B00BKLL1XI EBOK (47 page)

“Thanks for the tip.”

“You’ll need to know this if you want to keep your position for a decent period of time. If you think you’re done and it’s finally over... No. This is only the beginning and your entire life is still ahead.”

“So are you going to stay with us as an adviser?”

“Oh no. I’m long overdue to join my species in another galaxy. You’re all grown up now. You need to find your own way.”

“I understand.”

They came to the center of the city. The Temple of the Shades was still standing. It was nicked here and there, but overall, very much intact. Two of the spires around it collapsed after the cannons of the giant, three legged monsters hit them.

“So when do you want that rematch?” asked Ace.

The Reaper thought about it for a few moments.

“You know what?” he answered. “Let’s do it when you find a way to travel outside the galaxy. Yeah, how about that? When you get there, it’ll be a very interesting contest. And who knows what will happen in all that time? Maybe by then you’ll have to teach me how to fight and run an empire.”

“It’s been a pleasure Mr. Reaper,” smiled Ace extending his hand.

“Likewise,” replied the Reaper, shaking his student’s hand.

He left the next day, darting off to unknown realms in intergalactic space to join his exiled species. How he would get to another galaxy was a mystery just as what he would do there. In the end, the enigmatic Reaper left many questions unanswered. What was he doing on Abydos after his species left? Why was he correcting his ancestors’ mistakes with the Dark Gods? Who exactly was he for his fellow Shape Shifters? Ace wouldn’t know that until he could find the Shifters in a far off galaxy somewhere out there in uncharted space. But then again, that was probably the whole point...

[ chapter _ 045 ]

In June of 3509, a news report of unprecedented scope hit the Earth’s global media networks. On the web, the report appeared with a haunting image of the last Dark One surrounded by the Nation’s machines and the Shape Shifters’ Guardians. Ace in his combat uniform, sans his visor pointed his sword at the alien monster. A careful observer would’ve noted the Reaper in his Shape Shifter form on a nearby ledge, looking down at the battlefield. It was the high resolution image taken at the moment of the Dark Gods’ surrender. Above the image was a one word title. “Victory.”

Earth was finally exposed to the inner workings of the galaxy which were meticulously outlined in the article. The stories of the Shape Shifters, the Dark Gods, and the Nation’s role in their long, bitter conflict were finally declassified and released. The galactic overlords who once threatened the human race left the Milky Way, never to return and there was no point in hiding their fantastic stories of rise and fall. However, Mai’s involvement was classified. As far as humans knew, she never even existed. Imprisoned in a catacomb on a far off world, she awaited her court martial.

For the last month, as footage from the war was being broadcast on Earth, humans were spellbound by a battle for the fate of the galaxy being broadcast in real time on their TV screens. Even the harshest and most vehement critics of the Nation found themselves cheering for the cyborgs. Progressives and moderates went so far as to put magnets with the Nation’s flag on their cars, a black rectangle with a red tribal drawing of a flame surrounded by a circle of alien runes, runes which spelled out the Nation’s official motto: “sic itur ad astra,” or “and thus one goes to the stars”. They used the magnets to show their support for the cyborgs soldiers.

When the war ended in a sudden and spectacular siege of the Nation’s home world, the reaction was a quiet, calm stillness. Rather than cheer in the streets, humans took a deep, satisfied breath as if they witnessed the final act in a play. Many were saddened by the news of Nelson’s death and the number of casualties in the final battle. To those still debating the merits of immortality, it was a brutal reality check that there was no such thing and the cyborgs were not truly immortal. They could still die. They had a shot at a very, very long life, but by no means did they have a guarantee.

In early October, Ace, Dot, Steve, and Christine returned to Earth to find their mailboxes flooded with handwritten condolences, gifts and praise. Shunning publicity for several weeks, they gathered Nelson’s belongings and buried them in a cave on the outskirts of the Earth’s capital city. One day, they promised, there would be a temple nearby, built in his honor to carry on his spirit and his accomplishments. The first interstellar explorer, the first Child of the Stars, the founder of the High Council, a fearless warrior, and very importantly, a dear friend. He would be remembered for eons.

