Tearing Down The Statues

by Brian Bennudriti

  “More’n a blink, I imagine. No doubt. Sorry ‘bout that. I do chatter. Still, was a lot of fun; and you needed the break anyway, isn’t that right?”

  The supplicant still was standing listlessly, the fingers of his right hand clutching the frame. He tilted it so as to gain vantage again of the scene, the inexpensive dress and the sparkling of the woman’s eyes.

  “Why did you sell me this?”

  Chuckling, and a little mischievous, “It’s what I do, gooseberry. What I do. All they bring here is pain. Nobody brings good news to the Augur. I just like the idea of thinking about somebody else’s rather than your own. Draws you out of your world, know what I mean? Too late for Audra…maybe not for you?”

  With that, the Pain Seller shuffled off into the flickering darkness, his ridiculous cart squeaking and honking as he went. The supplicant scratched the back of his neck and sat cross-legged at the peach and white feet of the image, looking deeply into the photograph as if it were a river at summer.

  16 WHILE YOU SIT MUNCHING GRASS

  The arsenal ship rolled along the wide Salt Flats, with irregular chunks of white and gray speckled in bits of fire by the low orange moon. It was early dawn and still chilled; and the enormous vessel with some thousand souls was moving quickly on its tracks, incredibly quickly given its size. Cassian Talgo was watching from an acrylic bubble window a squadron of dusty ramships launching from lowered ramps along the stern swirling in a current like splattered mud. They darted with the speed of mayflies, now stopping, now reversing, and at times slamming viciously into one another from great distances, shielded and unharmed. In a broad arc along the east and running north was a strand of foreign flatrunners, patched and older in the turquoise and black of Rangleward Province.

  “Best place to be is behind those Ranglers when they’re rolling. Clumsy people.”

  Cassian turned at the voice to see a haggard female commander he knew well and was relieved at the sight, “Fantine, I’m glad to see you.” He gripped her hard shoulder in a gesture of familiarity.

  “You really gonna let them roll with us?” As she spoke, she crunched something she was pulling from a bag.

  “Not you too.”

  Fantine shrugged carelessly, “Heard you had runners from the Fountain City and Danclia on maneuvers with us too.”

  He nodded, unsure of her implication or whether there was even an implication. She was kept for her viciousness in conflict, not deep insight. For his part, he was known for massive overpower as a means of establishing certainty in conflict.

  She crunched again, “Maybe they’ll just run into each other instead of us.”

  He changed the subject, “Have you heard anything from Grebel?”

  When Fantine shook her head no, Cassian nodded gently and looked back at the swirling ramships – particularly to see two vessels emblazoned in red which were playing at a very long range game of chicken. He lingered his eyes on the two of them, quick vessels riding on pocked ferro-ceramic spheres that zipped in any direction including laterally and operated as battering rams. These two accelerated to capacity before plowing harshly into one another, stopping dead in their place without rebound.

  Cassian’s voice was distant, “I heard he’s in Alson. Hope he’s okay.”

  Fantine only chuckled, signaling her reflection that Grebel would be okay seated in flames facing undead beasts, for she’d known him a very long time and had seen terrible sights in his company. Cassian watched her leather face, the tendons of her jaw popping in and out and the thick vein on her temple throbbing; and he drew some comfort from her amusement.

  “Where’s your boy?” Fantine fished around in her little bag for crumbs of her snack.

  Cassian turned to watch the ramship pilots behind them, milling around and joking with one another in the hangar. A group of them were slamming their fists together knuckle on knuckle as a game of endurance and laughing as a man would drop to the floor howling in pain. These sorts of pilots were typed as adrenalin-addicted brutes in those days, enthralled with the speed and closeness of battle in which they were engaged. It was said Ramshipmen felt the heat of enemy vessels burn.

  “He’ll be in the war council shortly. I sent my Red Witch to bring him.”

  Still swirling her finger in the bag, “Maybe instead of sending that black-headed donk out to babysit we could drown him till he admits what his freak brothers are up to. A suggestion.”

  Although it was a disrespectful comment, Cassian only barely reacted. That was just Fantine; and he knew it. “Commander, I need your help.”

  She crumpled her bag and dropped it to the deck, wiping the side of her dry lips, and pausing afterwards with an expression of casual interest.

  “It seems my entire government, and now even the press, are ready to go pillage Alson. It’s all over the news. An old woman, old enough to be my grandmother, grabbed my arm in the street and told me she’s glad she lived to see the day when we paid them back.”

  “Ooh rah.”

  He hesitated, understanding the depth of contemplation he stood to gain from her, “I don’t want to lose sight of my son in all this.”

  Fantine raised a gray eyebrow at him but didn’t say anything. She may have understood where he was going with it.

  “He stirred something up at Denai and may have gotten into some sort of gunfight, it’s hard to tell. I don’t even know what he was doing there. I just know that with everything going on, he’s going to get lost. I don’t carry any notion around that I’m a prize father; but it’s getting to a point where…where I need to do something different.”

