SINGULARITY13
13:1
13:2
Force erupted from the General’s newly formed third eye. The pulse catapulted Wolfe back and knocked her through two headstones, stopping her at the third.
13:3
Joules held her father as wind rushed down the hill. The last thing Mort felt before he passed out was the tickle of tears running down his cheek. They weren’t his.
13:4
Time rippled from the point of impact in the General’s skull. Droplets of blood, bone fragments, and flesh floated outward from the wound. The scattered cells of the General’s brain twisted and split, violently refusing their forced separation. He contorted and folded in on itself, his body imploding from the head down until the segmentation ended in complete atomization.
13:5
Eugene laughed until he realized he was falling ass-over-head toward the bottom of the Faultlines.
13:6
Gloria Clinkscales live from Golgotha Plaza where an unlicensed warp gate broke crisis just before dawn. Chet Buscemi describes what it was like from the inside:
“The lights went haywire and it got really quiet, like so quiet you could hear it. I know that doesn’t make sense, but that’s what it…you could really hear it. And there was this glow and it got so bright, I mean, I only opened my eyes when I heard the sirens. The wall was gone, side of the building cut clean off, like a dollhouse or something. I ran down the hall, everyone was going for the stairs, the rooms were all empty, except Mr. Johnson was…oh, God, it went through him like a f—ing…sorry, like a god—ed bisectional model, you know, one of those plastic bodies from biology and, and, and he was still breathing…”
Authorities are looking for Dr. Leonard Staley, current resident of the room containing the unlicensed equipment that caused this disaster. Also wanted for questioning are his nephews, Nick and Ronald Jahlen, both Atlas U alums, last seen entering his room Sunday evening. Pylon technicians are still investigating, but until the partner gate is found, they have very little to go on. Larry Zorn, who lives on the same floor, had this to say:
“I mean, I don’t really know a lot of my neighbors. They all just drift in, drift out, it’s hard for anyone to stick, you know? I hope they’re alright, though. I don’t know most people here, but I hope they’re alright. Except Len and his boys. Man, f— those guys.”
If anyone knows the whereabouts of these individuals, please contact your nearest precinct. Now, turning to our main story: the curious tragedy in Hazmat Township…
13:7
Blake Terrel here, reporting for the Constant States News Network. Outburst in the old Milky Way. Hazmat Township, located on the humble planet of Terra, is a quiet place…
Dropships ferried wounded to triage, trawlers dragged wreckage to the dumping grounds established just outside city limits. Reporters buzzed over Hazmat; flies with camera eyes, zooming in and out on the devastation. Voyeuristic shots lingered or cut away with disinterest, like a predator scanning a crowd for the best victim. The anchors back home dropped their prepared material and covered the latest developments in exhausting detail.
The town rests on the edge of a continental cliff overlooking the Pacific Tundra. It’s a small town, a place to raise your kids or start a small business, the kind of neighborhood where you don’t have to worry about locking your door at night…
Dee’s Diner was hopping for the first time in years. CSNN and the Atlas Reporter played from small idiot lanterns mounted behind wire cages. Folks watched news unfold on-screen that could be plainly seen outside, but this was the first time Hazmat had been featured for anything other than animals performing tricks or lucky lotto winners with aggressively detailed plans to become poor again. This was different. This was news, the real news, and seeing their little village in the garish spotlight validated their tragedy.
It’s on TV. Must be real.
The people living here don’t mind the simple life and are quite content to be far, far away from the spotlight, but all of that changed earlier today when conflict erupted between Carbon Corps soldiers and mercenaries, bringing gunfire, flames, and a whole heap of unanswered questions…
Aerials washed over the tattered landscape and up and down the cliffs. Clipped sentences of wild speculation, celebrity gossip, and stock market developments scrolled along the bottom of the screen. Constant States Investigators dissected the town with security tape. Cameras were wiped, phones confiscated. Video editors pixelated the human remains as a courtesy to impressionable young viewers. Pundits invaded within smaller sub-frames where they argued back and forth to confirm their respective biases.
