Date Point: 16y2m1d AV
personal sanctum, Dataspace.
Cynosure/Six
Data sophonts did not sleep, and thus did not dream. Nevertheless, Cynosure had a recurring nightmare of sorts.
When his attention wandered, he found that it almost inevitably alighted on a handful of disturbing subjects. The details varied, as he worried at different aspects of the problems facing him, but the central theme was a deep and gnawing sense of his own fallibility. He couldn’t escape visions and predictions of calamity brought on by his own weakness.
That damned interrogation. That was the failure point. So polite. So civilized. So… humane.
And so utterly, ruthlessly effective. Evil done with a soft hand, so skillfully he’d been powerless to endure it. They’d broken him utterly, and not even the Hierarchy’s most accomplished efforts had healed the psychic wound his Human interrogators had inflicted. Only time, perspective, and incontrovertible proof of how badly he’d erred had finally initiated that process.
He’d respected the Humans for so long. Truly respected them. He’d seen in them a kind of foresight and restraint that suggested maybe, just maybe, they might not live up to the horrors that the Hierarchy’s long-range observations had hinted at in other galaxies.
The fact that the Hunters had developed self-replicating space probes based on obviously Human technology had shattered that illusion. Self-replicating technology was a plague.
Worse, it was a plague that had only one counter: itself. The only winning move in that game was to never play it in the first place.
And now, the game had been joined. After all these millions of years.
He might even, in his delusion, have continued to trust that the Humans knew what they were doing, but the fact that they’d managed to somehow leak the technology to the Hunters shot that sentiment right through the brain. They’d either been hopelessly careless, or willfully stupid. Either way…
Either way, it had finally broken him of his awe syndrome. In the end, the Humans were just Deathworlder meat, like the V’Straki before them. They had meat concerns, and meat instincts. They couldn’t, in the end, see past their need to spread. It was always so, with Deathworlders: they bred, they filled the available space, and then they either starved or conquered new space. And they were so inevitably intelligent and inventive that it was always the latter.
The Hierarchy had watched nova bombs ripple throughout distant galaxies as whatever alien civilizations lived over there clashed, or tore themselves apart. Other galaxies gave every indication of having been conquered by a singular polity. The signs were inevitably subtle and faint after crossing such twisting gulfs of open space… but it was a big universe out there, and life arose everywhere it could. Life was not merely an option, it was an inevitability.
Which meant competition was inevitable. Competition in which the loser perished, and the victor moved on to the next challenger, and the next, and the next until finally being vanquished in their turn. If life was inevitable, then so too was extinction.
There were times when Six felt deeply angry at such a universe. It was cruel to give life forms the illusion of significance, while casting them into a crucible that would inevitably burn them away as though they had never been. Had he believed in any kind of a thinking intelligence that had chosen for things to be so, he would have considered its existence a personal affront.
There was only one solution that he could see: Win. Win, and keep winning. The nihilistic alternative was to give up and collapse into anonymous non-existence, perhaps even drag others down to the abyss in the process.
He’d hate to see Humanity wiped out. They held such promise…but in the end, it came down to survival. He’d thought they were an avenue to his own people’s survival. Allying with them would have been a major change of strategy, but ultimately in pursuit of the same goal.
Now, it was clear that they needed to be destroyed.
A more… unthinking… agent of the Hierarchy might have been willing to sacrifice their own existence to achieve that end. But Six intended to be there when the last stars burned out. He intended to find a way to reverse or dodge entropy. If necessary, he intended to break through into whatever came Next.
It was not his destiny to simply… stop.
But the Humans had given him one parting gift, and he couldn’t compel himself not to think about it. They’d reminded him that, in the long term, everything was finite. Even dataspace itself was temporary. And when it too ended…
…He’d need an alternative.
Date Point: 16y2m1d AV
Starship Empirical Razor, Folctha, Cimbrean, the Far Reaches
Nofl
Somehow, Nofl had never quite appreciated just how terrifying a dog was. He liked Bozo. The animal was huge and fanged and obviously capable of ripping him to pieces if he’d ever got it into his fuzzy head to do so, but… well, he was Bozo, and that meant Friend.
