[SG] A View Of Genocide: The Ballad of Richard Less #2 (1/2)

Whistling in the Dark sabre at annotations.com
Thu Apr 23 19:00:09 PDT 2009




                         The League Presents

                          A View of Genocide

                      The Ballad of Richard Less
                                  by
                           Eric Burns-White
                      Struggling Against History

                               Part Two




April 10, 1997
Washington D.C.
The White House

     The armored limousine moved around to the underground parking entrance.
In the back, Richard Less was looking at a folder. "This is what we came up
with?"
     "They felt the black was appropriate," Bankert said. "Do a whole Goth
thing, I guess."
     "Have they begun fabricating yet?"
     "I don't think they've had time."
     "Good. Junk it." He closed the folder and handed it back to Bankert.
"Same design, but go with white and blood red accents."
     "White? But if we're using the codename--"
     "White. Trust me. White will be a thousand times freakier. The freakier
she is in video footage--"
     "--the less she'll actually need to fight in the field. Got it."
     Less glanced over to the other side of the Limosine. Stigmata was
staring at him. Which, given that Stigmata was a giant eyeball on top of a
human body, wearing formal attire, wasn't that unusual. Somehow, the
disturbingly attractive creature seemed amused. "Something I can help you
with?"
     *Forgive my stare, if such a thing is possible given the potency and
sheer magnetism of my glistening eyeball and the certain knowledge that
through it I could project unimaginably destructive power that would consume
you both and indeed the back of this car in less than a second,* Stigmata's
telepathic voice thrummed. *I just find it interesting that on this of all
days you are still so concerned about minutia. Surely you have assistants to
whom you can delegate these minor tasks.*
     "The little details pile up and become the big picture. Our little
Danielle's only got one chance to make a new first impression. It's going to
have to be good."
     *Perhaps so, but the little details you shepherd are about to multiply
with the force of rabbits who have consumed carrots laced with
methamphetamines and viagra. You will not be capable of micromanaging them.*
     Less shrugged. "You do what you can." The car pulled to a stop. "Let's
do this thing."
     The three stepped out of the car and walked through the underground.
The Secret Service -- repurposed now, with Psybernet's ever present mind
soaked through them -- were posted at regular intervals, and several
soldiers wearing the colors of the ULA's honor guard stood with them. They
ascended into the West Wing proper.
     Egoiste smoothly moved into step with them as they walked. "It's your
big day," he murmured to Less.
     "They're all big days."
     "So calm. So collected. One would imagine the day a man announces the
military conquest of the United States of America would be somewhat larger
than the others around it, but perhaps my perspective is off."
     "America wasn't conquered. We liberated it."
     Egoiste arched an eyebrow. "Oh really?"
     "Damn straight."
     "Who did we liberate it from? Its own government?"
     "Liberals, special interest groups, the media and Bill fucking
Clinton," Less said. They reached the briefing room. "How do I look?"
     "Spiffy," Bankert said.
     *Pedestrian, but adequate,* Stigmata thrummed.
     "You look like a government drone who spent his career avoiding having
a face, finding himself about to walk into the spotlight and forever be
marked by the next ten minutes." Egoiste smirked. "But your hair looks
good."
     "And I don't even use product."
     "Clearly. Go liberate your nation from itself, Mister Less."
     Less patted Egoiste on the shoulder. "I think I will, Lafayette." He
walked into the briefing room. Flashbulbs popped in all directions, and a
chorus of voices spoke up. He ignored them as he went to the podium. The
seal of the President had been covered over by the shield the Unimaginable
League Amoral used as its symbol in the field. "Good afternoon," Less said.
"For those who aren't aware, my name is Richard Less, representing the
American Authority."
     "As you are all no doubt aware, the United States Government has a
series of directives and contingency plans designed to protect the
government and her elected and appointed officials in the event of
emergency. With the recent military action on United States soil, it is
reasonable to assume those plans went into effect, moving the President,
Vice President Gore, their Cabinet and Advisors, Speaker of the House Newt
Gingrich, the United States House of Representatives, the United States
Senate, the United States Supreme Court and selected Federal judges,
selected members of the Departments of Defense, State and the Treasury, the
Joint Chiefs of Staff and other key military advisors and commanders, all
fifty State Governors and key members of State Legislatures into safe,
undisclosed locations. The intent of these plans were to ensure continuity
of government in the face of national instability.
     "This morning, those undisclosed locations were compromised, and forces
