by Lee Bond
“Did you ‘ear that, mate?” The FrancoBrit demanded excitedly of his new best friend: the old one was now sadly in the pile of the dead, his simple desire to have a different seat being misconstrued as heroism. “My God, that was the bollocks. I must remember wot I did to those little bombs.”
Chad craned his head around, looking at the damage done to the walls. The entire massive structure had shuddered and danced like a drunken polar bear.
“You’re … you’re with them?” the Latelian demanded, unsure whether to be merely frightened or absolutely terrified.
Face flush with excitement, Chad sat back down. The terrorists were scurrying around like mad little ants as they tried to figure out what’d happened. They wouldn’t, though. If they were smart, they’d figure out a way to turn the events to their benefit, though.
“Nah, mate. I is just ‘ere on, er, vacation. Gettin’ a look at the local artwork, ain’t I? Is I wiv them? Is I lookin’ like an idiot in a floral shirt? No. Shut your cakehole before I shut it for you, fuckin’ twat.”
Chad blithely ignored the weeping and turned his full attention to the terrorists.
xxx
Even as he struggled to comprehend what’d happened, Vilmos calmly snapped orders out to his crew. They immediately hustled towards maintenance rooms where extend-a-platforms were stored. While the Screens hadn’t yet broken free of their moorings, they were heavily damaged. Any further rumblings would send huge chunks crashing in all directions. Vilmos didn’t want any more of his team flattened by Screens. It was bad enough that four men were pinned beneath one of the massive monitors. Satisfied his orders were being followed with all due haste, he gestured for a runner.
“Sa?” Si Missy stepped up. “What is it?”
“Those explosions were significantly more powerful than anticipated.” He clenched his jaw in anger at not being able to find out what’d happened with their small explosive packs. “The first thing you need to do for me is check on the tech crew; their rooms are perilously close to the outer rings. Then make your way back through The Museum, stopping in each of the main rooms. I need damage assessment. You need to be very careful, Missy. There could be Goddies out there looking to kill you.”
“If I die so that others may live under the regime the way we were meant to …” Missy trailed off quietly; Vilmos’ eyes screamed that now wasn’t the time for a mission statement. She nodded and left without another word, heart singing at having something important to do.
Vilmos turned to survey the crowds. At least the fear of more explosions was keeping the sheep in their seats.
xxx
Naoko squeezed her eyes shut, heedless of the tears running down her face. She just couldn’t bear the sight of fellow citizens being so frightened. “Garth, are you alive?”
“Sh … uh … heck yes I am.” A pause. “What about you? Uh, I mean, how are you?”
A warm glow filled her. As long as Garth was alive, everything was going to be fine. “I am … okay. From the way these people are panicking, something has gone wrong.”
“You’re right about that, Naoko.” Another pause. “Someone else planted bombs alongside the terrorists’. Offworlder stuff. I don’t mean Trinity Offworlder either, I mean honest-to-goodness freaky alien bombs. I tried to warn Doans’ men off, but she wasn’t biting. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Did you call her as that … that Goddie?”
“Yep.”
“She probably thought you were a terrorist playing games.” Naoko whispered.
“Doh! I never even thought of that.” A pause. “Listen, love, I’ve got to go and see if I can start taking these terrorists out.”
“Are you going to kill any of them?”
“I really, really don’t want to hurt anyone, Naoko. Not unless it becomes absolutely necessary.”
Naoko nodded even though Garth couldn’t see her. “Good. I will talk to you if something else happens.”
“Okay. See you.”
“Goodbye for now.” Naoko took a deep, hitching breath.
Everything was going to be all right. It had to be.
xxx
Down in the basement, the surviving members of the God Squad looked at one another with amazed and beatific expressions. Dianaca swallowed nervously and pointed to the chunk of ceiling that had made short work of their prison. Unfortunately, for Tommy Dinkins, he was no longer getting an open casket service. Still, all their books and pamphlets said the Lord provided in mysterious ways. “Did you see that? We were praying for something to happen and it …”
“It did happen.” Voice heavy with rapture, someone said, “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, He truly does.”