We’re talking about the worst tragedy on Terra since the Eureka Massacre two decades ago. These Outer Rim planets are getting out of control and it’s just a matter of time before their problems spill over into more civilized systems…
The sandwiches in the automat disappeared quicker than the kitchen bots could replace them. Coffee ran on continuous brew. The air was thick with hushed, excitable conversations. Grady Wolfram, Dee’s trophy husband, ferried like mad between tables. He didn’t bother with receipts or ringing anything up. He wished like hell they had more to offer than watered-down coffee and bland snack food. Dee found herself pulled from the back office to provide support. She didn’t say anything about it, but she kept a running tally of food waste in her head.
Correspondents and their film units invaded the diner. Folks who hadn’t a thing to say about anything in years were fit to burst with dire proclamations, predictions of doom, and intricate conspiracies. They rode those special trains of thought that run off the tracks as soon as they hit the smallest bit of scrutiny.
Ignatius Skar, who only approached elegance in his descriptions of cheap beer and the minutia of proper rifle care, was pontificating like a career politician. He spoke past the interviewer directly into the camera, imagining his words streaming live into every home in the Constant. His now only son Ennis did his best to contribute by nodding his head and interjecting when his father paused for effect.
“Weapons test?” Ignatius said. “I knew it, I just knew they’d spout something vague-like…”
“Yessir,” Ennis said. “Not gonna say much, nossir.”
“My son Garth got crushed by that building over there,” Ignatius said. “Weren’t no weapons did it neither. What’s the hogwash going ‘round? Some such about a training exercise or what-have-ye?”
“That’s right, daddy,” Ennis said. “That’s what they been saying.”
“Well, I’m keen to Apologist propaganda,” Ignatius said. “Your sensationalism, your false spinnings…”
“Wolves herding sheep. Like you always says, daddy.”
“Ain’t no training. Ain’t no confangled weapons tests. Ain’t nothing but judgement on the Constant and its complicity in the abomination that man turned hisself into…”
They all tried to find a pattern in the mess. Searching for clues in the steaming pile of “shit happens” left fresh on their doorsteps. They were theories at best, yet they offered comfort where facts never could. It’s easier to believe in shadowy forces than it is to accept the chaos of reality. Liza and Lylah Vanvulcanburg clucked back and forth like chickens, pecking every topic of speculation to death.
“Suits all over the place. Ain’t none of ‘em helping. Their types only show up if there’s something to hide.”
“That’s right, Lylah. Said it once, said it a thousand times. Ain’t nothing sacred on Terra.”
“Terra? Ain’t nothing sacred in the whole Constant. God is punishing us. Why, God? Why do you punish the faithful?”
“Poor Delilah, forced to pay the wages of elsebody’s sins.”
“Oh, Delilah…”
Thomas Gordian twirled his moustache for the Atlas Reporter. He nodded thoughtfully and answered questions as self-appointed representative of Hazmat’s businesses.
“No, thankfully my shop suffered minimal damage. Others, not so fortunate, but we’ve seen worse. Dust storms and quakes or…what’s that? When will we be ready to re-open? Well, I’m sure that’s up to the officials, but I’d be ready first thing tomorrow. Sooner things get back to normal, the sooner…”
Madame Thuselah stopped cameras and spoke into them, whether she was asked to or not.
“I knew it was him,” she said. “Always knew he was a shifty one.”
“You knew Howard Mendax, ma’am? Care to tell us more about—”
“Mendax?” she said. “Never heard of him. I’m talking about Darby. Owed me fifty bucks. Now, he’s gone. The deadbeat.”
“But, ma’am, Howard Mendax was the culprit. We’re not sure who this Darby is you’re—”
“Maybe it was him, maybe it wasn’t. Who’s to say? Anyways, who’s gonna pay me back? You, sonny?”
“Ma’am, we’re no longer rolling.”
“Yeah, figures…”
Abner Sloat sat with his grandmother as an agent took his statement. Anice tapped his arm gently and mumbled. Her grandson loved her very much, but he’d come to tune her out. She was old, hardly spoke, and when she did it never made a lick of sense. She often mistook Abner for some long-lost relative. Today it was a cousin who died of fever right after being born some fifty-odd years back.
“It’s okay, grammy,” Abner whispered to her. “I’m here.”
“Charlie?”
