ACT II | THE TYRANT'S HUNGER

CHAPTER IX | THREAT

RESISTANCE COUNCIL CHAMBER | TEL AVIV | ISRAEL

The tension was so thick it could have been cut. Kane, Hamaza, Liberman, and Jilla stood all facing each other. The latter had been summoned after what had happened. An event that normally would have been cause for celebration, but since the last meeting, had been something which should not have happened.

And to think at one point this would be one of the best days of my life, Isaiah thought grimly. How things have changed.

Jilla's face was almost bemused, an air of satisfaction around her, which was effectively all he needed to confirm his suspicion. It was possible she was just thrilled by the news of Gopal's death, but Kane knew very well that the region was her wheelhouse, and they were the only ones capable of pulling off such an attack.

Hamaza was the one who asked the question. "Did you order the attack."

She took a sip from a glass of water, a smile playing on her lips. "No."

Of course not. It wouldn't have been surprising if she had, but Jilla was a woman of her word. Kane narrowed his eyes. "Did you know the attack was going to happen?"

"Well, if we're speaking candidly, Osiris, then of course I knew it was a possibility," Jilla continued nonchalantly, using his current code name. "I know everything that goes on in that region. You know me better than that. And when my people came to me with the opportunity to kill the good President, I carefully reviewed what they showed me, determined it was feasible, and said as much to them."

She locked eyes with him, eyes which were accusatory and hardened. "Sadly, I could not give my official sanction, since we as a Council agreed to refrain from violent action in the immediate future against the Triumvirate."

"You did not give sanction," Hamaza noted slowly. "Yet you did not condemn them either."

With a deliberate controlled motion, Jilla set the now-empty glass of water on the nearby table. She was deliberately tense, her features carefully controlled, but he knew she was internally seething. The smoldering fury that the older woman had kept within her was threatening to break loose now.

She was insulted.

Yet her voice was moderated. "Are you surprised?"

Isaiah was not. Neither, it seemed, was the Grand Ayatollah, who pursed his lips with a sigh. "I'm disappointed. We agreed as a Council."

"Which I will contest was ill-considered, futile, and cowardly," she practically spat, though the venom in her voice was restrained. "Nonetheless, I made the choice to abide. But that is where my willingness ends. I will not tell the men whose families have been hunted by the Hindu fanatics, who were raised fleeing from a radioactive wasteland, who have seen our people live as second class citizens in the mockery they call a Republic, that they cannot strike against the man who has fanned the flames of his fanatical followers and ruled his apartheid state."

She looked Hamaza square in the eyes. "Perhaps you could give that order. I cannot and will not condemn them for the murder of this man. He deserved far worse, as do all of the Triumvirate. You are also a fool if you believe that my order would have dissuaded them. I do not care if you disapprove, Ayatollah. If you thought that we are going to forget what we have endured and suffered because the little drone from the stars asks nicely…" she aimed the pointed words at Sagira, who had materialized around Isaiah's shoulder. "Then you have no business being in charge of these people."

Isaiah rubbed his forehead. "You are just proving the Triumvirate right. They will use this to solidify their relationship with the Traveler, and point to their tyranny as justified."

Jilla gave a sharp laugh. "And? Do you think I care what they think? Do you even care? I'm not going to pretend to be something I'm not to appease an alien, Isaiah. I have no empathy or remorse for slaughtering every single one of the Triumvirate. I will bomb their citizens and murder their leaders and still sleep soundly at night." She shook her head, eyeing Sagira. "Little Ghost, if you were under the impression that we are peaceful, that we have any intention of coexisting with these monsters, then you have been misled. And if you believe that our actions are unjustified, then there is little I can say that will convince you otherwise. If your precious red lines are crossed, then you should leave us entirely. There are no clean hands here."

The Ghost's fins spun, as she was silent. "You are one who has suffered greatly."

"I need not your sympathy, machine."

"Murdering others will not bring back your people or country."

"I'm not interested in bringing them back, machine," Jilla said softly. "But if I cannot bring them back, I will ensure they are avenged, and their spirits can rest at ease, knowing that those who destroyed us are also dead."

Hamaza laced his fingers together. "They are killing our people in response to this."

Jilla grimaced. "They only needed an excuse."

"Perhaps. They still would not have done it otherwise."

A shrug. "Gopal is dead."

"And what did we gain from this?" Hamaza asked. "More of our kin dead, and the next Indian President a puppet of the Soviets or Chinese? Is this better?"

Her fists balled. "Hypocrite. Your logic leads to no Resistance. If nothing we do changes anything, then why are we here at all?" She waved a hand sharply. "The Triumvirate knows that no one is untouchable now. We can kill the President of India. We can kill anyone in their government. Will the one who replaces him be better or worse? I can't say, but the moment we become paralyzed with the what-ifs of war, then we will lose. If there is collateral, we accept it – as we have been doing for years. This is not the time to grow a conscience, Ayatollah. Not until the alien gives us a reason."

"She cannot intervene and throw your world into chaos on a whim," Sagira said slowly, her gears clicking. "She wishes not to overthrow your species."

Jilla's lips curled up. "Then she is a coward and a fool. Apathy is complacency."

"Enough," Hamaza raised a hand. "There is little we can do to reverse this now. Jilla, you must reign in the Wheel Cell before they do anything else rash."

"No."

Hamaza cocked his head. "No?"

"No," she repeated firmly and flatly. "I won't tell my men to stand down if there is an opportunity. I will not sanction it. I will not plan it. But I will not stop them, nor will they listen to me."

"Yes they will," Hamaza emphasized gently. "You are their leader."

"But a leader has to believe in what she orders, Ayatollah," Jilla answered, just as quietly. "I have no faith in your plan. I have no faith in your alien. I will not lie to my soldiers for something I do not support or believe. I do not lie well, you know this, and so do they. If you wish to address them yourself, I will not stand in your way. But do not expect me to intervene."

The fire in her eyes seemed to dim. She sighed. "If you wish to remove me from the Council, then I will accept that. Understand that whoever will replace me will not comply with your demands either. If they do not endorse, they will openly deny."

