Chapter 13 - Interphase
KABEI - BASE CAMP
It had been little more than a week since Kabei had found himself washing up on the shores of Base Camp. In that time, he had done the only thing he knew how to do - build. Over half of the buildings on the island could claim either his direct oversight in their construction, or his advice. Wherever he could not turn his attention, a growing group of loyal laborers could.
It was around midday on a day like any other that Kabei emerged from his single-room dwelling, glancing over tablets of supply details, population figures, and terrain data, that he saw a group of a dozen or more laborers lurking outside his home. Furrowing his brow, he cleared his throat and spoke.
"May I help you all?"
They looked back at him with a blank expression on their faces. It was then that he heard a voice - a familiar one at that.
"They're looking for work," said Ashazi, appearing behind him. Kabei stumbled in surprise, before looking back at the assembled group.
"Work?"
"Yeah. They don't have a job. You're the one telling everyone what to do."
Kabei glanced back and forth between Ashazi and the group with confusion.
"Well I don't know what they - I mean I'm not - I was just giving - uh…"
The realization began to dawn on Kabei that he was the only person on the island who seemed to have some sort of idea of what to do. He had been, from a very early point, giving orders and directing people. It was not something that he would have ever thought would have come naturally, and yet he had done it without thinking. As if by accident, he had found himself taking the position of his former boss.
Ultimately, he was able to acquire some meager work for the group - enough to keep them satisfied for the time being, but the concern grew quickly in his mind that he could only send people to do busywork for so long. He needed something for people to do - and a place for them to stay.
The latter of the two realizations came as he found himself stepping over three huddled Gawalai in the middle of a street under a tarp to protect against the rain, which had not stopped since the Brotherhood's arrival on the island. As much as Kabei had enjoyed the challenge of designing an effective drainage system, he was beginning to worry for the flora and fauna of the island. More pressingly, however, he was concerned with not tripping over the Gawalai trio.
"Watch it," they called, angrily.
"You're the ones in the middle of the road," he replied meekly.
"You got somewhere better for us to be?" one shot back.
"Your house, I suppose," Kabei said.
"We don't have a house. It's occupied right now."
Kabei nodded, before realizing what he had just heard.
"Occupied? By who?"
"By a Kumopak and two Matoran. We rotate out - they get the house by day, we get it by night."
"You mean you don't actually get to live in your own house?"
"Of course not - it was either we fight each other for it and the loser lives on the streets, or we rotate."
"There's not enough room for all of you?"
The trio glanced at each other and laughed. Ashamed, Kabei hurried away, his mind dwelling on their comments. He had done his best to accommodate the beings of the island, but it felt like every day a thousand more simply emerged from the earth, lacking shelter.
Nervously, Kabei paced in his home, ruminating on the issues he had discovered. He needed to make work. He needed to make buildings - but there was hardly any room left on the island. If he started using up any of the remaining territory, there wouldn't be room for farmlands, and if the space wasn't used for farms, they would surely starve. Then again, beings were actively suffering for each second he spent not providing them a home - but it wasn't as though he could simply expand the existing houses; he lacked the materials and infrastructure to do so. He needed someone smarter for this, and someone higher up in the chain of command. Normally he would have asked Vimira, but considering Vimira was long dead, he simply did not know who to contact. With a fearful chill running down his spine, he began to recognize that there was only one person who he could even think to ask about the issue.
An hour later, Krika had responded to Kabei's summons - an islander was all too "willing" to send a message to the Makuta via Oroha. Kabei cleared room at the small table in his home, dusting off his single chair, and dragging his cot close enough to use as a seat.
With an awkward and disdainful gait, Krika bent in two such that he could fit through the door. He glanced around the room with narrowed eyes.
"I cannot be summoned like a warlord's pet Muaka," he said coldly. Kabei shivered after hearing the Makuta in person for the first time.