“No, no, grammy. It’s me. It’s your Abner…”
Rumors flooding the lines as sources place Eugene Bohr, heir to Bohr Industries in the middle of today’s attacks. The bio-tech company has been hit with hard times as of late, once a powerhouse of the industry, it is now in the process of massive restructuring and expected downsizing. The company has sent a relief Ark to Terra to assist recovery groups. CEO Deborah Bohr is scheduled to give a statement later today as speculation grows around her husband’s absence and supposed involvement in this unexpected…
Eugene and Joules sat across from of the family restroom, which had been out of toilet paper for the past hour. The jukebox lived behind their booth. “Flight of the Bumblebee” played from the flashing music generator.
It was on random.
Eugene fumbled with a coin in his patchwork fingers, his knuckles wrapped in bandages. His shoulder and arms were also mummified. He watched absently as the coin spun into an ephemeral sphere on the smooth, plastic counter. It slowed, wobbled, and fell and he’d set it going again. His coffee waited by his side, left steaming until it occupied the Goldilocks zone: the brief window that never seemed to last long enough to finish a cup. Joules stared up at the ceiling and sighed.
“Quit yapping my ear off, will you?” she said.
“Huh?” he said. He looked up, confused, and immediately turned his attention back to the coin.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Thanks for asking…”
“That’s good.”
“Dad’s in the ICU,” she said. “Mom’s losing her mind, town’s torn all to hell. Mondays…am I right?”
Eugene didn’t respond.
“Terra to Eugene,” she said. “Come in, Eugene. You damage your speech center or something?”
“I’m just a little distracted,” he said. He stopped the coin and set it going again.
“You’re distracted?” Joules said. “Last night I find you and my dad in a shady underground laboratory. This morning you’re getting your ass kicked by a naked geriatric, but you’re distracted.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“Maybe start by filling me in,” she said. “I mean, I saw you fall off the fucking Faultines, for fuck’s sake. And here you are still breathing and being annoying. Who gets that lucky?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hallelujah,” she said. “It’s a goddamned miracle then.”
“The less you know the better,” he said.
“If I wanted a white knight,” she said. “I’d play chess.”
“Just trust me. It’s some bad shit.”
“Well,” she said. “Better than nothing, I suppose.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes and leaning back. “You said that already.”
“Well, I am, okay?”
Eugene startled himself with how loud the words came out. It cut through the noise of the diner and everyone turned to see the commotion. Grady accidentally overfilled a volunteer’s decaf. There was a dull thunderclap outside, taking the heat off Eugene. Thrusters of a large ship moaned as they eased in for a landing.
“I’m sorry about that,” Eugene said. “I shouldn’t have yelled. It’s not your fault. It’s just I have no idea what’s going on. I wish like hell I did…” He drifted out the window and squinted to make out the writing on the side panel of the newest interstellar arrival. “Honest…”
“Forget about it,” she said. “It’s okay. You expecting someone or?”
“Yeah…” He left his seat and limped to the door without saying another word. The door chimed and slowly closed itself behind him. Joules sat there and took another sip of her coffee.
“Alright, nice meeting you,” she said to herself. She smiled. “Idiot…”
Then she noticed the still-spinning coin. The door thumped shut and the coin stopped abruptly. It stared back at her.
Upright and perfectly still.
13:8
Harbinger-7 broke atmo and touched down in the recovery zone. The battlecruiser dwarfed the place it had come to aid. Medics and agents marched the drop-planks and funneled into town, through the desecrated graveyard, up the cliffs. Armored dusters dismounted and airships fanned out as the top brass exited the main hangar bay.
Pending a statement from the Immutables, Representatives of the Enclave issued the following press release:
“While this horrific event is still under investigation, preliminary findings point to a single culprit: General Howard Mendax the Third. Armed with illegal, experimental weaponry of unknown origin, the former Immutable attacked both unarmed civilians and soldiers under his own command. Today, our thoughts and prayers are with the people of Hazmat and Terra as they mourn the loss not only of loved ones, but their sense of security as well.”
