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

[Whistling in the Dark]

[Side three. See, I told you it existed.]


October 20, 2007
The Combat Zone
Boston, Massachusetts


     I dreamed of fire and I dreamed of ice, all swirled together until I
was shaken, and not too gently.
     "The Hell?" I muttered.
     "We're leaving," the dead kid said.

                              * * * * * *

January 4, 1998
The 'Parisian Countryside'
Shoshoni, Wyoming


     "So, is this some kind of projected hallucination I'm walking through,
or am I actually in your head right now? Or are you in mine?" Less was
walking with Geneva Roulette alongside the river. The birdsong was pleasant,
but he had already noticed it was repetitive. A sound file, perhaps? Or just
a memory on repeat?
     "What do you think?" Geneva asked.
     "Well, if it were Tirkoff, this would all be an illusion pressed on my
mind. I'd be walking in the real world, but I'd see everything as if I were
here. If it were Dreamweaver, it'd be actual phantasms. But I don't remember
illusion casting as being part of your repertoire."
     "And it is not now. You are standing just outside the elevator. I drew
your thoughts here, into this virtual world I have built for myself. My
abilities and the machine allow me these little comforts."
     "Seems nice." Less looked around. "Though a little lonely."
     "Loneliness is not my problem, Richard." She spoke his name with the
French inflection, *Rishaard.*
     "Really? Your Unimaginable League Amoral is dead."
     "Yes. Yes they are." She sounded sad, but resigned. "But I am connected
to seven and a half million people, even now. One cannot be truly alone with
all that company."
     "I'd think that would be easier."
     "You have always been alone in crowds, Richard."
     "So... you know why I'm here?"
     "You are here to end the War. At least end our part of it. You are here
to blow up this Center and leave the remnants of the ULA armies to their own
fate."
     "That's right." Less looked at Geneva. "Of course, you could stop me
trivially."
     "Of course." She smiled. "Technically, I've stopped you already. It
would be simple enough to have one of my puppets slit your throat where you
stand. Perhaps they already have. Perhaps you are bleeding to death and
don't even know it."
     "Perhaps." He looked at Geneva. "*Are* you going to stop me?"
     "Now why should I do that, my dear Richard?"
     "Because I'm going to end the War. You'll either die or be taken into
custody. Everything your friends died for will be lost."
     Geneva laughed -- it was a surprisingly throaty laugh. "They're dead,
Richard. They don't care if I rule the world or join them in death."
     "Don't you care?"
     "I'm rather used to death, now. It seems only fitting."
     "Used to death?"
     "I have died twenty six million, four hundred and ninety three
thousand, one hundred and nineteen times since the thirteenth of February,
1997, Richard. I have died forty-seven times since you and I started
talking." She looked away for a second. "Forty-eight, now." She looked back
at Less. "What is one more death compared to all that?"
     "You... feel them when they die?"
     "Every second. I feel everything about them. Their minds are not dead,
you know. They simply freeze, and they become part of me. But I can sense
them all, and when they die I both feel the death of the body and the
release of that frozen mind into death. I have bled with all of them. I have
burned with them." She walked down to the water's edge, and sat. "Sometimes,
I bring two of them together and they make love -- sometimes thousands of
them at once. All to feel the sensation of release, of orgasm, of
distraction. But it is not sex. It is masturbation. My puppets exercise to
keep themselves in condition, but it is not achievement. It is just the
automatic maintenance of my body's cells."
     Less chuckled.
     "You find that funny?" She didn't sound offended.
     "No. No, I just... I always thought Oracle was a little bit ridiculous
at best -- especially her declarations of Godhood."
     "She was no god."
     "No. But you are."
     Geneva looked at Less, smiling softly, and then picked up a stone and
tossed it into the river. "I'm no goddess, Less. I'm a machine and a woman,
who has touched the naked soul of humanity, but that doesn't make me a god
or a demon. I am just... what I am."
     "And you're ready to die?"
     "I'm tired, Richard. As tired as you are. Maybe more so. We made our
effort. We reached our hand to capture this world. But I can't be sad that
we failed. It simply is what it is."
     "Egoiste said that it wasn't supposed to be this way."
     "Antoine was handsome and cold and oddly honorable, in his own way."
     "He betrayed you."
     "Yes. And we betrayed him. We all betray ourselves, Richard. You
betrayed your country, and then you betrayed our country. You engineered our
victory and our defeat. You betrayed the United States of America and then
you saved the United States of America." She leaned back. "I will miss
Egoiste. And Arsenal. And Frakes and Stigmata and Nimbus. We six, brought
closer than family, who sacrificed our souls for power. Perhaps, by letting
you destroy me, I will sacrifice my power and give my comrades back their
souls."
     "What about Seraphim, or Artifact, or Goldenrage?"
     She shrugged. "What about Wollstonecraft, Doctor Chauvinist or
Annabelle Martinez? Are you concerned with the disposition of their souls
right now?"
     "No."
     "There you are." She reached over and pulled Less's sunglasses off. He
found himself squinting in the light, even though the light wasn't real and
these weren't even his physical eyes. "You have come so far, Richard."
     Less shrugged. "I've survived."
     "Perhaps. But you have also been tested. You are not the man you were."
     "Yeah, well -- I think this kind of shit would change anyone, you
know."
     "Perhaps." She looked at him. "What will you do with Danielle
MacPherson? She will be in the Center in less than fifteen minutes, you
know."
     "She's coming *here?*"
     "Yes. Wollstonecraft's doing. I could divert her, I suppose. She's
riding with some of me."
     "I... no. No, that's... no. I'll deal with her."
     "How?"
     Less looked down. "One of three ways, I suppose."
     "Three ways?"
     "Oh yeah. It's deja vu, really. I can keep her. Go to ground with her.
Have her as a loyal daughter stockpiled against the day I can use her."
     "That is true. You have the bug. You could keep her indefinitely.
Your weapon of war. Your last defense. The daughter you have never had,
ready to be America's strategic weapon. Ready to strike down the enemies
of your nation. Ready to do whatever you want her to do."
     "Yup. Or I could go all Robert Unethical and shoot her. She'd stand
there and let me do it."