"I understand," Hamaza sighed. "I will consider what to do."

"Thank you," Jilla gave a sharp nod. "I have a cell to run. You know how to reach me."

She left curtly after that, leaving the trio alone. Liberman's expression was blank. "I was afraid this would happen."

Isaiah nodded. "So was I. In retrospect, it's foolish to expect everyone to just…trust that things will change. Nor is she wrong."

Sagira floated in front of him. "In what way?"

"That the Triumvirate doesn't deserve redemption," Isaiah said, rubbing his chin absentmindedly. "It deserves to be burned to the ground, and scattered to the winds. Gopal was a monster who deserved to die. I won't mourn him, nor will anyone here. And truthfully, I can't bring myself to condemn her. If I had the opportunity to remove President Li, I would do it without a second thought."

The Ghost was silent for a moment. "You understand her."

"All too well."

"But you disapprove of what she did."

"Something seems wrong about this," Isaiah shrugged. "Call it a hunch. I feel like it is playing into the Triumvirate's hands. The Triumvirate does not shy away from false flags, but this was not one of them. Perhaps the timing is wrong, I don't know. All I know is that this doesn't help us as much as she thinks." He sighed. "Of course, I have the luxury of being able to be objective. Jilla was the only one to live when the bombs fell on Pakistan. She will never be impartial on India, nor can I expect her to be. No more than I can be objective on China."

He rubbed his forehead. "This is a mess."

"And she will be far from the only one," Liberman added. "If handled poorly, it will splinter the Resistance. Even if we retain central control, there are those who are not in support of refraining from lethal operations, especially if opportunities arise. Jilla is far from the only one."

Isaiah raised an eyebrow. "You too?"

"I prefer to be more strategic," he said, shooting a side-eye at Sagira. "I share the skepticism she has of the Traveler's influence on the Triumvirate. They are irreparably tainted, untrustworthy, and corrupted. I am not willing to forgive and forget, nor will I trust them should they change. Your Traveler is naïve, Ghost. Or she sent you here as a trap to lull us into complacency."

The Ghost practically sputtered. "She did not!"

Liberman was unmoved. "Then she is a fool. Do not be surprised if others ignore your delusions. You do not know us, nor what we have experienced. I do not care if you can reshape a world. Your power is pointless if you do not use it for the right things."

"And what are those 'right things'?" Sagira demanded.

His voice was monotone. Factual. Neither judgemental nor accusing. Conversational. Calm. "The right things?" He asked her back. "Too many to count, but all lead to one answer." He paused, considering.

Liberman turned to face Sagira proper. "The Triumvirate methodology is not a bug. It is a feature. If it were an orchard, the very trees would be rotten. There is only one method to correct that. Only one conclusion. Only one, singular answer."

He raised a finger, as if counting, to Sagira. "Burning the Triumvirate's rotten orchard to the ground, down to the roots and up to the leaves."

His hand lowered.

"That is the only correct and right thing to do." Liberman said flatly. "I do not care if you agree. Help us, or don't, but do not expect us to trust you on a whim. Not when your Ghosts are flying around and legitimizing the Triumvirate terror state. Playing both sides will not work." He looked to Hamaza. "I will follow Jilla's example, I will not intentionally break our agreement. I will also utilize opportunities as they appear, one way or another."

He nodded to Hamaza, though seemed not interested in a response. "I will see you later, Ayatollah."

He left, leaving both of them alone. Or three of them, with Sagira. The Ghost's eye briefly flashed. "He did not strike me as this confrontational."

"That's probably the most emotion I've seen from him in a while," Isaiah muttered. "Wonderful. The Wheel and Jackal Cells are effectively rogue, and that's going to give the Triumvirate license to continue existing." He looked to Sagira. "Liberman's not wrong though, and you're going to have issues convincing others that there is equality between the Triumvirate and…us."

"It appears so," there was an electronic rasp like a sigh. "Both seem to wish to inflict violence to avenge. Little thought given to the others who live innocently, or what will replace them."

"They have seen truths they cannot unsee. Truths that have robbed hope from them." Hamza replied. "How could they hope, when every hope only invites more pain?" A smile grew on his lips, soft and old.

"They have let scars define them, change them, and not to their better natures." Hamza withdrew his prayer beads, rolling the beads one by one between his fingers. "Someone must remind them of otherwise, of who they ought to be."

Sagira bobbed slowly in the air. "Burning the orchard…"

"I realize," Hamaza nodded slowly. "Though not inexplicable. It will take time and healing for any of them to change. Only if those responsible are brought to justice. I will see what I can do to placate the Wheel Cell operatives."

For once, Isaiah was glad his cell primarily focused on information gathering, observation, and infiltration. At least he could trust his people to not go off-script – though if the opportunity came up for a particularly useful assassination…

He sighed. Focus.

We should at least give Her a chance to do something.

Although he wondered what it would be. The next few weeks were going to be interesting, and the months ahead would determine just how much faith they should have in their restraint. Assuming that no more unsanctioned actions were taking, which now seemed a distant hope.

Right now, all they could do was wait, and hope everyone followed their orders.

OFFICE OF THE GENERAL SECRETARY | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION

Clovis Bray smiled to himself as he watched the breathless coverage on the terrible tragedy that had taken place. The President of India dead, killed by terrorists in a conniving and cowardly attack that had taken the lives of a dozen bystanders and innocent aides. Wall-to-wall coverage, interviews with witnesses, officials, experts, and politicians.

Beautiful.

There was nothing more satisfying than a plan coming to fruition after a pawn played its part – unknowingly, of course, yet played it all the same. The mindsets of terrorists and radicals were so disappointingly…simple. Easy to predict, easy to use, easy to control on the macro scale, all without them realizing it.

It was like watching a movie for the first time. A standard American blockbuster. You knew the characters, you knew the basic overview, and even without knowing the plot and ending, you could reasonably predict what was going to happen next, who was going to do what, and how it would end.

Technically it was something one did not know, but no one was surprised when it happened. So too was it that Clovis was not surprised when the antagonists of this story he was watching unfold played their part.

