Fallout

[Marcus DuBois]

Leonid Bykov

Office of the Consulate on Communications

Leonid didn't feel tired despite having been awakened hours before dawn. Once his mind started working, fatigues of the body seemed to disappear. And now, more than at any other time in history, was it important that they handle this.

He'd been in contact with Viktor and gotten updates. The prognosis was not good. Nik was in a forced coma to keep him stable as doctors worked. Stabs of anxiety and worry kept piercing him, when he allowed himself to think of what might might happen to his friend. He had to push it away, box it up and think logically. This was no time to be emotional.

In truth, while there was a plan in place if Nik should die, he knew the truth. Viktor could continue with the illusion that the plan would go off without a hitch. But he knew all too well the way people and history worked. For all his devotion and loyalty as a member of their inner circle, sometimes Viktor did not see the world for what it was. Nik was the glue holding the empire together. And there was no substitute for him.

He sighed inwardly. How could there be. Anyone who might be groomed to take over if Nik died automatically became a threat- a focal point to rally around, however loyal that person himself might be. It would only be too easy for Privileges to try to use a person like that as a figure head. No, the only viable solution had been a joint council to rule- the outer and inner Sphere joining together. And in truth, however carefully crafted his image was, Nik ruled but as the head of an entire governing body. The empire was simply too big. Many day to day details were delegated to his cabinate. Day to day governance could continue...

But he knew. Alexandrova knew. It would only be a matter of time before one of them smelled the blood in the water. Before the power struggles that Nik kept a lid on, dominated, began to boil over. It would fall, eventually. Their roles would change.

So...the real question was, would they support someone else? Or would they throw their hats into the ring? Manipulating public sentiment was what they did- and they were very very good at it. Few people knew how much control they really had. People's hearts and minds were controlled by the things they watched and read and listened to. Not simply the news. All the media. The fact that people considered most of these frivolities and inconsequential only made them that much more effective. Watching a news program or reading an editorial, people had their mental guards up. Listening to a favorite song or watching a movie or TV show...well, those guards, if up at all, were very weak. It was something they had exploited for decades as they shaped public opinion.

It could be done, especially if they started to lay the foundation now....Bah! They had never really talked about it. How could they? They were Nik's to the core. He felt disloyal just thinking about it. Nik was his friend and they believed in him, as a person. It wasn't the simple tricks he could do. Those were fine for the masses. But power did not inspire loyalty. Competence. Intelligence. Loyalty. Goodness. Purpose. Those things did. And had.

But he was not naive. He couldn't simply sit back and hope for the best and not plan for the worst. What would happen would happen. And Nik would want his work to go on, if things went south. He knew that.

And Alexandrova was a genius. Time and again, he marveled at how she latched on to a narrative that proved the most effective. This time, though...he read over the press release. It would be sent out after his press conference.

Already, news outlets- those they controlled and those they allowed- had contacted them for information on the leak. A press conference was scheduled for 6 AM. He had his speech prepared.

Now, he was just staring out the window. There was more to do, but he had to get into the zone, the mindset. The key point had to be clear, the one thing that people should walk away with, if they remembered nothing else. The words had to logical and informational. This was not a rousing speech. But the emotion had to be real.

It was real. He just needed to let it show in the right way. Real emotion, calculated expression. Just like poetry, channeling emotion into a structure to contain the purist essence, the most powerful punch.

It was almost time.

---

The flash of the cameras tried to grab his attention but he ignored them, as he did the questions the reporters peppered him with. There was a hum to the crowd, an anxious energy.

"I'm going to need everyone to be quiet."
He waited and simply looked at the crowd. He let the concern and tiredness show on his face- even a touch of worry and sadness. It would build their desire for answers even as they got none from him until they were silent. Finally, the room was still, people leaning forward with wallets or recorders or cameras out to catch his words. Purposefully, he would keep his voice low when he did speak, to keep them quiet throughout.

