Ngawai returns the cheeky grin that Angel gives her, and flips her still blue-streaked hair over her shoulder with her hand as she eases herself into the chair.
When Angel makes his announcement, Davis and Ngawai have almost identical reactions: raised eyebrows. Davis takes it in a surprised and confused direction, while Ngawai puts her own spin on it with a bemused smile.
"She gave you her peerage, then?" Ngawai asks.
"Hang on," Hugh says, "let me get this straight. You can just make people your brother or sister like that?"
Non-traditional families aside, a grin quickly spreads over Hugh's face. "Talk about hitting the jackpot, though. Will you have time to help your friends out or are you going to be busy with debauchery for the foreseeable future?"
Davis seems to have finished processing the circumstances, and goes from "furrowed brow with concentration and a slight smile" to grinning alongside Ngawai and Hugh. "Yes, congratulations, Angel," he says as he stands to offer Angel his hand to shake. "Tora was pretty clever to leave this to you. I'm sure Gorlan's glad to have you as his brother."
Angel nods at Ngawai. "Gorlan and I...needed to sort some things out. He got to talking about why Tora hadn't come to him. Turns out he had a holodrive from Tora. One of those 'If you're watching this, I'm dead...' messages."
He shook his head slightly. "And yeah, come to find out Tora gave me her peerage. Gorlan seems glad of it, and I figure it can't hurt to have half an industrial empire. But given all the 'gone native' accusations flying around, figured you guys might want to get ahead of the story."
Angel grins at Hugh. "And yeah, I'm still here for the duration. Doesn't mean I don't prefer the sheets in the penthouse apartment though."
"Well." Davis drums his fingers on the table. "I think that even before we tell Samantha about this, I think we should ask you, right now, before considering all of this Narsai stuff, what you want to do? I can think of how we can cover for you until after the hearing is over, if you want to go by your name here on Narsai, as well, and I think I can convince Samantha of it. We're going to be really busy, and you'll be spending most of your time around the Sheen, anyway. Keeping you out of the spotlight until it's too late for the DoD to do anything about it shouldn't be a problem. If you don't want to, I'll understand, but..."
Davis clasps Ngawai's hand and gives her a peck on the cheek. "Well, you know how I stand on doing what you want. It'd be pretty shitty of me to tell you to do the opposite." He looks over to Hugh. "What do you think, Hugh?"
"Yep, we should keep it under wraps for now," Hugh replies, entering deep thought mode. "Until we settle our affairs with the DoD here. After that, we run a joint op with the DoD and our friends, show that we're all on the same side here, and we knock that out of the park as best we can. When that's all over the news, we should be able to sneak your title in as a special honor for your contributions to the struggle for freedom, and a token of support from the Imperial citizens."
Davis nods. "That should work. No reason why you should have to hide who you've decided to be, especially once we've gotten out from under the thumb of the backwards racists at the DoD."
Angel chuckles slightly at the jabs toward the DoD for a moment, the weight of needing to tell 815 off his chest. "For the moment, I'm content to just let it be. And yes, I'll still have time to mingle with the little people." Angel straightens the sleeves of his suit self-consciously. "I told Gorlan I'd be back in time for some social event but, for now, I'd like to let things lie as far as Earth is concerned."
"Are you sure you want all this, Angel?" Ngawai asks. "No one is making you -"
"I know, and yes, it is. Gorlan has what he needs, and he's done a great deal for us. And I won't lie, Tora's message helped me more than a bit." He grins. "Besides, having more money than I can count can probably come in handy."
"That it could," Davis says, and stands up. "Well, we should get Barnes on vox and let her know what's happened and what you decided."
Angel nods in reply.
Seated in the cafe, a fortysomething white man scribbles notes in a molskine and speaks calmly but firmly into his cellphone. To the staff, it’s just another aid worker.
“No, no, no. You can’t just offer cattle and make everything better. Yes, they are pastoralists, mostly, but if you start giving them things with no strings it creates debt, they’ll feel like they have to get you back bigger. And someone get an observer watching what the SPLA is doing with the Shilluk; I’m getting an ominous feeling about it and the rains are coming. We could be looking at a serious fucking humanitarian crisis. Hold on, I’ve got another call.”
Setting down the ubiquitous Nokia brick-phone and opening up the box containing his satellite phone, Hunter Brand takes a moment to figure out who exactly might be calling him. The Columbians? UN High Commissioner on Refugees? It looks like it’s coming from the US, though, which opens up another layer of speculation. CIA? State? DOD?
“This is Hunter Brand.”
A male voice on the other end of the line. “Hold for Director Barnes, Mr. Brand.” Alright, which agencies have I talked to in the last 30 days? Flipping through the moleskine, he turns to his contact register, and recalls a brief prospecting email a few weeks back sent to the Homeworld Defense guys. Looks like it paid off. Also good that I noted it’s run by a woman, he thinks. Hate to have work torpedoed by some stupid assumptions.
The voice of a woman comes on the satellite call, a voice he recognizes from a TV broadcast somewhere - must be Barnes. “Mr. Brand, how are things in the Sudan?”
“Well, most of the roads are barely deserving of the name, and the ones that are good usually need a demining team. Other than that, things are mostly looking up. We might have an independent country here soon. What can I do for you?”
“I’m calling you with a reply to that email you sent us a few weeks back,” Barnes says. “How would you like a job with the GRHDI? I have a position that I need filled post-haste, and you are the short list. Off-world work, high-risk, but your expertise would be invaluable.”
A pause. Off-world...
“I’m interested. What are the particulars?”
