Conquistadors!, page 14
“I thought I could get out. I was wrong.”
James nodded, slowly. An aristocracy. An aristocracy that pretended it wasn’t one, but an aristocracy nonetheless. Perhaps it was even more dangerous than something obvious, because it wasn’t so clear from the outset that the game was rigged. If it hadn’t lost touch with the reality of the world already, and Sally insisted it had, the US government would soon enough. The Protectorate had had trouble with nepotism – James was honest enough to admit that – but it worked hard to keep it under control, to ensure that talented newcomers had a chance to rise instead of plotting against the system. He wondered why the locals hadn’t had a revolution already. Perhaps they thought it was truly hopeless.
“I see,” he said. It made sense. A person who believed he couldn’t possibly lose, no matter how much he messed up, wouldn’t take anything seriously. He wouldn’t have any realistic concept of the balance of power, or how it could tilt against him. “We’ll just have to change their minds, won’t we?”
His lips twitched. If there was that much anger and hopelessness, they’d be sure to find allies ... some of whom would be very able indeed. Others ... as long as they were on his side he knew he could find a place for them, even if it was just shovelling shit. If they made the streets safe, they’d have supporters. It had happened before, in several client states and two timelines, and it would happen again.
He smiled, coldly. Five days. Give him five days and he could take the world.
Chapter Fourteen: Washington DC, North America, Timeline F (OTL)
“In our world, this place is a swamp,” the pilot said. “It hasn’t changed a bit.”
Operative Catherine Lacy snorted as the flyer glided over Washington DC. The city was ... odd, even in darkness; a strange mixture of brightly lit buildings and darkened structures, illuminated only by a handful of lights shining in the shadows. It was hard to believe it was the capital of a continent-sprawling nation, although she assumed the city probably looked better in daylight. The flyer’s passive sensors noted the air-search radars sweeping the darkness, backed up by fighter jets and – she presumed – ground-based antiaircraft weapons, but there were no other visible defences. She reminded herself, sharply, that that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. The United States had enemies. She was quite sure some would run ops in Washington as a matter of course.
“I’ve located the landing zone,” the pilot told her. “Do you want to commit?”
Catherine nodded, curtly. She’d trained for insertion operations from the very first day she’d donned a uniform, once her instructors had realised that she was a near-perfect social chameleon. Washington DC would prove a new challenge, and she would have to keep her eyes open for technical countermeasures, but in some ways it would be easier than prowling through a client state or a primal village. There were so many people in the city below, from a dozen different cultures, that she wouldn’t stand out. If anyone did ask questions ...
“Take us down,” she ordered, quietly.
The flyer dropped rapidly, and silently. She kept her eyes on the sensors, bracing herself for sudden acceleration if one of the enemy radars got a lock. The stealth coating and reflection field was supposed to make the flyer damn near invisible, but the sheer primitiveness of the enemy defences rendered them oddly hard to fool. The computer simulations insisted the flyer should have no trouble drifting over the city, yet the real world was rarely so obliging ... or forgiving of mistakes. There was a very real risk of someone spotting the flyer with the naked eye, and calling it in before the flyer could vanish again. If someone down there was on the ball, they might land in the middle of an ambush zone.
“Good luck,” the pilot said. The flyer touched down, the cockpit opening a moment later. “Be seeing you.”
Catherine grinned as she unstrapped herself and clambered out of the flyer, hurrying into the shadows without looking back. Wind rippled across her awareness, just for a second, as the flyer rose back into the night sky, the pilot under strict orders to sneak out as carefully as he’d sneaked in. The locals shouldn’t know the flyer had been there at all, but there was no point in taking chances. Catherine had ducked enough primal search parties to know that primitive didn’t mean stupid. The locals were advanced enough – and challenged enough – to be very dangerous indeed. A bullet could kill as easily as a plasma bolt.
She glanced around, her enhanced eyesight peering through the darkness as if it were broad daylight, then started to head north. Washington was not an impressive city, up close; the landing zone was surrounded by darkened buildings, abandoned warehouses, shuttered shops and – she grimaced in disgust – hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people sleeping rough. She kept her distance as she jogged on, keeping her eyes open for potential threats. The crime rate was very high, according to the internet, and the government didn’t seem to be doing anything about it. She had no doubt about her ability to deal with a mugger, if one came at her, but leaving a body behind might be dangerously revealing. It had happened before, in Central Asia, when an insertion mission had had to be cut short after she’d killed a would-be rapist. Her lips twisted at the thought as she kept moving, heading into better-lit parts of the city. There were more people on the streets now, looking happy and prosperous ... as if they didn’t know their world had changed beyond all recognition. Her implants noted and logged a number of radio broadcasts, drawing her towards the government district. The Pentagon and White House were heavily guarded – she had no trouble spotting armoured vehicles and air defence assets on the grounds – and she gave them a wide berth. There was no point in getting too close. The guards might shoot first and ask questions later.
If at all, she told herself, as she found a place to hole up. The guards at Westminster won’t hesitate to open fire if someone crosses the security line.
