by Peter Smith
He sighed and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, letting her off the hook. Standing there in his embrace felt good. It was the reassurance she needed after the cluster that this day had become.
He chuckled randomly, “You smell that?”
She cocked her head to the side, of all the things she had expected him to say that wasn’t it, “No, what is it?”
He motioned toward the dead Russian spire soldiers littering the deck, “Smells like bat shit.”
Trotsky
Kauai, Hawaii
The screen went blank as a steel bar streaked directly into his view. Trotsky caught himself in the process of raising his hands to shield his face from the attack. He lowered them back to the armrests and sighed at the realization of what he had just observed. The end of this attempt at destabilizing the enemy’s alliance and the death of many great men and women who had sacrificed their lives to stand against the cancerous nature of their enemies.
He ordered his remaining commandos in North America to sever their connections to the satellite network. The last bit of information he had received was of an elite Marine response team arriving on the scene and an entire field army of Patterson family drones was being deployed through the North Carolina region. Trotsky wasn’t sure if his men and women could avoid capture, but he was certain of their loyalty and how they would handle such a possibility should it become an eventuality.
He raised his hand and signaled for his personal assistant to approach. She stepped up, pad and stylus in hand, “Valentina, be certain to arrange state funerals for every soldier that sacrificed their lives today. I’ll want their families upgraded to improved housing and to be issued larger rations.”
“Yes, Mr. President.” She said, taping away on the tablet as she did, “What level of secrecy should we hold the ceremony with?”
He waved his hand dismissively, “None, be sure to invite the public. We are beyond the point where there is any possibility of denying our responsibility in these acts. The soldiers and their families deserve to be given the full respect that they and their sacrifice calls for.”
She nodded, “Of course.”
She frowned while looking at her tablet, “Mr. President, Director Canine would like to meet with you.”
Trotsky laughed, “Of course he would, tell him we’ll see each other at the next meeting.”
A loud banging against the outer door drew both of their attention toward it, “Get your butt out here you borscht slurping jackass.”
Valentina turned to look at him, “It would appear that he is already here.”
Trotsky chuckled, “So what would you do in my position?”
“Retire to Baikal, scuba dive during the summer, drink hot chocolate during the winter and every night study astronomy for the rest of my days.” A smile blossoming over her face.
He wagged his finger at her as he stood, stretching his back and juggling the ideas of what he should do with his unexpected guest. Given the power that the other man wielded, his options were limited, but then again they were at war. He could just have him taken outside and shot in the head. Mostly it was dark humor that propelled that thinking, but there was a part of him that desired to simplify his life. He sighed, “I asked what I should do.”
“I have always believed you to be one of the most intelligent people in the world, so I naturally assumed you would want a perfect life.” She stepped beside him.
He smiled at her, “And who would be more intelligent than me?”
“Me of course, I hold this empire together.”
He slipped his hand into hers and lifted it to his lips, kissing it gently, “One day I will marry you.”
She laughed, “Well that would make you the smartest man on the planet.”
He stood there, enjoying the feel of her hand in his for a moment longer and then sighed, “Bring him in.” She nodded and broke contact, heading toward the door and opening it.
Trotsky watched as Director Paul Canine entered his suite. He was giving the leader of the long since defunct American National Security Agency a great deal of respect by standing to meet the man; he hoped that it was appreciated.
“You must be out of your damn mind.” Canine growled as he crossed the threshold, the only thing that broke his attention on Trotsky being the polite nod he delivered to Valentina as he passed by her. Trotsky appreciated the streak of gentlemanly manners he had witnessed Director Canine display in their time on the island of Kauai. Always waiting to sit until the women in the room had done so, holding doors open for those that were his societal underlings. Trotsky respected the man because of this and his razor sharp intellect.
They were the characteristics that would lead to Canine being placed under house arrest after his attempt at upending the new global order was crushed. On the other hand, General Kellen would experience a very public trial for his war crimes. Kellen would then be executed shortly after.
Trotsky smiled and extended his hand. Canine looked at it for a second and then took it, giving it a perfunctory shake. Trotsky motioned toward a comfortable leather chair, with a wrap around backing that turned into arm rests. Canine took the offer and sat, his right foot coming up and resting on his knee, the pant leg pulling away to reveal his black dress socks. Trotsky followed, sitting in his own chair and crossed his legs, “I would be insane if I did nothing to end the life of a dictator before they forced themselves upon the world.”
“Strange, listening to a Russian being critical of dictatorship.”
Trotsky smirked and shook his head, “It is true, my countrymen and I come from a land that rewards those that provide a simpler form of living, one that is devoid of infinite choice and the chaos that comes with it. That’s why we’re the perfect ones to see the threat that Maria Patterson and even your movement represent. She is a dictator in making, the one that will force her ideas upon all of us just as her father did.”
“And I assume that those of us that survived your elitist purge of the masses represent the chaos.”
