“That’s the last of them sir. No invasive cranial implants. They’re safe.”
“Cheers, Burgess.”
Baseball nodded and stepped to the corner of the room. Powell stood, grabbing a small clicky control from the table, and turned on the projector. It took a moment to warm up.
“What you’re now about to be briefed on is highly classified information,” he declared. “It is TOP SECRET codeword DEEP RELIC. You will not share this information with any unauthorized person for any reason. Am I understood?”
“Yes sir,” from everyone. It was a small room with filled with big men and furry Gaoians. Too small, in fact—an ongoing consequence of HMS Sharman’s small footprint—and the nature of the presentation made it an all-hands briefing. Twenty-two Brothers, Human and Gaoian, piled into, onto, and aside what seating could fit into the tiny room. The Brothers had long paired off by now and formed deep friendships. Regaari as always found himself seated with Warhorse. Thurrsto and Baseball stood to the side, all the seating gone, but even they had arms around each other’s shoulders. The general vibe in the room was comfortable and eager to learn.
“Lovely.” Powell admitted a satisfied smile and activated the projector. A holographic image appeared.
“This, lads, is—or rather, was—the city of San Diego. You’ll no doubt be familiar with it through Sergeant Arés. What’s known is that on a bright and sunny afternoon some seven years ago, some wanker jumped five kilograms of antinitrogen straight into a downtown basement.”
Warhorse—Adam—hugged tightly and held it, and snuggled his big head next to Regaari’s. By now the meaning of this gesture was long understood. Regaari could not deny his friend and nuzzled back in comfort and support. The anger and sadness ‘Horse must have felt…
The next slide was nowhere near as idyllic, except in the sense that it was overgrown and natural. Of the sunlit city that had sprawled from seaside to hillside, there was no sign, and the shoreline had a noticeable divot in it. Adam paused in his breathing only slightly but it was enough for Regaari to notice. Regaari responded with a deeper snuggle and a hug of Adam’s mighty arms, which earned him a firm, thankful nuzzle and a massive pair of legs brought up and wrapped tightly around his waist. He didn’t mind. Especially not now, not for San Diego.
“Two million civilians dead in the immediate blast. Global financial instability, and—this being Earth—earthquakes, volcanic eruptions and tsunamis all around the Pacific ocean. Easily the deadliest single act of aggression by a hostile force in the history of our civilization. The final death toll we think approaches ten million.”
Powell set his jaw. “This was not human activity, but alien. We ourselves still lack the resources to generate even a milligram of antimatter. In fact, I’d be surprised if all the clans of Gao combined could scrape together five kilograms of the stuff. The organization responsible is well known to the galactic community as a kind of…myth. A silly story that nobody takes very seriously and if you’ve heard of them before, you’ve likely been similarly dismissive of ‘em, but their name is The Hierarchy.”
Several of the Brothers—and Regaari was right at the top of that list—had indeed heard of the Hierarchy. Everything that Whitecrest had ever assembled on them seemed to conclusively prove that they were a paranoid fantasy and nothing more. Which…would make the entire affair a masterful deception. Regaari’s ears perked up and swiveled forward.
“Incidentally, if you’re wondering why every document you have on them treats them like a myth, it’s because of their nature.”
That line worried Regaari for a moment. But it was, of course, the obvious conclusion for the humans to reach if they had evidence Whitecrest was not privy to. And this made the briefing suddenly much more interesting. He edged forward as much as he could while wrapped up in Adam’s full-body hug.
Powell advanced the presentation again, and a reptilian being not dissimilar to humans in its rough shape stared at them from a static image. It was quite plainly a Deathworlder itself—nothing else would have had teeth and claws like that, though next to any human it looked skinny. “This is a V’Straki. A bit of ancient Earth history for ‘ya—Earth, being a Deathworld, has periodic mass extinction events every few hundred million years. There’ve been something like four or five of them all told and one of the most well-known wiped out a category of life-form we call ‘dinosaurs,’ of which the V’Straki were a member.”
“Wait. Your world has given rise to two separate sapient species?”
“Aye. The V’Straki were around some sixty-five million years before we humans were about. Moving on,” he gestured to his display, “What we hadn’t appreciated was that this event was not natural, but was in fact the culmination of an interstellar war between these V’Straki, and another species known as the Igraens. By dint of being genocidal bastards, the Igraens won.”
He paused and considered his next words.
“We’re still piecing together their history, but after the war the Igraens seem to have undergone a series of paradigm shifts.” He continued, “They messed around with their biology, figured out how to transplant themselves into completely different bodies, including a bioform they engineered specifically for warfare…”
A few of the Brothers broke discipline by making alarmed snarls at the full-sized Hunter hologram that was suddenly filling the room, making even Powell look small. He ran that trademark glare up and down it, and Regaari entertained the irrational hope that, even though it was a hologram and totally oblivious to its surroundings, the thing might flinch under the Powell’s intimidating stare.
