PASSION FOR TINION (WIP Novel 120,000 words)
© Cupideros, October 21, 2006
CHAPTER 20: HARDER THAN GOD!
Rolith studied his cover of The Prince by Machiavelli at his desk. White walls. A black and white picture of JFK, a president overthrown in a coup back in the 20th century of old Earth hung off to the right and a picture of first Affairs of Intelligence leader (AOI), now forgotten in Tinion’s history hung on his right.
Rolith every, once in a while, lashed out and smooth the crown where more platinum white hairs grew daily. At fifty, he knew plastic surgery became more a necessity than an option to keep his innocent appearance. Appearances can be deceiving and as head of the largest and most secretive agency on Tinion, Rolith needed any edge. The fact people believed what they saw never cease to amaze Rolith. Dress nice and neat and you could rob a bank and walk right on home. Dress like a bum and you might be accused of surveying a super mall to steal something. Look innocent and people believe any lie falling from your lips. Look angry and evil; don't expect people to believe you run the largest charity organization in the country. Trust is the route to deception. Once they trust you, you can make people do anything against their own good.
Besides, Rolith though, Legondel and others wolves waited in the wings. Ten years Rolith guided Slith through its paces changing the old guard, to his harder recruits. The "Deep Scorpions." Indeed, Rolith turned in his chair facing the old fashion wooden globe showing old Earth's topography. His deep scorpions existed everywhere: A few in Quoardian since the cleansing purge five years ago, plenty in Gian positioning themselves in higher and higher echelons of power, news anchors, newspaper chiefs, CEOs of corporations or the major movers in key industries like science, health, plasma fuel, solar energy, computers and DNA and old standbys fire and police stations, construction and the military. He chuckled to himself reading about politicians in his perverted book of wisdom. Sheep. Politicians were sheep to Rolith. And as their shepherd, Rolith put on appearances of sincere concern and truth telling in the committees. If Slith information failed the mark, he'd simply blame an underling, make promises to fix and supply better intelligence all the while insisting that things in the mix now must be dealt with either way; Galan cannot be known as a country backing down from controversy or faulty data which one day will prove to be correct if given enough time and manipulation. Galan must remain strong and secure.
Sheep begged Rolith for permission, information, advice, aid, and guidance to their shaky political campaigns and fancy delusions of one day becoming Lord and King of Galan. Sheep used Slith against sheep. What a masquerade! Why Lord Tweezer's position rooted itself bedrock of tradition. Politicians didn't stand a chance changing anything through political means, Rolith often told a few senators. They wouldn't listen. They never did. They believed they called the shots. They believed a wink, a whimper and a wail to the public stood for something. They didn't understand the first thing about ruling and politics. The more people you consulted to do your job, the less power you actually have. Lord Tweezer didn't see their necessity and Rolith didn't need them at all. Slith didn't need to consult anyone because the word "security" sounded like abracadabra to the sheep.
Rolith stashed the book away. One of his dreamers sent a mental message: an important event imminent. Rolith tuned in. His Dreamers comprised one hundred percent deep scorpions. He favored the Dreamers above all. He gave them special perks, vacations and invitations to private summits. Rolith introduced them to a few praetorian guards of Lord Tweezer. Once his Dreamers outmatched The Prophets, Rolith might rule the universe. A knock came on the door.
"Come in," Rolith said quietly.
Legondel poked his head into Rolith's office. "Are you watching the Six O'clock news?"
"We make the news Legondel," Rolith said with a wry smile. Rolith pressed a button on his laptop and the news began showing. "Unless its a disaster from the Greenhouse effect."
"Scientist call that phenomena a Black Hole." Legondel stepped inside.
Rolith typed a few more buttons and projected the images onto the front of his white office walls. "Old buddy," Rolith gave a soft chuckle, "Nothing gets by you. Let's see--"
On the Gian Capital steps, a small gathering waited for Senator Biesa to emerge from the building. Camera people, news people, magazine and smaller computer press waited with anxious smiles. Finally, the tall white hair senator opened the door. He talked to an assistant.
The crowd rushed forward.
News Reporter, "A tentative agreement for peace was reached in the UCA?"
Senator Biesa, "Yes, UCA Regulation 2990--ending this Eternal War is about to pass."
The soft clicking digital camera began. Senator Biesa smiled. He put his hands in the air, feigning modesty. "Get excited, but not too excited." He smiled. "The Quodarian delegation came with full powers to make peace. However, I need a few more details to be worked out with Slith, but things look good."
Second News Reporter, "And UCA Regulation 3010--That all Congresspersons and even the leader's children in both Quoardian and Galan be drafted?"
Senator Biesa, "Not necessary with the war ending. You Galan folks pay my salary not to waste your time or money." He laughed.
Click.
Rolith stared transfixed for a second.
"Senator Biesa not using his cane. You noticed that. We've a major security failure, Rolith." Legondel watched with anticipation, but he thought as well. "Biesa will pay you a visit on the regulation."
"Yes, Legondel he will." Rolith said staring at the blank wall. Then he flashed his hand and stared at his manicured nails. "He'll receive my full support when he arrives."