“Yes, well,” Dianaca commented dryly as she climbed over the rock –mindful not to look at Tommy’s crushed body as she did so- “He kind of got it backwards this time, but I’ll take whatever we can get. Everyone get out here and get your equipment.”
“What’re we going to do?”
Dianaca picked up her rifle and checked the ammo clip. “We’re gonna go bring the Lord to those motherfuckers one way or another, Stevie.”
“Oh hell yes.” Stevie beamed from ear to ear. “We’re gonna do this Old Testament style.”
xxx
OverCommander Vasily, leader of the God Army, stood patiently out of arms reach while Chairwoman Alyssa Doans, leader of the Latelian Regime, kicked and screamed her way through destroying millions of dollars’ worth of antiques and relics. He knew well enough not to get in her way.
An aide poked her head through the door. Vasily turned slowly, a frown on his austere face warning the intrusive aide away. The aide disappeared just as quickly.
An ancient barrister’s lamp, a relic more than five thousand years old and therefore historically irreplaceable, shattered loudly against the wall. Following that piece of history came a crystal lighter allegedly used by Commandant Shere Vass during the pilgrimage and the wooden chair that’d comforted the behinds of the last fifteen Chairpersons. The heap of historical garbage continued to grow for a few more minutes, Vasily blithely calculating the cost.
Realistically, there was no price to each of the objects thusly destroyed, but it was something to do while his love dealt with her rampaging emotions. The first –and last- time he’d tried to interfere, she’d attacked him with a letter opener. And so they'd had begun a whirlwind affair, but that was neither here nor there. He fingered the point on his chest where the letter opener had nearly perforated a lung. Such passion. He shook his head.
“What did … what did Jane want?” The Chairwoman demanded breathlessly; face red, her eyes shining, Alyssa felt better than she had in several hours. She tucked an errant lock of hair behind an ear.
“I believe she was concerned by the … the noise.” Vasily replied wryly, pointedly not looking at the destruction now that Alyssa was calming down. “Was that lamp really five thousand years old?”
“No.” Alyssa snorted, foolishly pleased with herself. “I ruined the original one fifteen years ago. That was a replica.” Doans cleared her throat and set about straightening her clothes. It was unseemly for the Chairwoman to be in anything save a state of immaculate dress. “Damages?”
“Oh,” Vasily motioned for Doans to examine his prote, “extensive. The squadron delegated to infiltrating The Museum is, naturally, very dead. Messily so. Scavengers are finding body parts up to six miles away. A mile-wide swathe of land surrounding The Museum on all sides is nothing but rubble. This includes the waterworks running directly underneath the monument. Relay and switching stations for the netLINKs passing through the area are functioning intermittently and will apparently fail in a few minutes. Central Services are working on a solution.
Many of the support vehicles used for the operation have been destroyed. Windows for a significant distance in all directions are shattered. All entrances, indeed, much of the exterior superstructure, are buried under tons of rock.
The architects of the new Museum
did a wonderful job of ensuring that the inner works of the building would remain safe and sound. The only viable route in –without blowing more holes- is through the Dome. Tower buildings in a radius around The Museum are home to an astonishing array of military equipment and personnel. It seems Colonel Grayson’s hat is ruined. He’s wasted no time in requesting a new one. Oh yes, and a new Major. He’s also demanding a posthumous decree labeling his dead major as a coward. As I understand it, being blown into a building and having half a truck fall on you is craven behavior unbecoming of an officer.”
Alyssa digested the information rapidly. In terms of a military expedition, the destruction wasn’t insurmountable. The Army had millions of God soldiers doing nothing except standing around wasting taxpayer dollars. The same went for the vehicles. Even the scorched earth and the transmitter problems weren’t very terrible. In terms of morale, though … the damage was huge. No military commander, Alyssa still nevertheless knew that God soldiers didn’t deal well with death.