Trotsky’s smile brightened, “See, that’s why I like you, you are without a doubt the smartest of them all. Russia of the past, and even the extremist elements of your own nation, were all victims of absolutism. Absolutists create instability in that they can’t adapt, and this creates imbalance and eventually collapse. That’s why my nation allowed for the longest living dictator in human history to run our nation, and why he so easily manipulated the fringe aspects of your culture. But not everything that Vladimir did was for the best. Sure, he created stability and safety layered within it, but he also stifled creativity. All dictatorships do this. It meant that while Russia could be disruptive, it could never be transformative. He was as much a victim of absolutism as the dissidents that his government executed.”
“And you aren’t a dictator, you don’t use the fact that you have more military might than the Middle Eastern Spires and what’s left of South East Asia combined to influence the decision making of those groups?” Canine’s eyebrow arched with his question.
Valentina arrived at their side. She handed Trotsky a small glass of Vodka, “Thank you my sweet.” He said, taking the glass. Chill nipped at his fingertips as he took a sip of the clear and pure liquid, “You spoil me.”
She handed another glass of red liquid to Canine, “You enjoy cranberry juice, yes?”
The Director nodded, “Yes, thank you.”
The edge of Trotsky’s mouth tugged upward, and he felt affection for his consort and assistant rise. In the most subtle way possible, she had just let Director Canine know about their depth of knowledge into his life. As a young man he had enjoyed alcohol to the point of abuse. One day he had indulged too much and almost missed the screams of his only son as the young boy was drowning in their family pool.
Canine had woken himself with just enough time to rescue his son and resuscitate him. The files of the Foreign Intelligence Service from the now dead Russian regime were extensive in their knowledge on The Director. He wa
sn’t sure if they were completely accurate, but he had no reason to believe that they weren’t near to the truth. One thing he knew for sure, The Director was taking notice, even though there was no outward sign of it.
The man took a sip of his juice as well and Trotsky answered his assertion, “Of course not, I’m not an absolutist and neither are my fellow Spire leaders. I know it’s easy to vilify us since that fits into your narrative as the scrappy underdogs, but the simple fact is this. I work with them as equals to create the stability that Putin desired but couldn’t maintain since ultimately it was only his vision that mattered, that’s why we succeed and where he failed.”
He stopped to sip and moisten his mouth. The vodka bit at the back of his throat, it’s vapor cleaning his sinuses, “But we don’t want to be like you. The masses always desire freedom but latch onto dictators who can offer them easy solutions, they fall into the trap of cognitive dissonance, assuming that just because they can talk about something that they are in fact qualified to do so. They, you, are tribal and distrustful.”
Canine chuckled, “You know inane facts about my drink preferences but you can’t see that we’ve allied with several Spire families, doesn’t that destroy your tribal assumption?”
“Means to an end, that’s one of the great strengths of Americans, you had no problem working with others so long as it achieved your ultimate goal. It’s part of the reason the allies won the Second World War. But the moment the alliance between America and the Soviet Union was no longer necessary, it faded away.”
“So we aren’t working with like-minded Spire families that want to atone for what they did to bring about ‘The Fall’ and we’ll turn on them the moment we don’t need them anymore?” A wry laugh slipped past Canine’s lips.
“Exactly. How is General Kellen’s relationship with young Mrs. Patterson? Even after that very feudal attempt at marrying your two tribes together, is she responding well to your influence and you to hers?”
“Wasn’t our soldiers that she just wiped out.” Canine said, taking a long sip from his juice and arching an eyebrow coyly.
Trotsky hoped that he had covered the wince he felt at the mention of his lost soldiers, “True, but it’s a relationship of convenience.”
Canine put his drink on the side table and then leaned forward, his elbows going to his knees, “And how exactly do you see yourself in this new world order, if you aren’t a dictator but you also aren’t a person of the people?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Silence hung between them, and The Director slowly shook his head. Trotsky huffed, suddenly unsure of the man’s intellect, “My compatriots and I are not like the dictators of Russia but more like the founders of your nation.”
Canine sat back, shock plastered over his face, “The Founding Fathers, or America. You are comparing yourself to the founding fathers of the United States?”
“And why shouldn’t I?”
Canine blinked and then motioned to the glass in Trotsky’s hands before picking up his juice again, “How many of those did you have before I showed up here.”
“Do you think you would have a better connection to them?” Trotsky asked.
“Well, I am American.”
“You were American, that nation no longer exists.”
“So long as me and mine continue to draw breath, our country will always be.”
Trotsky waved a hand dismissively, “I am not trying to offend you dear Director, merely enjoying a bit of discussion prior to the unpleasantness that you and I will have to attend to shortly. Really, do you believe you are a better representation of what your founders wanted than me and my comrades among the other Spires?”
“Of course, the founding fathers of my nation wanted freedom and liberty for all. You want to oppress people around the globe to follow your rule. So what if it comes from a group and not a single man, oppression by many is the same as oppression by one.”
