Chapter [CLASSIFIED] - Councils End (2/2)
The human was what had Ru'udamo'o's attention.
Pale skin, cold clear green eyes, a light dusting of melanin spots across his cheeks and arms, yellow hair, and thick with corded muscle.
He looked positively malevolent.
”My compatriots 117 and Words Spoken We Fear,” the gold mantid stated. She pointed at the Terran. ”Sergeant Sarpong, Diplomatic Services”
”Madame diplomat,” Ru'udamo'o rumbled. He nodded at each, then slid a holocube across the table. ”This is the evidence compiled on the chemical warfare tests performed on Terran civilians as well as video of the executions of the scientists, politicians, industrialists, and others involved in the testing as well as the authorization and support of the testing.”
Dreams just nodded slowly.
Ru'udamo'o had to admit, he was gratified and surprised that the mantid diplomat never tried to talk him out of his self-appointed task, never reacted with horror at the actions he had undertaken, just calmly accepted his evidence.
”How thick is your targeting pool?” Speaks asked, picking up the dataslate and ordering a quick meal.
Ru'udamo'o shrugged. ”Not as thick as it once was. I can now see the ones swimming in the darker depths,” the Lanaktallan replied.
”We have a few names that need to be handled delicately or crossed off the targeting list,” Dreams said. She slid a read-once datacube to Ru'udamo'o. ”They are important to the negotiations. Once they have served their usefulness then we have particular ways we wish them to be handled if your people still deem it necessary.”
Ru'udamo'o nodded, feeling satisfaction that the gold mantid was as cold blooded as she needed to be. He tapped the datacube, downloading the data to the secure storage wetware embedded in his brain. The cube shivered and dissolved into droplets of water that Speaks wiped up with a napkin.
”Two of those names are in my targeting pool. The others I will ensure are guarded and eliminated when the time comes, if necessary,” Ru'udamo'o stated. He stared at Dreams. ”I appreciate the Confederacy's ruthlessness in this matter.”
Dreams brushed her antenna. ”To quote a Terran philosopher: Some men, you just can't reach. So you get what we've got here, which is the way they want it. Well, they get it. I don't like it any more than you do. Our hands are tied. The billions sway from side to side, the war goes on with brainless pride, and history will hide the lies and blood of our wars.”
Ru'udamo'o smiled at the waitress, who smiled back, then waited for her to leave, thinking about what the gold mantid had said. It had the feeling of an older saying, with missing contexts. He tapped the straw in the delicious drink that the lemurs had introduced, a 'cookie dough and butterscotch milkshake' and enjoyed the tactile sensation of how much frozen resistance there was to the straw's movement.
”A lemur philospher,” Ru'udamo'o guessed.
Dreams nodded. ”Early Resource Wars Era,” she confirmed.
Ru'udamo'o shook his head. ”It is telling how the lemur's history is not broken up by such things as 'The Eighth Reconciliation of Thought' but rather 'The Burger Wars' or 'Chromed Amazonian Conflict' or the 'War of the Locust and Sparrow' and other such conflicts.”
The mosizlak smiled and chuckled, reaching out and picking up what Ru'udamo'o had learned was a spicy curly-fry.
”Terrans have never met a fight they didn't want to be part of,” Dreams smiled, combing her antenna.
There was silence for a time.
”How is Deus?” Dreams asked suddenly.
Ru'udamo'o could sense she had timed it to gain a slight edge in a sudden shift of tone and subject.
”Digital,” Ru'udamo'o answered. ”Lurking. Watching. Thinking.”
Dreams nodded. ”Pass him my appreciation.”
”I will,” Ru'udamo'o said. ”Upon our next meeting.”
Dreams nodded again.
”Have you given any more thought to joining Confederate Intelligence Services?” Dreams asked.
Ru'udamo'o signified amused pleasure. ”Madame diplomat, let us not pretend I am too ignorant to realize I am deeply in the service of Confederate Intelligence.”
Dreams gave a slight smirk.
”There is much to do within the Unified Council's previous domain for one such as I. Unlike many of my so-called peers, I harbor no illusions regarding the fact that Confederate Intelligence is now my shot caller,” Ru'udamo'o stated. ”I am too valuable to throw away, too dangerous to attempt to eliminate, too crafty and experienced to stumble around blindly.”
Speaks nodded at that, chewing on the tip of a 'french fry' thoughtfully.
