[SG] A View Of Genocide: The Ballad of Richard Less #5 (2/3)

[Whistling in the Dark]

[And now, we see Side Two beginning, just below. Which is how it should
be, don't you think?]



October 20, 2007
The Combat Zone
Boston, Massachusetts


     In the other room, I could hear them arguing. Leverage came flopping
in, and collapsed at my feet. He panted a bit, just happy to have people
around. Dogs are like that. Dumb happy ones, anyway.
     I looked at the cold ash in my hand, and dropped it in the ashtray.
     "Seriously," I murmured. "A statue of a *boot.*"

                              * * * * * *

January 4, 1998
Shoshoni Center
Shoshoni, Wyoming


     The topmost level of the Shoshoni Center had the only conference room
in the Center that was exposed to natural sunlight. It was a nice enough
room, with a carpet and a table and chairs and a large television screen,
but it never saw much use. After all, part of the point of the Shoshoni
Center was it was buried deep in the ground and hard to root out.
     Richard Less pushed open the door to that conference room slowly,
squinting against the morning light, despite his sunglasses.
     It was in chaos. The standard description was 'it looked like a bomb
hit it,' but Richard Less had seen a lot of bomb strike sites. This just
looked like six paper elementals had had an orgy. On the whole, a bomb might
be an improvement.
     And at the far side of the room a man stood, looking out over the
Wyoming desert. His hair was mostly white now, and he was no longer wearing
his suit coat, but his white Oxford shirt was still crisp and his chalk
stripe pants still implied money, even from behind. He wore suspenders, of
course. He looked like a stereotype. Like the captain of industry he had
been before he'd thrown his lot in with psychotics and soldiers.
     "Hello Adrian," Less said.
     "About time you got up here," Wollstonecraft said. He didn't turn
around.
     "You've been busy," Less said, stepping into the room. "I got up this
morning and discovered half my orders had been changed."
     "You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Wollstonecraft said. "You think I'm
a damnable fool."
     "No more than the rest of us, Adrian," Less said, stepping around the
table. "We're all fools in Wyoming, right?"
     "I thought you were pursuing this war in good faith," Wollstonecraft
said, still looking out over the desert. "But you're not, are you?"
     "I guess that depends on your religion," Less said. "Assuming you still
have one."
     "My goddess will rise again. She will never die."
     "Seems like she died pretty thoroughly, Adrian. And it's been way more
than three days, and besides, it was Christmas. Not Easter."
     "You've abandoned most of our gains. You're pulling forces back and
reinforcing. You're sacrificing whole divisions in the process."
     "Right now, Asia and Europe can't possibly be held. I'm trying to find
out where Psybernet is, so we can move her, but--"
     "Don't play me, Less. I'm *not* a fool no matter how much of one you
think I am." He turned now, looking at Richard Less with bloodshot eyes.
"You're not fortifying our position. You're laying out a negotiation
strategy."
     Less felt his gut shift. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "I've
got millions of soldiers, all the armor and gear we can salvage, all--"
     "You're bringing them here, oh yes. And if I were the fool you think I
am, I'd think you were digging in with the intention of retaking the rest of
the country, establishing American Authority, and then proceeding. But
you're not. You're preparing for your surrender. You're preparing to turn
the fruits of our labor over to that pathetic government you used to serve.
You think I don't see a golden parachute when it's being deployed? You think
it's *over.*"
     "It *is* over, Adrian. Our war is *over.*" Less narrowed his eyes. "The
Unimaginable League Amoral *was* our war. They were its soul. And now
they're dead and gone. Hell, I got a report that their old Mediterranean
stronghold was overrun and what was left of the Nubermachine nuked. It's
*over,* Adrian. All we can do now is make the best deal we can. Maybe we can
avoid long prison sentences. Maybe we can convince everyone we were forced
into--"
     "It's *not* *over!*" Wollstonecraft screamed. face turning red. "The
world needs *order!*"
     "You can't force it on them any more," Less said. "Adrian, we made a
good shot at it. And if Scholarman hadn't screwed Oracle up we'd have won,
but he did and we *lost.*"
     "*No.*"
     "Yes. Get used to it."
     Wollstonecraft half-smiled. "Typical pathetic government bureaucratic
nonsense. The war isn't over by a long shot. It's just changed. We have a
new war now. But that's okay. We have a new country now, too."
     Less blinked. "What?"
     "Less, we control the heartland of America. Your orders brought tons of
troops and material in -- fine. We're going to use them. You said all along
we had to reinforce our position to stop the Allies from taking out America.
Now, we're going to use those reinforcements."
     "Without Psybernet--"
     "Psybernet's in America, Less. Where, I'm not sure. Seattle, probably.
But she's in America. Which means that we have the Repeaters. We have some
of the most advanced military equipment in the world. We have mind
controlled troops. We have ready sources for food and for industry. We have
the legacy of the Crimson Crowbar's genius providing equipment. We have
Doctor Unorthodox to continue finding us power sources. We even have enough
nuclear weapons to keep the more trigger happy Americans from plastering us
with bombs or Dangerousman." Wollstonecraft smiled. "We are going to declare
our sovereignty, Less. The Pacific Northwest down through Texas, connecting
the Atlantic and the Pacific. We shall be the new nation of Alanna, and that
nation shall have the sheer power to hold its territory."
     "Are you insane? You're talking about eviscerating America down the
middle!"
     "That's right, I am," Less said. "Oh, it won't kill them. Not right
away. They'll be able to feed themselves, though prices will skyrocket. I
suspect the American west coast will run into trouble quickly, cut off from
the industrial base in the East. And there will be troubles, but we have all