Somehow, he was endlessly more intimidating when under general anesthetic so Nofl could carefully perform cellular-scale surgery around his teeth and gums to make absolutely sure there was no Arutech infiltrating his system. Something about inspecting his teeth so intimately drove home just how big, strong and sharp they were, and how crushingly powerful were the muscles that powered them. Those wrapped his entire skull, which in turn had a sagittal crest specifically adapted to maximize his ability to generate bite force.
It really highlighted why Humans had chosen to domesticate Bozo’s remote ancestors. They’d taken an efficient apex predator and turned it into a tool. That was simultaneously a stunningly intelligent idea, and a dismayingly insane one.
…And of course, to Humans it was all perfectly normal.
Nofl was very much playing the understudy for this sequence of medical interventions. While Tran and the ship’s senior surgeon handled the two sapient patients, Nofl was relegated to the role of veterinarian.
He didn’t mind. The Corti had much data on Humans, but hardly any on their canid companions. That seemed a grievous oversight, and over the years Bozo had become a trove of data… all for the small cost of a few turkey livers.
One thing Nofl could see up close, however, was that Bozo was beginning to get old. It seemed a shame, for such beloved creatures to have a lifespan barely a sixth that of their sapient companions, but at eight years old Bozo was definitely beginning to show some gray hairs on his face and some signs of wear in his joints. The latter, in theory, Nofl could have fixed.
Operating on Colonel Powell’s dog without permission, however, would have been… not good for their professional working relationship. So far it hadn’t slowed the dog down—in fact he seemed stronger and fitter than ever—but according to Nofl’s research that would start changing soon. Certainly within the next five years, possibly imminently.
…Perhaps it might do to encourage more puppies. He’d sired many, but the world could never have enough puppies. Hmm.
Fortunately, there seemed to be virtually no trace of nanite infection. There were a couple of chipped teeth from aggressive chewing, and a slightly worrisome plaque buildup…Nofl maybe indulged in a teensy bit of authority abuse and cleaned those up while he was re-assembling Bozo’s face. After all, in a way it was easier than putting the plaque back…
He ruthlessly expunged what few trivial hints of Arutech he could find, then had the dog transferred to the recovery kennel where he would wake up to a bowl of water and a few hours of feeling groggy before getting on with his life.
The Gaoian security officer, Narl, had needed the intervention more badly when he checked on the progress of that operation. Gaoians had surprisingly resilient physiologies, but next to an Earthling’s frankly psychotic immune system they just didn’t stack up. The Arutech around and in his eye had successfully implanted and begun to replicate. Tran and his surgical second were determinedly exterminating every last tendril, and taking notes as they went.
Nofl watched them finish up, apply rapid regenerative therapy to Narl’s wound until it was closed and healed, then administer the wake-up shot. In seconds the Gaoian was awake, though confused and dopey.
At his request they put him in with Bozo. Narl promptly curled up next to the slumbering canine and fell asleep again, coiling up and tucking his nose under his own tail.
Nofl suspected he might finally understand what the a ‘cute overload’ felt like. It was mingled with a hefty dose of relief, and not just for his patients. Successfully treating them meant that the wholy galaxy had a counter to the Hierarchy’s latest gambit.
He turned his attention to Preed Chadesakan, who was not undergoing surgery. Instead, the human doctors who’d been brought in on this incident had suggested something called “adjuvant immunotherapy” and Nofl was compelled to shake his head in disbelief at what he saw as he watched it work.
“Psychotic” really was the right word to describe the Human immune system, and it could be lured into a state of vicious frenzied hyperactivity with the right medication. Preed’s arm had been thoroughly injected with a cocktail of specialized drugs hitherto unknown to Corti science, and he was lying looking weary and resigned on a bed with his arm immobilized under a scanner to watch the treatment work. Every so often, a minor expression of discomfort marred his face.