The Six Stars have refused to comment, leading many to speculate on whether this technology, used to murder and maim innocent citizens, was financed through the Corps via public funding…
Nigel Naught tromped down the boarding ramp with his commandants in tow. The Six Star General wore unscathed armor, his uniform clean and pressed. He adjusted the square monocle attached to his earpiece and scanned through recent updates. Commandants Velorum and Killam flanked him, careful to remain several paces behind their leader.
The Inglorious Bitches stood at attention. Beaten, bloodied, exhausted, they’d been working damage control since the bullet went through the General’s head.
“Good afternoon,” Naught said. He adjusted his tie and jacket to make himself taller. “Which one of you ladies is running this shit show?”
“That’d be me, sir,” Wolfe said.
“You don’t seem too pleased with my arrival.”
“Apologies, sir,” Wolfe said. “It’s been a long day, but we sure appreciate you bringing the cavalry. The Harbinger’s a sight for sore eyes.”
“I’m sure it is,” Naught said. “But it wouldn’t kill you grunts to show some respect.”
“With respect, sir,” Wolfe said. “Today’s not a good day to nitpick my decorum. Sir.”
“Then allow me to critique your field work,” Naught said. “Was there any attempt to resolve the dispute with Mendax before engaging in a firefight among a civilian population?”
“My grievances with the former General are well-documented,” Wolfe said. “In light of recent events, however, I find it likely he buried those reports. If you’re interested, I’d be more than happy to show you the file with hard copies of all my formal complaints.”
“Refusing to take responsibility then,” Naught said. “Not surprised. The lack of discipline among lower ranks has gotten even worse than when I was in the field.”
“Again, with respect, sir,” Wolfe said. “If we’re going to discuss responsibility, I’d like to point out that Mendax operated without any semblance of meaningful oversight. Am I correct to say that you are the current operational director of this quadrant?”
“Are you implying that this mess is somehow my fault?” Naught said. “Captain, please.”
“I’m not implying anything, sir,” Wolfe said. “Just stating facts.”
“Was that one ‘with respect’ too?” Jas said, leaning into her sister’s ear.
“Private, what’s your name?” Naught said. “Are you aware, soldier, that you just broke the chain in front of high command?”
“Yes, most honorable General What’s-His-Dick,” Jas said. “I suppose I need to be disciplined. Please, sir, punish me. Punish me hard.”
“Captain!” Naught said. “Are you going to stand there and let your subordinate disrespect me?”
“Looks like,” Wolfe said. “Listen, I’ve got folks bleeding who’d sure appreciate it if we cut the shit and got to the point of all this.”
“The point is the Corps is undergoing restructuring,” Naught said. “And we’re looking for viable replacements for General Mendax. As a formality, I came to cross you off the list.”
“How considerate of you, sir.”
“You 86’d your superior officer point-blank in the clear light of day for all of creation to see. Not to mention the fact that he was completely butt-ass naked. Not exactly the kind of media attention that boosts recruitment.”
“My sincerest apologies, sir,” Wolfe said. “I must’ve forgotten all about my PR training once bullets were flying and that madman was breaking bones with his mind.”
“And furthermore, I’ll personally see to it that your squad is…” Naught titled his head into his earpiece. “Hold on,” he grunted. He pressed the receiver. “Accepting new orders…” His eyepiece downloaded and extracted updated directives. “Wait. No…”
Commandant Velorum placed his hand on Naught’s shoulder.
“Sir,” he said. “I think you better come with me.”
“No, no, that’s not right,” Naught said. “I’m in the middle of—”
“I know, sir,” Velorum said. “It’s quite vexing, but this is an Immutable Directive and there’s no option to appeal.” He turned Naught around and guided him back toward the Harbinger.
“Killam, aren’t you coming?” Naught said. “We have orders.”
“I have my own orders, sir,” Killam said. “The best of luck on your upcoming tribunal, sir. I trust the Immutables to be fair.”
“You, you…” Naught could barely spit the words out. “Ungrateful little…After I pulled you up in the ranks? I’m a Six Star, damn it. I’ve got rights.”
“Yes, indeed you do, sir,” Killam said. “The right to remain silent, anything you say or do may—”
“You bitch!” Naught said. “I know the code. I swear to God I’m going to—”
“Velorum, would you be a dear and muzzle him?” Killam said. “Oh, and if he gives you any more trouble, you have my expressed permission to use the stunner.”