"G-greetings, exalted lord Krika - most masterful of masters," Kabei stammered out, attempting to hide his nervousness when confronted with one of the most powerful beings he had ever seen. "Please, m-make yourself at home," he said, continually brushing nonexistant dust off of the chair. "May I bring you some… refreshments?" Kabei asked, before immediately realizing that the only thing he had to offer was water. Krika stared blankly before seating himself at Kabei's table - which was an awkward sight to behold, considering Krika's stature was easily thrice as tall as Kabei's. The white-armored Makuta hunched over, knees raised to his chest, just to sit at the table.
"Please. Make your point quickly," Krika said, in a soft tone. It both chilled and calmed the Matoran at the same time. Breathing deeply, Kabei swallowed before sitting on the cot across the table from the Makuta.
"Over the past week and a half, I have spearheaded construction efforts both here at Base Camp, and at Target Main on the opposite side of the island. Over that time, I have come to realize that…this island is not big enough for the Brotherhood's civilian and slave population. It is only a matter of time before overcrowding becomes a dangerous issue."
Krika turned his chin up slightly, and made a soft noise as if to say "hm," which Kabei took as a sign to continue.
"I-I've done what I can to feed and house the people on the island, but there are hundreds of thousands, and - and the ships keep offloading more people every day. I don't have the adequate organization to build proper buildings, I mean, we don't have forges - well, we have a forge, but it's not a proper forge and it's mostly working on ship-"
"I see," interrupted Krika, which silenced Kabei immediately.
Stupid, stupid Matoran! Don't ramble on about nothing while talking to a Makuta. And the drinks - why would you offer him drinks if you don't have any, he's not here on a courtesy visit!
"Y-yes, so, you can see my predicament. I was hoping…"
Hoping you could find someone else to do this job instead of me…
"Your call has come at a coincidentally useful time to me, Matoran. Your concerns have all been noted by myself and the other Makuta, and we are looking into a solution. There is an island a little over one mio to the west. It is large enough for our cause. We will be building a city there."
Kabei nodded enthusiastically throughout Krika's entire speech. Yes, yes! A city… A city!?
"My lord, that is a…tall order! A city is not an easy thing to construct on a moment's notice - repairing a damaged one is… I digress. If I may ask, will you be overseeing the construction personally?"
Krika shook his head.
"Not as such. This universe has posed a number of critical issues that others have not thus far. I will be providing a guiding hand, but my duties will keep me from personally commanding the endeavor."
Kabei gulped nervously.
"Then, if I may, my lord, you will need someone both experienced and skilled in infrastructure and logistics, who is capable of managing that sort of…job."
"I have such a being."
Kabei stared at Krika blankly, waiting for him to continue. The two shared eye contact for a moment as Kabei attempted to decipher the unreadable expression on the Makuta's face. Does he mean…?
Kabei bolted upright.
"No, no no no no no no! Sir, I - please, I couldn't - well, it's not - I -" he stammered, amidst fits of nervous laughter. In spite of his mumbling, Krika continued.
"You have done surprisingly well with Base Camp and Target Main. So well that I have not had to personally visit until now. I do not know a more fitting being to spearhead this project."
"I… I don't know what to say," replied Kabei, nervously fidgeting. He could not believe it. He had never imagined in a million years that he would be responsible for building anything more than a small town - and even then, under the watchful eye of someone more important than him. He was never meant to be someone who mattered.
"You should say yes," Krika said. "How old are you, Matoran?"
"Five-hundred and twelve, sir."
"Ah. I myself am over eighty thousand years old. In that time, I learned many lessons - one of them being thus…"
Standing upright, Krika made his way to the door, before glancing over his shoulder at Kabei.
"When greatness knocks upon your door, answer. The non-military ships at the harbor know your name, and will take orders from you as you see fit. You are now the acting Turaga of your city. Good luck."
And with that, Krika was gone, exiting the street, and teleporting off to some far and unknown location. Kabei sat back down on his cot, flabbergasted.
"Thank you, sir…" he mumbled out, softly.