     "That is true. That would keep her from ever regaining her old life,
not to mention wanting revenge."
     "Yeah. Or there's the third option."
     "And that is?"
     Less looked at the fake water. "She deserves better."
     "She isn't real. She's a construct built for war, just like Lars
MacPherson was before her. You know that."
     "Yeah. But I don't know everything."
     Geneva smiled a bit more. "You're ready."
     "Ready?"
     Geneva rose, drifting into the air, a golden light seeming to surround
her. Less felt himself rise too, the countryside blurring. "We have both
done so much evil, Richard Less. Perhaps I can redeem my comrades.
Perhaps not. But there is one other thing I can do."
     "What's that?" Less couldn't feel scared any more.
     Geneva reached her hand down, to touch Less's face. "Show you
something."
     And as her fingers touched Less's cheek, the world exploded.
     And he saw.
     He saw through the eyes of soldiers in the field, and farmers in their
own field. He saw through the eyes of men and women of all races, all
colors. He touched the burning cross of faith and understood the pinnacles
of science. He knew pain and suffering and hope. He saw the limitations of
the human mind and the limitless glory of humanity. For one timeless
instant, Richard Less saw it all.
     For one brief moment, Richard Less knew everything.
     The light faded. Richard realized he was holding his sunglasses in his
hand, down in the darkness of the twenty second level. The place was a
tangle of cables and steel and gleaming metal and plastic -- machines so
sophisticated that even the Xolchipalians whose principles were first used
wouldn't recognize them, leading to the center of the room.
     She hung there. Nude and hideous, cables and wires snaking into her
once-flawless skin. Hair shaven or burned away, face lined and wrinkled. One
eye open. The other eye sealed by plastic. The hideous remains of the meat
at the center of Psybernet's army. All that remained of Geneva Roulette.
     Quietly, Richard moved. He knew what to do to arm the destruction
charges and he did them. One was pressed right up against Geneva's stomach.
Her eye tracked him as he approached, and set the timers. He craned up and
kissed her cheek. It was cold, like plastic.
     "Thank you," he whispered.
     And then he rode back up, and walked into Strategic Command.
     The big board was a sea of red, but reinforced. Richard looked it over.
When the charges went off, he knew that suddenly the mass of humanity that
was Psybernet's army would be released. It would all be over, in one stroke.
The ULA would be truly gone.
     "Richard?"
     Richard turned.
     Danielle. She was beautiful, her white and blood red uniform gleaming
in the gloom. So full of life. So full of death. "Richard, what is it?"
     "I'm in the process of scuttling the Center." He glanced at the board.
He found himself half-smiling. "I have orders for you."
     "Of course. Whatever I can do. You know that, right?" She sounded
suddenly scared. "You know I'll do whatever you want, right?"
     "I know it, kiddo. You're a good girl. The best. I'm proud of you."
     Danielle's eyes glistened. "Really?"
     "Really. Okay -- how fast can you get there?" He tapped the touchscreen,
and the big board flashed, right up near the Eastern Front.
     "About an hour, if I push."
     "Push. Get there. There's a transmission station there. I want you to
set it to the fallback ALU frequency. You remember it, right?"
     "Well, sure?"
     "And then I want you to surrender."
     Danielle blinked. "Surrender?"
     "Yes. Let them know that you will surrender, but only to the Adjusted
League Unimpeachable. If they send anyone else, you'll burn them from the
sky."
     "And then what?"
     "They're going to get there, as fast as they can. They'll have Healer
with them."
     "You told me to stay away from her. To kill her if I ever had any sense
she was near."
     "That was then. You're to surrender to the ALU, but *only* to the ALU.
You're to do what they say, and you're to cooperate with Healer. Do you
understand me, Radian?"
     Danielle cocked her head. "No," she said. "I don't understand you at
all. But I'll do as you say."
     Richard felt his eyes grow wet. "Good girl," he said.
     "I'm scared," she half-whispered.
     "Don't be. They can't hurt you, Danielle. No one can hurt you."
     "Will I see you again?"
     Richard shrugged. "It seems possible."
     Danielle looked at him for a long moment, and then embraced him
tightly.
     After a long moment, Richard hugged back. "Take care of yourself,
kiddo. That's an order."
     "You take care of *yourself.* Do you hear me?"
     "I always do, right?"
     "Yeah."
     And then she was gone. Richard looked for a long moment, then
looked at the big board. He nodded, then, and opened a drawer in the
table. He withdrew the Bug and slipped it in his pocket, and then he
walked to that same door himself.
     Richard strode into the Car Port. It was abandoned, as most of the
Center was. Even the mind controlled troops had been sent away -- Geneva
apparently unwilling to let them die with her. Richard was alone.
     With one exception.
     "You're fucking late," Bankert said. "You know how much time we have?"
     "To the second," Richard said, accepting the keys. "I told you not to
wait, God damn it."
     "Yeah, well, I never listened to you before, so why should I start
now."
     "Cute." Richard looked his vehicle over. A grey 1997 Isuzu Rodeo.
"Jesus, what a piece of shit SUV."
     "Protective coloration. Who'd expect the notorious Director Less to be
driving one of these."
     "Says the man who kept the Jeep Cherokee for himself. Right. Let's get
the fuck out of here. You have your escape route and identity?"
     "Oh yeah."
     "Outstanding." He walked over to the car, but paused.
     Bankert had opened his own door, but had stopped to look back at
Richard.
     "So, you think we made a mark?" Richard asked.
     "Little bit of one."
     "Better than carving your initials into the back of the Lincoln
Memorial, huh?"
     "Yeah. Richard?"
     "Yeah?"
     "Please don't take this the wrong way... but I hope I never see you
again."
     Richard's smile grew. "Kiss your kid hello for me, and keep your
fucking head down, Bankert." He slid into the seat, buckled up, closed the
door, started the engine and pulled out of the carport. The Cherokee
followed. They both drove to the highway, though the Cherokee took a side
road after about a mile.
     Richard drove forward, accelerating to 80.
     Behind him, there was a monumental flash, like the sky had opened up
and let out a nova. Richard began counting under his breath. Right when he
expected it, a shockwave threatened to tumble the Rodeo, but he made the
necessary adjustments and kept right on driving.