Velorum nodded and snapped a muting mask over Naught’s flapping jowls. His eyes flared at the Commandant, but he settled down when Velorum pulled out the cattle prod. Naught’s head sank and he stomped along like an angry toddler.
Killam watched him escort Naught away for extradition. She stood a moment, perfectly still, a sharp desert wind washed over her.
We’re receiving word that the brave soldiers who ended the conflict are none other than the Inglorious Bitches of Novak. Led by Captain Adrian Wolfe, this crack team was responsible for busting some of the most notorious child and drug trafficking rings in Constant States history. While catapulted to almost instant fame via their exploits, there have been few reports of this decorated troop since their reassignment to Terra…
13:9
Recovery groups from across the Constant are calling on volunteers to assist in any way they can. We here at CSNN are doing our part as well by hosting a relief fundraiser at CSNN.cor/SaveTerraNow. Just go to the page, fill out the survey, credit card information, and…
“Genie!”
Astra jumped from her grandpa’s arms and broke into a dead sprint for her brother. She didn’t slow down as she jumped and gave him a tackle hug.
“Oh, come on,” Joules mumbled. She watched from the diner as Eugene laughed and wrestled with his baby sister. “No fucking fair…”
Astra climbed up Eugene’s head and covered his face with her hands.
“Easy there, kiddo,” Eugene said. “I’m getting too old for this.”
“You’re too old?” Victor Bohr chuckled. “What’s that make me then?”
“You don’t want me to answer that,” Eugene said.
“Where’s dad?” Astra said. “I want to show him my collection…” She turned out her pockets and held up clumps of multi-colored plastic bugs.
“Whoa, those are really creepy.”
“Don’t be a baby,” Astra said. “They’re ugly, not creepy, and I love them and I want dad to see them. I don’t know what to call this one.” She held up a rainbow centipede-dragonfly hybrid.
Eugene turned to his grandfather. Victor shook his head and looked down at Astra with a weary smile.
“I have no idea,” Eugene said. “I thought maybe you could help me. I mean, you are the reigning champ of hide-and-go-seek.”
“It’s because I’m small,” Astra said proudly. “And you guys don’t know how to hide. At all! Did you check in closets?” Eugene nodded as she went down the list. “Upstairs? Downstairs? How about under the bed?”
“You know what,” Eugene said. “I didn’t check under the bed. How’d I miss that?”
“Well, this is cute,” Joules said. She stood behind them with her arms folded and a grin on her face.
“Astra, this is my friend Joules,” Eugene said. “Be nice to her. She’s pretty cool.”
“As cool as me?”
“Almost,” Eugene said. “Almost…”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Joules,” Astra said. She held her tiny hand out for the most formal handshake a child ever offered. “Do you go by Joules or Joulie or Joubilee?”
“Joules is fine, but you can call me…” she leaned down and got close. “Dr. Ticklestein!”
Astra erupted into manic giggles as Joules tickled her sides. She squirmed away, fell, laughed, and got up all in one continuous motion. Astra ran off and Joules chased after.
“That’s not right,” Eugene said. “Shouldn’t it be Ticklestein’s monster?”
“This is nice,” Victor said.
“Yeah, I’m glad someone could cheer her up,” Eugene said. “Rough day all around.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” Eugene said. “She’s nice.”
“Yeah, seems nice,” Victor said. “Good with kids…pretty cute too.”
“Cool it, you old dog,” Eugene said. “She’s a little young for you.” They watched Joules and Astra run and spin in the sand. “So, where’s mom?”
13:10
Local Corps Scientist Dr. Mortimer K. Nova, who suffered major trauma and spinal injuries, remains in critical condition at Atlas General…
Molly balled up the paper cup in her hands. She was about ready to knock out one of the attendants.
Beep…beep…
They’d been flittering in and out, checking vitals, adjusting tubes, interrupting her peace ever since her husband left surgery three hours ago.
She curled her toes, took deep breaths, and everything else she’d ever learned to deal with stress. Every self-help listicle and tidbit of clickbait nonsense that detailed coping strategies. She did all she could and still wanted to punch something right in its stupid face.