the power we need to make it stick -- especially since the Allies are worn
down to a nub. They're tired and hungry and don't have anywhere to turn,
Less -- not unless they want to surrender to Lady Awe-Inspiring. So we let
them fight the old war while we build ourselves up. And when the Lady falls,
we snap up California down into Mexico. We dig in. We hold. And then we do
it the old fashioned way. Take a little territory. Dig in. Reinforce. And
set up the repeaters."
     Less stared. "You can't... you can't do this, Wollstonecraft. You don't
have the strategic background."
     "No, I don't. But you do."
     "What?"
     "You have the knowledge, Richard. You can reorganize things. You think
of the details across the board. I'll give you an absolute free hand with
the Alannan military. No second guessing. No arguments from me. You'll
finally answer to no one. You'll be in *charge,* Richard. Under your firm
hand, Alanna will build itself up. By year's end we'll be the dominant
nation in the Western Hemisphere. Within three years we'll simply be a fact
of life. By then, what's left of America will need to trade with us for food
and power -- we'll have broken their backs, Less! Don't you see? We can
*win!*"
     Less turned, looking out the window. "I...."
     "Am I wrong?"
     "...no. No you're not wrong. But that would mean taking America down."
     "That's right, Richard. The country you've been at war at for a year
will actually still be our enemy."
     "I haven't been at war with America."
     "Oh, grow up. You say I'm religious? Maybe I am, but your pathetic
belief in your twisted notion of patriotism is just *sad.* You despise
Americans. You love the flag but hate the government. You love the land but
hate the people. And rightfully so! America had greatness in its grasp and
it squandered it! Again and again, it's lost its way, Richard! Again and
again it's pandered to idiots and simpletons in the name of an election or a
catchphrase! Who are you going to follow, Richard? Yourself? Or *William
fucking Clinton?*"
     Less stared out at the field.
     "Now. I've got the forces deploying to dig in. You'll want to refine
it, of course. It's time, Richard. Time to be King Richard the First of
Alanna. Time to--"
     Less turned, and though his hand had been empty as he stared, he now
held a gun in his hand, as if by magic. A gun he pressed right into Adrian
Wollstonecraft's fat mouth. "My country right or wrong, you son of a bitch,"
he rasped, and pulled the trigger.
     Behind Wollstonecraft, the picture window exploded into bloody shards,
and the hot Wyoming wind blew into the room. The sound of the gun echoed,
and Less stood there clutching it.
     The doors burst open, and four guards ran in, Bankert following, his
own service piece in his hand.
     For a long moment, Less waited, arm still extended, pistol still in
hand, though Wollstonecraft's body was splayed out on the floor in front of
him. He waited to see if they'd open fire. Waited to see if this really was
the end.
     "Sorry, sir," one of the guards said. "We heard a noise. Are you all
right?"
     "I'm fine," Less rasped. "Get out."
     "Yes sir." The guards withdrew, leaving Bankert. Who just stood,
staring.
     "Something I can do for you?" Less asked.
     "You want me to get housekeeping up here? You made quite a mess."
     "Don't bother." Less lowered his arm, and turned to face Bankert.
     "You have blood on your coat," Bankert said quietly.
     "Yeah, it happens."
     "What now? Should I countermand the orders Wollstonecraft sent?"
     Less looked at Bankert, then turned to look at the meat on the floor.
"Don't bother."
     "What's our next move?"
     Less took a deep breath. "Evacuate the Center. We're going to scuttle."
     "The destruction charges?"
     "Yup."
     "And then what?"
     "What did I tell you your primary job was?"
     "Getting back to my daughter."
     "Then you just answered your own question, didn't you."
     Bankert smiled, just a touch. "I guess so. We're done?"
     "We're so fucking done. If we were any more done we'd be shoe leather.
Evacuate the Center. I'm going to go set the charges."
     "They're down on Level twenty-two," Bankert said. "You been down there
yet?"
     "It was still auto-sealed after the Primaries left. I hadn't bothered
to break the seal yet."
     "Well, good luck with that." Bankert paused. "I'll have cars waiting in
the carport."
     "Don't wait too long."
     "I won't."
     Less watched Bankert leave. He looked back at the corpse. And ever so
slowly, Richard Less smiled. He stepped out, down the hall and the stairs to
the first subterranean level. From there, he swiped his keycard for the
express lift. It opened almost immediately and he stepped inside.
     He looked at the buttons. It was designed to make you swipe your card
again and then punch the floor. If you weren't authorized for the floor, it
wouldn't bring you down. Less knew he could disable the system quickly
enough, but almost on a lark he swiped his card and punched 22.
     The button turned green and the lift began to descend.
     "Huh," Less murmured. "I guess I'm going down in the world."
     The lift arrived. The doors opened. Less stepped out--
     --into a green field, overlooking a river. The air smelled sweet,
though the colors were off. All too bright, almost garish. *Artificial.*
     Less stopped walking, and looked around. There was no sign of the
elevator. No sign of the Center. No sign of Wyoming. Across the river, in
the distance, he could see a city. No, not *a* city. Paris.
     "Oh shit," he murmured.
     "That's hardly polite," a voice answered. Cultured. Lush. Very
feminine. Very controlled.
     Less turned to look at her. Mature and strong, her long, straight blond
hair sweeping down her back, her grey dress setting off her model's body.
Not lush or pneumatic like a swimsuit model's -- a traditional, thin
European model. Her grey eyes looked sad and old, though her face was young
and heartbreakingly beautiful.
     "Hello, Psybernet," Less said softly.
     "Call me Geneva," the vision said. "We have much to discuss."



[This is the end of Side Two. You should move on to Side Three. What? Of course
there is a Side Three. This was a Three Sided War. Didn't you read any of this
thing? No? Well, there you go then.]