loyal to the Unimaginable League Amoral moved to capture both those
positions and the personnel within." Less gave the press a moment to absorb
the message. He didn't feel it prudent to mention he had co-written the
plans in the first place, letting him 'compromise' the undisclosed locations
by dictating them to Arsenal.
     "Faced with the choice of remaining defiant, leading to the immediate
destruction of the Federal government, decimation of State authority, and
the elimination of the military chain of command, which in turn would lead
to nationwide anarchy and far greater death and destruction, the United
States Government has instead chosen to accept the Unimaginable League
Amoral's terms of surrender. As of this time, the conflict between the
Unimaginable League Amoral and the United States of America has ended, and a
new era of alliance has begun."
     Less moved smoothly, not giving the press a chance to speak -- though
they dearly wanted to. "At this time, the government of the United States is
turning its attention to more pressing matters. National Infrastructure has
been damaged. Food, water and power must be restored to areas that have been
bereft -- sometimes for weeks. We must consolidate our forces and rebuild
our center. And we as a nation must turn our attention to greater matters.
Across the Atlantic Ocean, the terrorist organization known as the
Awe-Inspiring Force has caused unprecedented death and destruction in a
genocidal jihad, fomented by fanatics and opportunists who have proclaimed
the divinity of their leader, Lady Awe-Inspiring. These zealots will stop at
nothing to crush freedom around the world, and though they have not yet come
to our shores, it is certain that they will.
     "To that end, the United States of America, along with its allies in
the Unimaginable League Amoral, pledge to both preserve American lives and
Liberty and spread American Hegemony across the globe. We will drive our
enemies out of the holes they hide in, and we will move at the forefront of
a war of liberation that will see the planet united at last under the core
values we cherish so highly. In preparation for this, ULA forces in Mexico,
Latin America and South America are being joined by our own Armed Forces,
forming a coalition of the Americas unprecedented in Human history.
     "With all the work we have yet to do, both here at home and abroad, we
must have the facility necessary to reconstruct our nation and her forces.
Until this state of emergency has passed, we therefore must impose a
nationwide state of Martial Law in the United States of America. During this
time, all local, state and federal government functions are considered under
suspension. Any or all resources deemed necessary to the national good shall
be nationalized as requisitioned and required. Any and all citizens and
residents are required to cooperate with both Federal officials and
Unimaginable League Amoral representatives in any and all matters, at the
discretion of those officials and representatives." Less adjusted his tie.
"To ensure American autonomy and self-rule is maintained, the Unimaginable
League Amoral has agreed that Martial Law must be administered by Americans,
for Americans. To that end I am assuming the Directorship of the American
Authority. Naturally, the American Authority will continue to keep the
President and Congress informed during these turbulent times."
     The press began to shout now. Flashbulbs burst. Less stood back and let
them. It was almost strange. One short speech, and America was a
dictatorship and he was the dictator.
     It didn't matter. It wouldn't be for long. By year's end, the United
States of America would rule the world, and they could start building the
new status quo.
     "I recognize that the implications of this announcement are far
reaching," Less said, quieting the tumult. "I therefore will answer a few
questions before getting back to the business of rebuilding America. Yes --
Helen?"
     Helen Thomas stood. "Mister Less, on January 18 of this year, the House
of Representatives chose to reprimand Newt Gingrich for ethics violations
stemming from his misuse of his position and tax-deductable funds. Yet since
that time, Gingrich has continued to enjoy both his position as Speaker and
his role in the generation of legislation and the setting of policy. At what
point does the Federal Government need to intervene to curtail the
activities of a man who is clearly out of touch and out of control, both
with his own party and the nation?"
     There was a long pause.
     "Miss Thomas... you.... understand I just declared Martial Law and
assumed the directorship of the American Authority which is going to
administer the entire nation during the ongoing Emergency?"
     "Are you saying the Administration is not going to take any stand on
Mister Gingrich at all?"
     "I... you know, Helen, while I know President Clinton and Speaker
Gingrich have not always agreed with one another, they continue to hold each
other in the highest esteem, and while the American Authority takes ethics
violations very seriously, we also need to consider the long term health and
security of the nation. As the House is under Republican control, I suggest
you redirect your questions to the Republican leadership." He looked to the
other side of the room. "Tom?"