“You’ll be working with Task Force 815, supporting their mission goals as they see fit, while providing your insight into asymmetric warfare - something I think you’ll agree that Earth has been forced into waging - and translating their tactics and methods into a doctrine we can use with other small forces and eventually to the military at large,” Barnes replies.
“815, those are the guys who actually know what we’re up against, right? I read the congressional testimony recap on Stratfor. Interesting. So you want me to write the Field Manual for Intellerstellar People’s War? How much of this is interviews, how much direct field work?”
Hunter can hear Barnes smile through the phone line at his initial statement. “You’ll have full access to the team - well, as much access as they’ll give you. Feel free to interview them, but most of your observations will probably come through direct field work. They could use a man with your skills, Mr. Brand.”
“So it’s that kind of field work. Good to know, and I’ll adjust the hazard rate accordingly. What kind of timeframe are we looking at?”
“Length of the job depends entirely on you, Mr. Brand,” Barnes replies. “As for starting, there’s a Gulfstream landing at the airstrip in two hours to take you to Diego Garcia and the Gateway complex to meet the team.”
“Well then, I suppose we’ll hammer out the details en route. Give me the flight info and parameters by SMS; internet is hard to come by around here.”
“I can do you one better for the parameters, Mr. Brand,” Barnes says. “There’s a vox and a holodisplay for you in the plane with a vox repeater, I’ll message you the details once you’re on board.” His satphone beeps with the flight information. “Consider it part of the recruitment package.”
“You folks move fast. I appreciate that. I’ll be there in however long it takes your bird to go three thousand miles.”
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Brand. I’m sure that this will be a unique experience, and one you won’t regret.” She disconnects the call.
----
Barnes picks up the vox connection almost immediately. In the background of the holo, you can see her new assistant walk out of frame. “Hello, Garrett, Hugh, Angel. Nice suit, Angel.”
Angel nods in reply.
“I was just about to call myself, what is going on?”
And Angel tells the whole story he told Hugh and Davis. Tora’s last-minute will, inheriting not only her half of the Kesh fortune but choosing to adopt the Kesh name as his own, and his shopping spree with Gorlan. He finishes up with his decision to keep all of that under wraps, as well as reporting on what Gorlan’s first shipment of technology to Earth includes - and as the representative of Faxom-Io on Earth for the moment, how much the GRHDI owes.
“Well, we will arrange payment in a suitable form, as soon as we figure out what that will be,” Barnes replies. She already is giving Angel a slightly different look, one more like a strategic partner instead of a subordinate.
“That will be fine, Director,” Angel replies.
“But now, I have some news for 815,” Barnes says. “As you know, we’re having problem translating what you all do into a doctrine we can teach others to follow.”
“And you’ve got a solution?” Hugh asks.
“I’ve brought in an independent contractor to join 815 and prepare a field manual while providing support for your team,” Barnes replies. “Don’t worry, this one’s been fully vetted. You might have heard of him. Hunter Brand, retired USMC Major, he participated in Millennium Challenge 02 on Red Team.”
Davis nods appreciatively while Hugh smirks. “Ah, the cheaters,” the Captain says.
“Something I think we could use more of on our side,” Davis adds. “When do we meet him?”
“He’s on hold on a separate vox connection right now,” Barnes says. “I’ll patch him in.”
The holo splits in half, showing a forty-something professional-looking man in dusty field clothes with a vox clipped to his ear. He seems to have figured out the holodisplay interface well enough. He’s at least got it facing the right direction, Hugh thinks.
“Hello, and welcome to Task Force 815,” Davis says. “Samantha just made your introduction.”
During the time he spent on hold, Hunter had time to fiddle around with the Imperial UI and learn the interface - and a bit about the perspective of those who designed it. Now, he’s faced with a split holographic image: Director Barnes on the right, and a room with three men and one very pregnant woman he now recognizes as Garrett Davis, former CIA agent and now second-in-command of the GRHDI, his Imperial-born wife Ngawai Lea Holoni, Army Captain Hugh Verrill, and Specialist Angel Riviera, with the latter dressed in a sharp but distinctly alien-looking business suit.
“Major,” Hugh says, adding a nod.
“Regards to the team, and apparently congratulations seem to be in order for the mother-to-be as well as a newly minted Nabob,” he says, gesturing towards Angel and his natty attire. Ngawai gives a slight nod - or bow - to Hunter. “Either that or I’m just fashion-backward. Never was one much for Esquire. Anyway, great to meet you all, and excited to see how you work.”
“We’ll do our best to be helpful, Major,” Hugh says. “If I may ask - how are your infantry skills?”
“If you’re asking to see my Grunt card, it’s not a problem. Did my 20 in the Corps, with time in Iraq I and Haiti as an NCO before making the jump for Iraq 2 and a helluva lot other bushfire wars. I can still hump a sack of LAW rockets on a 20-mile march if you need me to, and I can still put a mortar round on target from a couple klicks out. Last few years I’ve been traveling lighter: lots of work with hill tribes, jungle wars, that whole bag of tricks. It’s a lot easier to sneak around when you’re not lugging 80 lbs of equipment. So, yeah, I’ll be taking notes, but it’s definitely participant-observation, emphasis on the former.”
“Heavy weapons, good,” Hugh nods. “Closest I got to that skillset was buying a beer for an 0351. Not that we regularly need to produce explosions, but it helps to have an ace in the hole. Anyway - welcome to the team.”
“Yes, welcome,” Ngawai says. “If Samantha is right, you can help us make the Narsai’i much more effective against the Imperium.”
Ngawai’s English carries a decently heavy accent that he can’t quite place that must be an Imperial accent - in fact, her husband, the Earth-born Garret Davis, has an equally thick Imperial accent, while Hugh Verrill sounds like he’s trying to impersonate a news anchor half of the time. Hunter can see the Imperial woman sizing him up through the connection with a practiced eye. She reminds him more of a practiced retrieval expert than a woman close to term.
