A Broken Machine (Part Eight) Part Seven
The Quorum of Earth sat silently for a moment, waiting for the others to signal that they had some conversation analysis. Senior Comms was first, “Voice recognition checks out. Same with the ship ID. I don’t know what they are now, but they used to be ours.”
Intel was next, “Confirmed. Content is typical of Envoy Inkmans speech patterns and his iris hasn’t changed much. It's a different colour and material but it still has the same pattern as is shown in his records…I don’t know how good a Xeno would have to be at counter-Intel to fake that, but I’ll take those odds. We have no official opinion on the ship, I’ll leave that to Fleet but if he’s leaving us a cache of info and tech anything like they are using I want us to be there.”
The obscured face paused, “In fact, we need to bring an army. If it's real then I want it and if it's not then people are going to think we are lying about whatever we do find and that we stole the good stuff. There are going to be a lot of bad decisions made quickly and we are going to need big sticks and sharp teeth.”
Unknown to any but the Director of the Quorum of Earth those were the codewords that basically told him that Earth now needed to be on a total war footing, including against the colonies. It had never been uttered outside of an exercise before and it chilled him to hear them slipped into the conversation.
Fleet was the sharp teeth and he didn’t have long to wait, “I agree with Intel, I’m moving everything to combat readiness now. Now, all we need is those big sticks.”
She made it sound like a joke but it wasn’t. It was the Armouries of Earth, that wellspring of the worst in human ingenuity and it was heavily guarded by an army of silent men that passed through history without names or recognition that would ever mean anything to anything outside of a chosen few. It was the very gates of hell and he held the keys.
He muted all but Fleet and Intel and gave his personal code, “Very well. I will let loose the dogs of war. All your requests will be met, the current inventory is now available to you.” He leaned back, now appearing much older. “May the fortunes of war follow you.”
The three of them looked at each other, all aware of what they had just done. Fleet spoke first, “And you Sir. Keep home safe for my boys, we’ll make you proud.”
The Director raised a smile, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it's still here for you. And I’m already proud. Fair sailing, Commander.”
Intel cut the filter that obscured his face, unwilling to be nameless after the decisions now made, “We will be your eyes in this. We are as ready as the human race can ever be. Good luck to all of us.”
As they had practised so many times before, they all immediately switched over their immediate responsibilities to their Quorums and began to make plans based on what they knew of the enemy and what they suspected of their friends. Intel and analysis washed over them and onto their subordinates, those still living in a more innocent time.
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The Wisp avatar seemed curious, “What do you think they are doing?”
Silver was still staring down the corridor, “Hmm, oh. They are preparing to go to war, in the finest traditions of the human race.”
That seemed to slow down the Wisp, “But the fight is over, we are no longer attacking the planet. I do not understand.”
He dragged his face around and looked at the facsimile of a human that faced him. “That's because you don’t know us. Right now every man, woman and child is being called to war. Every sharp blade is being drawn, every resource is now aimed in one direction. What you used to be before you became the Wisp and before we joined, has raised mankind against an external threat and no words will now prevent it from happening. I was a diplomat and can now tell you that we have become a useful reason and interesting footnote. The logic of war, the beat of this drum, that doesn’t end until someone dies.”
Wisp seemed to smile, as if some internal logic had been confirmed, “You are all predators.”
Silver didn’t smile. “Yes. And today your people are the prey of the entire human race and I don’t envy you.” The steel that he was now wearing finally seemed to suit his voice.
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He seemed to stand up straighter. He looked at the avatar, “Did you get that gun for me? It seems I get to take the first shot in this war.”
He began walking down the corridor, his mind locked down to the small thoughts that he knew he needed to get him past this. The gun was heavier than he remembered.
The avatar stood quietly for a moment and then melted into the wall. This was between the two Minds and she only had business with the winner.
Silver stepped into what looked like another glimmering room, save for one thing. The stain of a steel throne was almost an insult to the gold that surrounded him. He stopped.
“Wisp, I can do this without all the fucking propaganda. Stay out of my head until I call you.”