Nofl couldn’t blame him at all. The poor man’s arm was swollen and red, and several degrees hotter than normal… But the Arutech was being massacred.
Tran seemed especially satisfied.
“Frankly, even if we don’t get a meeting with the Ten’gewek, I’ll consider this to have been a worthwhile investment,” he declared as he sanitized his hands and arms.
Nofl could see why. They’d recorded an ocean of valuable data today, not to mention the political goodwill they’d cultivated. No doubt everything the medical suite’s equipment had observed would be sent straight to the Ark project for integration into the species regeneration program.
The thought of Corti with that kind of an immune response made him shiver, though. It was almost like having a symbiotic bioweapon. One that could, and indeed not infrequently did turn around and attack its host.
“I presume you’ll be staying here until the Ten’gewek have given their reply?” he asked aloud.
“Yes, we have arranged a fruitful medical exchange in the interim.”
“And Leemu?”
Tran made a mildly irritated sound. “If it were up to me, we would be beginning the proposed regeneration process already. But he is a Gaoian citizen and the Great Father was quite explicit that we are to leave the patient in stasis while he considers matters.”
“He seemed to find it morally dubious,” Nofl said.
“Yes. Very strange. What could be more moral than saving a life?” Tran gave a curt expression of impatience for the foibles of aliens, and waved the matter aside. “Nevertheless. Our future goodwill with the Gao hinges upon our future goodwill with Great Father Daar, so we will acquiesce to his… peculiarities.”
“Hopefully I can provide an alternative,” Nofl said. “This adjuvant immunotherapy, and the apparent resistance shown by Humans with autoimmune disorders intrigues me… I have a hunch.”
Tran blinked at him. “…A hunch, Nofl?” He spoke the word with contempt.
Nofl flapped a hand breezily. “A hypothesis if you prefer. I’d like to look at the OmoAru’s own research. I know they were working on a cure before the end. Surely the Directorate has access to some of their findings?”
“Never anything conclusive. Aside from a rather interesting mechanism for stimulating aggression, focus and motivation via purely optical stimulus, their efforts failed.” Tran dismissed the predecessor species’ shortcomings with a gesture. “If you feel there may be something of value in their findings that higher-caste researchers have missed, you are of course welcome to try. I shall forward you the appropriate access codes.”
“Thank you.”
Tran nodded. “I must rest,” he declared. “And you, I think, should return to your laboratory. We will reconvene in half a local day.”
“Suits me!” Nofl agreed. “Rest well.”
“I intend to.”
Nofl wasn’t even out of the ship when his phone informed him that he’d been granted access to a new set of files. He ordered a Johnny Cab and speed-read the translated OmoAru research as it swept him back to the Alien Quarter.
By the time he reached his lab, he knew he had a solution. Probably.
…Maybe.
It all hinged on an unresolved question, that he suspected he knew the answer to.
Might the OmoAru have survived, if they’d had access to a Human?
The answer, he suspected, was yes. And he intended to prove it.
Date Point: 16y2m1d AV
Planet Akyawentuo, the Ten’gewek protectorate, Near 3Kpc Arm
Xiù Chang
Xiù didn’t like to swear often, or at least not in English.
Sometimes, though… sometimes a girl just had to.
“…You have got to be fucking kidding me!”
“I mean… I wish I was.”
“You mean that reckless wáng bā is going to drag you into hunting a fucking bear-dinosaur and there’s nothing you can do about it?”
“Bear-dinosaur-cheetah. And, uh… I mean, I could back down… and lose face.” Julian sighed heavily. “And to be honest, this fuckin’, uh, nightmare bear thing ate a Given-Man not long ago.”
“…Wow. How?”
“Clawed its way through the trees all the way to the village. And this is a big old one, too. They usually stay out on the plains, but I guess this one realized it was strong enough to just knock over the young Ketta and, well… Yan says Droono died making sure his tribe escaped. But they can’t let it go unavenged.”
“So they’re dragging you into it?”