Legondel looked at his old buddy in silence. Then both men smiled. "He's flying out here tonight, Rolith."
"Perfect."
***
Galan New Bulletin!
Senator Biesa's delegation from Gian encountered unexpected meteor shower during transport and their spacecraft disintegrated during sever impacts. No wreckage remains to retrieve. This is a great lost to the Eternal War effort. The family members of the delegation asked for funds to be sent to the Senator's Office in Galan.
One reporter turned to another, "What does this mean for Tinion's peace?"
"As you know only Senator Biesa had permission to secure the peace. Another senator must be chosen and sent and Slith must approve all measures currently in the peace accord as well."
"This tragedy seems melodramatic. A special commission has been set up to investigate how a first class space cruiser might received such sever damage in such a short time during what is not a rare occurrence meteor storm," said one reporter to another with a straight concerned face.
"Possibility all space cruiser transport grounding is one fallout"
"Setting the peace effort back for at least five months while the investigation continues."
Click. Rolith turned off his television at home. He wore a black suit, matching silk tie and crisp white shirt. He stopped putting on his black patent leather shoes. He turned to his wife dressed in her spaghetti strap red-sparkling long dress and said, "Senator Biesa was a fine solider and senator. He'll be missed."
"What you think happened, honey," said his wife.
"Sabotage. Shield failure." He got up and took his cold cup of La Pondce coffee. "It will be a long night, honey. It won't look proper enjoying the visiting Gian Ballet. My cell, everyone cells will be ringing all night." He began to walk toward the kitchen in his white socks.
The house phone rang.
His wife looked at him with sad eyes, after picking up the phone. She held the receiver out to him.
"Duty calls." He came back and picked up the phone. He nodded. "Yes. We're looking into it right, now Ms. Biesa. Slith will do its best. Lord Tweezer often said Senator Biesa was a good man, a loyal Galan. Lord Tweezer already knows and sends his condolences," Rolith lied.
***
The next day Legondel went to work at Congress before stopping by Rolith's office.
"Come in," the soft voice said.
"The Capitol is jumping, rumors flying faster atom smashers. Did everything work out?"
"Perfect." Rolith said clicking away at this laptop. He paused. Then all of sudden snapped his finger down on the enter button. "We don't know how they did it yet?"
"They?"
"The Quodarian."
"I see? Might it be shield failure? We're not the best in technology, you know?" Legondel said sitting down on the couch to the right of Rolith.
"Possibly."
"Quo's got a loud presence on Gian. Blaming them more like a sick duck wobbling, flying south."
Rolith got angry. "Who gives a damn about Gian. What Galan think—matters! Galans want a cause they can believe in. Shield failure doesn't leave a righteous indignation in the Galan's mouth."
"Hey, old Buddy." Legondel said raising his hand like a traffic cop saying stop. "I'm playing negative advocate, testing the waters for you."
"Sorry, Legondel, old pal." Rolith stopped typing another condolence letter. "I should let an assistant deep scorpion send these."
"Good training for them. Do it."
Rolith called in a blonde woman, she had a heart shaped face and her sandy blonde hair swept down both sides to her narrow chin. Tall and thin, she wore a regulation Slith grey skirt, black stockings and flat steel toe shoes. "Anna, you're aware what happened?"
Anna nodded. Her face expressionless. "Some condolence letters need to be sent. Can you?"
"Sure. No problem. Rolith, place the name list on the open server and I'll transfer them to my secure folder and finish them. Any favorite words you want me to use?"
"Don't use Love. Always use trust. Also use duty, committed, loyal, friend and supported."
"Consider it done, Rolith."
Anna left.
Legondel said, "Where you find Goldilocks? She's going to make a great strategy-politician agent one day."
"In engineering."
"She is?" Legondel said surprised, "Shields I’m guessing."
Rolith nodded. "You see Legondel, these new recruits don't care about rules or democracy they care about victory. They don't won't the UCA deciding our future. They're hard core."
"Hardcore?"
"They'll do anything. They believe, Legondel. Not like some of the weaklings, we enlisted with thirty years ago, in it for the money, glory, and the power. Fleas riding on the lion's back."
"Finding a safe place. The secure life."
"When we went on that Quoardian raid thirty years ago and stole their prototype nonotechnology, did we shake nervously?"
"Hell no, Rolith. We turned Quo City upside down with riots and diversions and walked right in and stole their nanotechnology."
"Hardcore! But this Senator Biesa thing, kinda messy. Too fast. Problems is it shouldn't have happen."
"Some one dropped their claws. My first deep scorpion security failure."
"Maybe Biesa should have had a heart attack you know, died in his sleep."
"The entire team needed taken out at this point. With our 24/7 security around Senator Biesa, he didn't have a chance. Not a chance here or on Gian of patching an agreement. We've cheese clothed his hotel room on Gian, on Galan with unseable holes. Nanotechs everywhere on the floor, desks, books, dishes shooting dust to cloud his eyes, miniaturized sand to hurt his eyes prevent him from reading, laser burns distracting his thoughts, pulling his body, fingers and head stopping him from sleeping."
"Perhaps someone told him to vacuum up the nanotechology from the rug or floor?" Legondel continued playing his role as objector.