Once seen, it was impossible not to know it as mundane and mediocre beyond compare, almost ugly to behold in its simplicity. But he'd seen it long ago, long enough to appreciate its ugliness and simplicity.

After all, how could a play be completed, if every actor over-thought their role? It could not be. That was their role. For they, they did not think. They merely acted on the stage.

They were shaped by their perception of their enemy, and the personal motivations which had driven their minds into the closed rooms they had become. Incapable of perspective, incapable of nuance, incapable of long-term strategy. No, revenge, vengeance, hatred, such poisoned the mind. Made it seek out simple solutions, violent answers, and short-term successes.

What so many of these terrorists failed to realize was that no one wanted revolution. A hundred, or a thousand individual soldiers could die; prominent politicians could be assassinated; loyal citizens could be targeted and killed – and absolutely nothing would change. Each death merely reinforced and exposed what they were.

Violent, irrational, murderous thugs and criminals.

One needed no propaganda to turn the people against the violent mob - shining a spotlight on them did that job perfectly well. To be an underdog, a rebel against a tyrannical regime was a self-fulfilling prophecy. So many seemed to think that all it would take was the public to 'wake up', and that they would see the 'truth'.

Only they had spent so much time in their warped mindset that it made them incapable of seeing that the people who lived peacefully were simply happy and content with their lives. Such a possibility would never enter their minds, not when they viewed the world as black and white. Complicit or sympathetic, ally or enemy. Binaries.

Such a simplistic worldview.

Incapable of nuance.

And that was ultimately why they would lose.

But first they would play an instrumental role in the ascendance of the Triumvirate, and would cement Humanity's status as an interstellar power.

Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves.

We're only just getting started.

And to think that the critics of the Triumvirate had criticized the policies of the past. That the violent uprisings and attacks would generate nothing but resentment and anger, that they would lead to terrorism and civil unrest. All of it true, of course – he held such views himself. Violence was a…simple method of conquest. Blunt and dull, inelegant and hard to wield with finesse.

Violence was a tool. One which should be wielded carefully by the state. The Soviet Union had not risen to become a superpower by threat of their armies. No…all they needed to do was turn the anger; the inherent unrest, the dissatisfaction of the people against their leaders. All that was needed to overthrow a nation was the harnessing of a mob, and pointing it in the proper direction.

They would willingly join afterwards, and Europe now stood as the example of this philosophy.

A continent nearly conquered, without the Red Army firing a single shot.

Beautiful. Elegant.

Magnificent.

Of course, there remained dissidents. But they were few. Isolated. Easily dealt with, without significant comment.

Yet something he had grown to acutely recognize was the inherent trap of unfocused peace. Peace without purpose bred resentment, complacency, and allowed the desires and minds of the people to wander. It led to reexamination, and a relaxation of the standards and values that had brought a nation and people to greatness.

People needed something to focus on, to strive towards. Or to fear.

Of course, he had wanted to purge these terrorists, but at the time, the alien had not been present. It had been a different period, and now everything had changed. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, as there was something far more effective to focus the minds of the public than an aspirational goal.

An enemy.

In a sense, these terrorists were the perfect enemy. Scattered, small, and yet dangerous enough to pull off such feats like assassinating one of the heads of the Triumvirate. An enemy which was tangible through the perpetual media cycle, yet so small and far away that the vast majority would never experience a terror attack, or be close to one.

And he had all the tools to ensure that, not only would this enemy remain in the minds of the public, they would be directed every step of the way.

These people were desperate for success, for victory, that they would not critically think.

A wolf with a full belly was a dangerous and conniving creature. But these were starving, bony husks barely feeding their dying pack, their hunger guiding them to brutish actionary instinct. Instinct easy to follow, to guide to the stage.

Theirs was to play the act on the stage, so long as they received their scraps which were dangled by the hunt master.

And it was so easy to allow them to succeed. Of course, he could not simply fake a terrorist attack – he was no fool, and he had to assume there were Ghosts watching certain people of the KGB closely – and one Ghost was also in the Resistance. The Traveler would know if there was foul play.

And that was simply unacceptable.

Yet something as simple as delaying passing along a single intelligence brief informing New Delhi about the possibility of a terrorist attack was all it took to shake a nation. Small, subtle, and so minute that no one would think it intentional. Only one person was aware of what had happened, and what a small lapse had cost.

Luka entered, his face controlled, but with an aura of contentment around him. "Such a tragedy," Clovis said, briefly checking to see if there were any Ghosts observing. "I have no doubt we will get to the bottom of this attack, will we?"

Luka smiled bloodlessly. "I am in contact with their soon-to-be-former intelligence director as we speak, and the Soviet Union has pledged to assist in finding the source of these attacks."

Clovis leaned back. "And how has the Republic planned to respond?"

"Parliament is planning to hold an emergency appointment within hours," Luka answered. "The response has already happened to a degree – New Delhi is under martial law, though they're letting the Hindu mobs run amok and extract justice on their own. There have been about six hundred 'terrorists' who they've presented to the Indian Army, and at least a few hundred killed by mobs."

"I would have expected higher numbers," Clovis commented.

"I think the sheer scope of the attack, and the martial law dissuaded only the most fanatical," Luka shrugged. "Do not worry. I expect there to be mass demonstrations the moment the restrictions are lifted."

"Excellent," Clovis nodded. "And we will be there to support them. After all, justice must be served for such a terrible tragedy."

"I am curious how they pulled this off," Luka mused. "Fox in particular is…incised about this, and how no one learned it was coming."

"And he is correct," Clovis said knowingly. "Technically."

Luka's smile remained. "Technically."

The innuendo was perhaps a bit much, but they did not need to be explicit when both knew the truth. The stage had been set, the Traveler would be fooled, and the start of the plan was a success. One success through, one success on a path the required absolute perfection. If this was the hand he had been dealt, he was feeling more confident that he could turn it into a winning one.

Clovis did not smile, nor grin, nor show anything. But he did look up, to where he knew it would be. He was the ant monarch, he had his court. Now.

Now and here, I invite you. To come and see, to come to court and see the music. Let it start. Let the dance begin.