Alyssa couldn’t get over Vilmos’ unbelievable audacity in killing God soldiers. It was a political nightmare. He was taunting her. She feared very sincerely that she would wind up walking the path that Vilmos had chosen for her. If she ordered more soldiers to go in, those that did try to take The Museum would do so in the bloodiest way imaginable out of revenge for their fallen brothers and sisters.
Alyssa sighed, absentmindedly rearranging her hair again. Long-range plans designed decades ago had pointed very clearly to the direction she’d driven her people as being but one of the many ways to go. She’d chosen it because of the minimal casualties it'd offered. Now, utterly unaware, Vilmos Gualf was destroying the delicate tapestry of lies and deceit she’d woven with his callous act of treason.
“Send in the Terrible Threes.” Alyssa sighed unhappily. Iron Regimist it would be.
Those soldiers were better suited to overseeing the Onesies working on repairing the damage to the port, yet at the same time, the Onesies at The Museum needed their puissance with that awful Batlang of theirs. “Get some of those tanks Grayson wanted. I don’t want them used. They’re for show. If the terrorists have any eyes to the outside, hopefully the sight of the VapoRaptors will terrify them.” She toyed idly with the idea of air support, dismissing the notion a few seconds later; the outcry would be too much to deal with, at least not with anything approaching civility.
“Anything else?” Vasily sent the commands off.
“Yes.” Alyssa steeled herself. “Tell Hollyoak to start waking up the Gunboys.”
For the first time in his life, Vasily looked sideways at Alyssa, doubt and concern warring on his face. He couldn’t believe his ears. She was abandoning their original plans, all over some terrorists. “Th…they’re not … they’re not ready, Si Chairwoman.”
“Vilmos Gualf wants me to prove to the people I am an iron hearted tyrant.” Alyssa seated herself. “And so I shall. He will see a tyrant worse than anything he imagined. There is more than one way to accomplish our goals, OverCommander Vasily, so let us hope that he has no more tricks up his sleeve. Otherwise, everyone in the system will see just how heard-hearted I am. If necessary, I will become the stuff of nightmares. Do it.”
“By your command, Chairwoman Doans.” Vasily issued the prep command to Hollyoak, sincerely hoping Vilmos Gualf was not a man who prided himself on going bigger and better as the day wore on.
Even he, a veteran of the God Army, found the Gunboys … disturbing.
xxx
The leaders of the Philosophical Brotherhood, watching the events unfolding at The Museum of Natural History in their own homes or places of power, quailed at what they saw. This was already so far beyond what they’d expected that they didn’t know what to do beyond meet at the usual place so they might witness the horror show together, offering prayers and well-wishing to those faithful they’d foolishly sent inside.
The God Squad Brings On the Holy Fire and the Terror Gang Has Some Surprises in Store
The ‘old’ museum -having been flattened during Chairman Scottsdale’s mad rush down the main thoroughfare of Central City in a stolen VapoRaptor tank at the end of his career- had been a veritable mainstay for thousands of years
The architects who’d designed the newest incarnation of The Museum of Natural History had thrown out the stodgy old Latelian way of doing things. Starting fresh, they’d said at the time, was important in showing a new Latelian order just how wonderful everything was. The only thing worth keeping had been the design of the place. Everything else was –in relative terms- brand new. No fools, those architects, they’d rebuilt The Museum with something similar to Scottsdale’s Flight happening a second time, constructing the vast building so that anyone trapped inside would be able to survive anything. The outermost rings had been made to collapse as they had, forming a nearly impassible barrier of rock and twisted duronium plating. Loyal citizens thusly trapped would be able to make their way safely and calmly to freedom by way of the subterranean shipping lines or await rescue crews coming in through the Dome at their leisure.
Of course, those architects hadn’t planned on Offworlder explosives blowing the absolute shit out of everything, so there was internal damage. It was an extreme testament to their skills that The Museum still stood at all.
Garth whistled low. No one was getting out, not unless you could walk through walls or fly through the Viewing Room’s skylight in full view of those snipers.