She took the tiny drone out of her pocket and checked the datalink, then tossed it into the air. It was surprisingly large, for a surveillance device, but the engineers had made it look as close to a simple housefly as possible. The locals didn’t have microburst transmissions, as far as the intelligence staff could tell, and they presumably didn’t have the ability to detect and track them either. Catherine reminded herself not to take that for granted as the drone flew towards the White House, picking up more and more government transmissions. The secure net was surprisingly secure, by local standards. If she’d been dependent on local technology, she might not have been able to get into the system without physical access. Doing that without being detected would be hard, almost impossible. The locals had to be aware of the danger of plugging something into the network without making damn sure they knew what it was.
Her lips twisted, again, as her mind plunged into Official Washington, her small array of minibrain processors scanning the dataflow and drawing – and checking – reasonable conclusions. It was hard to escape the feeling the city was deeply corrupt, with elected officials who said one thing and did another, or hundreds of bureaucrats who quietly manipulated the system to make themselves rich and powerful without ever becoming household names. The network of deals – some off the record, to the point the minibrains could only infer they existed – was so tangled it was easy to understand why so many reform attempts had never got off the ground. She could trace secret payments and promises from lobbyists, some clearly working for foreign powers, that ensured governmental decisions were always made in their favour, while locking out their rivals. It was hard not to feel disgusted, even as she built her files on politicians and officials who could be manipulated, bribed or simply blackmailed. No wonder there was so little trust in Washington, DC.
And I thought the townspeople were playing dumb, she thought. The interrogations had been surprisingly promising, so promising she’d thought the townspeople were telling the interrogators what they wanted to hear. If anything, they were understating the case.
She scowled, despite herself. The Protectorate’s normal procedure was to take control of the local government and use it to rule. Here ... she understood why Montrose wanted to take control, but she doubted it would work in the long run. The government was just too big to control effectively, as well as being loathed by most of its subjects. It would be a great deal easier to simply take over, execute the government officials, and create a new government right from the start. But it wasn’t her choice to make.
Her mood lightened, slightly, as she noted the first glimmerings of sunlight in the distance. Washington would come to life soon, giving her a chance to test herself in public ... and then make the first move. If it worked ...
“Hey, pretty lady,” a voice said. “You got some time for me ...?”
Catherine turned, and tried not to wrinkle her nose in disgust. The man looked shabby and smelled as if he’d spent the last few hours on a barroom floor, eating the sawdust. He was a degenerate who made normal degenerates look like civilised people, someone who – back home – would be told to stay in the degenerate zones or get shipped to a work camp where he could help build society. Here ... her fist twitched, ready to punch him with enhanced strength. She caught herself just in time. The crime rate might be terrifyingly high, but she dared not assume the local authorities would ignore a body. They were far too close to the White House.
“No,” she said, drawing a haze-light out of her pocket. “Look at this ...”
The man blinked, then stopped dead as the haze-light flashed. He stumbled and crashed to the ground, choking and vomiting. Catherine stepped over him and hurried away, leaving him to get over it. His short-term memories would be scrambled and no one, not even a modern medical clinic, would be able to get at them. It was unlikely the locals would think anything of it, at least at first. He’d look like another drug addict who’d had a bad trip. If they checked his blood, they’d know differently, but ...
She shrugged. She doubted they’d bother.
***
Senator Thaddeus Remington knew, without false modesty, that he was one of the most powerful politicians in the United States. His family had been deeply enmeshed in Washington since the Civil War, to the point that his election had been a lock right from the moment he’d decided to run for office. He might not hold any major committee seats, and he certainly wasn’t one of the activists who put showmanship over politicking, but he had enough influence, connections and clients to get almost anything he wanted, from laws and regulations to contracts and appropriations. He was well compensated for his services in ways that remained firmly off the books, ensuring that none of the activists could call him out for his corruption. And he was honest enough to admit, at least to himself, that it was corruption.
And yet, he couldn’t help feeling as though the world was shifting under his feet.
Something had happened in Texas, something bad. Thaddeus hadn’t believed the first reports, from his sources in the White House and the Pentagon, and even now it was hard to believe what he’d been told. Visitors from another timeline? He would sooner have believed in aliens, and yet ... the sheer absurdity of the story was a point in its favour. Any practiced liar – and there was no shortage of them in government service, where telling the truth could land an official in hot water – would know to keep their lies plausible. It would be easy to believe a terrorist had smuggled a nuke into the country, or a militia group had tried to put together their own nuke, but interdimensional travellers? It was impossible and yet ...
His intercom bleeped. “Sir,” his secretary said. “Your ten o’clock appointment is here.”
Thaddeus sighed, inwardly. The only downside to his position was that he had to spend time pressing the flesh, talking to activists, constituents and dozens of other people who wanted the impossible and expected him to get it for them. The really important and influential people never visited him in his office, not when some enterprising reporter might spot them and start sniffing out a backroom deal. Most stories never got off the ground – it was astonishing how incurious the media was, these days – but it was better to be safe than sorry. Besides, quite a few activists thought that meeting a senator, and getting their photograph taken with him, was activism. It never occurred to them that nothing really changed.