                              * * * * * *

October 20, 2007
The Combat Zone
Boston, Massachusetts

     "You can't tell me that the government accepts kickbacks from the
Scions of the Phoot." The dead kid was sounding skeptical. He really should
know better, but then he was used to my bullshit. Which should have tipped
him off that I was speaking the truth. When I lie, it's *way* the fuck more
interesting.
     "Directly? No. This is all more complicated than that." I grinned.
"Reminds me of the Sandinistas."
     "The what?" The dead kid sounded puzzled.
     "Wait, I know that word," the chick said....
     "Jesus save me from children and American educations. The Sandinistas.
Communists. Socialist militant leftists who took power in Nicaragua back in
'79. We quite naturally didn't care for these pro-Cuba pinkos setting up
shop in our Hemisphere, but our hands were largely tied, thank you very
fucking much Tip O'Neill."
     They looked lost. Well, in one sense I'd thrown them to the wolves.
Asking someone under the age of twenty-five to give a shit about Iran-Contra
was like asking a guy off the street to decry the Smoot-Hawley Tariff. No
one ever gave a shit about history unless they were living it.
     "The point's this. We weren't allowed to give money to the people
fighting the Sandinistas. They were the Contras, and no they're not a
fucking video game. But an enterprising young Marine name of North took an
entirely different program we already had and made it serve double duty.
See, we fucking hated Iran. They'd seized our embassy in the 70's, and there
was a huge crisis. Killed off Jimmy Carter's career. But we wanted to
support some of the more moderate Iranian factions. So we had a program
where we sold arms to moderate Iranians through Israel, and then we
collected the money from Israel. That way, we weren't directly selling to
Iran, but we also got to support the right thinking rag-heads against the
wrong-thinking rag-heads."
     "Are you *capable* of speaking without being offensive?" the Chick
asked.
     "I'm capable of many things, when I set my mind to it." I took another
pull off the gin. "My point is, there was a middleman, and that way we could
support moderates and work towards release hostages that the Iranians still
had, all while we claimed we *weren't* dealing with Iran and *weren't*
trading arms for hostages." I finished off the joint and washed it down with
the last of the gin. The two things were working, I could tell, because I
could no longer taste the gin. That's the sweetest moment of gin drinking --
when you couldn't tell the difference between gin and water. "Ollie North
came in and made changes, selling the arms directly but at huge markups.
Those markups turned into cold hard cash, and that cash got sent straight
into the pockets of the Contras -- all without ever appearing on a U.S.
Treasury balance sheet." I grinned. "So was the government accepting
kickbacks from the Iranians?"
     "Well, no," the dead kid said. "But it sounds fishy."
     "Totally fishy. But it worked. Until people got caught. Nearly brought
down the Presidency. What was North's biggest problem?"
     "Breaking the law?"
     "Besides that."
     "You said he cut out the Israelies and sold directly..." the chick had
a brain in her head. Sad, that. It makes them way more sexy, and the last
thing I needed was another reason to want to nail the pyro. "So he lost the
deniability shield."
     "Bingo. The middleman gave us cover, but also limited our options.
Instead of finding a way to get what he wanted through the Israelis, North
cut them out and created a giant fucking neon sign for Congressional
oversight to follow."
     "So... but.... what middleman would be involved here? There's all these
criminal groups, but they all have different agendas," the chick said.
     "Different and *insane* agendas," the dead kid agreed.
     "Agreed and agreed. But what do they have in common?"
     That had them stumped, at least for the moment. I sat back and smiled a
bit. Who knew corpse meddling could be this much fun?

                              * * * * * *

June 2, 1997
The White House Situation Room
Washington D.C.