Brand sizes up the people, and the job, laid out in front of him. Obviously his work will carry weight beyond just writing a field manual and laying down mortar fire. There are deep political and organizational machinations afoot, and rooting them out will be job zero.
On taking a thin-sliced look at the interpersonal dynamics among the team, it seems Davis and Rivera seem to be dealing with some reverse culture shock. Verrill less so, but it's unclear whether that's related to gaps in loyalty or priority. One more thing to figure out in interviews. Trust could also be a problem, judging from the wariness he's getting. It's probably justified though, given the blackwashing they seem to be getting in the news from "relevant sources."
They seem capable, and committed to victory, but they need to work on their code-switching if they're going to walk between worlds.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am." Brand says politely. "Unlike a lot of the Narsai'i-American military, I hold no illusions about its supposed invincibility. Too many of the Pentagon brass can't take off the blinders and see things for what they are. I reckon part of my job will to spoon-feed reality to them in language they understand. What that reality is, though, will probably take some digging."
The interaction with Barnes was odd, the first really visible sign of a change in status for Angel. He conveyed her another message Gorlan had, a cautionary note about the market being easily capable of being flooded with relatively inexpensive Imperial luxuries, leaving the local economy - though Angel changed that bit to 'Earth's economy' - a smoking crater.
He also added the smoking crater bit. Gorlan's original version involved 'increasing commodification of labor and asymmetrical exchange of goods'.
---
Angel gave Brand an almost imperceptible nod across the holo-display.
What the fuck is a Nabob?
"Could be both" the scout offers dryly, adding a slight grin. He already liked this one more than the Brit, though that could just as easily be damning with faint praise.
Davis and Ngawai both nod in appreciation to Brand's comments. "And I think we're in agreement about that," Davis says, his arm around Ngawai's shoulder. "We'll meet you when you land in two hours."
Once farewells are exchanged, Davis looks at Hugh and Angel. "Well, I like him. Seems to have his head much less up his ass, and Samantha is dead on about us needing someone like him on the team."
"And he looks trustworthy enough for now," Ngawai says. "I don't think we'll need to bug his room and clothing."
"So, any chance we can sell that to the Pentagon, then?" Hugh asks Davis. "I for one wouldn't mind getting a working compromise with them on our terms. The Major seems like a good start."
Davis shrugs. "The moderates? Maybe, but if what Kroger said is what they're interested in, this is very definitely not that. We're not under his thumb or on their leash, which was what he wanted. I doubt some information sharing will make that problem go away. And I think that people like Sigman and Simmons will see a field manual based on our tactics as a secret way of brainwashing the military at large to be alien-lovers like we are." Davis gives Ngawai a squeeze at that. "If anything, it's going to piss them off even more."
Hugh nods. "You're probably right. Still, I don't think having the Major will hurt our negotiating position either, so let's just run with it and see where it takes us."
A few hours later, the entire population of Task Force 815 are waiting by the Diego Garcia runway as the Gulfstream carrying Major Hunter Brand taxis up to the terminal. After the engines spin down and the ground crew lowers the steps from the plane, the Major walks down the steps, bags in hand.
Bigger than they look on camera, thinks Brand as he nears ground level. Garrett Davis, Ngawai Holoni, and Angel Riviera look the same as they did on the Imperial holographic display before. A tan-skinned man stands amongst the group, leering at him, who he recognizes as the Imperial Zaef Utari. Luis Stanhill, the man with the golden eyes, stands next to Arketta Quis, his arm around her waist as her dark brown hair blows in the breeze. That wasn't in the news. She's at least three inches taller than he is, and actually stands taller than every human member of 815. This leaves Swims-the-Black, whose imposing bulk is standing with Davis and Hugh, his fur rippling...but against the breeze, and with slight shifts in color impossible for simple refraction of the light.
This is the first time Hunter has seen a Wherren outside of the few photos that included the big fellow, and he takes a closer look. The Wherren stands at least six feet eight inches tall, but what's more, at least four feet across, wearing a vest that echoes the slight rippling of colors on the...person's fur, a light tunic-like garment similar to those worn by Zaef, Arketta, Garrett and Ngawai, sandals, and a pair of loose-fitting pants. He doesn't look to be carrying that bulk awkwardly, however, the motion of his hands when he moves to fend off a sudden gust of wind from his eyes shows that he's no slouch. His fur rolls a brief flash of orange, and then returns to its brown and slightly bluish state - the color probably representing emotions. His face extends into a slight muzzle and underbite, which lets his five or six inch tusks extend out from his mouth. The white of the teeth is abruptly replaced with what looks like carved jade in what is surely a mark of some importance. The pointed ends of ears emerge from the sides of the fur on his head, and another gust of wind gives Hunter the chance to notice the inch or so long claws at the end of each of his four fingers and thumb on each hand and the incredible musculature on his arms. Still, despite the physicality of his presence, he seems to be the most at ease out of all of them, having satisfied himself with just a moment's attention to Hunter's posture and look. Or he simply is confident that he could single-handedly tear Hunter's arms off if it came to that. Powerful fella. I'm guessing he doesn't get many "walking carpet" cracks.
Sizing everyone up finished for now, he addresses his new team. "Captain Verrill, Agent Stanhill, Specialist Riviera, Agent Davis, Corporal Quis, Grand Apprehender Holoni, Mister Utari, Captain Swims-the-Black; It's an honor to meet you all. I understand you've had your share of reasons not to trust newcomers, and frankly, I can't blame you. It's not paranoia if people really are out to get you. You all have fought monsters and stared into the abyss, and a lot of people wonder if it hasn't stared back into you. The ingratitude of such distrust is beside the point. We're going to save Earth, even if it has to include those assholes.