"No one told him anything. Our deep scorpion neuroscience specialist know where to fire electric blast at his brain preventing his cognition, shutting down brain cells. They could have given him heart flutters and send him to a Gian doctor we control. Once there, he'd proscribe rest or medication making his senses foggy. Or double the magnetism by directly filling him with microscopic magnets. Scorpions capable of spiriting books, papers, agreement drafts from the floor of any building, the best computer hackers this side of Tinion going westward. Mist spraying on his knee leaving him using a cane and on painkillers. Don't we have new and different injured scorpions, one-leg scorpions on crutches walking in front of him, reminding him of his injuries? Don't we have different injured scorpions walking in the opposite direction toward Senator Biesa? And how simple to boost the painkiller medication killing him? At the very least, they walk into Senator Biesa's hotel room and take the required information and tools to stop this peace agreement! How this happen? What the Fuck happened?"
"Per Lord Tweezer command?"
"Of course not, Legondel. Lord Tweezer hates messy things. Am I to be out done by a weak, privileged peacock-King, living off of ancient tradition?"
"Lord Tweezer's likes neat things." Legondel said shaking his head negatively."
"He'll do what I say. I've told him to his face. I'll do whatever is necessary."
"He's satisfied with that?" Legondel said incredulously.
"Wears a stoic face every time," Rolith paused. "But says nothing."
"You best be careful with him, Old Buddy."
Rolith whispered, "We don't need Lord Tweezer anymore."
"We need him for cover at the very least."
"Cover for what?" Rolith shouted. "Slith runs things. Slith is winning the war. What has Lord Tweezer done for Galan's lately? And this marriage is near treacherous, I tell you."
"Shssh, old Buddy. Tone it down, I'm your negative voice helping you out here." Legondel leaned forward and whispered, "We don't know who the Praetorian Slith are."
Rolith jerked his right leg under his desk. "Been sitting to long doing those damn 'I'm sorry letters'." He stood. "Winners never quit and quitters never win. Legondel, I'm telling you, we must be hard: Harder than Congress! Harder than Quo! Harder than the Gians! Harder than that Black Hole! Harder than Pain! Harder than Life! Harder than Death! Harder than God!"
end chapter 20
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This page was last updated: August 18, 2009
Girl Student: Explain again, how the cover story works?
Boy Student: She means how, we cover up the Body Magnet Technology attacks.
Girl Student: Yes with--what DVSM. How are we to know what story to use?
Rolith: [smiled in his nonchalant way, as if he was telling a little boy how to tie his shoes.] What's Superman's cover story?
Girl Student: Clark Kent, Newsreporter.
Rolith: [Smiling.] Yes. What's Batman's cover story?
Girl Student: Millionaire Bruce Wayne.
Rolith: [Smiles and nods.] Imagine you're have a wall crawler making the victims floor hot, then cold. Another person in some computer lab or with a lab top near by or far away moving around and shooting microscopic tablets giving the victim a runny nose. A second computer person sends regular pulsating burst to the victims temple from a spritzed wall nanotech system.
A third computer person through the wire system, in the victim's chair pulls on their upper thighs making them cough, really hard coughs. Would that make you believe you had a cold or flue?
Girl Student: I don't know?
Rolith: [Gives a slow wry smile.] Exactly. So you need a cover story. And this is all coordinated at the national level. Provided you can get the victim to in front of the television, a cover story commercial is easy. Whether it is hacked into their television privately, secretly or a bona fide cold and flue medicine commercial, this cover story is played repeatedly when we know the victim is habitually going to be watching television. Then the victim sees the commercial cover story about colds or flue. Bam! We have the victim psychologically. Would you, upon seeing the cover story commercial first, then receiving all the nanoattacks, believe you have a cold or flue?
Girl Student: I might. Yes. I see.
Boy Student: How long do you keep up the attack after the victim's seen the cover story commercial?
Rolith: [More seriously but still with a grin.] As long as necessarily. Hours, days, weeks. We've got nothing but time, since we work 24/7 in four hour shifts and money for salary is no hinderance. If it doesn't work after a while, we'll try another sickness or disease. Countless sickness or diseases, SILTH can mimic or fake or cause an illusion to be real. Commercial are playing 24/7 on television. With all the psychotic medicine ads, we can mimic, the DVSM cover stories are perfect. That's why it is crucial to keep the victim watching television.
Boy Student: What if they only read magazines?
Rolith: [Laughing] I don't know about you. but my magazines have full page ads in them. [Laughs.] If they block commercials, we have news stories about sicknesses and diseases, pandemics, epidemics. [Laughs.]
Girl Student: What if all that fails?
Rolith: [More seriously] Our anonymous people can walk by them coughing, sneezing blowing their nose. They can walk by their apartment or houses or be around them at work complaining of sicknesses and diseases.
Boy Student: We'll do all that to destroy our victim?
Rolith: Yes. Our victims are a threat to our national security; we don't get along with them. We don't want anyone else to get along with them. SILTH doesn't give up. And like I said, with money being no limit, we can supply people all over making people appear sick.
--ROLITH, HEAD OF SILTH TO NEW RECRUITS