Trotsky chuckled, “Perhaps it is you who has been drinking too much if you believe that your founders wanted the average man to have true freedom. If this were the case, then why was it that only your House of Representatives was directly elected by the people of your nation. Those members were restricted to two-year terms while all the other positions of power, appointed by your leaders, served for no less than four years and in some cases for life. Each of those positions had absolutely no input from the average American.”
“We created a Constitution that outlined and protected the rights of every single American.”
“I believe poor whites, black people and women would disagree with that statement. But regardless, why was that document not presented to the people to let them vote on it directly? Instead, the state legislatures made the ultimate decision how your nation should be run.”
“The states represented the people.”
Trotsky waved his hand again, “Bah, no they didn’t. They represented wealthy and educated land owning white males. And that is the exact point that I am trying to make. Your founding father’s trusted the mob, as much as they did a monarch. Yes, they let them pretend as if they had a voice, but ultimately it was easily overruled at any moment in favor of the experience and knowledge of their social betters. The father of your nation supported the oppression of farmers in Massachusetts after that state had failed to help them keep their homes. Many of whom were former soldiers in your Revolutionary War and whom your government at the time had failed to repay for their time of service.”
Trotsky stood, working himself into a full oratory mode, “You see, they understood what you do not. What you have forgotten. It is not Democracy that makes a nation great any more than Dictatorship does. It is the elite, an Oligarchy if you will, of well-educated and informed men and women.” His hands curled in and rested his fingers against his chest, while still holding the glass of vodka.
“Democracies have too many voices and dictatorships have too few. Both systems are absolutes and because of that they have incredible flaws that lead to chaos and death. But nations built on Oligarchy have the right amount of diversity in their leadership to anticipate problems and generate efficient solutions. From there they quickly decide and can avoid becoming trapped in the idea that everyone’s opinions are equal. Maria Patterson and her father before her would have plunged us into Dictatorship.”
Trotsky wagged his finger at Canine, “You and your General Kellen and those that follow you, will force us into the same cycle of dissent and chaos that made it so very easy to overthrow the world of old. Did you know that the United States, with all of its diversity and freedom, was actually the first of the great powers to succumb to our information manipulation campaign? That Americans were the most easily divided against each other?”
He paused, waiting for Canine to respond, “I was there.” Was all the Director said.
“Yes, but you were busy scurrying around in the shadows,” Trotsky’s hand moved around, his index and middle finger flicking back and forth rapidly in an approximation of running, “avoiding interactions with the outside world as you desperately tried to save what resources you could, so you could survive in hiding.”
Trotsky laughed, “That, and you missed what we had been planning for over a year. So please forgive me for thinking you might not be as aware of the subtleties of history and politics.”
Canine nodded his head slowly, as if he were truly contemplating all of Trotsky’s points. The director may not have been as intelligent as he was, but he was smart enough to not dismiss information ideas outright.
This was why he and his partner, General Kellen had been such worthy adversaries in this competition for global supremacy. It was why he preferred them as his challengers. Maria Patterson was so one-dimensional and her thoughts easily anticipated. That was how Trotsky had arranged for the surprise attack against her in the heart of her empire. She had yet to grasp the intricacies of strategy and risk yet and because of that had fallen into an easily detected pattern.
“
And how will you determine who will join this grand council of learned elites?” Canine asked.
“Hmm?” Trotsky shook himself from the contemplation he had been deep within, “I’m sorry what did you say?”
“I asked” Canine said, putting greater emphasis in his tone on the last word, “How will you decide who leads?”
“Evolution of course. Those who are the most adaptable and intelligent will naturally rise to the top and either displace existing members of our group or create a place for themselves within our ranks. This way only the best and brightest have a voice and those that should be ruled cannot dilute the decision-making process with their input.”
Canine chuckled, “Oh I’m certain the factory worker who spends sixteen hours a day in one of your manufacturing facilities will have ample time necessary for the study and deep contemplative thought it takes to rise to leadership. I’m certain you’ll open your arms and accept them fully as they lead a workers rebellion against you and your compatriots.”
Trotsky sighed sitting in his chair as he did, “If they can rise to the point where they can control the masses, then yes, they would be granted membership among us. I really had hoped that you would understand the brilliance of this way. After all, it’s the natural end result of your virgin nation, either that or it will evolve into another dictatorship.”
An eyebrow arched on Canine’s face, “Exactly how will we devolve into oligarchy or dictatorship?”
“Simple, you and all of your command staff have taken the Longevity Vaccine. You will never die from old age and with the level of medical technology your allies among the other Spires can give you access to, you’ll likely never die. So tell me, do you have a plan to transition power to the next generation born beneath you? Will you permit another within your land to undo the hard-fought victories you and General Kellen bled for, or will you hold on to power for even longer? You have but three paths ahead of you, dictatorship, Democracy and its devolution into chaos or Oligarchy.”