"I am not one of them. I am a Marine. I am a rifleman. I am a scholar. We improvise, adapt, overcome, and then explain what we did to the meatheads who don't get it.
"What you have here, it seems, is very special. As wonderful as that is, one mistake in shipboard combat, one slip up behind enemy lines, could take some or all of it away. Everything you know, all the connections you have, your unique understanding of the impedances between Imperial and homeward culture, that needs to be captured, stored and shared. If we're going to win this war, it's going to take a lot more people like you, and a lot less people like them. But I'm hopeful; we're operating on a timescale long enough for that kind of change.
"I'll be conducting a series of interviews this week at Diego Garcia, getting to know the various contexts and frames of reference you operate under. I'm not sitting in a desk and playing Monday Morning Quarterback. When you head into the field, I'll be there with you.
"I look forward to working with you all. But first, it's been a long plane ride and I've spent the last 2 months eating cornmeal porridge, so I'd be much obliged if we started the tour at your mess hall."
After starting Maj. Brand’s introduction to the Diego Garcia Gateport with the local commissary (fish and chips with real fish fillets being the featured meal of the day), he was first taken by the Task Force 815 quarters, which are not as much quarters as they are a row of small prefab cabins. They’re not quite as fancy as the top officers’ quarters are, but are certainly better than barracks. Garrett Davis and Ngawai Holoni share a cabin, as do Luis Stanhill and Arketta Quis, but the others have their own quarters. Hunter’s quarters haven’t been sorted out yet, but the explosion of growth around the Gateport means that if he so desires, a cabin could be built for him as well. For now, he demurs, preferring to see the range of accommodations. The rest of the team begs off the rest of the grand tour, and Davis leaves his wife in their cabin with a kiss so she can get off of her feet.
The rest of the Gateway staff are housed in apartment-style or barracks-style single story units, depending on their status around the gateway. Civilians are placed in dorms or apartments, while military personnel are housed in barracks. The security perimeter around the Gateway complex has expanded to occupy most of Simpson Point, cordoning off just under a one square mile area in preparation for even more growth and construction. Inside the perimeter, Earth military personnel are working side-by-side with Bashakran rebels and other Imperials, as well as the occasional black-shelled Sheen robot. The rebels and other Imperials (there seems to be a pretty clear distance between the two groups) are housed in a few rows of their own Imperial-style prefab apartment-style housing. It looks less like particle board and aluminum siding, and more like formed concrete, but up close, it looks almost like spray foam in texture. The Sheen have been given their own hangar for their own uses. Hunter easily spots it, as there’s three black Sheen robots languidly hanging about on the roof, sunning themselves.
At the center of the Gateway complex is the Gateway bunker itself. A few guards patrol the perimeter, but the large double doors, easily large enough to accommodate a tank or a chopper on a flatbed trailer, stand wide open. Inside the concrete building is the Gateway itself. The metal ring currently is covered by the metal iris that prevents an unwanted connection, but when the team takes Hunter closer to it, there’s still more than enough to see. The metal of the ring is marbled in look, and the glyphs around it quietly glow with the energy pumped into it by the strange floating mercury lozenge it’s connected to - yet another alien device. As they stand there, the gate control officer sounds the “stand clear” alarm, a bright flash issues behind the iris and after talking with someone on his headset, retracts the iris. A minute later, a second bright yellow flash occurs, and suddenly before Hunter appears a window into another world - or, at least, somewhere else. The soundless image shows a busy large metal room, well-lit and looking like a futuristic submarine.
Angels and ministers of grace defend us, thinks Hunter, trying to look more “interested” and less “agape.”
“Regular shipment from Atea,” Davis explains. “The Bashakra’i worldship, and our main relay point to the galaxy at large. We try to shuttle everything through there for security reasons, keep the number of places with the Narsai’i gatecodes to a minimum.”
“What does it take to open a gate to here?”
“Well, first you need the gatecode, and you dial in,” Davis says. “The iris stays closed at all times until we can confirm ID from the other side. Once we’ve confirmed ID, we close the gate and wait for the redial, since Gateway connections are one-way for physical material. Once connection is confirmed, we open the iris and you can come on through.”
“Interesting. Do you have any problems balancing speed and availability with security?”
“We have some emergency protocols, codes teams like ours are given to eliminate the need for the second dial-back, but the iris is never kept open. That’s a hard-and-fast security rule. If we need to get through a gate without that step, we gate to somewhere that isn’t Narsai.”
“Ballpark guess, given current logistical needs, what’s the maximum number of troops we could supply through this gateway?” Hunter asks, thinking about the necessary protocol multiplied hundreds, thousands of times. There are probably Operations Research guys crunching the numbers in a more systematic way, but the gateway’s carrying load will determine in no small part what the eventual recommended loadouts will be for expeditionary units.
“Well, however many we can move through it in about five or six minutes,” Davis replies. “The gateway will close automatically after that, and anything that doesn’t make it all the way through stays on the sending side. So, figure however many deuce and a half trucks you can send through the Gateway in five minutes, and that’s how much we can send until we start making trucks and trailers specifically for Gateway transport.”
Hunter ponders the possibility of narrow-gauge railways for gate transport, and sets the idea aside for later investigation. The Gateway, it seems, has a lot unanswered (and in some cases unasked) questions.
“Well, aside from your quarters and the Hitch’n Post - that’s the base co-op bar - that’s the grand tour,” Davis says. “Any other questions, or do you want to get the interviews started?”