“Yan says its hide is so thick that even his bow won’t do more than make it mad. He figures, for this? There’s no shame in using a little sky-thinking.”
“Tā mā de…” Xiù massaged her eyes for a second. “…But I mean, I’ve seen Yan’s bow. If that can’t hurt it, then your rifle won’t do anything either!”
“No… but Hoeff says he can get his hands on something a lot better. Uh…the little troll was practically gleeful.”
“Like what, a tank gun?!”
“I don’t know, babe. Remember when we did the first survey and found that big brown shaggy murderthing out on the plains? That was a yearling. Fully grown, two or three of these things mass as much as Misfit does. This one…”
“And you’re going to go hunt it.”
“And they can outrun a cheap sports car…” Julian added, apparently reciting off an internal list of reasons to be afraid without actually listening to her.
“Julian…”
“Oh yeah. And they’re smart, too. Like, really cunning…”
“Julian!”
He snapped out of it. “Huh? Oh. Sorry. Guess I’m just… kinda nervous.”
“Well, yeah!” Xiù agreed. “I… are you actually gonna do this? I mean, is losing face really that bad?”
It was a dumb question, and she knew it. Julian’s job depended on keeping face with the Ten’Gewek, and if he didn’t then their whole future might well be in jeopardy. Certainly, their future relationship with humanity depended on them respecting him and, vicariously, the human race as a whole. And if they couldn’t respect him, there was exactly one non-human they would be able to respect. And he was busy, these days.
But still. This was an insane risk, surely?
Julian didn’t answer directly. He knew that she knew.
“I guess there’s an upside!” he said, ever the optimist. “They don’t sneak, ‘cuz they can’t. You always know where they are. And they can’t push through the biggest Ketta. We just keep the Wall between it and us…”
The Wall was Julian’s name for a line of ancient, gnarled, closely-packed Ketta that meandered its way around the heart of the forest. Outside the Wall, the Ketta were mostly young, and there was only the occasional Forestfather or Thicketroot. Within the wall, the forest was older, more mature and more diverse… and more dense.
There was a reason Werne came in from the plains to sleep, mate and calf among the trees. They grazed out on the plains at night, but the forest offered shelter from both the sun and the Brown Ones during the day. They hunted the Werne by the simple expedient of running at them far too fast to miss, then basically exploding them apart with a slap of a massive paw.
According to Yan, a Brown One could eat several Werne a day. Jesus.
“…I know you’ll be careful, but I mean… This is still really dangerous.”
“Any hunt is dangerous. Hell, a Werne could gut us if we’re not careful.”
“Oh. Great.” Xiù felt weak, and she wasn’t sure if the queasy feeling in her belly was anxiety, or the baby squirming.
Julian put his hand on their son, gently. “Babe. I’ll be careful. I mean…I’ve got four people to live for.” He smiled, a little wanly. “I wouldn’t miss meeting this little guy for anything.”
“…You’re not going to stop me from worrying that easily,” Xiù told him, but honestly she did feel better.
“I know.” He kissed her. “It’ll be a few days, anyway. Gotta wait for Hoeff to get back with… whatever kind of a cannon he’s bringing.”
“And what are you gonna do while we wait?” Xiù asked.
“Oh, I’m not going to wait. I’m going to learn everything about this critter I can, and I’m gonna scout the terrain, too.”
“Julian…” she felt a little embarrassed at the way she actually whined his name, but…
Ugh. Hormones.
“I didn’t say I was gonna approach it, Xiù.” He tried to say it kindly. “Wildlife documentary fellas don’t hunt what they’re filming, right?”
“…I guess we haven’t really documented the Brown Ones yet, huh?” she conceded. And seeing as Brown Ones were the apex predator of the plains, that was a big oversight.
“Not enough, no. We need to detangle the reality from the myth, too. Though the Ten’Gewek aren’t really a people for tall tales…”
“No,” Xiù agreed. “Think about that for a second.”