Kabei lay silently on a cot in his hut at Base Camp. Overhead, the incessant rain battered at the thatch roof. Although it was the dark of night, and very few beings remained awake, his mind was not at rest. His eyes bored into the ceiling above him as he watched a rivulet of water trickle through the roof, and, over the course of an hour, form a small droplet, which landed beside his bed. The entire time, he could hear his Skakdi neighbors laughing uproariously at their own jokes, and sharing drinks. In another building, someone was being scolded severely for some sort of failure to accomplish their job. The sound of birds and insects rang out ceaselessly. Sighing, Kabei rolled out of his cot, rubbing his eyes and standing upright. Opening the door, he stepped out into the rain.
He had spent the remainder of his day indoors, busily drafting designs for a city. In the corner of his room, stacked in a pile nearly reaching the ceiling, were rejects upon rejects, each one wildly different than the last. He had no idea where to begin.
Northern Continent revival? Metru Nui classic structuralism? Neo-Xian? Rational expressionist? Districtized or unified? Industrial or Glamour?
The resulting effort had left his brain spinning, and made him feel more tired than he had ever felt before - yet the second he crashed onto his cot, he found himself unable to sleep. As a result, he got back up and wandered through the streets, searching for someone to talk to.
It was not an easy task. Even before the Great Journey, when he actually knew where to find his friends, they were few in number. After the Great Journey, where half had died, been injured, were still on the ships, or were simply missing, it was an impossible endeavor. A sinking feeling took hold of Kabei as he began to realize that despite being surrounded by a million beings, he was utterly alone.
A few minutes later, he knocked upon Ashazi's door. The decision had not come easily, but he needed to talk with someone - anyone - and she was one of the only beings he knew well enough to talk to at all.
At first, he received no response, which worried him greatly, though after a second round of knocks, he could hear the sound of someone stirring within. Footsteps approached the door.
"Go away, it's the middle of the -" came a voice, as Ashazi cracked the door open and peered out. Kabei smiled at her as best as he could, while still looking incredibly awkward at the same time.
"Hey…it's raining out here. Can I come in?" he asked meekly. Ashazi sighed, swinging the door open and gesturing for him to enter. Ducking under her arm, he scurried inside, as she shut the door behind him.
"Towel?" she offered, handing a faded pink cloth over to the Matoran. Kabei looked at it, confused, before gingerly taking it.
"Where'd you get it?"
"Traded for it. They dug it out of the rubble at Target Main."
Kabei nodded along, as he scrubbed the water off of his armor. He could still feel it chilling his heartlight.
"I was asleep, you know. You couldn't have waited until morning?" she pried.
Kabei sighed, before leaning against a wall. He looked at his feet, and became very aware of how he was standing. He tried - and failed - to look comfortable, repositioning himself a half-dozen times. Eventually, though, he spoke.
"Do you think I'm good at what I do?" he asked, quietly.
"Come again?"
"Building. Do you think I'm any good at it?"
Ashazi looked confused. She pulled up a stool and sat at it, putting herself at eye level with the Matoran.
"Why do you ask?"
"I spoke with Makuta Krika today. He wants me to build a city for you all."
"Well that's good, isn't it? A city is what we need. Somewhere that's not just a place to survive. You know how long it's been since I went to see an arena game? Or went to a bar?"
"Yeah, I know, it's just… I don't know if I can do it."
"What makes you say that?"
Kabei sighed, before sliding down the wall and sitting on the floor.
"My boss - Vimira - he wasn't…particularly friendly. But he was really good at his job. I never had to question a single decision he made. I double-checked his math; he never made a single mistake. He was smart, he was precise, he was…he was-"
"A builder, like you?" Ashazi interrupted.
"Yeah, a builder. My point is, I'm nothing like him. I… I'd like to think I'm good at what I do -"
"You are. There's a few thousand beings with roofs over their heads who owe you thanks. You're keeping people alive and safe."
Kabei briefly smiled at the thought before his mood sank once more.
"Well, regardless, I'm not Vimira. I'm…not the same person. And now I have to be."
Ashazi took a deep breath as silence filled the air. Kabei's eyes bored holes in the ground while Ashazi continued to stare at him.
"Do you?" she asked, finally. Kabei looked up in confusion.
"What?"
"Do you have to be him?"