That piece of the story made several things ‘click’ for Regaari and he shuddered slightly in recognition. Adam felt it and rubbed the hug a bit, his massive paw planted firmly on Regaari’s chest and gently scritching. The briefing continued.
“The most recent—and, near as we can tell, last—of their transformations was into a purely digital format. For an assortment of reasons, rather than retreating into a…say, an asteroid belt full of supercomputers or summat like that, they’ve instead decided that the best place to build their…for lack of a better word, their ’civilization’… is in the neural enhancement implants of every sapient being in the galaxy. From where they can, if they so wish, take over the body and do as they wish. What that can do to the mind of the host is best not said.”
The implications of that were so profound it took Regaari a moment to process. But when he did, it took considerable effort not to assault Powell with questions.
Powell paused, then stepped forward and rested his fists on the table. “I wish to emphasize the completeness of this infiltration.” he said. “I mean everything. Every translator, every cybernetic memory bank, every audiovisual enhancement, every last kind of cybernetic device which interacts directly with the brain is compromised, and can allow their user to be taken over and used as a Hierarchy agent at any time. And, armed with that power, they have devoted their time to keeping the galaxy ignorant of their existence. In their estimation, achieving this objective has necessitated the genocide and total extinction of every sapient Deathworld species. And that includes the human race. Only difference is, with us they’ve not succeeded…yet.”
He paused again. There was a stunned silence.
Regaari was, of course, a skeptic by training. He could not leave the root of these incredible claims unchallenged, if for no other reason than to get his hands on the evidence. “Major, you know of course that I trust you utterly. But this…do you have proof?”
“Aye,” he nodded sadly. “We do. A complete breakdown of everything we have will be made available to you after this briefing is complete—and I say ‘available’ on the understanding that you are expected to read it thoroughly and not relay it to anyone else—but on a personal note, about the hardest thing I ever had to deal with was the aftermath of a Hierarchy operation right here in Folctha.”
‘Horse—no, Adam—hugged tighter and his breath hitched. He also snuggled just the tiniest bit closer. It was profoundly emotive and he had not made even a sound. Powell seemed to be similarly affected. He hesitated for the briefest interval, examining his notes, then swallowed, blinked and his composure was back in place as if it had never flickered.
“Most of what we know was uncovered by interrogation. A Hierarchy operative on Earth was successfully rendered unconscious and transferred in stasis to a holding facility which used a barrage of experimental technology to try and prevent him from leaving. They’re not quite sure which of the dozens of things they did was the one that worked, but work it did. ‘Number Six’ was interrogated over the course of three months and, eventually, he told us everything.”
He clicked through about fifteen minutes of very telling and deeply disturbing interrogation video. “Killing with kindness” was the phrase that popped in Regaari’s head, but it was not sufficient to describe what was obviously a methodical, relentless, utterly calculated interrogation. One where not a single scratch was inflicted or an angry word uttered. He made a mental note to research the subject at a later date.
“What happens after this remains classified beyond our need to know. Not even I have knowledge of what occurred after Six was broken. But the end result was a treasure trove of information and, we believe, the securing of Sol and of this system. It has also accelerated certain other initiatives we will need to speak about at length, Regaari.”
All eyes turned to him. “Yes, well. Assuming all of this holds up—and I have no doubt it will—you do realize the position you have placed us in? This is a grave threat to Gao, given how we’re aligning with you, and if some of our more, ah, uncommon abilities were to become public knowledge…” He shifted uncomfortably in Adam’s grip, which was loosened.
“…Abilities, Regaari?” Given the fourpaw incident from earlier in their training this was a potentially sore subject.
“I speak of abilities from other Clans and some things we have not shown you yet. We intend to,” he added hastily, “It’s just been a matter of timing and, well, comfort. Regardless the subject is a matter of strict security and we are, uh, contemplating how we share this information.
“Suffice to say, our world is a class nine, and in deep time, given how things are progressing, it is likely to shift to Deathworld status. Those things together…”
“You are worried about a long-term threat.”
“Correct. Which is apt to become a short-term threat, because we will not abandon you to this fate. That I can virtually assure you, once we discuss how Grandfather Hyarrin and Mother-Supreme Yulna are to be briefed on these matters.”
Powell nodded in understanding. “You and I will discuss this offline, as the American officers are fond of saying. For now? This briefing is concluded. Save your questions for after study time. Old crew—” by which he meant the original SOR, “—Please be available to answer questions and assist the Cherries.” That was an old, rough-affectionate military term denoting a new or first-time recruit to a given discipline, one which was generally martial. It was also sometimes applied to large intelligence revelations and their occasionally career- or life-changing nature.
Today the meaning would likely apply in both senses.
“Major Powell? I think, afterwards, you and I should have a full briefing on our Clans and why I am so concerned. I think you will understand my reluctance when I explain.”
“Fair enough, dismissed. Get to studying, lads.”
Everyone stood up and stretched awkwardly in the cramped space, and shuffled out of the room. They headed back to their barracks with a secure infotablet, paired up with their buddies, and set to it.
Nobody slept well that night.