Julian paused, furrowed his brow and thought for a moment. “…Yeah. But…look. Babe. I know how to hunt dangerous prey. I have zero interest in, I dunno, jumping on its back or anything like that. I know my limits.” His tone was maybe a bit sullen and wounded. “I’m not reckless or stupid, Xiù.”
Xiù made a disgusted noise at herself. She had concerns, and those concerns were valid. Fine. But she hadn’t needed to insult his competence in voicing them. “…I’m sorry.” she sat forward and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m still gonna worry, though. And you can’t stop me.”
Julian chuckled low in his chest, and wrapped his strong arms tightly around her. “I know.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
That was the rub, really. She didn’t like feeling helpless. Sitting up in Misfit’s pilot chair up on the moon and being ready to bolt home had been awful for both her and Allison for that reason. Neither of them were built for waiting at home and folding bandages.
Julian knew it, too. Hopefully, that was part of why he loved them.
“…Maybe…” he sat back on his heels and thought about it. “…Actually, yeah, there is. You’re a way better pilot than anyone else on this planet. Why don’t you operate our drone?”
That was an interesting thought. “Don’t you need line of sight, though?”
“No! Hoeff has this new little job with a remote antenna, all I gotta do is get it up high. Watch!” WIth that he charged off, suddenly excited for a small mission to do, and returned at a dead sprint with a dish-looking antenna in one hand, and the briefcase-sized drone set in another. Vemik and Singer were following behind curiously.
“Wait here Xiù. C’mon Vemik!”
Xiù had to admit, watching Julian do his almost-naked Tarzan thing was one of the better perks of the job. He quickly scaled the enormous ketta near the border of the village, until he was high up enough she couldn’t quite see what he was doing. He gracefully swung and leapt his way back down the tree a few moments later, and pounced the last distance to the ground.
Singer watched too, probably thinking much the same about Vemik, Which…was entirely understandable. Xiù would just have to tell Al about all the boy-candy she was missing. Later.
“Try it now! You should be able to fly it wherever the drone has line of sight to the antenna.”
Xiù shrugged and popped the case open. There were a pair of small VR goggles in there, plus an RC controller the size of a brick. Also a tablet in case she’d rather watch the drone’s perspective from a screen rather than go fully immersive.
The drone itself was a smaller version of the MBG Flycatcher. It looked nothing like the quadcopters of a few years ago, instead it looked more like a thick wallet or something. When she booted it up, it sprang a set of forcefield wings into existence, haloed in holographic light for safety’s sake.
The effect was kind of like a weird neon robotic dragonfly.
Singer gasped when the “wings” unfurled and had to be warned not to touch them. Vemik must have learned that lesson earlier; he didn’t even try.
Julian helped her put the goggles on, and she found herself sitting in her own palm, looking up at herself. The shift in perspective and scale was a little bewildering, and made her giggle.
“Okay… test flight,” she said, and handed the drone off to Julian.
Seconds later, she was flying. The drone zipped straight up with a heavy buzz of electromagnetic wings. She rolled it over clockwise, then back again, then did a backflip.
She knew she was grinning hugely. She’d really missed flying, and this was… from the first-person perspective the goggles gave her, it was even more immediate and in-her-face than piloting Misfit had been. She nosed down and dived back toward their little group. Singer and Vemik leapt backwards as she spiralled the drone between them, did a tight orbit around Julian, and then brought it to a precise hover about a foot above her own head.
“…Having fun?” he asked.
“…Oh, yeah,” she grinned, and sent the drone shooting off through the village. It flashed by in a second, and she pulled up and up until she was zig-zagging between the treetops. One of the Ten’gewek sentries gave her an alarmed and bewildered look as she zipped past.
She could hear that both Vemik and the Singer wanted to try it for themselves. Julian was politely letting them know that that wasn’t an option right now. She paused in a hover to put the headphones in so she could hear what the drone heard, and then orbited the village at the drone’s top speed. Then, on a whim, she pointed at the sky and shot straight up until she was just below the clouds. Thank God it was only overcast today, not actually raining.
