John Ringo - Hell's Faire

For the Barflies.

Here.

It’s done.

Now lemme alone!

J

Monsignor Nathan O’Reilly, S.J., had to admit that there were good and bad aspects to being a consultant to the President of the United States. One excellent aspect was that his access to what limited intelligence the President possessed about humanity’s “benefactors” had been tremendously increased. Much of it had already been available to the Bane Sidhe, presumably through penetration of human computer networks. But it was useful to the Société to be able to both support their ancient “allies” and, admittedly, ensure that they were not being given the run around.

The negative aspect, of course, was that semi -professional paranoiacs and conspiracy True Believers assumed that a Jesuit as a counselor to the President meant some deeply laid conspiracy involving pyramids, Atlantis, aliens and lore of the ancients. The professional paranoiacs and security officers of the FBI, CIA, NSA, and other agencies knew that there were no ancient conspiracies. Any who insisted that Monsignor Nathan O’Reilly, Ph.D., Counselor to the President for Galactic Anthropology and Protocol, S.J., was involved in a millenia-old conspiracy would find him or her self in a rubber room quicker than you can say “Quick, get the tinfoil beanie!”

A fortunate attitude, since in this case the wackoes were right.

But his position also gave him a cachet in dealing with certain categories of people. Such as his current visitor.

Before his desertion from United States Special Operations Command, Lieutenant Commander Peter Left had been a medium-height man with the build and charisma of a blond, blue-eyed demigod. O’Reilly’s visitor was almost invisible: Brown hair, brown eyes, apparently lightly built, and his face had none of the commander’s movie-star good looks. The standard indentification scans for entry to Cheyenne Mountain had even revealed different palm prints, facial IR patterns, voice print, retinal scans and genetics. Nonetheless, Monsignor O’Reilly had no doubt that he was talking to the third in command of the Cyberpunks.

So far the talk wasn’t going well. Regardless of any convergence of interests between them and the Société, the Cybers existed to defend the U.S. Constitution against the Darhel and the politicians allied with them. Both the alliance and the orders it had spawned were entirely without basis in that document — without treaty, without article, without amendment; based solely on findings, declarations and standing orders — and so, totally counter to it in law and in spirit. As Left had just explained in quietly angry detail.

“When we presented our superiors with proof of the Darhel’s intentions, it was clear that they had been compromised. So we had to go outside sanction; there was no one left to obey. If we now start taking orders from some nebulous, Galactic-controlled conspiracy, we will be worse than those we oppose. Your proposal is, frankly, insulting.”

“The Société is not ‘Galactic controlled,’ ” O’Reilly said with a smile. “We’re independent of the Bane Sidhe. But each group has complementary strengths. The Bane Sidhe provide us with intelligence and access to Galactic technologies…”

“…And you provide the Bane Sidhe with assassins,” Left practically spat. “The Darhel at least don’t cloak their recruiting in high-minded phrases. Just because the Galactics can’t do their killing for themselves, doesn’t mean we have to be their lapdogs.”

O’Reilly fixed the Cyberpunk with a glare. “Okay, you arrogant jackass. Is that the way you want to play it? You and your precious Constitution that is as dead as a doornail if we don’t get the elves off our backs? You are fumbling in the dark for answers that we had when Gilgamesh was in diapers! I can show you the personal diary of Marcus Antonius, senior Centurion of the Fourteenth Roman Legion, one of the most cold-blooded killers you’d ever hate to meet, who decried in his personal writings the fact that humans were so often at odds when they should be combining their forces against the Darhel, the Old Ones as he knew them.

“You act to save ‘America’ and its precious Constitution, a constitution written in part by Société members. The Société has one mission and one mission only: Permit the human race to thrive and grow free of the Darhel! And right now, the Darhel are the biggest threat to your Constitution. So are you going to work with us or are we going to run around in the shadows at odds with each other? Those are the choices. Binary solution set. Get over it.”

The commander considered him calmly for a moment then nodded. “What do you want and what are you willing to trade for it?”

“You’re right that the major needs are for direct action personnel,” O’Reilly said with a nod. “This war has sucked down the available pool of personnel and we have a need for teams, on-call teams…”

Left shook his head. “We cannot act directly against the Darhel. It would violate the Compact. While it may not be in direct support of the Constitution, we feel that the Compact is in everyone’s long-term interest.”

“The Compact, and your actions to bring it about, is what impressed me about you,” O’Reilly said. “Although I think you pulled up short. Five Darhel for General Taylor is a poor trade. Fifteen. Twenty. A hundred if possible.”

“I tend to agree,” Commander Left said with a thin smile. “However, five was the best we could do without… excessive sloppiness. We considered being sloppy as payback for framing us for the Tenth Corps hacking, but it wasn’t necessary. If, when, we have to repeat the lesson, five will be about the most we can guarantee. And since they would be willing to kill the occasional important soldier in exchange for five senior Darhel, we stated plainly that if the person is specifically protected it becomes an all-out war. But the point is, we cannot move against the Darhel. So what would you need teams for?”

“There are other actions that need the ‘human’ touch. Subtly guarding selected individuals for example. We actually get very good intelligence on Darhel intentions and can often intercept assassinations. But we need counter-assassins to do so. We also occasionally need pickups where angels fear to tread.”

“Did you know about the termination of General Taylor in advance?” Left asked quietly.

O’Reilly nodded. “Certain cells were informed in advance along with the warning that using the information could reveal a source. On the balance, protecting General Taylor and possibly losing the source was not a good strategic decision. So we allowed it to happen.”

Left’s mouth tightened. “Like Churchill and Coventry. I understand the logic, but the Cybers reject that degree of realpolitik. Frankly, you may want to reconsider allying with us. If we do join up, we will expect a higher degree of… moral consideration, Jesuit . Call us paladins, but if you play realpolitik and dump one of our teams, or let one of our operatives die, we will hunt you to the ground or die trying. So, do you still want to do this?”

“Yes, we do,” O’Reilly said with a sigh. “That, the Cyber Creed as we call it, was much discussed. One view was that we can work around it. Some sources will be more vulnerable, but if need be, we’ll have them disconnect and we’ll recover them. We lose the ongoing info, but not the source.”

“Unfortunate, but you can’t use people as pawns,” Left said coldly. “Politicians doing that have brought us to this.”

“Another view,” O’Reilly continued, “was that we shouldn’t ally with you because of that loss. That was mostly from certain Bane Sidhe factions, the Tongs and the Franklins. You want underhanded and realpolitik, the Franklins make the Darhel look warm and fuzzy. The third view, from different Bane Sidhe factions, the Société and other groups within the Mother Church, was that it is a refreshingly moral approach, and the long-term benefits outweigh any short-term consequences.”