Come, Traveler. Let us see if man can outwit god.

THE KREMLIN | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION

The Kremlin was a hive of activity. Valentin felt like a fish out of water as he stood almost helplessly as aides, officials, and agents swarmed the breezeway and throughout the halls. Even at its most busy, he'd never seen it like this. The air was charged with the acute sense of disbelief.

How could this have happened?

He wondered the same thing.

He'd awoken earlier than usual, and had checked his phone and had been stunned when he'd read the first headline.

INDIAN PRESIDENT GOPAL KUSARI DEAD IN UNATTRIBUTED BOMBING

He'd blinked, certain he'd misread it. Then read it again. He checked other websites. Same story. He started reading the details in fascinated horror. He couldn't remember the last time something on this scale had happened. The American Vice President had been assassinated a long time ago, and it wasn't uncommon for India to suffer wildcat terrorist attacks.

But to successfully assassinate a head of state?

Unprecedented.

Vigil's tone was subdued. "[An unfortunate development.]"

"[To put it lightly,]" he'd said, his tone numb. "[This shouldn't have happened.]"

"[I did not think the people opposed to the Triumvirate were so resourceful.]" Vigil said.

"[They aren't; they shouldn't be,]" Valentin shook his head. "[They're a fringe minority, and always have been. This just doesn't happen. Not unless something major has changed. I need to figure out what's happening.]"

He'd quickly gotten dressed, and rushed down to the main floor where he'd been quickly pulled aside into an 'emergency meeting'. Inside the meeting was a collection of government officials, KGB agents, and military officers. Very few of them paid much attention to him, though for once Vigil wasn't hiding himself.

At the head of the table was a woman dressed in a black and silver Triumvirate Intelligence uniform. Young, black hair, and impeccably presented. She looked mildly familiar, though he couldn't immediately place her off the top of his head. "[All of you are aware of what has happened,]" she began. "[President Gopal Kusari has been assassinated. Triumvirate Intelligence, as well as the respective national agencies, are working in concert to determine the culprits, cause, and circumstances of how this was allowed to happen.]"

Elsie Bray!

Of course! He remembered her now; she'd appeared on camera several times when Clovis had been in the running for General Secretary – and other times in promotional videos for Bray Incorporated. He knew almost nothing about her other than her family, and he'd certainly not expected her to be in Triumvirate Intelligence of all places.

An odd career path when she could have been placed almost anywhere in the Soviet Union, be it in Bray Incorporated or in the government directly.

The screen began showcasing images. Pictures of the debris and wreckage, along with a number of bodies. Numbered pieces of evidence were displayed, bomb parts, clothing, bootprints, blood.

"[Preliminary evidence points to a local terror cell which has operated in India for years,]" she continued. "[They've been responsible for a number of attacks across India, and New Delhi specifically. Contrary to what you may have heard, they are well-trained, supplied, and competent.]"

"[Pakistani?]" One of the KGB officers asked.

"[Primarily, though they have also recruited from the nation's religious minority Indians. Muslims and Christians, primarily,]" Elsie corrected. "[India has struggled to properly contain this issue, though have thus far managed to prevent significant blunders until today.]"

That came as somewhat of a surprise to Valentin. This didn't exactly sound like a small band of terrorists, but something more…organized. It must have been intentionally downplayed by the Soviet Union to prevent people from panicking – not necessarily a bad thing, but it meant that things like this could happen and now everyone was worried.

"[We are not sure who sanctioned this attack,]" Elsie continued. "[However, we know that this terror cell is managed, or heavily influenced by Jilla Pitaft, who was once the Pakistani Minister of Defense.]"

"[I thought she was dead?]" Someone commented.

"[Her status is unknown,]" Elsie corrected. "[We know that she survived the destruction of Pakistan, and founded a terror cell, which exists to this day. We've found no evidence that she has died since then, though it is possible another has taken her place. There are two people who could authorize a strike on the President of India – Pitaft, or Grand Ayatollah Hamaza el-Hussein.]"

Murmurs spread throughout the room at that. Valentin vaguely knew who she was talking about – wasn't he in exile in Israel? And he was running a terrorist cell? This was becoming more concerning the more he listened. Hearing the reality of the world hidden from the public was a sobering experience.

"[As for which one gave the order, that remains inconclusive,]" she continued. "[This is a serious escalation, though not unprecedented. Hamaza's neo-Quds Force has been known to work with Pitaft's terror cell, and his influence is not something to discount.]"

"[Could this be a splinter group?]" Another man asked.

"[Unlikely,]" Elsie shook her head. "[There were multiple explosives in play; professionally made ones too, they likely received training in Israel. Their resources are not used lightly, and this cell has been willing to perform acts of indiscriminate mass murder before. Someone authorized this, it is only a matter of who.]"

Valentin leaned forward as the screen shifted to some more images showing evidence. "[The exact point of the explosion isn't determined, but they were suspected to have been planted in the vehicle the President was using, under the road itself, and hidden in nearby plants. Witnesses also claim that masked individuals came out and tossed explosives towards the President and killed themselves with cyanide capsules afterwards.]"

"[Any others in custody?]"

"[A dozen suspects are being questioned now. We are expecting the Indian government to make more in the coming hours.]"

The conversation continued further; Valentin listened, trying to absorb all of the details, now privy to state secrets he didn't ever expect to learn. It appeared that terrorism was a larger issue than he'd expected or thought about. But how much larger of a statement could you make than killing a head of state?

You seem surprised.

Vigil interjected for the first time in minutes.

I didn't know these terrorists were so dangerous.

Where did they come from?

He grimaced. If they're Pakistani, likely from one of the Triumvirate's…less-inspired decisions. India destroyed their country with nuclear weapons.

I see. No question as to why they would attack.

No…but Gopal didn't order the bombing, and it wasn't just him who was killed. There were bystanders who were killed and injured. This was terrorism, even if their reasons are understandable, it doesn't make them right. These are people who would kill me just because I'm a Soviet.

A worrying prospect.

He sighed internally. I don't know. Clovis is probably going to ask my opinion. What would the Traveler say about this?