Every entrance and exit –and most of the smaller arches allowing congress between rooms and displays as well- were packed with tons of stone. Whoever or whatever had slapped those mines onto the terrorists’ bombs had thoroughly trapped them all inside, though for what purpose was well beyond Garth’s limited intellect to divine.
The only ‘good’ thing about the structural carnage was the redeployment that the runners had to take; their circuitous paths had been reduced to dead straight runs for most of the time. All he’d have to do was keep his ears peeled for the telltale slap of bare feet and hide his ass in behind one of the endless piles of rock now littering The Museum.
“Sa!”
“Son of a motherfucking bitch.” Garth stopped poking at the concrete mess with his fingers and turned around to confront his confronter. “Mi…” He shut his mouth. It was Missy. From the restaurant. Seeing her as a terrorist was very disappointing. And she was wearing sprinter’s shoes. Sonofabitch.
Missy eyed the intruder nervously. He was definitely big enough to be a God soldier, but the resemblance ended at his size; the large Latelian was wearing flip-flop sandals, a pair of large baggy shorts and a shirt with some kind of floral pattern on it. If that was standard God soldier wear, Missy figured they were all in for big surprise. As far as she knew, God soldiers never went on vacation and he definitely didn’t look like he was out of the Army, so what was he doing in The Museum?
“What are you doing here?” Missy reached cautiously for the small laser pistol tucked at the small of her back.
“Please don’t reach for your gun.” Garth said sadly. “You’re young and beautiful and maybe only a little bit stupid, but if you reach for it, I’ll have to do something about it. Shit.”
Missy pulled her small laser gun, aimed and squeezed the trigger just as Vilmos had taught them all to do on those rare occasions when he felt the risk was worth the payoff. Squinting against the harsh glare, the waitress–turned-terrorist knew Vilmos would be very proud of her. She’d fired a shot right at the man’s head, just as she’d been shown…
Garth grabbed Missy’s gun hand and squeezed until he felt the bone crack. He hated to be so violent, but she was a terrorist and for the most part, Latelians seemed to remain willfully ignorant unless you did something to bring them into the immediacy of the situation. Pain, he knew, was a wonderful focus.
Ignoring her cries of anguish, he fretfully wound up fracturing the other wrist when she made a grab for the fallen gun.
“Listen to me, listen to me.” Garth drag
ged her towards a piece of ceiling that’d fallen straight down and leaned her against it. “Listen to me.” He commanded, this time with more force. “Do you understand what the fuck you’re doing?”
“We … we’re showing the world we believe in them.” Missy struggled against the nausea boiling in her stomach. She’d never broken a bone in her life. The pain was agonizing. “This … this is important. We …we can’t let Trinity take control of our lives.”
“Look,” Garth said as he started removing Missy’s prote, “I’ve no love for Trinity, but this is absolutely the goddamn stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of. Terrorists can’t win wars, Missy.”
“How … how do you know my name?” Missy felt the absence of her prote keenly above the pain in her arms. It was the first time she’d let someone remove it without her permission since she’d been a little girl. She felt … violated. Tears sprang to her eyes.
“I just do.” Garth cracked the prote across his knee, glad her pain was keeping the young woman from noticing the inconsistencies in what she was probably seeing. “Terrorist ideology never wins, Missy. The very nature of terror is that people don’t like it. In the end, you can’t possibly win, and not ever against Doans. She doesn’t play fair.”
“We … we don’t want her to play fair, Sa God soldier. We want her to kill us all and as many civilians as possible. That way,” Missy grinned despite the anguish, “that way she’ll be forced to issue at least a dozen Sigma Protocols. Everyone in the entire system will see her power then, and Trinity will have no choice but to back away. It will fear us.”
“You’re a bloody retard, you know that? I don’t know what you have that’s keeping Trinity at bay, but I know the Trinity AI. I assure you, if It wanted Latelyspace, really and truly felt like setting up a franchise here, you’d be flattened inside three days. I guarantee it.” Garth squeezed Missy’s neck and caught her body as it fell over sideways. “And when you wake up you’re going to have one mother of a hangover.”