  “Grebel’s your man. You don’t want me in this.”

  “Grebel isn’t here; and you are. I need you. I’m drafting him with a field commission; and I’m assigning him to your fleet, a Black Fire gunner.”

  She showed her yellowed teeth, “You couldn’t have had a worse idea. Do you know how much trouble he could cause in a job like that, especially when we’re in the soup?”

  He eyed her with impatience, the look of an administrator shooing away details, “Grebel has talked about it before – it’s perfect for him. Some action, no doubt. But keep him under your eye and stay away from the hottest parts if it comes to that. I need you in this. ”

  It was then a thin man in a red jacket, shoulders encircled in gold aigulettes, stepped up to Cassian. A name badge on his chest read, ‘Rhodomontane’.

  “The commanders are waiting in the conference room, sir.”

  Cassian pulled a watch from his pocket and shammed examining its face, “Oh, I’ve lost track of time. Thank you.” Fantine seemed to notice he wasn’t surprised at the time at all but rather was avoiding something.

  He dodged her stare as the aide stepped away; and she followed as he began walking past the ramship pilots. Someone called, ‘attention on deck’, locking them all into neat rows at attention, only relaxing upon the War Marshal’s departure through the hangar bay door. In the mess hall as they passed, Cassian watched young soldiers at the tables, laughing or scarfing down a quick meal before going on watch, or scanning the corridor for a friend. The silence wore on him, and also perhaps the kid faces in the mess hall with pimples and sweaty socks unaware of the rotting amputations and trapped screams of battle that waited for them; and he at last stopped in the passageway beyond the reactor room offices to face Fantine.

  “They’re about to tell me to slaughter my brother and his people. I don’t have the bandwidth to argue with you about this.”

  She nodded, sucking her teeth a bit, “Yeah, I’d say so.”

  “Like kids yelling for the show to start. Inexcusable. It’s somewhere we haven’t gone before – hitting first. What will the Record say about people who cross lines like that?”

  Fantine grimaced like she’d been asked to hand him a rubber chicken. He looked at her with disapproval before surrendering that line of thought, “Cyprian wasn’t born for peace; and he’ll get in this somehow. I know that. He’ll steal a ramship or fa
ll in with some special forces during the assault. I don’t know. He knows all the field commanders – they’ll go along with him no matter what I say. But he will get in it. That’s why I need him under your eyes.”

  She watched his eyes a moment, squinting, “What do I do with the diapers?”

  “What I need is for someone I trust to watch out for him.”

  “What you need is sloppy seconds because your handmaiden has disappeared. I don’t know why Grebel puts up with you. What happens to me if the boy dies?”

  “Don’t let that happen.”

  Fantine wasn’t unfamiliar with distasteful orders; and here as she watched the face of the ruling Talgo, there was a tone and a bearing she knew well and which she’d followed. She’d served with the Old Man at the battle of Sarling and with Cassian in the battlesuits during the Rupture and well knew what it was to be called upon by a Talgo, even a weak one whose voice shook and who couldn’t control his own son. She considered her history and his; and with a look of more ease than one would expect from such a circumstance, she nodded.

  “Yeah, all right.”

  Uncertain towards her, he lingered his eyes and awaited more. She grinned wickedly, though all her grins looked wicked, “I said yeah. He’s gonna be in there, right?”

  Cassian watched the door latch to his council room as if it were the face of a dead child, “He’s supposed to be.”

  “I’ll make it happen. ‘Black Fire’…unbelievable!” She eyed him, a vein bulging on her neck. “You know what you’re gonna do in there?”

  Cassian hovered his hand over the latch, inhaling sharply with an indication he had no clarity at all what was about to happen inside. She was annoyed with him and squished her nose somewhat to show it.

  “Just turn us loose, Talgo. Stop bucking it. We’ll clean it all up nice and neat for you.”

  Like a tiny boy on a high dive staring at the glittering water, Cassian watched his hand on the latch cautiously and pondered before at last snatching it down and stepping into the crowded council room, alive with murmuring and chatter.

  Inside and seated around a wide oval computronium table were a number of uniformed soldiers as well as Rosgrove, one of the men with whom Cassian had conferred at the commissioning service in the craneyard. To the left, an incredibly dark skinned statistics officer named, Oblave was distracted in his analyses, energetically swiping his fingers across the tabletop shaping performance and strategic data into pivot tables and agent-based models like a pianist lost in his sonata. A war recorder was sitting quietly on a stool in the far corner, her forehead sigil framed in splattered red signifying her Record as consisting of the condensed battle experiences and personal accounts of every major conflict known to history. Cyprian was not in the room, which Cassian immediately noticed.

  Fantine grimaced at a tall, awkward looking fellow dressed as a provincial farmer. She intentionally bumped into him as she passed to seat herself, “Boadshise.”

  A civilian representative of the Salt Flats tribesmen, Boadshise’s presence at any discussion involving the militia was required by law; but he wasn’t well liked. In fact, Fantine had almost knocked him from his chair just then.