                              * * * * * *

October 20, 2007
The Combat Zone
Boston, Massachusetts


     "All right. These leads are a start," the dead kid said. "We should be
able to track down the suppliers."
     "Or you could tell us who and where they are," the chick said.
     "Yeah, I could." I didn't have a fresh cigarette. Even I have my
limits.
     "Anything else?" she said. "A pithy little insult? A ploy? A word
game?"
     "Yeah. She never saved anyone's life."
     The chick blinked. "Excuse me?"
     "She made some pretty decent movies and some really bad ones, and she
had sex with Johnny Depp which probably didn't suck, but she had nothing to
do with defeating Lady Awe-Inspiring, she's never seen Heaven, and she's
never saved a life. *And* she starred in 'That Darn Cat' with Doug E. Doug."
I shrugged. "On the whole, I'd rather be you."
     She stared at me, then turned and walked out the door.
     "It might take a while for her to warm up to you," the dead kid said.
     "Are you insane? She's the most fun I've had in years. Give me half a
chance and I'll marry her."
     He half-grinned. "I'll just bet." He took my hand. "You need anything?
Something with real nutrition in it? Money?"
     "I wouldn't say no to Red Sox tickets."
     "Buy your own damn Red Sox tickets."
     "Eh. I was always more of an Orioles fan."
     "The Orioles? Not the Washington Nationals?"
     "Are you fucking kidding me? *Montreal?* I'm not going to fucking
follow *Quebec baseball.*"
     "They moved to Washington D.C. years ago."
     "Yeah, and the Dodgers left Brooklyn in '58, but that doesn't make them
a fucking Los Angeles team."
     He shook his head. "Whatever. I'll see you sometime." He turned to
leave.
     "She's okay, right?"
     He paused, and looked back over his shoulder.
     "Not the burning chick. Danielle."
     "I knew who you meant." He turned to face me.
     "She's okay, right?" I felt really old, right then. "I mean, they
haven't... she hasn't--"
     "She's fine, Richard," he said, softly. "She's happy. *We're* happy."
     I looked at him, and then nodded. "Well, a'course you're happy. You get
to nail the sexiest woman on Earth while she's cosplaying supervillains."
     He smiled a bit, not fooled. "Goodbye, Richard."
     "Next time, bring the shiny one. I liked her. She's way more fun and
wears even less."
     And then he was gone.
     I took a few moments and locked the doors, and then I started to search
the apartment. Search for bugs, for transmitters, for any sign we were
noticed or the chick shafted me. The dead kid wouldn't shaft me -- well, he
might, but he'd be more obvious about it. It had been a weird day and my
stomach was a little upset. Still, time enough to catch a buzz and check in
on some of my sources before I took a shot at sleep.