Eventually Ace and his crew returned to their public lives and to their pleasant surprise found that the vast majority of their critics have taken on a softer, more civilized tone. Their struggle made them seem more human, and while there was always plenty of vitriol and more than enough insults to go around, they were no longer the dominant form of communication, relegated to the far reaches of the web and shows with abysmal ratings.

Newman and Gene were oddly silent after the war ended. After all, they kept their end of the bargain and laid off the Nation during the war. They had no further obligation to go easy on the cyborgs. But yet, they and their vast network of writers, audio-cast hosts, and pundits refused to kick-start their smear machine. If anything, Newman wrote a rather conciliatory article.

“Now that the War of the Sentries is over,” it read, “I think it’s time to reflect on what happened over the last two and a half years. As the chaos in the galaxy winds down, we should take this moment to mourn those we have lost to the Dark Gods, pick up the pieces, and heal our wounds, both moral and physical.”

The morning after the article was published he was surprised to get a call from Ace. He told his receptionist to patch the cyborg’s through right away.

“Hello Ace,” he greeted when the primary phone line illuminated with a soft, green light.

“Thanks Andy,” said Ace. “I mean that.”

“No problem. Just because we don’t see eye to eye on things doesn’t mean we have to be total assholes to each other. We don’t have to agree, we just need to respect each other.”

Ace hummed in agreement on the other end of the line.

“Say, why don’t we sit down for drinks sometime?” invited Newman. “You treated me to one at your embassy, I should return the favor.”

“Sure, let’s do that.”

“Great, wonderful.”

After a short pause, the ex-Councilor gingerly added, “And Ace... I’m sorry for your loss. Nelson... He... He was a pretty good guy.”

“Yes he was,” agreed Ace. “Take care Mr. Newman.”

With a soft click, the line went silent. It was amazing the kind of friends in the media you could buy with an offer of a significant stake in an interstellar corporate syndicate and a position of power in its management structure.

As 3509 was coming to a close, things finally began to return to normal. The critics were back, ready to challenge the Nation on anything and everything with renewed force. Grey and the progressives were readying their reelection campaigns with stories of how well they know and understand the Nation, and citing how much good trade with the otherworldly autonomy did for the Earth. The War of the Sentries, like all great events, was swept up by the routine and the mundane. Already relegated to the history books despite the uncertainty about its ultimate aftermath, it was now mentioned in passing, as just another historical milestone.

In his office, Grey looked back over the original 30,000 word article announcing the Nation’s victory over the Dark Gods sipping his coffee. Tina sat quietly on the couch, reading her e-mail.

“You know Tina, it’s a lovely narrative they’ve got here,” the councilor scoffed as he put the plastic tablet displaying the article aside. “The underdogs excising a dangerous and powerful enemy out of the galaxy to safeguard our future. Just too bad it’s all bullshit.“

“How do you figure Councilor?” asked Tina.

“The Nation was never an underdog. Remember how it began; as the Dark God’s special forces squad, and as such, they were armed with custom ships, weapons, and top notch training. Them turning on the Dark Gods would be like say, the Omega Tactical team going rogue, especially if they had a secret backer who gave them tactical nukes and fed them our daily security report.”

“That doesn’t sound like it would end well.”

“Not well at all. Besides, remember about the commander’s ethos.”

“What’s that?”

“Ah, the Nation has a rule that all commanders who make a risky tactical decision that’s likely to wind up killing a lot of soldiers must fight in the ensuing battles. That’s why Nelson fought at the battle of Abydos and Ace tried to excuse him. He was imitating the special ops discipline Ace and Sergio promised to uphold and got killed as a result. And from what I’ve been told, Ace got captured in a major assault and barely made it out alive. Now just tell me, no, go on, just tell me that the Dark Gods didn’t look at these guys and said to themselves ‘Holy shit, we made a bunch of almost immortal lunatics and armed them to the teeth! Why the hell did we do that?!’”