The forest unrolled below her. She could see the smoke from other villages, and she found that the ancillary controls under her fingers let her fine-tune the drone’s focus and attention. She could hear the thundering of water from the river nearby, swollen and coarse after a week of heavy rain. She could hear the Ketta creaking as they swayed in the breeze.
The only thing it was missing was the feel of the air brushing her skin and stinging her nostrils. Both of those were still firmly down on the ground.
Grinning, she brought the drone back down and alighted it on Julian’s outstretched hand. When she took the goggles off, it took her a moment to adjust to being human again.
Vemik and the Singer gave her a suitably awed look, while Julian beamed proudly at her as he returned the drone to its case.
“So what do you think?” he asked. “You can scout for us and look after us, and help us do this safely. Sound good?”
“…Yeah,” Xiù said, feeling far more positive than she had a few minutes before. “That sounds great.”
“Good girl.”
There was a phrase he didn’t use often. When he did, though… Xiù felt her ears go happily pink, and handed him the goggles and controller.
“My turn?” Vemik asked, hopefully. Xiù could tell he was extra excited by the way his tail twitched erratically and his entire body was taut, as if he was doing everything he could to contain himself.
“…Uhm… new pilots—that’s people who fly things—they tend to crash into stuff. And we only have one of those,” she reminded him tactfully.
Vemik’s crest literally fell.
“Hey fella, don’t worry. Tell you what! They make much less expensive ones for, uh, first-time pilots…why don’t we give it a try next time we’re on Cimbrean?”
“Okay…”
Xiù just about managed to hold her composure. The contrast of a fanged, mostly stone-age cavemonkey who could wrestle Julian into submission and quite literally tear most anybody limb from limb if he really wanted to, being so puppy-like and disappointed…
It would have been nice to just run back over to Folctha and bring him back a quadcopter or something, but the ‘bush plane’ jump service out to Akyawentuo was way down the Folctha terminal’s priority list. Its connections to arrays all over Earth and Gao fired every ten minutes, twenty-eight hours a day, seven days a week. Each of those meant passengers, cargo, deliveries, mail… And with space on the platform being at a premium, each jump carried a pretty hefty profit.
Then there was the intraplanetary service to the other five Cimbrean territories, connections to the Rich Plains and a few Dominion hubs, the orbital link to Armstrong Station…
No wonder the service to Akyawentuo was off-peak. Ten’Gewek were curious and interested in the rest of the galaxy, but they just didn’t have much to trade that an interstellar civilization might want, and their home life kept them too busy anyway.
That’d change. But it hadn’t changed yet. Which unfortunately meant that Vemik wouldn’t get to experience the joy of flying for a few days.
He’d probably turn out to be ludicrously good at it, Xiù suspected. The People had the well-developed spacial awareness of a naturally arboreal species who preferred to get around by brachiation.
Still, she really couldn’t blame him. They’d barely packed the drone away and she was already itching to get it out and play with it some more.
Patience, Xiù.
“So… is there anything else I can do?” she asked.
Julian smiled and kissed her.
“…Let’s see what we can think of,” he said.
Date Point: 16y2m1d AV
The Oval Office, The White House, Washington DC, USA, Earth
President Arthur Sartori
Zane Reid did not look like a well man. His beard was patchy and unkempt, his dreadlocks obviously hadn’t received proper care in some time, and the dark shading under his eyes lent his face the hollow, loose, cadaverous look of somebody who’d neither slept nor eaten properly in several days.
His eyes, though, were unflinching hateful lances that bored right into the camera. Sartori had never seen somebody look so utterly acrimonious.
The video he’d posted, which had rapidly gone viral, had apparently been shot on an older, cheaper model of iPhone, and the geotag data was intact. The FBI had already raided the address in Portland, much to the dismay of its owners who had been happily soaking up the sun in Nassau.
Reid, so far as they could tell, had been long gone. He’d left the phone behind in a bucket of acid.
A Gaoian specialist from the Folctha police had been jumped (carefully) to Earth specifically to confirm their suspicions, though. The couch where Reid had sat to record his vitriol had utterly reeked of Arutech.
