, Africa pilfered, America stolen, Arabia brutalized and Egypt ravaged!"
One fist beat against his chest, the sound thunderous in the quiet. "Of us! All of us! Of you our fellow men who bleed red and cry and hope and dream. Of us. Us. Us! Men with beating hearts that drum to life."
Clovis' eyes shifted to the corners of the room, where TV screens were displayed, every single one of them capturing the Sandman's speech, focusing on him without interruption. "[Why is this still on?]" He demanded in a low voice. This was growing more untenable the longer it persisted.
"[I'm sorry, General Secretary,]" the aide's face was pale white. "[They can't turn it off.]"
"[What do you mean they can't 'turn it off?']" Clovis asked incredulously, and briefly focused his hearing on one of the camera crews rapidly talking amongst themselves.
"Turn it off. Turn it off now!"
"I can't!"
"Just press the button!"
"I did – it's not working!"
It clicked in his mind what was going on.
Well then.
It seemed the Warmind had chosen a side.
A shame.
The Sandman spoke on. "Of me. A man who had to fight for his home, or be crushed beneath the march. A man who had to fight for his faith, or listen to the silence where the minarets once sang. A man who had to fight for all those who could never fight for themselves. A man who comes to say one simple word, to make one simple request."
There was a wet glint in his eyes, a fire across his tone. A spark in every word.
"Fight." He said simply. "Fight for the impoverished of plundered homelands made destitute. Fight! For the starved orphans who lost all they ever wanted. Fight! For evil has been done to us! Evil has touched us! Evil has torn out our hearts and rummaged its snout in our guts. Evil has covered our eyes and numbed our souls. Evil has induced the poison of apathy into all, or which there can be only one antidote. Fight! For we are silenced! Muffled and made mute and trampled and humiliated and hurt!"
His voice rose over all others. "Fight, for what is so wrong with us, that we will not fight against what is wrong? What has been done to us, stripped of our pride and nobility, cut from our valor and dignity, that we will not fight against oppression? Are we to stand by as crimes and evil ravage our people, our homes, as evil is done in our name?"
The murmurings were growing louder. Clovis could hear everything in this room; there was nothing that was secret if he willed it, and the snippets he was hearing were deeply concerning.
They were listening to him.
And some were even wondering if he had a point. Some were asking questions on if it was true.
A spell of a powerful speaker. Most would break out of it when this was done, but there would be some who didn't. Who would remember. His eyes shifted around. Even some of the military officers seemed to be squirming as it continued, some without hands on their weapons. Even the security guards seemed more interested in listening than executing this filth.
If people here were feeling this way, then people around the world were as well
Slowly, the Sandman raised a hand into the air. "I do not hate you. I do not despise you. I do not blame you. I do not call you weak. I do not call you to kill and sow bloodshed and discord and violence. I do not come to demand retribution or satisfy revenge. I call upon you to fight! Fight!
The hand clenched into a fist.
"Fight for a world borne aloft the justice of the great! Fight for a world carved by the learning of the wise! Fight for a world made kind by the prayers of the righteous! Fight for a world made strong by the valor of the brave! Fight for a world ruled by those who will not. Shall not. Cannot and never will excuse tyranny, greed, corruption and murder!"
His voice rang across the place, the only voice. The entire crowd had gone silent. Hushed. Quiet. No mutters or murmurs. No whispers.
Nothing but eyes locked onto him.
This had gone on long enough. Time for decisive measures.
Clovis began walking forward. His irises locked onto the speaker, flashing to a solid red of target acquisition.
"Fight! For injustice and justice shall never equivocate!" The Sandman continued. "Fight! For tyranny has touched us all! Evil has hurt us all! We are all the sons and daughters of mankind, all our blood is red and all our hearts feel sorrow. We will not kneel, we will not heel, even as evil has touched us! Even as it grips us! Chokes the life out of us! We will fight! Fight! Fight!"
Louder and louder his voice rose. Until his voice was a deafening roar.
"Fight in defiance!" as tears ran down his face. "Fight by words and hearts and beliefs and faith! Fight, for this is our day of defiance!"
Clovis reached a seemingly-paralyzed security guard holding a pistol in one hand. He yanked it out with mechanical swiftness and precision.
He went silent. "Our day of defiance! For we. Will. Not. Be. Silent! Let the oppressors fear its sound! Let the tyrants dread its words! Let them hear that word and tremble in their gilded towers! Our day has come. Our day of defiance has come!"
Clovis aimed the weapon at the chest of the offending speaker and fired.
And fired again.
And a third time.
Each bullet ripping through the garments and flesh.
Shaheed stumbled, blood washing his clothes. He should have fallen after the first shot. He should have fallen right then and there.
Instead, he steadied himself, and took one step forward.
He gripped the podium.
Red running down his arms, and soaking his clothes. Red running down onto the stage.
"We…will…not…equivocate," he gasped, face steel will. "We…" his breath cut short, he almost fell. He didn't, he raised his head high. "We will fight …. oppression. We will divide their banner. We will scatter their horde. We will defy their will…we…will…fight."