Regardless of past crimes…revenge is this way is not right…Vigil paused. The ones who did this should be brought to justice.

That'll be enough. I think we can find common ground on that.

SOV RESIDENCE | BEIJING | CHINESE COMMUNIST EMPIRE

The days when he had spent his days here now seemed like so long ago, but very little had really changed. It was an opulent, beautiful residence; a mansion with stone-laid walkways, delicately curated hedges, gardens with sweet-smelling flowers, and fountains that flowed soothingly throughout the exterior.

Inside the mansion was no less impressive. The finest leathers, rugs, furniture, filled the rooms; not gaudy, yet elegant. The gold and red colors of the Empire were the dominant color scheme, and no shortage of flags scattered throughout the residence. Chandeliers of crystal hung from the high-rise ceilings, casting soft light over everything.

The sheer wealth on display hid the cameras placed throughout the residence, bushes concealed the working automatic weapons, and snipers rested atop the roofs at night. Bulletproof glass was provided for all of the windows, the water purification was industrial grade and drew from a private well. Every night laser-tripwire alarms were set in front of the doors; spectrum-tuned to be nearly invisible to the naked eye.

When one's family was one of the most powerful within the Communist Party, with a history that stretched to the days of Chairman Mao himself, there was no shortage of healthy paranoia. Many dynasties had risen and fallen in the lethal realm of Party politics, but the Sovs endured.

And they would endure for generations to come.

Perhaps that was why Fang had always felt out of place here. It was difficult to truly appreciate the luxury when the feeling hanging over him was a lurking paranoia that there were those out there that would not hesitate to kill him for his family name. Ironically, the residence made him feel unsafe.

It had been a relief when he'd finally left it, and left Beijing entirely to join the Taikonauts. Beijing was a wonderful city, but one where he'd always felt like he had to watch his back inside. It was too close to the levers of power in the Empire, and the alleys of the city were a good place for accidents to happen.

He almost wished he could go back to the Moon. Anywhere but getting caught up in Party politics. Though it was difficult to do so when he stayed with his family day in and out. He was bound to learn about the latest internal drama, complaints about other dynasties, and late nights hearing his parents, grandparents, brothers, and sisters stay up to discuss the minute details and strategizing.

It struck him as so…pointless. They were prouder of him for being asked to go before the Politburo, and conversely were only tangibly interested in that he'd come face to face with an alien. It was all a way to leverage their newfound celebrity, and had tried to get him to come to some meetings or be introduced to some people (and eligible women).

He'd refused.

He left to avoid the intra-Party drama. That wasn't going to change now. To their credit, at least his family more or less accepted it, and had moved on. They still cared for him of course, but there was certainly a sense of…disappointment, both at him, and at the 'opportunity' they had 'lost'.

But the last thing he was thinking of right now was how to give his family more power. As far as he was concerned, they had enough, and weren't using it for the right reasons.

Now though, they were all gathered, and for once, were all of a similar mind.

"[What will happen next?]" His father asked rhetorically, as they watched the muted screen with the provocative headline on the death of the Indian President. The event had shocked all of them, as while everyone knew terrorism was a minute threat, the idea that they could pull off something like this was…unprecedented.

"[No doubt an interim president will be confirmed by the Parliament,]" Xiang Sov, his sister and highly placed in the Ministry of State Security said, eyes glued to the screen. "[New elections will be ordered shortly. All of the competing parties will demand new elections, as they'll see it as politically advantageous.]"

"[Of course they will, no sense of national unity,]" his father snorted. "[And leave the country leaderless in this time of change.]"

"[Perhaps this will motivate them to take the dissent seriously,]" his grandfather commented, his face stone-like and wrinkled. "[They have been too tolerant and permissive.]"

"[They're not much different from the Americans,]" Fang felt compelled to point out.

"[Please,]" he sniffed in return. "[The Americans have systems in place to keep their people controlled. They learned well from the Soviets. Still permissive, but they are not as blind, even as they have faced their share of incidents.]"

"[Nonetheless, this will significantly shake up the nation,]" Xiang said. "[Still, this is surprising. The implications are concerning.]"

"[Indeed. They've let the problem fester long enough to where it killed their leader. Sloppy,]" his father wrinkled his nose. "[I would hope the Triumvirate makes it clear this is not accepted, especially so close to the Empire.]"

"[The Politburo will be taking up legislation to address this new security concern,]" grandfather waved a hand. "[The Party, at least, will respond to this new threat.]"

"[This happened in India,]" Fang frowned. "[India has always had a terror issue to some degree. It hasn't spread here yet. Our counter-terrorism measures appear to be working.]"

"[The terrorists also weren't able to kill their head of state,]" Xiang countered. "[A few hundred civilians every year is hardly something to brag about.]"

Fang cocked his head. "[Some people would probably disagree.]"

She shrugged. "[You know what I mean. Regardless, I'm sure the Politburo will respond swiftly, and the Triumvirate will follow.]"

"[I will ensure it does,]" his father said. "[Common ground we will find here. The Party will speak with a unified voice. You are welcome to join as well, Fang. Even you and the alien you have spoken to should be able to condemn these terrorists.]"

"[Yes…]" Fang hesitated. "[Though first I would see what this entails. I sincerely doubt the public needs more restrictions placed on them.]"

His father's brow furrowed. "[I would be careful not to repeat that outside of this residence.]"

Fang sighed. "[I'm well aware of this.]"

"[I believe we have dwelled on this long enough,]" Xiang stood and stretched. "[There is work to be done, and I need to leave in a few minutes.]"

"[As do I,]" Fang also stood. "[I need some air.]"

There were a few nods as those remaining continued the discussion in muted tones, and he left them to themselves, wondering how more restrictive the inevitable new security legislation would become.

And if there was any way he could maybe put it on hold. Because he had a feeling that it was going to be a crisis the Party was not going to allow to go to waste.

He sighed to himself. It seemed like he was going to have to get involved in politics, because if he didn't, then there was no one else that would.

It could also get him killed, but that was something he wasn't going to dwell on.

For now, anyway.