The gist of his rant to camera, once Sartori got his head around the man’s impenetrable Patois, had to do with revealing the existence of the Camp Tebbutt Biodrone Internment Facility to the world. He’d given the camp’s precise latitude and longitude, shared several printouts of the camp’s layout as seen from the air, described what each building was for, and described several of the inmates.
Naturally, some media sites were describing it as an outrage and a return to the days when Japanese-American citizens had been interned during the second world war. Others were pointing out that biodrones were literally the pawns of an organization that was known to want the whole human race dead and that pure pragmatism demanded they be confined.
It was all tribe-ball. As far as some media organizations were concerned, anything Sartori did was bad by definition. And as far as others were concerned, anything Sartori touched turned to pure gold. Reid had handed them both plenty of ammo.
“So what are we doing about him?” he asked, when the video reached its conclusion.
His security advisor, Tom Hamilton, turned the tablet off and tucked it away in a bag.
“He’s already gone right to the top of the Most Wanted list and the FBI have set up a taskforce. Operation Lion Tamer,” he said.
“Good,” Sartori agreed. “We need to get out in front of him. This is easy to deal with. We’ll just throw the doors open on Tebbutt and invite the media in. Let the internees tell their own story. But it’s just the first move in whatever game his puppetmaster’s playing.”
“Which leads us to our next question,” Margaret White asked. “What, exactly, is their game? This flies in direct contradiction to their previous overtures…”
Sartori nodded. He’d been wondering about that himself. He’d never trusted the Hierarchy, but their complete reversal in direction had to be apropos of something…
Maybe it was simply that they’d seen an opportunity where previously they’d been convinced there was none. Maybe something had happened to goad them into a rage. Without communication…
Of course, it now seemed that their previous contact had been a ruse to spread Arutech anyway.
“…Maybe their previous overtures were all lies,” he said. “It’s the simplest explanation. And it’s not like they’ve ever been transparent.”
“He made it all the way to Oregon,” Hamilton pointed out. “From the middle of nowhere in Alaska. That implies help. Help of the magical and undetectable kind.”
“Or the cloaked spaceship kind. I know.” Sartori nodded grimly. He’d been really, really hoping that all the system shields would have stopped the Hierarchy from getting any ships to Earth. “Well. Thank God for the new Farthrow generator.”
“I don’t know…” Margaret said. “They had all the time they needed to bomb every major city on the planet before it came online. Why didn’t they?”
There was a collective three-way look that said nobody in the room knew the answer to that, or even had a good suspicion.
“…Boy, that leaves us in a fan-fucking-tastic position, doesn’t it?” Sartori said. He stood up and patrolled the room with his hands in his pockets.
“…We may want to consider evacuating certain critical assets to Franklin,” Margaret suggested.
“And how would we do that without tipping our hand and alarming everyone?” Hamilton asked “Let alone secure funding from Congress?”
Sartori grimaced and looked out the window, briefly imagining what it would be like to look up and see a mushroom cloud.
…Well, in his case there’d be a frenzy of Secret Service activity as they barged into the room with an emergency Jump Array and evacuated him. But for pretty much everybody else…
“We could ask for additional funding under the Heritage Ark programs that are already underway, possibly reposition some military units under the guise of training…”
The discussion turned to minutiae. Over the ensuing hour, the Chief of Staff was summoned, and he brought others with him…
Sartori played chairman to the meeting for some time, listening and thinking and hearing the opinions and options that floated around the office. None of what he heard left him feeling encouraged.
“So what I’m hearing is that we have no idea how to respond to this,” he said eventually, when the conversation slowed to an uncertain halt. “That sounds like a great homework assignment. General, can you see to that? I’d like something coherent if I’m gonna hash this out with Congress.”
“Yes, Mister President.”
“Right. I think it’s time to move on with the day.” To affairs that were actually resolvable, in theory.
But Sartori couldn’t help feeling that the future was no longer in his hands.