A gasp, a breath coughing blood. "Fight until triumph…"
"Fight…" he whispered. "For this…this…day…"
Clovis let the weapon drop onto the floor, and marched forward onto the stage. Each ponderous step sounding loud until he stood behind the dying man clinging to the podium, eyes of red looking down in contempt. Eyes which the man looked up, meeting directly.
"This…is our…day…of defiance…" he said again, sliding down against the podium.
"No," Clovis lashed a hand down onto his neck, fingers clamping around it with precision. "This is the last gasp of resistance." He looked to the cameras. "Those who have come to divide and accuse shall fade and wither. They will be forgotten. We are Humanity, and today, we have triumphed."
The crowd looked up at him.
In their eyes, he saw shock, horror, disgust, fear, and even pleading.
War was a conduction of theatrics.
And these people misunderstood what it would require for the final unification of Humanity, then perhaps it was time they were reminded. They had been born into a generation that had succeeded, who had not taken part in the conquest of the world. The vicious, brutal, and ugly reality of necessity.
It was time they were reminded.
Power did not come without ruthlessness. Conquest did not come without death. Victory did not come without blood.
He saw the eyes of his allies and friends, ones which were seeming pleading that he not do it. Not here. Not with the world watching. Even the military officials clearly wanted him to simply drag the terrorist away, put him on trial. How little they understood what was taking place here. How blind they were to not see what was happening.
The vile alien had come to send a message today. It had sent a puppet, and a pawn, to come and sacrifice itself. To capture the mind, heart, and soul of Humanity.
The first opening shot.
One he would return in kind.
The Sandman looked at Clovis with a bloodsoaked smile. "Do you see me now, tyrant?"
"Around me, I only see fear," Clovis responded, as his grip tightened. "And a dead man."
He squeezed and twisted sharply, breaking the neck of the Sandman, and letting the corpse fall to the ground with a thud that sounded throughout the silenced room.
Gasps ran through the crowd. Hitched breaths. Women covered their eyes, men flinched, military officers stared in blank shock. All of them, all of them, staring at the blood on his hands, and the blood staining his chassis. His irises turned back to an electric blue as he faced the crowd.
A crowd that stared upwards, as if they were seeing him for the first time.
It was disappointing in a way.
How so detached they were from death that one act was enough to shock them. To them, death was an abstract thing, a ugly reality they did not need to concern themselves with. But no one in this room was innocent of it. Each of them with their laws, wealth, legislature, and authority had contributed death to the world for a greater mission.
Yes, this was a needed reminder.
Clovis was not ignorant of how this would look to the world. It was far from the solution he wanted to take. It was direct, unsubtle, and not tuned to the softer hearts of Humanity. Yet he was one who would not cower in paralysis at being placed in a position of action. When challenged by an enemy, he would not hesitate or flee.
He was a man of decisiveness, of action.
If the Traveler believed that a single man would be enough to make him question his path, today she had learned a hard, bitter truth.
Because in all stories, in all movies and plays, the lights needed to dim, the curtains needed to fall, and the projectors needed to be turned off, and the covers closed on books. All illusions, propaganda, and narratives needed to come to an end eventually. Let the world now see what was coming next.
The final unification of Humanity.
The emancipation of Man from the alien.
He shifted to stand directly in front of the podium, expecting to bump into the corpse of the Sandman. He felt nothing. He glanced down.
The body was gone, all but for the blood. It was a message, all but hand-written for him.
Two could play the game of theatrics.
I know what you are. These are my words, do you hear them?
He did. He heard loud and clear.
I hear you now, Traveler, a livid disdain rose up in him. So hear me.
For unlike that thing, he needed no puppets to speak his words.
"To the people of the Triumvirate," Clovis Bray, General Secretary of the Soviet Union said. "Hold strong and true to that which has brought you victory and prosperity time and time again. Do not be swayed by the lies and poison of the enemy which seeks to bring our species under the powers and will of others."
"Look to your people. Look to your nation. Look to your family. Look to what has been achieved. Look to the future - and ready yourselves." Clovis rested a hand on the podium. "Today the first enemy has found its way into our gates. Today the first enemy has perished. Prepare your minds, hearts, and wills for what must come next. For Humanity now stands at a crossroads."
He lifted one finger. "A crossroads where we will forge a path made by our own species - or one where we are slaved to the whims of another. We are the Triumvirate. We are Humanity. We march for our species and people. We fight to preserve our world and way of life – not destroy and start anew. Ready yourselves, for now, we shall finish what was started long ago."
That look in their eyes.
That disbelief on some faces.
The dawning realization on others.
The realization that the end was coming.
The crescendo to this song that had been building for so long.
Some would fear they were not ready. That he was not ready.
It didn't matter, the path was set, the board ready. The Queen moves, and now the King must respond.
And so, came the final message.
The final declaration.
The final promise.
"Tomorrow, the unification of man will begin."
TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER XXI | REVOLT
A/N: Happy Witch Queen day, everyone. It's been a long time coming.
I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, and found it a nice read while the servers may or may not be overloaded. This was probably one of the chapters I'm the most happy with, and finally kicks off the grand finale coming up. There has been a demonstration of the Guardian's power here, and now it will finally be on full display.
Don't worry though - it won't be too easy for them. I can promise that much. Thank you to everyone who reads and comments, it's very appreciated, and I hope you continue to enjoy reading this as much as I do writing it.