TRIUMVIRATE INTELLIGENCE COMMAND | TAMPA | CONFEDERATION OF AMERICAN STATES

Hayden Fox sat at his desk, putting the finishing touches on the briefing he was due to present before the Triumvirate heads of state. Two weeks, one hundred and seven pieces of evidence, six hundred and seven interviews, forty-two suspects, twice that number of interrogations, a martial lockdown, a new interim Indian President later, and there was a completed story of what, exactly had happened.

Normally, he'd be in a celebratory mood, despite the circumstances. This was by far and away some of the best work Triumvirate Intelligence had ever done. His people were to be commended, the other agencies had been remarkably helpful and cooperative, and most importantly, they had explanation, means, motive, and the most important parts of the story.

The beginning, middle, and end.

The beginning, as the story went, was simple. It was long suspected (and now confirmed), that the so-called "Wheel Cell" was keeping an eye out for high-profile Indian targets. Military officials and politicians primarily. The President had been considered too high-profile to feasibly take out, but they'd devised a plan anyway.

Unrelated operations had provided them with Indian military uniforms, keycards, identifications, and other pieces that – theoretically, would let them get near or into restricted areas. Several of the cell had successfully infiltrated into low-level staffing and military roles – remarkably well, in fact, some using forged identities, some not.

More importantly, they had explosives. Not cheap jury-rigged IEDs. Professionally made remotely-detonated and timed bombs. It had always been suspected that Israel had been providing training, and although that hadn't been confirmed, they'd managed to learn that the cell's primary bomb makers had traveled to Israel several times.

The biggest surprise? The cell was not only well-funded – a long-time suspicion, but extremely well-funded.

Funded enough to where infiltrators had no shortage of emergency funds, and considering the quality of the bombs, they were having no issue acquiring the components necessary to create them. They could hire or train master forgers for more illicit funds, and there was no telling right now how much counterfeit money was in circulation in New Delhi and the region as a whole – which was to say nothing of ID cards and skeleton keys that had doubtless been duplicated.

It was already a security nightmare the Indians were scrambling to correct – along with many Triumvirate security systems which had universal keycards and codes that the Indians had access to – at least right now it didn't seem like non-Indian tokens had been replicated or compromised.

All of the primary intelligence agencies were doing a review just to be sure.

This obscene funding also allowed them to utilize bribery. Not small bribes either, but bribes that were half a year's salary for a regular Indian soldier – which was to say nothing of low-level accountants, staff, and others. The cell had paid out a staggering twenty million American dollars over the course of five years – which raised so many red flags he didn't know where to properly begin.

That kind of money simply didn't exist without state backing. Was Israel not only providing a safe haven for these terrorists, but also bankrolling them? It was very troubling, and necessitated an actual investigation – without getting into the issue of how the hell the Israel economy was permitting that kind of surplus. There was enough here to force Israel to come to the table, and arguably enough to trigger a harsher retaliation, risky as that was.

So that was the beginning. The middle was where it got interesting. There was going to be an opportunity. Multiple military guards that had been corrupted were all going to be assigned to the President's military detail. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The route had been leaked to the Cell, and they knew where he was going, and what route he would take.

There had apparently been some heated discussion over whether or not to risk it. They'd gone ahead and made preparations anyway. Bombs, bribes, and moving infiltrators into position. This was where the main plot twist happened. Technically, this had not been a sanctioned operation. For the first time in a long time, they now had confirmation that Jilla Pitaft was alive and still in charge of the cell – and she had not explicitly given permission to take out Gopal.

Well, stories conflicted. Some said she'd signed off on it. Others said she hadn't, but had given implied approval. There were rumors that there was high-level disagreements between multiple terror cells concerning something 'unspecified', which Fox suspected had to do with the Ghost that was with the Ares One infiltrator.

It confirmed several things:

One: This had not been sanctioned by the majority of operating terror cells.

Two: The Grand Ayatollah had not approved it. Not a single witness had even indicated that the Ayatollah was brought into the loop at all.

Three: It seemed that the Ghost (and by extension, the Traveler) was having an impact on leadership, but some of the cells weren't playing ball, and doing their own thing.

Four: Some in the terror cells were trying to likely follow…whatever the Ghost had suggested…which Fox found a particularly interesting concept.

In short, this had technically been a rogue attack, but in reality it was tacitly approved by the leader of the cell. It had not been sanctioned by the other working cells at large. A little detail that he doubted would matter to the Triumvirate heads of state, but it was an important distinction nonetheless, because he couldn't envision that these terrorists – no matter how radical – would consider now a good time to assassinate someone like Gopal.

Then came the end. The fateful day. Earlier the car had been rigged with explosives, and the bribed guards turned a blind eye to it happening. Witnesses reported new gardeners and masons who had come by to do unscheduled 'maintenance' on the Presidential office, which had been planting additional explosives – and well-hidden ones too.

Of course, these had been discovered when the Presidential detail had begun to secure the area. For reasons Fox could not comprehend, they still brought the President close to the area. Outside, of course, but he still should not have been anywhere close to the scene. It wouldn't have saved them anyway, and Fox knew now that this had been intentional.

The Cell had wanted as many people as possible to gather around. The bombs had been designed as to appear to be on a timer, and not remotely detonated. Soon after the Presidential car showed up – boom. Terrorists hiding in the crowd that had gathered threw more explosives towards the already-destroyed vehicle and soldiers (including ones they'd bribed), killing dozens, and injuring dozens more.

In the end, there were only pieces left of President Gopal. The bomb-throwers had been tracked down, though killed themselves before they could be captured. So ended the mission of the Wheel Cell – the most successful terror operation in decades.

Normally such an attack would not have been possible, this kind of thing was usually caught by intelligence agencies or law enforcement long beforehand. A thorough review of intelligence gathered had only turned up mere hints that something was maybe going to happen. CIA and MSS intelligence implied that the cell was in the planning stages of something that would happen within the month. No more details, and that had already been passed on.

A KGB report had learned a bit more – that the cell was rapidly preparing for an operation that could take place within two weeks, against a major Indian figure. There had apparently been some infighting over if the source was reliable, and they had tried to gather corroborating details – meaning it wasn't passed along to the Indians until it was too late.