"I don't understand."
"Krika chose you, right?"
"Yeah, he told me that I should take the opportunity to do something great -"
"Well there you go, brakas-brain. Look at you, freaking out about your math and stuff - Krika's a Makuta. He's one of the most powerful beings in the universe, and he said that he wanted you to build a city. Now I don't know how many builders there are on the island, but I know it's not just you. There are other people he could have commissioned."
Kneeling down, Ashazi placed a hand on Kabei's shoulder.
"He picked you because you can do it. You don't need to be Vimira. You can be yourself and be a great builder at the same time. You can do this. I believe in you."
Kabei smiled as his eyelights flickered.
"Do you really mean that?"
Ashazi nodded warmly.
"Yeah, I do. Brakas-brain."
Kabei rubbed his shoulders before standing, along with the Bo-Toa.
"Thank you, Ashazi. You're a good friend."
Reaching out to him, she extended a single fist. He lightly rapped his knuckles against hers.
"Any time. Now…you should get out of here. It's late. You look tired. I am tired. Go on."
Shooing him out the door, Kabei could feel the rain splash against his armor, but he did not care. A warmth filled him that no weather could quell. Ashazi was right - he could do it. He just needed to figure things out one step at a time.
ICARAX - ABOARD THE U.S.S. JACKSON
Icarax was dealing with a great number of issues all at once. The discovery that this universe was not one of Oropi, like any of his previous conquests, had rocked him to his core. But beyond this realization, there came an array of managerial issues. A million starving and overcrowded beings were forced onto a small and slowly-flooding island, half of the fleet still needed urgent repairs, there was the issue of overfishing and starvation, the value of the widget had dropped dramatically, and he had no idea what sort of enemies he would face in this reality.
Despite the overwhelming amount of problems he was grappling with, Icarax felt confident that he was about to solve one of them. It unnerved him to leave the Indomitable and the safety of his empire's growing homeland, but it was an unfortunate necessity. Antroz's former fleet was still a great distance away, and would be sailing on a return voyage for about a week still. Thus, the need to teleport to them presented itself. Accompanied by the rest of the Makuta, Icarax arrived aboard the Change of Heart, demanding access to the two human vessels being towed by the fleet.
Being immediately pointed in the right direction, the seven Makuta made their way to the badly-damaged ships, landing upon one's hull with disdain. Icarax already felt a distaste for the ship - it was a puny thing, poorly-armed and armored, and he could tell it was inferior to any ship in his fleet just by sight.
Pointing to the nearest Aquamarine guard, Icarax called out, "Have your Turcopelier meet us at the bridge." Bypassing the Aquamarine guards, who snapped to attention before scurrying off to follow their orders, Icarax made his way towards the bridge. Luckily, the design of the ship was analogous enough to those he was familiar with that he could identify the bridge's location with relative ease. This luck would turn, however, as he arrived at his destination, discovering that it was made for beings much smaller than him.
"The denizens of this universe appear to be roughly Matoran-sized," explained Antroz, as the group stared into the abandoned command deck of the ship.
"I can see that," said Icarax, before using his shapeshifting powers. Immediately shrinking down, he stooped through the doorway and entered the bridge, followed by the rest of the shrunken Makuta in short order. It was small, and cramped, and distinctly different from the command decks of the Brotherhood ships he was used to. They typically featured large, sprawling decks, where a commander could hold the attention of the entire room from its center, while this one felt much more clustered and compact. Icarax did not appreciate the sensation of having to stand so close to his underlings. After a moment, an Ursare rushed onto the bridge, flanked by two Gawalai guards. The trio snapped a salute.
"My lords, this is an unexpected pleasure, you honor us with your presence," said the Ursare as quickly as possible.
"You may dispense with the pleasantries. I'm here for a report on the beings who piloted these vessels."
"Indeed, my lord. Our ability to extract intel from them has been limited, as they've been reticent to interview, and appear to have shredded most of the valuable documentation before we could capture the ship. We've put in a requisition form for a Kiril. However, we have been interrogating the surviving crew - they call themselves "humans", and are apparently from the island known as America."