“I’d appreciate a rundown of the human terrain here; who organizes what, how the different groups interact, what the different drinking cultures are, who should I talk to from each group, that kind of thing. At this stage, I don’t yet know what I don’t know.”
“Well, as far as the rebels go, you’ll want to talk to Brinai, she’s on Atea,” Davis says, putting on a thoughtful look. “The refugees and expatriates from Whiirr still mostly look up to Graiza. She’s a medicae who looked out for them on Whiirr, she should be on base this week. The Sheen Ambassador is usually in the hanger if you want to know the low-down on the Sheen, and as far as drinking goes, well, it’s a co-op. BYOB to share, and all the groups come together there to drink, even the Sheen on occasion. They adapted an ethanol fuel cell that they pass around, or something, you should as Luis about that. We all work together, but the rebels and the expats still have a bit of friction to work out. That about answer your questions?”
“That’ll do for now. Much obliged.” Brand, thinks for a second, then corrects himself. “Actually, I have one more question. What’s your drink of choice? I don’t start every fact-finding mission with a round of drinks, but that’s mostly because I frequently operate in majority-Muslim countries.”
Davis laughs. “Well, a good beer wouldn’t go amiss, or any of the fermented fruit beers and spirits the Bashakra’i make are great, too. Give them a try, I think they trade bottles of them for beer at the Hitch’n Post.”
“Might as well start the immersion right. A round of Bashakra’i framboise for 815 tonight, and interviews in the morning.”
After finding a suitably comfortable place for interviews and putting together a couple of lists of questions and stakeholders, Hunter spends the rest of the afternoon walking the grounds of Diego Garcia, quietly observing the rhythms of life around him and taking notes in his Moleskine.
Hunter chose the 815 work room, a combination planning/prep/meeting space with a few folding tables that have pulled duty as conference tables, weapons repair benches, electronics workbench, and planning boards. Today, one of them has been pulled over to the window to serve as Hunter’s interview table. Two of the padded chairs have been pulled over to either side of the table, and Hunter’s already laid out his ever-present Moleskine notebook and his pocket recorder on the table. Now, he’s just waiting for his first interview subject to walk through the door.
Luis arrives at the workroom, 815’s work space on Diego. He pauses at the door, takes a breath, then knocks. “C’mon in.” Luis enters, and Hunter stands to greet him. “Agent Stanhill, good to see you again. Take a seat and we can start whenever you’re ready.”
Luis nods, and takes one of the chairs at the table. “Okay, then. What’s first?”
“First, I just want to try and assure you that whatever you say here is confidential. It goes to me and me only. My recorder’s encrypted and my notes are cryptic and barely legible to anyone who’s not me. So, as best you can, speak freely and be at ease.” Hunter looks into Luis’s augmented eyes and takes a pause to measure reaction. The golden orbs still move about like real eyes, and the hint of circuitry and the faint blue glow tracing through them reveals an iris-like structure in the middle.
Luis nods with a hint of a smile. “Okay.”
“Before we get into anything else, I’m curious about the eyes. I’m guessing you get a pretty wide range of reactions to it, and I figured we might as well put it out there in the open. How common are they over there?”
“Implants are fairly common, I don’t have exact figures but it’s a good one in four or one in five,” Luis says. “A lot of it is like what I have, though some of it is done to stand out a bit less. Technical people, people who need to handle lots of data, some people who just think it’s cool. My set is an onboard vox, the skulljack, and the eyes for visual input. Pretty standard for a serious setup, but more than the basics.”
“Interesting. Just trying to get a handle on body culture over there and over here. There are actually homegrown movements of people on earth who aren’t too far behind what you’re doing, including a number of veterans, but these sorts of body modification and transhumanism are definitely out there on the edge. Maybe a few notches more popular after your appearance in popular culture. Granted, people are going to be confused, I wouldn’t worry about it; just future-shock. Anyone who accepts that people can wear glasses to improve vision is only a few steps behind when it comes to body technology.”
Luis nods. “Yeah, I was a bit of a scifi fan back when I was a kid so it’s not a new idea to me. It’d be nice if more people could understand that it’s about enhancing what we can do, not ‘mutilating’ ourselves.” He grimaces, thinking of having that thrown at him in the Committee chamber. “Whatever kind of shock it is, we’re going to have to get over it eventually. The benefits are...amazing.”
“Whenever security clearance makes it possible, we should see about you doing an interview with WIRED magazine or something like that.” Hunter notes, smiling.
“That’d be fun,” Luis says.
Moving on, Hunter asks, “How do those work with the medical equipment they have?”
“It’s a challenge,” Luis says. “Particularly with the kaukas. It’s pretty easy to get one to do repairs or regeneration on a baseline patient, but when a person has had enhancements, you have to work more with the device to ensure it doesn’t interfere with the implants.”
“You’re saying it treats the implants as damage?”
“Yeah,” Luis says. “Implants weren’t part of whatever template the kaukas work off of, so it treats them the way it does any deviation like a broken finger or a cracked rib or,” he gestures at his own face, ”Injured eyes unless the medicae specifically guides it to avoid doing so. It’s very easy to simply let it work and use the template, but making it work around enhancements is where medical training really comes into it.”
“The template is set, right? There’s no changing it? Where’s it from? How does it deal with things like blows to the head?”
“The Groi are the only ones who know the precise details, and they aren’t really talking about it. We know that the template is specifically based of some people, it’s not just generic, and there’s at least a few different ones.” He pauses over the last question for a long moment, looking down at his hands and interfacing them for a long moment. Finally, he looks back up and meets Hunter’s gaze, but there’s sorrow in his face.