                              * * * * * *

January 5, 1998
TA Truck Plaza/Buck Horn Restaurant
Conway, KY


     The truck stop was one of the big ones, right off of I-75. There were
rigs everywhere, of course. The war had been big business for truckers. As
with most of the large truck stops there were showers and supplies, clothes
and food and trinkets and low-class joke stickers to buy. The food was
inexpensive and the television sets were usually 15 minutes for a quarter,
but today things were different. Three TVs had been wheeled in where people
could see them, and the place was pretty close to full.
     It was hard to believe that more people in Kentucky had ever watched
William Jefferson Clinton give a speech since his rise to office. Though he
had squeaked to victory in that state, so who could tell?
     Richard dropped bills on the table while Clinton spoke all around him.
"We have seen the worst that could be brought to our country, but we have
also seen the best," he was saying. "Through invasion and partisan battles,
through darkness and despair, through terror and tears we have seen America
pushed to the very brink. But through it all we have also seen hope. We have
seen the will of the American people, and their burning commitment to
freedom. We have seen strangers helping strangers through the night, firm in
their belief that they are Americans together."
     Richard walked out into the merchandise section of the truck stop. His
head was shaven now, and he wore a polo shirt and jeans. His sunglasses had
been traded in for small circular ones, and he'd taken to wearing a copper
bracelet as if he were a credulous golfer. He was driving a Subaru Outback
now, with Colorado plates, and the registration was in the name that was
also on his Colorado Driver's license. He had a cigarette in his mouth,
though his lips were a bit chapped. He started looking stuff over, not
letting folks see that he was listening.
     "When the challenge came, it was not answered by a few, but by an
overwhelming tide. Black, white and brown Americans fought for their
freedom. Men and women did whatever was necessary -- more than they ever
thought they could -- and learned that their capacity was without limit.
Americans of every race, every creed, every sexual orientation found common
cause. The battle for America's soul was not fought by Democrats or
Republicans, Liberals or Conservatives -- it was fought by Americans, and
together Americans stand triumphant."
     Richard felt himself rock for a moment. He had been taking different
pills and drugs over the past twenty four hours -- just small amounts for
now, but there would have to be more as he built a tolerance. The M.I.B. had
conducted tests that showed that telepaths and psychics had a hard time
identifying psyches of even familiar people when they were in altered states
of consciousness. And while his experiences had altered his state of
consciousness all on their own, it was good coloration as he stayed on the
move. He had a lot to do, but to do it meant he needed to stay outside of
prison, and everyone in the country wanted his head on a pike.
     "So as we declare this, our V-ULA day, commemorating the victory we
have had over the forces of the Unimaginable League Amoral, I turn to you,
the American people, and offer you my heartfelt gratitude, and undying
respect. And though it pains me to do so, I also remind you that though we
have had a monumental victory -- leading us to once again reclaiming our
soil as our own -- the war is not yet over. Lady Awe-Inspiring's terrorist
forces and horrible military machine continues its march across Europe and
Asia, Africa and Australia. And though her forces are not in the Americas,
her threat is to the entire world."
     Richard's hand paused as he passed it over a rack of relatively
tasteless shirts. There was a small knot of Hawaiian shirts at the end of
the rack -- light colored but with garish splashes of alleged vegetation on
it. He half-smiled. He couldn't think of anything less appropriate to what
he had to do next, and yet somehow that made it all right.
     "And even as our Allies all across the globe came to our assistance in
our hour of need, so we too will continue to pursue the cause of freedom and
justice, led by those we have always called our heroes, until this threat is
also put down. Today we celebrate. Tomorrow we begin rebuilding. But let us
never forget that our freedoms are precious, but fragile, and we still have
work to do.
     "God bless and keep you all, and may God continue to bless and keep the
United States of America."
     "Hey Habib!" Richard shouted to the black man behind the cash register.
The man scowled, but looked in his direction. "You got any of these in
medium?"

                              * * * * * *

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
    Walt Whitman, "Song of Myself"


                                THE END
                          [Until the Credits]