"Did the captain of this vessel survive your attack?"
"He did, my lord. He has been confined to his cabin, along with the rest of the crew."
"What about their communications officer?"
"He did as well, sir, but it appears the humans use a very different type of communication than us. It seems technological in nature, rather than reliant on psionics."
Icarax cocked a brow, and scratched his chin. That information could be useful.
"Bring me the Rau, as well as the communicator. I would very much like to meet with him."
"Yes, my lord, right away."
Icarax and the Makuta stood in a circle aboard the bridge of the enemy ship. To the side, the ship's communications officer, covered in bruises and dried blood, was held in place by the Gawalai guards. He had not yet been questioned by Icarax, though the red-armored Makuta already knew he would hand the flesh-being over to Vamprah. Glancing towards the human, Icarax again felt a shiver run through his body; he held nothing but disgust towards these sentient creatures of pure organics.
"My siblings, the capture of this ship represents an opportunity. We will use it to send a message directly to the commander of the enemy primitives."
The assembled Makuta nodded in agreement as Icarax turned to the human officer. Securing the Rau, Icarax spoke, allowing his language to switch to English.
"Human. I wish to speak to whichever being commands your armies. If you do not comply immediately, I will have one of the members of your crew slain. If I am made to ask again, I shall kill another, and another, until you have satisfied my request. Am I understood?"
The officer, terrified, looked up at Icarax and nodded before gesturing towards a small room off to the side of the bridge. Icarax let the human get up and rush towards the room, following him slowly. The small room featured a large console that covered one wall entirely, and wrapped around two of the others. Twisting dials and knobs, and pushing buttons, the human picked up a strange elongated tube on a wire, and spoke into it.
"This is the U.S.S. Jackson, with an emergency call for Fleet Admiral Harper, I repeat, this is the U.S.S. Jackson, with an emergency call for the Fleet Admiral Harper, I authenticate Tango Zulu, over."
After a second, a burst of white noise came from the black box, then a voice.
"We read you, Jackson. Connecting you now, over."
A moment later.
"This is Fleet Admiral Harper. Proceed, Jackson."
"The enemy wants to speak to the President."
"The - the enemy? You have them on the line?"
"Yes, sir."
"Alright. I'll send it up the chain."
The human glanced over at an impressed Icarax, and handed him the device.
"It might be some time. I'm sorry."
Icarax wordlessly took the tube, and inspected it in his hands. It seemed small and frail. Finding the button, he traced it with his finger.
"I am in no hurry," he said coolly.
BART CROSS - THE PENTAGON, WASHINGTON D.C.
Bart Cross, Secretary of Defense, rushed down the steps of the Pentagon command center towards a massive array of screens and consoles. Several officers stood around a main screen, which projected a satellite image of the Pacific Ocean. Centrally visible were a fleet of twenty-seven massive ships of a make he couldn't identify. Behind two of the ships trailed a duo of American ships, which he could tell were badly-wounded.
"We've linked the call to the nearest AWAC, sir, receiving loud and clear," said one of the men at the desk, who Cross nodded at. Straightening his tie and brushing his hair back, Cross sat at the center desk behind a computer, and looked straight into the camera. On the screen, he could see the Oval Office, and the President's staff briefing her on everything they could. Another video feed showed the Secretary of State, Eric Hoffman, watching the proceedings. He looked up at the satellite image, then at video feed to President Weathers. Coughing briefly to gain her attention, he spoke.
"Ma'am, we're ready to begin now," he said. There was a bustle as President Weathers sat at her desk, looking straight into her camera as well. She was a tall, smartly-dressed woman, with long, grey-white frizzled hair. Her glasses hung at the tip of her nose, which she pushed up elegantly.
"Proceed, Mr. Cross," she said calmly. Bart cleared his throat, as technicians opened the communications line.
"Hello. This is US Secretary of Defense Bart Cross. I'm joined by President Christine Weathers. Who am I addressing?" asked Austin, calmly.