“We know that because of how it deals with severe head injuries. On the first Whirr expedition, one of our team members, Junior Dietrich, was caught in the initial sunball attack through the Gate. A sunball is a radiological bomb, an explosion that pumps out its energy in a huge chunk of radiation. Junior was caught in it, and, well, radiation is nasty. He suffered a lot of physical and neurological damage. Between my Earth medical supplies and a kauka, I was able to stabilize him, but since the regeneration he remembers things that aren’t part of his life. We have to assume those came from the template for that kauka. He has some memories from a Keeper who grew up about two or three decades ago in the Imperium. That tells us the templates are specific, and the fact that they’ve been working for longer than 20 years means that there’s several of them, but we don’t really understand how they get taken, or how to change it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s important for me to learn all this, because as a matter of fact I’m trained in emergency medicine and want to make sure we learn how to heal smart. Does the Imperium understand how templates work, or are they just cargo-culting?”
“That’s as good a term as any,” Luis says. They know how to work them, and with some finesse, but they don’t know the principles or how to add or select templates to my knowledge. The kaukas, the Gates, the lozenge reactors, and the kegs that make all of those and more kegs, they’re all Groi tech and it’s all roughly the same story. It’s hard to say that they’re a cargo cult, because most of their tech is natively-designed and built, but for the Groi devices that’s pretty accurate.”
“Do you think there’s a potential weakness there? Might there be capabilities inherent in Groi devices that the Imperium isn’t aware of, or aspects of Groi technology they’re overreliant on?”
Luis has to think about that one for a long moment. Finally, he says, “The Groi deliberately designed those devices to encourage cargo-cult behavior, if you ask me. ‘This works this way, work with it.’ There may be capabilities in the devices that the Imperium isn’t aware of, but I’m not sure I’d know how to go about trying to determine that or activate them. As for reliance,they obviously depend on Gateways to make their whole society work. Trade, governing, war, it’s all strongly Gate-dependent. They use kaukas a lot, and lozenges are valued for their power source potential, but not depended on quite as much as the other two as far as I’ve seen. The difference between them and the natively-built equivalent isn’t as great, you know? Sublight starships vs. instant travel, instant healing vs. conventional medicine, and then just a better power source. So that’s what they rely on. I don’t know how I’d classify overreliant in those cases or if there’s ways we could exploit that.”
“Well, from a ruthless perspective, we’re still capable of living on one world, and they aren’t. You find a way to shut down the Gateways, and that’s one hell of a sword of Damocles to hold over them. Wouldn’t be my first choice, and gives way too much leverage to the old deterrence-based school of defense, but I’m sure someone at Negras Mesas is turning that problem over. I’d much prefer a means of victory that didn’t rely on putting billions of people into famine.”
Luis nods, “Yeah, no kidding. It may be posible to shut down the Gates, but I agree with you on it not being my first choice. Particularly because they do have inter-system travel, it’s just very slow compared to Gates. We’re a good 30 years from their nearest outpost, but if they wanted to hit us and we shut down the Gates, they still could. Actually, we’re almost better off with the Gates because with them we can hit back. In a way, we’re more dependent on them than they are.”
“Speaking of all that, what’s their level of technology, exactly, and how did they get there? I’m looking for more on the structures that go along: their industrial base, their scientific culture, that sort of thing. I understand you all have only seen a relatively small slice of the Imperium, but anything we can get to build a cultural and techno-social profile will be helpful.”
“Their technology is very impressive. They have significant advantages in computer technology, space travel, manufacturing base, and a lot of others. Some of those we can replicate at lower levels, like the beam rifles that we used on Whirr, but some of the rest is so beyond our current level we’d be unable to produce it even knowing how it works. Their scientific culture...I’m really not the best person to ask, you might talk to some of the researchers from Whirr about that, but to me it comes of as pretty influence-based, and appealing to the right people by saying the right things.” He grins, “I suppose some might say ours is too, but my impression is that theirs is worse about it.”
“I guess I’m curious about their rate of innovation. Empires tend to rely on keeping the status quo, especially when thing are in the hands of an entrenched elite. That means there may be some paths not travelled in their research history. I read my fair share of science fiction, too, and one thing that always stuck with me was the Arthur C. Clarke story about being defeated by so-called inferior science.”
“It’s fairly slow, as far as I can tell. Maybe something to do with the Sheen wars, or it might just be that they’re satisfied with their technology doing the jobs it is and optimizing for those jobs. Needleships, for instance, are very good at system domination and supporting planetary actions, but I think you could make a warship a lot better at pure ship-to-ship combat with the same technologies.”
“Good to know, especially if we’ve got 30 years to figure this all out. I’m not particularly religious, but I recall my Book of Daniel: And as the toes of the feet were part of iron, and part of clay, so the kingdom shall be partly strong, and partly broken. Our enemies have feet of clay, and we’ve just got to find them.”
Hunter continues the interview, pushing further on what Luis knows of Imperium culture and technology, as well as digging into 815’s operational techniques and history. Luis also gives Hunter a quick primer on the Sheen in advance of his interview with their ambassador. Compared to the slight apprehension Luis felt about this given his recent grillings by Congress and by Kadi, it’s actually almost fun, digging through what he’s seen. He just hopes that Hunter can put the pieces together to find a way to make a doctrine out of it, and to convince some of those on the fence back at the Pentagon that there’s options other than standing alone.
For Hunter, it’s a good introduction to the nuts and bolts of how things are done, and a little more behind the man with the golden eyes. It seems like he's been so dialed in that he hasn't got a chance to breathe and look around. Likely no one from 815 has. They’re carrying scars, baggage and cultural signifiers they don’t even realize, and they’re entitled to all of it. But they’ll need a translator if they’re going to get through the wilderness of mirrors in Arlington.