  Boadshise recovered quickly, only frowning slightly at Fantine, “Marshal, what have you found out about the attack on Alson?” His dialect was country and considered low class.

  Cassian scratched his chin, “Nothing. Radio silence. Razor and Claw are seeing quiet on the borderlands. We know it happened. As for why or who hired it out, it’s guesswork. And it’s pathetic guesswork.”

  “Who’s watching the Brigadier?” Mandibo, an officer in blue to whom all engineers reported spoke up.

  Rosgrove responded, “We lost him after the Resthouse incident. You know he disappears when he feels like it.”

  “The Brigadier may have hired the Red Witch.”

  Fantine’s mouth twisted, “Riiight.”

  “Did we?” Boadshise uncrossed his long legs to turn in his chair and view not only Cassian but some others in the assembly. Curiously, Cassian surveyed his officers to gauge their reactions as they did his.

  “We did not.” The Marshal was not as certain as his words implied. “Look, back up. The purpose of this council is to decide on a course of action. Oblave is here; and our War Recorder. What I want to do is go over the shelf plans for defense of the city first in case there is a similar attack here. Then we can get to the offensive plans. It all needs to be updated and optimized through the Record.”

  Cassian could not have drawn more disgust from the room if he’d tossed putty onto the table and suggested they mold clown faces. There was a buzz around the table indicating extraordinary disinterest in endless logistical and scenario gaming and an unearthly bloodthirst to just get on with it. It was the sort of tension familiar to those who worked closely with Cassian.

  “It’s not gonna happen, Talgo.” A round faced man on the far side named Thessany who was one of the founders of the Twister Corps and had ridden tornados, was leaned back in his chair, resting a boot on the tabletop. “Doniphan’s already mobilized. They’ll have mogs in Alson in a few hours.”

  Cassian was furious, his voice higher pitched, “What?!”

  Thessany just raised his eyebrows and grinned, “Those people are jumpy, what are ya’ gonna do?”

  To Fantine, “Did you know about this?”

  She nodded, “Oh yeah.” Then she turned to Thessany, “Pretty good mog pilots too. I’ve seen ‘em fight upside down.”

  Cassian glared at her as if she’d jabbed a fork under his ribs, then glanced to the empty seat where Grebel regularly sat.

  “What are they doing in this?”

  “Wentic’s been sitting on those guys for years. You know that. Thinks because he sends them money they’re his pets. But pets bite, don’t they?”

  Oblave looked up from his data tables, “It’s a good thing for us. Will soften the battlespace before our ships arrive.”

  “Peri won’t sit in the showers, boys. She’ll have tanks and battlesuits on the streets by now; and the jig’ll be up for your mog-slappers.” Fantine mouthed, ‘mog-slappers’ with pursed lips and a ridiculous drawl.

  Boadshise shifted in his chair uncomfortably, “Aside from pleasuring the high hats in this room, what are the people actually going to get from all this?”

  “Shut up, saltlicker. Who’s talking to you?” Thessany leaned forward to slam the legs of his chair to the floor. “Do you think they even care what we do?”

  “Times are tough, Boadshise. They’re out of work and chasing healthcare.”

  “Yes, you’ve all made a wreck of things. You’ve been reading my newsletter.” Boadshise’s tone was long and sarcastic and irritating.

  “Well who cares anyway?” Mandibo interjected. “I’ve got kids, man. I can hardly pay my bills. Every time we tick off one of the hick nations around us I can’t go on vacation and have to pay three times as much for groceries. I’m sorry hilljacks died and all that; but they deserve it for what they’ve done to us. Doniphan’s right to get there first.”

  He gestured to Fantine, “You know what I’m talking about. We need the land. Let’s take it.”

  Rosgrove raised a finger to gain attention, “What about the rumors of the Salt Mystic coming back? Where is that coming from?”

  Thessany rolled his eyes and groaned, “Sorry to interrupt your nursery school lesson, Rosgrove. But who cares.”

  “It matters. It’s all in the White Fleet right now; and my office is getting hammered asking what we know about it.”

  “Oblave”, a lady admiral named, Phryne who led the submersible and vortex navy interrupted, “is there anything in your datastream telling you a mysterious two thousand year old woman is possessing someone with the intent of obliterating our way of life by standing around talking like she did the first time around?”

  She hesitated while the dark man only watched, unsure what to say to that, then, “There you go, Rosgrove. There’s nothing in the da
tastream, so you can stop worrying about it.”

  “It isn’t that simple, lady!” Rosgrove grunted. “If this thing takes off and turns religious, the Provinces could split or flip sides. You’ll not know who you can trust.”

  “As opposed to the family cookout we’re having now, I suppose?” Boadshise picked something from one of his front teeth.

  “Look, Talgo.” Thessany raised his voice to cut through the chatter, “Grow a pair. Launch and take Alson while they’re down. If it’s the right thing to do, it’s the right thing to do now. You’re gonna put our people at risk if you wait and do it anyway in a few days. It’s irresponsible to dally like this and let their forces gather. Let’s get moving!”