Fox doubted it had been intentional. The KGB were notorious for wanting accurate information (usually because if it was wrong, someone's head would roll), and there was the uncomfortable fact that even if they had corroborated it, they might not have passed it along because it was basically telling the Indians that they had more sources in their country than they did, which might have caused some issues.

In short, it was a perfect storm of coincidence, events, and timing to coalesce into this utter mess.

Yet he still felt something was off about this whole event.

He didn't know what it was, he knew he was being irrational. This was, while not exactly an open and shut case, pretty damn close to it. There weren't any plot holes or unanswered questions (outside of where and how this cell was so well-funded). This was as close to a completed story as he could hope for.

So why did he feel like he was being played?

Why did he feel like he was coming to the wrong conclusion?

The evidence lined up. The story made sense. There was no reason why he should feel anything other than pleased that it had been completed.

Even the Ghost hadn't refuted any of what he'd said – which was the clearest indication that the story was true. The Traveler had an eye or eyes in these terror cells – if there was foul play, he had no doubt Watcher-7 would be gleefully sharing it. Or as gleefully as the drone could.

Yet with all that, it still didn't sit right with him, and he knew why. This was exactly the kind of stunt the Triumvirate would pull. He knew very well of the Soviet hijacking of the Workers Revolutions and the decades of American meddling in South and Central America. False flags and color revolutions were well within the playbook of those who ran these nations.

What better way to gain the sympathy of the Traveler than a brutal attack such as this? What better justification for more…operational freedom, so to speak? No, there was no doubt that this was not beyond the realm of possibility. The Triumvirate could do this…and all the evidence pointed to that not being the case.

This attack was not a false flag. There was no indication this had been allowed to happen. There was nothing – that he could find – that indicated any hidden conspiracy or plot twist he had missed.

He had to go with the evidence, and while his gut said something was wrong with this whole situation, the evidence said otherwise, and it was rare when both were not in sync. It bothered him, but he was certainly not going to follow a conclusion the evidence utterly refuted. It seemed to just be a massive coincidence that this was going to likely turn out in the Triumvirate's favor.

Fox did not believe in coincidences like this.

Yet it seemed now he had no choice.

He was a professional, and he would give the facts to the heads of state. For once, he would have to come to terms with the fact that the Triumvirate actually had not engineered something that turned out in their favor. Maybe that was a positive sign, and he was not one to entertain conspiracies and lie to himself.

His gut would have to get over it.

He checked the calendar. Briefing tomorrow, and at the end of the week was the 'official' acknowledgement of the agreement between the Traveler and Triumvirate. With Clovis Bray as the keynote speaker. How shocking. He wondered what kind of rhetoric Clovis would take, because he certainly would exploit this for all that it was worth.

Well, at least he would have a mission after this. These terrorists were getting funding from somewhere, and if Watcher-7 was going to keep tight-lipped about the details, he would find it himself. For all the sins the Triumvirate had committed, they were still better than literal terrorists.

And he hoped that if there was one mission everyone could agree too, it was to make sure attacks like these did not happen again.

GENEVA | SWITZERLAND | SOVIET UNION

The crowds stood arrayed before him, packed as tight as could be permitted without becoming unduly uncomfortable. They packed the streets and venues that were far too small to contain the thousands who had come to witness the future; overflow spilled far beyond – thankfully something he had anticipated.

Screens had been put up along the streets; bars and restaurants were packed as the city saw more visitors in this single day than years. The uniformed Soviet Police stood by and carefully observed, while uniformed and plainclothes KGB and Triumvirate Intelligence kept a diligent watch for any signs of trouble.

There was only one topic in the minds of the public today – the future.

Today was the day when the Triumvirate – and Humanity – would take the first true steps on the path to interstellar power. Today was a vision of the future. Today was the day when the agreement between the Traveler and Triumvirate would be formalized, and the future secured. Clovis did not need to feign his excitement and pride over what was to take place.

It was indeed the beginning of the expansion of Triumvirate power.

A message of hope for his citizens.

A message of reassurance for the Traveler and her agents.

A warning to those who stood opposed to Triumvirate.

The day is coming when all will be brought under our control

The briefing Fox had provided had made that as clear as possible. The pawns were already playing their part, and they would expose themselves soon enough. The story would be plain to see from the perspective of those blinded, for they were all mere characters in this tale he was weaving before the eyes of the world.

Clovis stood on an elevated platform, hands resting along the sides of a podium with a pre-written speech laid upon it. A prop, of course, he needed no reference when he had been pondering what he would say for weeks now; the moment that he knew was coming. The moment which would set the tone for what was to come.

Behind him stood every single returnee of Ares One, many with their Ghosts hovering over their shoulders, while the other Triumvirate heads of state stood before them, including the recently appointed Interim President of India, Ishwar Sardar, a largely moderate Hindu with a history of prior military service. He had the credentials, experience, and willingness to work to ensure such an attack did not happen again.

Of all the choices, he was easily one of the best. Clovis would not have wanted to deal with a hardliner or Hindu fanatic, lord knew there were enough of those running around. Nonetheless, he would be a fine addition, and under normal circumstances, Clovis would look forward to working with him.

But did he trust him?

No. Not yet.

Time would tell if he was someone to bring into the fold. Until now, he would play his part, and play it well. The stage was set, and the dance was a waltz with no the king of the ants tripped, his court would do no better.

The light at the bottom of the podium clicked green. Time for the show to begin.

Time to begin, to take the starting steps of the pirouette.

"Today, all bear witness to history," he began in English – the standard language for addressing an international audience. "Today we bear witness to the future of the Triumvirate, of the world, and of our species. I want to stand before all of you, and speak of nothing but the wonders and prosperity that is coming, but I cannot do so and disrespect the memory of those who perished such a short time ago."

The screens behind him showed a picture of the smiling former Indian President. "My only regret is that I was not afforded the privilege of working with him more," Clovis continued, putting some remorse in his voice. "Even if we only worked together for months, it was enough to show me that he was devoted, tempered, pious, and skilled. He was a true leader, one who will not be easily replaced."