“Send him in,” he ordered. He’d forgotten he had a ten o’clock appointment. “And bring coffee for both of us.”
“Yes, sir.”
Thaddeus glanced at his terminal and frowned, inwardly. The appointment was listed, of course, but there were few details. Catherine Lacy ... who the fuck was she? He reached for the phone to call his PA, to ask for details, but it was too late. His secretary – young, attractive, dressed to appear strikingly vulnerable – was already showing Mrs. Lacy into the office. Thaddeus stood and held out a hand, studying her with interest. Her face was curiously bland, completely unmemorable; she wore a simple power suit covering everything below her neckline. Thaddeus felt a hint of unease. Most women in Washington showed a little skin to draw the eye, but Catherine Lacy held herself with a confidence that suggested she didn’t need it. Thaddeus frowned, even as he shook her hand. He knew everyone in Washington – everyone who mattered, at least – and he didn’t know her. It was ... odd.
“Senator,” Catherine Lacy said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She shook his hand. Her grip was firm, unusually strong for a woman. Her accent was odd ... upper-class, definitely, but with a faint edge that suggested she hadn’t been born and raised in his circles. There were a handful of middle-class students who’d made friends with very well-connected kids, and their parents, who had effectively adopted them ... taught them how to walk in upper-class circles. Was Catherine Lacy such a girl? But he would have heard of her, wouldn’t he?
“Likewise,” Thaddeus said. The sense of unease grew stronger. He kept his voice under calm control as his secretary poured them both coffee, then retreated. “Is this your first time in Washington?”
“You could say that,” Catherine Lacy said. She sipped her coffee gingerly. “It’s quite an interesting city.”
Thaddeus felt his patience start to evaporate. “I am a very busy man, Mrs Lacy,” he said, making a mental note to have a word with his PA about arranging appointments without checking with him first. It wasn’t normally a problem – his PA knew who genuinely needed to speak with him and who could be fobbed off – but this time it was a pain in the neck. “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to get to the point.”
The rudeness didn’t seem to faze her. “Two years ago, you took a vacation to a certain Middle Eastern country,” she said. “During that time, you laid the groundwork for a series of international trade agreements that benefited certain companies, companies that are part of your share portfolio.”
Thaddeus kept his face blank. She hadn’t named the country ... was this a fishing expedition? Or was she trying to catch him in a lie? Or ...
“My portfolio is managed through a blind trust,” he said. It was true, technically. “The agreements I made benefited the whole country, not just ...”
Catherine interrupted. “You also spent time as a private guest of a certain man,” she said, reaching into her pocket and producing a smartphone. “Your activities were recorded and the files were stored.”
She passed him the phone. Thaddeus felt his heart stop as he stared at the images. He’d been assured the activities had been completely private, completely off the record ... he swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He’d grown up in wealth and power most of his constituents would find unimaginable, and he’d long since grown tired of simple pleasures. And ...
“Tell me,” Catherine said. “What would happen if these recordings became public?”
Thaddeus swallowed, again. His wife would leave him, taking the kids. They’d be lucky if they were allowed to stay at their expensive school, once the other parents started complaining ... hell, his family would probably disown him, once it became clear they couldn’t bury the scandal, and he’d be advised to leave Washington for his own safety. They’d make him resign quickly, before their political enemies swooped ... he stared at her, kicking himself. It had seemed so wonderful, when he’d been abroad, and now ...
He met her eyes. “You think the media will pick this up?”
“I think your family will have other ideas,” Catherine said, echoing his earlier thoughts. “And what about the rest of the Senate?”
Thaddeus shuddered. Official Washington hadn’t given much of a damn about sex scandals since #METOO had crashed and burnt. The days when moralists had moralised over the President getting a blowjob in the Oval Office were long gone ... no one cared what you did, as long as you kept it reasonably discreet and made sure your partner had good reason to keep their mouth shut. But there were limits and ... it dawned on him, in the cold light of day, that she had him over a barrel. The videos would be impossible to cover up. Worse, because of just how many others were implicated in the trade deal ...
He gritted his teeth. “How much do you want?”
Catherine smiled, sweetly. “What makes you think I’m angling for a bribe?”
Thaddeus glared. “What do you want?”
“Information,” Catherine said. “You keep it flowing, we keep the videos to ourselves.”
“You want me to spy for you,” Thaddeus said, numbly.
His mind raced. He liked to think he didn’t harm America, that nothing he’d done had ever really harmed his country. The trade deals hadn’t been bad, economically speaking, even if he had profited from them. He’d certainly never sold his country out and yet ... he wanted to tell her to fuck off, that he’d face the consequences instead of becoming a traitor, but he knew he didn’t dare. His reputation would be completely ruined, his life destroyed, even if he didn’t go to prison. There were too many others who’d be desperate to bury him, perhaps literally, for him to dare her to do her worst. A dozen madcap schemes ran through his mind, none of which offered any hope of hiding the truth. She was just the messenger. The person behind her would release the videos, if he didn’t play ball ...