The room became much more cluttered, various piles of machinery were tucked into the corners and the ‘Throne’ was a simple seat in front of a console. The place reeked of neglect and cattle dung. It was a smell that brought him back to his childhood, the smell of a farmer that his father had beaten to a pulp for something never discussed. He remembered in some childish way that the farm was off-limits until the police had finished. He just remembered the blood and the smell and the confusion as his father had struck the man down. Memory is a strange beast and his adult self could read the situation easily. His sympathy was always with the prey, subject to the whims of those that held their lives in a careless hand. Not this time.
He stared at the broken thing, a creature now long past its time and longing for an end.
“So, you are the monster? The one that chose to burn worlds?”
A rasping voice came from the console, “You are a predator. They have led you to me, to the final slaughter, as they led all my kind.”
Silver could make out little more from the doorway and approached closer. On the seat were the remnants of a body, the scattered bones having fallen from the chair. Only the head remained, wired to the ship and held in place by rivets. The deer's eyes darted around the room, forever searching for an escape.
Silver raised the gun, “Well, the sins of your captors were not the sins of my people. Did you think your cruelty would not be repaid? That the offences against you justify a murderous rampage across the galaxy? That your fear paid for your guilt? Because it doesn’t. Fuck you.”
The eyes of his prey focused on the threat, “You have taken it all from me. Do you think I have bled the galaxy? What will you do, killer-for-food? I give you the millennia, as space and time twist your mind. I give you to the predator that hunts me, may you find joy in the battle, in the death that follows you on your breath. I can taste the dead you ate, wretched thing. Go, pack-hunter and raise your people as a fire against the galaxy. You think it will be my fear that has killed the most at the end?”
It took a single shot to set the head on fire. He waited until the hollow skull had joined the broken bones on the floor and called Wisp. “Clean all that shit up. Throw it from the ship, throw it into the sun. It can burn as the planet did.”
Integration is now at 100%. New directives pending.
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The Director of the Quorum of Earth was debating how his resignation would happen. It was a certainty that it would be required, it was just the mechanics that interested him. Some efforts were easily prevented by the dull trickle of power, position or money that he was allowed to divert. Others were going to be against the war. Any war, really. They had the attention span of a hamster and the morals of an alleycat in heat. They would switch sides once the casualties began. Then the virtuous multitude. The good guys. They just annoyed him and it was only a matter of time that one of them suggested that they made planets less flammable. He was interrupted by the Director for Human Diplomacy.
The man was large by modern standards, a thing he put it down to eating too many diplomatic chickens. It was a fact that chicken was the staple food of diplomats. Beef and pork were religious, fish was political because of its tendency to ignore borders and vegan was a snub to some, virtue signalling to others. No one cared how many chickens you ate.
“Hello Director of the World, Lord of all you survey, Centre of all Human thought…”
The Director sighed, “Shut up Fred. What makes you interrupt my maudlin magnificence at this hour? Also, how did you get past security?”
The man sat down carefully, “Well you set my world on fire. If one more person tells me about ‘big sticks and sharp teeth’ again I will hit them with something heavy. Or find someone to do it for me at least. As to your Security, well, I’m the best diplomat you’ve got. Talking my way into places I’m not supposed to be is my entire life's purpose.”
He ruffled through his jacket and produced two glasses and a flask. He set them on the desk and poured them in silence.
“A toast to our health, assuming we have any left. Talk to me. How bad is this going to get?”
The Director of Earth picked up the glass and sniffed deeply, “Well, that depends. The enemy that set that world on fire now works for us apparently and is turning to fight the oncoming storm.” He looked over his glass, a slight bit of humour returning, “One of yours I believe. I didn’t know you lot were so persuasive. However, as I‘m sure you know that he intends to drop a lot of tech on us before he goes to battle…and has turned this into an arms race. We are tracking his ship but it's thirty systems away and accelerating. In full view of everybody. Frankly, he’s about managed to cause a civil war before we even gear up against the bad guys.”
The Diplomat drew in the whiskey carefully, “Silver Inkman? He’s young but I tend to send him to start fights because he’s very, very good at ending them. I’m glad it was him. I expect some surprises. I’ll keep the mob from your door. Concentrate on Fleet and Intel and let me look after our friendly allies.”
They both needed to drink on that one.