”I find the support and attention to detail withing the Confederate Intelligence Service to be very gratifying. Even when one of my tasks encounters impossible to foresee complications I have yet to sense panic, only a shifting of priorities and viewpoints,” Ru'udamo'o stated.
”Nothing like having your control panic just because LawSec walked by,” Speaks said conversationally.
Ru'udamo'o nodded. ”Indeed,” he paused for a moment. ”I am also particularly aware of how organizations like Confederate Intelligence work toward the end of an agent's usefulness.”
Dreams raised one antenna. ”Really?”
Ru'udamo'o nodded. ”Eventually, I will have to be eliminated to make way for more modern and less biased and age slowed agents.”
The Lanaktallan waited for either denial or confirmation and was surprised when the mosizlak gave a 'snerk' of amusement.
”What is the cause for humor?” Ru'udamo'o asked calmly.
”You should research the Born Intelligence Agency Dilemma,” Speaks said.
Ru'udamo'o looked it up on his datalink.
Any agent skilled and knowledgeable enough to reach the age or circumstances of mandatory black list retirement is fifteen times more dangerous to the agency attempting to pasteurize them than it is for the sponsoring government to allow the agent to grow old and cease life functions in comfort regardless of the knowledge possessed by the agent that they may or may not realize they possess.
It was followed by: The carnage surrounding an involuntary kinetic retirement of a highly skilled agent will bring to light more damaging and larger volumes of data than the intelligence agency is attempting to suppress.
Ru'udamo'o took a sip of his shake, thinking.
”The Executor Intelligence Services believed that once an agent has reached the end of his usefulness they should be terminated,” Ru'udamo'o mused.
”Allow me a slight anecdote,” Speaks said, tapping a fry against his plate. Ru'udamo'o nodded. ”Let us postulate that eighty years ago an agent took part in replacing the head of government for a star system and then assisted that head of state in consolidating power and protecting itself from any challenges or direct action.”
Ru'udamo'o nodded.
”Now, the Executor Intelligence Services then eliminates that agent once the star system is firmly in the system,” the black mantid said.
Again, Ru'udamo'o nodded.
”Now, you have recently been ordered to ensure that the head of state is eliminated with the chains of authority still remaining intact,” Speaks said. He nibbled on the fry. ”Who do you go to for on-the-ground data and advice?”
Ru'udamo'o thought. ”Historically, I would be forced to look over redacted and edited after action reports. I would have no contacts on the ground or in systems,” he took a sip of his shake. ”You're suggesting that the optimum resource would be the former agent.”
Speaks nodded. ”Who is living in comfort and still advising younger agents and handlers.”
”Creating a force multiplier that the Executor Council lacks,” Ru'udamo'o said.
”Did they give you the equivalent of the 'Operative Outlook'?” Speaks asked.
We will create a perfect world. A better world. A world without sin. However, I will not be allowed to live in it.
Ru'udamo'o nodded.
It was Dreams who tapped her plate with one bladearm, spearing a pickled vegetable.
”What such nihilistic outlooks forget is that the gardener does not live in the garden,” she said softly. ”As long as he keeps his tools ready and watches carefully, the garden will thrive. A garden without a tender becomes nothing more than a jungle.”
Ru'udamo'o sat and thought about it, enjoying his shake.
The Lanaktallan Matron and the Telkan Matron were listening raptly to the Hamaroosa Matron describing the dedication of the memorial to the Hamaroosan hero Sandy.
He looked around slowly, taking a deep drink of his shake, his feeding tendrils touching the slight gaps in the straw, enjoying the thick and rich taste.
Around him were all manner of species of the former Council and the Confederacy. They were all chatting, smiling, confident in their own safety.
He set down his frosted glass and nodded.
”And someone must ensure the garden is safe from predators and those who would seek to destroy it.”
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The Lanaktallan industrialist squealed when Ru'udamo'o slammed his upper torso onto the hood of his car. Ru'udamo'o pressed his hand against the side of the other Lanaktallan's face, holding his head still as he pushed the barrel of the Terran Confederate Armed Services mag-ac pistol into the other Lanaktallan's ear.
”There was never far enough for you to run, blah-bleh-blah,” Ru'udamo'o said, quoting the fearsome Night Terran.
The industrialist wet himself.
”You should have stuck to industry instead of dabbling in terrorism.”
The mag-ac coughed.
Ru'udamo'o trotted away as the industrialist's body slid down the hood of the car and crumpled in front of the bumper.