“Well, they do sound pretty hardcore when you put it that way. But I don’t think that would endear them to voters. Besides, they’ve thrown us an election and put a muzzle on Newman. Ever since he went to their embassy, he makes a church mouse look loud by comparison. I would advise against highlighting how strong they actually are in public, just in case.”

Grey took a long sip of his coffee, put down his cup, and looked out at the sprawling city below.

“Yes, they did us a few favors. By the way, do you know how they shut Newman up?”

“Something trade related, that’s the rumor.”

“They gave him a board seat at Fusion and a lot of stock. If he pipes up too much, he feels it right in the pocketbook. I like to call it a golden muzzle. Ace put him right there he wanted him. And us too. We’re reliant on trading with them now. We start cancelling contracts and the GGDP will fall by 23% by the time we’re done. And if we really piss them off... well, they just offed a Sentry and my gut tells me that they could overrun our defenses over lunch.”

“But they can’t just part ways with us, can they Councilor? They need us to keep the money and deuterium flowing into their coffers.”

“Oh get real Tina. Maybe Ace and Sergio didn’t buy Newman to send us a signal, but they flipped a TVG figurehead. They’ll do it again if they feel the need to.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Dance puppets, dance! We’ve got plans for you,” he cackled in his best super-villain voice.

Tina shifted on the couch uneasily and glanced back at her phone. There was a new message from Gene.

“Don’t get me wrong,” continued Grey. “I actually happen to like Ace. He’s a nice guy and he’s really been through a lot. But I really don’t even want to think what would happen if we got on his shit list. Frankly, he doesn’t seem to realize just how fucking scary he’s become and how much power he actually has. He’s just executing on a mission and for him it’s just been assignment after assignment. But one of these days the missions will finally stop and he’ll wake up and realize just what he’s truly capable of doing with the empire he and his friends built.”

He turned back to Tina.

“That day is also unlikely to end well.”

For all the upheaval and all the turmoil, the proverbial, intangible things defining the routine and the conventional beliefs of human life managed to escape change once again. That was the thought on Christine’s mind as she strolled through the city streets, enjoying her time away from the media. After their return, she and Steve were hot items on the news circuit. Two humans who were actually, really there at the final battle of the last Sentry. But as the post war coverage began to fade and people moved on to other things, she finally had some time to herself. She thought about what she should do next and about her possible future on Earth or with the Nation.

Making her way down to the harbor, she found Ace sitting on a long pier and looking out into the ocean. He was listening to music on his tiny computer with ancient wireless ear-buds in his ears. When she came into the range of his runes, he turned around and paused his player. Taking off his ear-buds, he smiled.

“Hey,” he waived.

“Hey,” she waved back as she sat down next to him. “So what are you doing out here all lone?”

“Probably the same thing you came here to do. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“About what comes next. A lot of things to do out there.”

“And down here. I think 3510 is going to be a busy year on Earth.”

“Right, the Council elections. Again,” he sighed. “Ah well. Interesting to see what will happen when we make the conversion technology available next year.”

“Really?”

“That’s the plan. Well... that’s phase three of the plan.”

“What about the TVG and all their friends?”

“It doesn’t matter. Newman will defend us to keep his job at Fusion. Those who want to join us will join us. The critics will just fade away. The younger generations today will probably be first. Then their children. Then the children of their children. When there will be more and more humans being converted into cyborgs, it’ll become more and more socially acceptable. The critics won’t live long enough to stem the tide and eventually there will be less and less of them. In a few thousand years, Earth will be overwhelmingly cyborg and the merge with the Nation will be complete.”

“How do you figure?”

“It’ll be a matter of choice and we’re a pretty good choice. All the critics who refuse to become cyborgs simply won’t live long enough and their future generations will just die out or convert. In the end, it’s just a matter of time and they don’t have enough of it. We, on the other hand, are willing to wait as long as necessary. Sentries last an average of a million years. Plenty of time.”