Zaef enters the conference room and takes in the rearrangements, absently sipping a Dr. Pepper as he does so. It’s no broom closet, which is a good and bad thing as he notes the sunlight streaming through the windows. Lots of space and a good view for snipers. At least the table’s by the window, if he needs cover. The new guy, Brand, is already there, and waiting.
Zaef shrugs at him sheepishly, takes his seat and puts his feet up on the table. The position showcases the blades strapped to his thighs. “Figure we should just get that out of the way now,” Zaef says in English, gesturing to his weapons. “Don’t want you taking it the wrong way.”
“I’d prefer not to take your blades at all,” Hunter remarks, trying to gauge how Zaef thinks about violence and wordplay.
Zaef chuckles. “Good comeback.”
“Alright, so it’s good to get the chance to ask you a few questions. I’ve heard tell you know the worlds of Imperium back and front, and I’m hoping to pick your brain a bit on that. First off though, what’s your take on Earth? What’s different?”
Zaef sips his drink thoughtfully. “Besides the fact that the majority of the people here don’t live in the iron fist of a dictatorial government that deprives people of freedom and thought? There’s the technological gap, but that’s pretty obvious too...Things are more divided here. I mean, you have your military split into, how many is it, four branches? You split your forces into Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines. And you have firemen separate from law enforcement. Specialized, that’s the word I was thinking of. Course, things are more divided here, but ‘specialized’ was what I meant.”
“What do you think about this tendency to specialize? Do you feel like it’s useful, like it’s distracting, maybe just that it seems odd? Why do you think it’s different, aside from the obvious? I’m just looking for gut impressions and hunches at this stage.”
Zaef snorts derisively. “‘Aside from the obvious?’ The obvious is exactly why you act differently. You’re not bred, taught and battered into thinking you’re just another cog in the engine. Because if you don’t feel like you fit in with the Turai or the Kansat or whatever else interests you only passingly, you make up a new fucking group that suits you instead of forcing yourself to a job that already exists.”
Hunter smiles. “One day, we’ll have to have a beer and I’ll tell you all about the Corps.” In his Moleskine, Hunter underlines the word INNOVATION and writes a number of other cryptic, hard to decipher sub-points; phrases include Boyd, DeT’ville, and contra-Xerxes. “How do they fit people into the machine? Is there anything notable about their systems of social control and thought-policing? Are there common threads among those who are able to break out?”
Zaef’s face darkens. “Well, if you don’t fit, they make you. Usually it’s not hard; most people are ruled by fear of doing something even slightly out of line. Even some of those that aren’t afraid may feel compelled to do what they’re told, either by duty or honor or greed.”
“This is probably something I’m going to dig into when I’m talking with the ex-imperials, but what keeps the bureaucrats, the Kansat, the Turai in line? The people whose job it is to keep everyone afraid, what do they fear? Is it just a matter of duty, honor, and self-interest?”
Hunter pauses for a second. “What do people live for in the Imperium? What gets people excited about waking up in the morning?”
Zaef snorts again and takes a swig from the Dr. Pepper. “People live for the Imperium, and I’m told that there’s no higher honor. To continue the engine example, every cog is told they need to work exactly as commanded or the engine fails and all the cogs die. But I’ve noticed that if the engine is doing well, no credit is given to the cogs, so I only believe that shit as far as spinks fly.
“The Kansat and Turai are usually afraid of what everyone else is afraid of, the only difference is that they usually know where it’ll come from. But most I’ve met aren’t simply afraid, they just believe the Imperium’s bullshit. As for the ‘crats...” Zaef swirls the can around and his frown deepens as the splashing is heard only faintly. He downs the rest of the can in one swig and crumples it up in his hands. “Well, if fear of death won’t keep them in line, nothing will.”
“I’m scouting around for symbolic and ideological holes in their cultural structures. Helluva lot less expensive to collapse the enemy from within than crush it down from without.” Hunter offers the water pitcher and glass to Zaef as he continues. “Right now, everything is based on the belief that everyone survives because of the Imperium, and no one survives defiance of it. If you start to inject doubt in those ideas, if you start to show people that other, better worlds are possible, that’s power. But the real game-changer is if you can get the people holding the guns to blink. It doesn’t have to be all of them, just enough that the permanence and consistency of Imperial response is broken, and that people start to realize things can’t go on the way they have. But it starts with knowing who we’re dealing with, and who else is there. What’s the resistance like?”
Zaef nods and pours himself a glass. “I think I see what you’re gettin’ at. We have to make the alternatives look good, even as we expose what the Imperium’s like to everyone. The resistance is...okay, but they probably aren’t going to look preferable to the Imperium just yet. Most rebels have a vendetta with the Imperium for one reason or another, and they all want vengeance. So they often target people in important positions. If they die before they can succeed-and that’s not horribly uncommon, sadly-then they come off as crazy extremists who are trying to destabilize everything the cogs are working on. If they manage to actually assassinate the guy, then as far as the Imperium’s concerned they are crazy extremists who are destabilizing everything. Just maintaining security makes us look like the bad guys, I’m sure. But I’ve heard recruitment’s turned out better lately since we’ve been working with you guys more and trying to make martyrs of ourselves less, so there may just be hope after all.”