Of course, in reality Gopal had been a largely ineffectual, prideful leader who was more interested in his own affairs than security concerns and the Triumvirate at large. He was especially bad at seeing the bigger picture, nor had the spine to make truly monumental decisions. All of which ultimately culminated in his untimely demise.

Mundane. Mediocre. Simple. Never one of the Triumvirate, not in truth, only one who had been propelled along by the currents of greater men before him. He had never risen taller than the shadow he cast.

Such a shame. Ironic that he must not be contrite and sorrowful about him. He almost imagined Quinn resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Ah well, it did no one good to shed no tears for such a man, the people wanted a hero; a martyr, and who was he to deny them that right?

"I have every confidence in Interim President Sardar," Clovis said, briefly motioning to the Indian near him. "He was chosen well, and will lead his people with the same vigor and determination he has shown before, and I am certain that the people of India will once more pick one as great as President Gopal was!"

In reality, it was likely the people would overwhelmingly support a hardliner. They wanted blood, and there were no shortage of those who wished to see vengeance stoking the flames. Not unless a major shift took place over the next few months.

They, the people, were puppets on a stage, eager for strings, eager to see this great play to its end.

"Let us briefly have a moment of silence, to honor his memory one last time," he briefly stepped back, bowed his head, and allowed a quarter of a minute to pass before stepping up again. He had the crowd now, the hook was set and bait taken.

The moment ends.

The act resumes, the play continues.

He raised his head, focused eyes on the crowd. "Recent events force a question – why? Why, after the miracles and fantastical events our world has experienced in these past months, why respond now with violence?"

He leaned forward. "It is because the future has come, and with the future comes change; with change comes fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of the different, fear of losing what exists. Yet neither Triumvirate, nor our people, fear the future. Since the beginning, our leaders have guided us through each crisis. We have experienced the hardships of failure, and the bounties of success, yet in every instance we emerged stronger."

For every failure, was a lesson. Every step on the path of power paved by those who'd been too limited in mind, too small of ambition to brave the paralyzing fear and overcome it. To go above and beyond their mundane, simple mediocrity.

He would not be another one, making another singular step on the path. He would pave it whole and gild it in the ichor of the divinity within his sight.

Divinity born of the Traveler, and the Traveler alone.

To Her alone, until the god was bled dry.

He spread his hands. "Let none tell you that change is a threat to what we have built! We, the Triumvirate, are nothing if not adaptable. How can we remain stagnant when the secrets of the vast expanse are now open to us! We are not alone. Let the illusion shatter, and we come to grips with this truth."

A placating hand raised, as he tempered his voice. "Of course, the unknown is frightening. We are not alone, there are those beyond, in the vast depths of space which seek to do us harm. This we know, yet there has been no enemy which we have not overcome, and we will not fall now. Our salvation has already come to us."

But to pave a path, one needed stones and cement. A path could not be paved with nothing, just as blind man cannot fish without being taught how to do so.

The reveal comes, one they doubtless knew, yet anticipated all the same. "All of you are aware of the entity which has turned a dead world into a thriving garden, one we have sought, one we have spoken to. One who came to us, not to threaten or conquer, but offer and protect. A Traveler of the stars – and She has seen us, and seen that we are the future."

And they had seen her, for she would be the stones and cement to pave the path with.

He allowed a smile to break forth; not hiding his enjoyment of this moment. "This is more than simply announcing an agreement, for such clinical terms cannot convey what this means for our species. From Her we learn the secrets and potential of the universe, until we too will be able to turn the dead worlds into ones our children and grandchildren inhabit. She is not a mere ally to our species – She is our friend. She signals change for not just the Triumvirate, but the world."

Show me Traveler, show me how you dance.

He let that hang for a moment. "And change is what we should not fear. No longer should we tolerate the status quo, but work to rush past it. No longer are the old mindsets applicable, we must forge ones in new understanding. Today, the Triumvirate leads the future of not just our people, but the Human species into a new era of prosperity."

An era unending. An era to be recorded in mythos and stone tablets.

"Of course," he paused. "Change will be resisted; people shall cling to the familiar, but this is a greater time than just a mere discovery. What we intend will be to chart the course of the future, and for that we invite all to join. Do not be intimidated by those who seek to tear down, main, and destroy. They are the past, and they shall be left behind as historical footnotes. Today, we say to join the future. The Triumvirate shall guide all into the stars, and we shall go where none have gone before."

To the thrones of the gods, to topple and bleed them and emerge, steeped in the blood of creation itself.

"The future, my friends, is bright – and today, we have affirmed it is set in stone. Change is here, and the best is yet to come, for now our golden age begins, and it shall stay as such forever."

For it was not in the fate of man to be slaves. No. That was not their future. It would not be and would never be. They were born to ascend. To take the birthright by their might.

To rise, rise. Higher and higher.

For they were ants, and their destiny was to rise to Olympus, one. Slow. Step at a time. Only they, only mankind, would dare do so. Only they dare stare at the mountain and risk death to climb it.

He finished, one fist over his heart as the crowd burst into applause, as did all the attendees behind him. The noise of the crowd roared and cheered; it continued for nearly a solid minute – and still kept going. If anything the noise seemed to grow louder and he beamed as the warm sun shone down upon him.

Such moments were ones he lived for. Nothing could compare to the feeling of a crowd who, in brief moments such as these, shared your vision. Such a feeling was more potent than any drug or emotion. A feeling of control and belonging and optimism. Yes, the people were behind his vision now.

No matter what happened in the days and weeks to come, for this single moment, he was content and happy.

It was a day he knew he would remember for the rest of his life.

Welcome to my court, blind and proud god.

This was more than a calling to lead the Soviet Union, to lead the Triumvirate, or to lead his species to greatness.

Welcome to a waltz that only ends with one victor.

This was the possessive purpose to win this dance, to make others gaze in awe of this magnum opus of a waltz. This was to behold the triumph of a deity brought low by the ants and their monarch.

This was his role.

This was his right.

This was his destiny.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER X | THEORY