There was a moment of silence, before a voice replied in a dark and menacing tone. It sounded as ancient as it did oppressive, and had a distinctly metallic rumble to it, like it was being spoken by a machine.
"Do you have the authority to negotiate, Cross," replied the voice. Austin felt a shiver run up his spine.
"Yes, I do. As I mentioned, I'm the Secretary of -"
"Good. You, spine slug that you are, have the honor of addressing Makuta Icarax, High Marshall of the Brotherhood of Makuta, Lord of Shadow, and Seneschal of Teridax. I give you this singular opportunity to lay down your weapons and surrender your land, your citizenry, and your resources to me. If my terms are not met, I shall release fire and death upon you and your people. Am I understood?"
Austin stood in shock, wondering if this was not some sort of tasteless joke. Professionalism soon took hold of him, however.
"The United States of America -" he began, before Christine Weathers held up a finger, cutting him off.
"I'll handle this," she said. "Icarax. I am both unfamiliar with your organization, and disinclined to surrender the United States of America to any foreign powers."
"Who is this?" Icarax replied, angrily.
"President Christine Weathers of the United States. As I understand it, you hold two of our ships captive. Have their crew been fairly treated?"
"The pathetic crew of your ships are currently in my possession, and I may do with them as I please. Perhaps I will use their tortured screams to impress upon you the seriousness of my claims."
"Icarax, you have already fired upon a unified French and American fleet, constituting an act of war. Under the articles of the Geneva convention, the inhumane treatment of -"
"I am not familiar with your convention, and disinclined to follow it," Icarax echoed Christine's earlier words. "Failure to comply with my terms will be met with open war. If you are a competent military commander, then you will have recognized the devastation that my fleet is prepared to inflict upon you. I give you one week to consider my proposal carefully."
"Very well. I would like to discuss this further with my staff," Weathers said, as Cross nodded affirmatively. He had been hoping she would say that. The silence on the other end of the call seemed to indicate consent.
Silencing the line to Icarax, Cross and Weathers finally spoke to each other again.
"Cross, what do you make of his terms," she said flatly.
"I find his claims…outlandish, ma'am," he replied in a frank tone. "Satellite imagery of his fleet indicates that he has somewhere in the neighborhood of two hundred ships - enough to go toe-to-toe with most conventional fleets. Additionally, his ships are of a make not known by any government we are in contact with. We should be open to the possibility, however unusual, that this Brotherhood of Makuta, as I believe he called it, is an extraterrestrial threat."
"I see," Weathers said. Cross could not tell whether or not she took the idea seriously, but he continued.
"With that said, I find it odd that they chose to land in such a peculiar location, and, if they are extraterrestrial, why we have not noted any approach via space. It is possible that their arrival was done using some sort of stealth technology, or it is possible that the full might of his organization is contained to the south Pacific. We simply lack the ability to verify at this moment."
"Do you think he poses a threat to us?"
"I think it's possible. I would bring this issue to the United Nations first -"
"It's on the books. Do you think he poses a threat to humanity as a whole?"
"I don't know, ma'am. We don't know what he's capable of presently."
Hoffman spoke, finally, in a quiet and wizened tone.
"Madame President, I recommend counterproposal. It may be possible to negotiate with this group - and in doing so, save a great deal of lives."
President Weathers stroked her chin briefly, and murmured.
"Save them for what…"
Straightening her back, she looked into the camera, and spoke loudly and clearly.
"Open the line to him, I have a response."
Cross began to sweat as he nervously wondered what exactly her response would be. President Weathers was not known for her cool head. The line opened once more.
"Hear me, Icarax. There will be no surrender. You have fired upon American and French ships. You have provoked war with the people of Earth. You have threatened my people with slavery and death. Humanity will fight and die before they are subjugated by the likes of you. My country was founded on the ideals of freedom and justice, and we have thrown off the yoke of a tyrant before. We shall do so again if needed. I advise you and your fleet to return wherever it is you came from, as you will find no easy victory here."
After a moment of silence, Icarax's voice came through the line.
"So be it."
The line went dead. Cross breathed deeply. As a negotiation…it could have gone better.