“Well, from Earth’s long and storied history of rebellions, it usually goes something like this: 1)Crazy people get together to do something crazy, but that’s viewed with sympathy by the larger populace. 2)Government cracks down on everyone, or on the wrong people, or in the wrong way. 3) That radicalizes more of the populace, who begin to covertly support the movement. You start to get two faces to everything: one that’s presented to the government, one that’s how things really are. In certain spaces people are able to actually speak their grievances. 4) Once you get to a certain critical mass, the system as it is stops working, the government loses first its vision, then its legitimacy, then its coercive power. Only in this stage can you rise openly and not get yourself glassed. Until then, you’ve got to swim like a fish in the swamp of the people...Erm, I’m not sure if you have swamps or fish where you come from, but it makes sense.”
Zaef smirks as he shakes his head. “No, no, I get what you’re trying to say. Although I gotta say, it kinda scares me that this is...routine? No...Formulaic. That’s the word.” It’s difficult to tell, between the accent and terribly butchered pronunciation, but yes, the word he’s trying to say is ‘Formulaic.’ Now the question is, where the hell did Zaef learn this word?
“Well, the thing is, we haven’t had freedom everywhere, and we haven’t always had it. For most of our history it’s been more of a dream and a promise than an actual fact. Hell, most of the first democracies were built on systems of slavery. But we’ve moved, step by halting step, towards making a better world to live in. Most people take it for granted, but everything we have, all the freedoms and and liberties and rights we enjoy, we’ve won with blood and iron.” Hunter takes a drink from the pitcher. “We’ve also had a fair share of revolutions hijacked by smaller parties with different ideals. The rich and powerful also tend to have a bad habit of trying to seize power and corrupt the system. I’m sure you can understand.”
Zaef tries not to roll his eyes, and ends up failing miserably at the end. “No, I understand, kid. You don’t need to tart up the speech for my benefit. If you’re practicing for the next guy, though, I’d recommend trying it on someone else.”
“Fair enough. In that case, I need to know, straight up and no bullshit, what’s wrong with things right now. No happy talk, no sugarcoating. What are the things that could stop us before we get started?”
“Well, now that the rebels are organizing and Angel is teaching the Sheen to not be bloodthirsty psychopaths, the only real problem is that your military leaders want to send an invasion force through the Gates to try and occupy the entire Imperium while having nowhere close to the number of troops and supplies they need without back-up from the rebels or anyone else.”
“That certainly is an issue. And it’s something I can hopefully help with.” Hunter scribbles down more notes towards a conflict assessment, trying to figure out what will provide indisputable evidence of the size of the Imperial threat. Likely it’ll come through extrapolated logistical data, where physical artifacts prove the long train of things that had to happen to get them there. In any case, people need a clear, reliable crutch to take them through difficult times and wrenching changes.
“Good luck with that,” Zaef snorts. “They haven’t given a shit what we have to say so far.”
“That’s because to them you are, frankly speaking, a bunch of wogs.” Hunter snorts back. “These are people who are used to controlling all they see before them. You do not fit their frame of reference. You are anomalous and thus, to be ignored. Even the members of their military on 815 have been so far gone for so long that they’ve lost the native accent. It’s disturbing to them, and I’m sure that given your smuggling experience you know that people who are cogs prefer to ignore everything outside the control of the machine.” Hunter sets his glass down with a clink. “I can’t promise to make them love you. I can’t even promise to make them understand you. But I’m going to describe the situation in language and concepts that the military officer corps can understand. More than likely it’ll be the people that replace the current Pentagon brass who’ll actually get it.”
Zaef laughs mirthlessly. “And how long will it take before these people take power? How much damage will the current fucknuts do before that happens? How much time will it take the Imperium to recover from the blows we’ve dealt them while Narsai is obsessed with cleaning house? You’re right, I know how much people try to shut out the truth and try to keep their silly little fantasies alive, and it’s one of the stupidest and most painful ways to die. I don’t care what they fucking think about me, I’m just upset that they have their heads too far up their asses to read anything you may write down for them, and how much it’ll cost all of us in the meantime.”
Hunter lets him vent, and pauses to let the energy settle. “You’ve got a right to be pissed. I would be, and I am; I spent the last five years of my career trying to get people to understand that you couldn’t just bomb peace into existence. I lost good men under my command to fucked-up strategic priorities. Bitch of a thing was, it was only when I said ‘fuck it,’ and went out on my own that people actually started paying to hear my opinion.” Hunter takes a long look out the window towards the sea. “We pretty much know we’re going to dissolve and mutate cultures both at home and abroad. So, with that in mind, what would the ideal situation look like to you?”
“Ideal situation for what, exactly?”
“For change. Things look different from they did two years ago, and who the hell knows what they’re going to be like in another two? And we’re building something here, even if we’re not sure what it is yet. So, I’m not going to insult you by using the word hope, I just want to get a sense of what a good outcome would look like to you, short term and long term.”
“The ideal’s a defeated Imperium and more freedoms for people on the other side of the Gate.” Zaef shrugs as Brand looks at him. “That’s the best answer I got for ya right now.”
“I hear you. At some point, we’ll have to figure out what the Thousand Worlds might look like without an Imperium, but I’m guessing it’ll take more than just one conversation between a couple of bitter old assholes to figure that out.” Hunter smiles, acknowledging the absurdity of the task before them, and taking a moment to appreciate it.
“I guess we’re just going to have to bitch at the kids that they’re doing it wrong and throw our teeth at them until we decide what’s best for them.” Zaef says with a smirk.
The two aged dogs of battle trade tales of reckless youth, idiot commanders, and surprising turnarounds. By the end of it, Hunter has a better sense of the disaffected of the Thousand Worlds, as well as a sense of what Zaef is all about. He still has to figure out a better term for people from that culture than “imperials,” though; it too easily creates us-versus-them situations. Call it the first step towards a new vocabulary, he muses, wrapping up the interview and jotting down some blue-sky notes.
punkey