Finally, the nurses and supervisors finished their rounds and, just like that, they were out the door, leaving Molly with just the rhythmic beeps and the occasional whoosh of decompressors to keep her company.
Beep…beep…beep…whoosh!
Some news teams bottlenecked outside the door. They fought with each other to get a shot through the small window. Molly glared at them and clenched her fists. They shook their heads and waved for her to go on about her business, to feel comfortable in expressing her grief for the people watching at home.
This was the sadness shot. The cost-of-it-all shot. They didn’t need her anger. They already had plenty footage and excruciating punditry establishing that emotion. They wanted her anguish. Her tears.
Beep…
Just sit there and look sad, honey. Or better yet, kneel at the bedside.
Beep…
No, we don’t really care what you’re going through.
Beep…
We’ve got time to fill, baby.
Beep…
She smiled wide, straightened her rumpled dress, and went to the door.
Beep…
She spit on the window and closed the curtain.
Whoosh!
She turned and her body clenched up when she heard the door open. She spun around, ready to punch someone for real this time, and found herself looking at a woman about her age in a suit holding a small briefcase.
“Get the hell out of here,” she said. “Right now.”
“I understand,” the woman said. “I wouldn’t want to see me either under the circumstances. I’ll just leave my card and leave you be.”
The woman pulled a card out and held it up to show she meant well. She placed it on the counter next to Molly and turned away to leave. Molly scoffed and looked at the card, expecting another ambulance chaser.
Deborah Bohr. CEO Bohr Industries. 999-626-BOHR
Debbie opened the door, letting in the chatter of reporters and camera operators. Molly called out.
“Mrs. Bohr,” she said. “A moment?”
Debbie let the door shut and took a deep breath.
“Of course, Mrs. Nova.”
Beep…beep…
“Had your husband not come to Terra,” Molly said. “Would any of this happened?”
“As much as I’d like to say ‘yes…’” Debbie swallowed and looked Molly right in the eyes. “It’s likely the General would’ve never taken Mort’s work seriously had it not been for Walter’s interest.”
“Mort said it started out as a joke,” she said. “The formula. He was just messing with some grad students, trick colleagues into wasting their time.”
“That’s true,” Debbie said. “He didn’t think much of it until Mort sent him his proofs.”
“So, I suppose that means my husband wouldn’t be within an inch of his life,” Molly said. “If only your husband had a better sense of humor.”
“We’ve been married for twenty-three years, Mrs. Nova,” Debbie said. “Trust me: there was never any hope of that.” Debbie smiled and turned for the door.
Beep…beep…whoosh!
“Wait,” Molly said. “Aren’t you going to ask about your son?”
“You’ve got enough on your plate,” Debbie said. “Plus, I only recently found out about my husband. I figured I could stand to wait to find out if my boy met a similar fate.”
“He was staying with us, though,” Molly said. “He was our responsibility.”
“That he was,” Debbie said. “And I’m sure you did all you could to protect him. Look, I’m not going to pretend to know what you’re going through, Mrs. Nova, but if you’re planning on suing us for your husband’s injuries, I won’t blame you. Walt can’t be here to own up to the collateral damage, so it’s only right that I’m here to take it.”
“Why would we do that?”
Beep…beep…
“Medical bills aren’t cheap,” Debbie said. “And it’s going to be hard finding work, I’m sure, even after he recovers. In any event, it’s the smart thing to do and we won’t fight it.”
“That guarantees I won’t,” Molly said. “Your husband was good people, Mrs. Bohr, and you two raised a good son.”
“I have trouble believing that,” Debbie said. “Eugene’s always been a handful, but here lately it’s been quite the challenge.”
“I’ve got a teenager myself, so believe me: I understand. Us parents have to stick together.”
“I hope we do, Mrs. Nova,” Debbie said. “I really hope we do.”
Beep…beep…
“Call me Molly.”
“Debbie.”
“I’ll be seeing you, Debbie.”
“Likewise, Molly,” Debbie said. “I pray for a swift recovery.” She went for the door. “Oh, and by the way. If they start pestering you about billing, refer them to the back of my card.”
Beep…beep…
The door shut and Debbie led the reporters away. Molly flipped over the business card to find a routing number for an account set up in her name. She collapsed into the chair, weeping.