     Director Less sat back, watching with Bankert, Wollstonecraft, Oracle
and Nimbus. The footage was live via satellite, and it was showing what was
going to be the battle of the Sea of Okhotsk -- but was instead the first
appearance of their prodigal daughter in the field. Danielle MacPherson, as
remade by Richard Less and the League of Unconcerned Scientists.
     Less had been nervous. All the projections had said MacPherson was
ready, but now that she had launched herself towards the multinational
coalition -- and started engaging them in combat -- it was time to see if
their trump card was an ace or a three.
     "Damn," Nimbus said. "She looks good in that suit. Nice and scary, but
good."
     "Imagine that," Less said. His fist was clenched. Months of training,
of reinforcement, of preparation, but it all came down to this. What would
she do in the field?
     As it worked out, that was hardly the question. The girl didn't fly so
much as fling herself through the air, but she was good at boosting herself
into new arcs without hitting the water. Wreathed in nuclear fire, she arced
and spun like a ballerina. She had added muscle and definition in her time
training, which were outlined by the pure white suit she wore, that fairly
glowed as it turned her natural radioactivity into harmless white light. The
blood red mushroom cloud on her chest, and the matching piping down the
side, almost seemed to radiate in it. The cloud had dark patches, which on
reflection appeared to make it a blood red skull of fire and death. Her hair
was longer now, and cascading. She was perhaps the most beautiful woman any
of the viewers had ever been seen.
     And she looked amused.
     The lead ships opened fire. Bullets and missiles arced towards her,
only to fall away -- the lead vaporized by her fire shield, the missiles
triggered too far away to do any good by a lethal field of electromagnetism
and radiation. She spun in her arc, almost lazily, and from her fingers came
trails of fire that swept down. Each struck one of the ships, and there each
exploded, shattering the metal and twisting the spines and sending the hulks
into the deep.
     Now more of the coalition of national forces opened fire, taking this
harbinger of destruction as their primary threat. And she triggered another
arc into the air in response, turning and burning, destroying the watercraft
that dared oppose her, before landing, unharmed, on the shore. The ground
rumbled and fused where her body struck, and as she stood, the flames of her
primacy surrounded her.
     Still smiling, the girl touched a tab on her collar, turning on a
transceiver. Behind her the ULA ships activated their PA systems. Around
them, transmitters began broadcasting, overwhelming local transmitters and
sending the voice of the girl across the airwaves through the local Russian
provinces and as far south as Japan. "You will surrender to the Unimaginable
League Amoral," she said, facing the hundreds of tanks and other weapons of
war arrayed against her on the shoreline. "You will walk away from your
weapons and accept our authority."
     Words of defiance, of anger, of will were lost in the sight and sound
of this young woman who stood, ultimate power at her command. The response
came back over a Public Address system, picked up by the ULA's equipment.
"Who *are* you?" the anonymous voice asked. The voice of the still-free
world, confronted with the beautiful face of its destruction.
     "Who am I?" she answered, and chuckled. She bowed slightly, folding her
hands in front of her. Not a mockery -- a ritual. A greeting. "Call me
*Radian.*" And then she stood straight, opening her burning eyes and her
embrace and unleashing an apocalypse of fire from her body, her eyes, and
her heart, blossoming like a flower that spread over the military forces and
washed them from the face of the Earth.
     Back in the Situation Room, there were a few cheers and some general
commotion. "We went with 'Radian?' one of the military advisors asked. "Not
Dangerousgirl? I'd think having a subverted hero--"
     "It's psychology," Wollstonecraft said, smiling that patronizing smile
of his. "It was Less's idea, and it was a good one."
     "Not that all of us agreed," Nimbus said.
     "Human beings are innately superstitious," Wollstonecraft said. "The
fastest way to win a battle, no matter what military force your enemy
possesses, is to convince them you have God on your side. If you can't
arrange that, the Devil is almost as good. And in the modern era, the name
'Radian--'"
     Less laughed, suddenly. A sardonic laugh.
     Nimbus arched an eyebrow. "Director? Is there something you'd like to
share with the rest of the class?"
     "Maybe later," Less said, standing up. The others in the room rose as
well. Tradition, subverted. "I've got to get upstairs. There's a few loose
ends to wrap up."
     Bankert followed him out. "So what was funny?" he asked, quietly.
     "Danielle. Radian. The Devil." Less chuckled again. "It was a few years
back, remember? When the Devil rode into our Solar System on a planet sized
ship, ready to destroy the Earth and everything on it. Dangerousman stopped
him, which at the time represented a failure and a setback on my part, but
on the whole was probably a good idea."
     "I remember," Bankert said. "What does that have to do--"
     "It's not as well known, but Satan showed up in Seattle after that. He
was going to force Dangerousman to blow it up. To blow up all the cities, or
else Satan would kill everyone in them and consign them all to Hell. And
Danielle showed up to save her brother, and she literally blew Satan back to
Hell, and he's never been back."
     Bankert stopped. "Really? She had to have been just a kid."
     "Yup." Less struck a cigarette. "And now we've made her into an even
worse devil. She took Satan out, and now she's taken his place. Funny, don't
you think?"
     "I guess so." Bankert paused. "There's no smoking in the White House."
     Less snorted. "Who's going to tell me I can't? You?"
     "You have a point."
     "Damn straight. C'mon. We have to check supply lines and incidence
reports."


[This is the Side One Song. This is the Side One Song... If you don't know
what to do... move on to Side Two... but this is the Side One Song.]


More information about the superguy mailing list