"Late last night, unknown assailants attempted to carry out a devastating attack on the people of Moscow. Not one of the many terrorist groups out there have taken responsibility for this."
He paused, letting it be the unspoken understanding that an attack like this was something that even the most rabid terrorists might not want to be associated with. "A small group of these enemies of peace killed many loyal CCD guards and were able to gain entrance into the lower offices of the Kremlin. There, they planned on setting off a small nuclear device that would have destroyed the Kremlin, Red Square and St. Basil's Basilica."


He stopped, letting a bit of anger show. It was not feigned, but it was not uncontrolled. "This was a calculated attack designed to have the maximum impact and kill the greatest number of innocent people. The Kremlin's cleaning staff were hard at work last night, vacuuming and dusting and cleaning and preparing for the next day's breakfast. Red Square was filled with thousands, many there with their families to witness the extraordinary monument the Ascendancycreated. And St. Basil's Basilica was filled with parishioners, seeking solace and contemplation in that holy place."


Righteous indignation cracked through his voice even as he plowed on inexorably, hypnotically. "All of these people would have been killed, snuffed out like that-"
he snapped his fingers -" turned into dust. The radiation cloud would have then spread over the center of Moscow, polluting our air and water. You and your families would have been the secondary casualties as you got up this morning to prepare for work or school or play, not knowing that very soon you would be watching your children and your husbands and wives cough blood and weaken as they succumbed to this cowardly attack."


He stopped, looking each of them in the eye, the hurt and anger plain in his. No one spoke. He smiled inwardly. The spell held them. "Thankfully, that didn't happen."
He let a hint of awe show in his eyes as he shook his head softly, let a bit of the sadness he felt show. "The Ascendancy, Nikolai Brandon, found out about the attack. And he rushed down to stop it. Using the power, that extraordinary power he demonstrated to all of us yesterday, he was able to contain the explosion. The damage was minimal. And the radiation was contained."
The awe shone in his eyes, as if he had witnessed it.

And then his eyes dropped, as if he couldn't hold it, couldn't contain what was coming. Softly, "But..."
He breathed deeply, seeking strength. He looked around the room, a parent about to give terrible news. 'Your dog got hit by a car.' 'Your brother was hurt.' 'There's something wrong with your mother.' "The Ascendancy stopped the blast, but he himself bore the brunt of it."


The silence was deafening. He shook his head, ready to convey the depth of the damage. "Burns cover his body. There is extensive heart and lung damage. Brain damage."
He stopped, as if he couldn't go on, letting it sink in. "He should be dead. The agony is unbearable. He should be dead. But he is so strong. He is a fighter. He is getting the best care possible. Still, we can only wait and see."


The bomb dropped, the storm gotten through, we paused to collect himself. "We ask that all of you, whatever faith you profess, pray for the Ascendancy. And to those who do not practice a faith or believe in a higher power, remember him in your thoughts and your conversation. He is the empire. We are the empire. The health of the whole body is tied together. Who knows but that our well wishings can save him. We will keep you updated."


Appeal made, there was just one more matter. Anger darkened his eyes, hardened his voice. "And to those who made this attack, or those enemies that would try to take advantage of the Ascendancy's terrible injuries, I give warning. We are coming for you. The bear has been awakened from its slumber. There is nowhere you can hide."
He paused, letting his glittering angry eyes scan the crowd, focus on each camera.

"That is all."
The spell was broken and a wall of questions was hurled at him. But he was done. It was done. Now Alexandrova would do her part. Already editorials were written, emotional pieces ready for posting on the nets and in newspapers and magazines. The full array of their voices had been marshalled for TV appearances, from those people knew or suspected, to those whose cover was being critical of the government. Soon, their voices would be joined by well-wishers in media, from music to television to movies and personalities.

The Ascendancy, Nikolai Brandon, lying at death's door, covered in burns, the Argus band surrounded by bubbled and burned flesh and hair, suffering for all of them. It was a powerful image.