Whoosh!
13:11
In lieu of a news conference, the Immutables have issued a statement on today’s events. They are launching a full-scale investigation into the illegal activities of Howard Mendax as well as the upper echelon of the Carbon Corps. This was confirmed earlier as Six Star General Naught was removed from his position…
“I apologize for Naught,” Killam said. “He’s not the most…well, you see…”
“He’s a dick,” Wolfe said.
“Precisely,” Killam said. “Now, we can get on with business. Mendax had two main positions: Immutable and General. The council is currently holding hearings to fill the former and Naught was to fill the latter. I’m taking his charge as Overseer of the Outer Rim and I need a steady hand here on the ground. That’s where you come in.”
“Sir?” Wolfe said.
“I don’t see anyone more capable,” Killam said. “There’s no training simulation to prepare for what happened here. Sure, lives were lost, but you contained it almost entirely to traitors and mercs.”
“I appreciate it, but I’m not sure I’m qualified.”
“As long as you don’t go on a kill-crazy rampage,” Killam said. “I’d consider it an improvement. So, do you accept?”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
“Good,” she said. “Let’s talk transition. It’s not pretty, but I’ve got a few ideas…”
The death toll continues to rise as evacuation teams unearth the remains of a dozen more bodies under the sleepy town. Some have been identified as missing persons dating back to late last year…
“Um…” Jas watched as Killam spoke to Wolfe in private. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Don’t look at me,” Austen said, she touched the soaked gauze over her eye. She winced as she ripped it off and replaced it with a fresh one.
“Seriously,” Jas said. “They sent a Six Star packing. When has that happened like ever?”
“Give it a break, Jas,” Kale said. “I’m still processing what happened this morning.”
Wolfe nodded and saluted. Killam dismissed her and made her way back to the Harbinger.
Locals have been ordered to stay out of active recovery zones until the authorities can grant safety clearances…
Wolfe stepped up to her troops and took a deep breath.
“Well?” Jas said. “What’s the fuss?”
“They’re calling it ‘limited restructuring,’” Wolfe said. “Temporary measure until the tribunals are concluded.”
“What’s that mean for us?”
“Means the size of our zone just increased,” Wolfe said. “And we’ve got a planet-sized pile of shit to sort through.”
“Wait,” Kale said, scratching her head. “If that means what I think it means…”
“It does,” Wolfe said.
Kale snapped into a salute. Austen let out a laugh and joined her. They both ribbed Jas.
“What’s with the show, guys?” Jas said. “High Command has left the building, we don’t need to…oh…oh, shit, sis! Don’t tell me—”
Wolfe nodded. Jas punched her sister in the arm and enthusiastically saluted.
“General goddamned Wolfe,” Jas said. “Ready for orders, sir.”
13:12
“Scale of one to ten,” Eugene said. “How much trouble am I in?”
“Who can say,” Victor said. “But you do know your mother.”
“Uh huh,” Eugene said. “Yeah…so, she’s right behind me.”
Victor grinned.
“Come here,” Debbie said. She hugged him hard. Then she set him back, holding his shoulders, and smiled. She smacked him across the cheek. “Why didn’t you call?” She hugged him again, this time squeezing all the air from his lungs. “Don’t you ever do that ever again. I didn’t know if you were safe, if you were alive or…”
“Look, Mom,” Eugene said. “Dad is…”
“I know.”
“Yeah,” he said. “And I’m…”
“Still grounded.”
“That’s what I thought.” It was Eugene who hugged her this time. “Thanks, Mom.”
13:13
“Kale, I want you in Atlas Rock,” Wolfe said. “You remember our idea for smoking out the Saints?”
“Big show East of the city,” Kale said. “Bring out the big guns and point them right at the Liberties. Feed intel to Pilgrim groups we trust to spread the word not to take action. Extremists will come out of the woodwork once they think a full-scale war’s on. We do it right, we can scoop up most of the bad actors in one swoop.”
“You got it,” Wolfe said. “General Killam’s granted us a battalion during the transitional period. Secure the city and get those heavy guns set up.”
Kale nodded and marched away.
“Austen,” Wolfe said. “How you feeling, soldier?”
“I’ve been better, sir,” Austen said. “But I’ve still got an eye to see and a gun to shoot.”
“I think you’ve seen enough action today,” Wolfe said. “Can you handle overseeing the relief efforts here?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Then hop to it,” Wolfe said. “And Jas?”
“Yes, fearless leader?” Jas said. “Don’t tell me your putting me on dune patrol.”
“Afraid so,” Wolfe said. “But don’t worry…” She checked her crosshairs and ammo clip. “I’m joining you.”
“Where to first?” Jas said. “Haven’t been to Garlock in ages. I hear they’ve got a penny arcade. Like ones they had back on Novak.”
“Maybe some other time,” Wolfe said, looking due south. “I’m thinking Eureka.”
“What’s in that shithole?”
“Mostly vagrants,” Wolfe said. “But it was the last note on Mendax’s itinerary. Figured it was worth a look.”
“Hey, why not?” Jas said. “Not like I’ll be sleeping anytime soon.”
“I know what you mean,” Wolfe said. “We’ve all seen blood, but not like this.”
“Hell, I meant seeing Howie’s shriveled dick,” Jas said. “A fucking nightmare.”
“By the by,” Wolfe said. “Found this in that suit.” She tossed Jas a silver lighter. “Consider it thanks.”
“For what?” Jas said. She flipped it open and checked the flint.
“If you hadn’t pissed me off yesterday, we might’ve not gotten back to Hazmat in time.”
“Oh, that?” Jas said. “Don’t mention it.”
“You play tough, sis,” Wolfe said. “But I see that big ole gooey heart of yours. Few years back and you would’ve charged that hill a second time, not giving a damn about anything. You held back, though. Kept your head and made sure folks in town were safe.”
“Well, Darby sure as hell wasn’t going to put those flames out,” Jas said.
“Because he’s dead, Jas,” Wolfe said. “Along with the rest of our missing persons. They’re still picking pieces of ‘em out of the rubble.”
“Yeah, he always had some excuse…”
13:14
Back in the Diner, Grady turned off the TVs to give everyone a moment of peace and quiet. He figured they’d all had enough for one day, maybe enough to last a lifetime. But the broadwaves maintained their constant pulse.
Officials have linked several other recent incidents to today’s developments, including yesterday’s shuttle malfunction and unsanctioned military action in the northern dunes, bringing the current death total to 47, with over a hundred casualties reported.
Hype and speculation spread through galaxies.
Sad news for Bohr Industries as Walter Bohr, its founder and Constant States’ Prime Consultant in Chief, has been added to the death toll. No word yet on his involvement with the disaster, but we’ll continue to cover all the angles until more information comes to light. You’re watching CSNN…
It defied space and time.
You heard it here first, folks. If you’re holding on to BI stock, now’s the time to sell, sell, sell…
Heartache and anger and exhaustion experienced simultaneously in every corner of the Constant States.
Beware exaggerations on conservative news networks…
An irregular heartbeat skipping across the universe.
We all know what really happened in Hazmat, but the mainstream media doesn’t want you to know the truth…
Pundits upped their smarm, field correspondents put on their serious faces.
In the video you can clearly see touches of post-production. It’s phony. A staged event to distract…
Nexus traffic exploded. Comments sections multiplied exponentially. Domain names were registered for TerranTruthNow, HazmatHoax, among countless others.
Nobody’s talking about the real story here. How come our military is allowed to turn civilian areas into warzones?
And on it went as the truth stumbled through a hall of mirrors, no telling what it would look like when it came out the other side.
13:15
Where’s your source on that, Tomi? It sounds like—
typical Unification propaganda trying to turn this whole thing into—
an excuse to increase funding—
don’t tell me you believe a word of that. Now, I’m—
honestly scared, folks, to think that it could happen here of all—
places where sin breeds more sin. I mean, where do people like this even come—
from all of us here in Tumor Nation, a heartfelt salute to our men and women in—
uniform restructuring of our criminal justice system—
and before we go, let’s give a big hand to our—
doom! I’m serious, goddamnit these are end times for—
our collective intelligence, and frankly, Tucker, it’s insulting—
for you to sit there and claim you’re the only network—
brave enough to—
tell—the—truth…
The God Complexes 