How to Orchestrate a Coup
08 Aug 2021Jaime Ward
Leeson City, ChioneThe Prism System
The young man leaned against the guardrail that ran along the edge of the waterfront, casually smoking the last of the cigarette nestled in the crux between his middle and index fingers.
The wind caught his shoulder length blonde hair and tousled it, his eyes cutting back and forth between the small watercraft traversing the river. It had been three long years since he'd been back on the streets of Leeson City, and Cale Errin would have been glad to be home under any other circumstances.
The ex-Reaper flicked the spent butt of the cigarette out into the water, pulled his coat close, and started a slow walk towards Loren Piazza. He squinted against the glare of the afternoon sun, thinking about the last days in Carcosa.
Thinking about how he'd failed.
About how much he wished Isaiah had been there.
In truth, he resented that man. When he'd not come back from sortie after the first battle for the Rock, Cale assumed his erstwhile squadron commander was dead. But not finding Bloodfeather, Isaiah's infamous Fer-de-Lance, anywhere in Carcosa after the fact led him to believe Isaiah had fled.
For all he knew, the man had disappeared. Dead, vanished, it didn't matter.
Cale had never trusted Phisto Sobanii, and when he disappeared sometime after, he felt vindicated - though he'd wished he hadn't been right.
Smith had put up a good fight trying to keep the Reapers and the Nameless together, but the losses they sustained from protracted fighting against the so-called "anti anarchist alliance" had forced both groups from the Rock.
Cale lost so many good people. So he took a page from his old mentor and left too.
But old habits die hard, don't they?
Cale walked past a police checkpoint as a group of people loitered nearby - none of them could have been older than their late teens. They cast nervous glances towards him, then to the officers.
Cale winked at one of the female officers, continuing past her, hands in his pockets.
"Sir," the officer called out. "Can I see some identification?"
Cale stopped. Turned around slowly.
"Depends. You show me yours and I'll show you mine."
The officer's expression darkened. "Where you heading?"
"To work."
"Where's work?"
"Here."
Cale's posture straightened.
"Take your hands out of your pockets."
Cale's face remained stoic. "I don't have anything."
The other two officers were unlatching the straps over the grips of their sidearms and were walking towards him now.
But so was the small crowd behind them.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" Cale asked the female officer, whose tone and expression spoke of a growing hostility.
"I'm not going to ask you again, sir. Show me your ID."
"Shame, that. You're very beautiful, even in that ridiculous costume."
The female officer reached for her sidearm. Two shots rang out. The female officer dropped to the ground. In an instant Cale was standing over her, pointing a gun in her face. He winked again, then put a round into her head.
The crowd caught up to the two officers behind her and, as they reached for their sidearms, were overwhelmed. The crowd set about assaulting them, stripping them of their gear. Others broke off and ran towards one of the government offices and started ransacking it, terrorizing the workers and throwing them out into the streets.
In a matter of minutes, Loren Piazza was a free for all.
Cale left the body of the officer in the street, walking quickly down an alleyway before stopping and checking his surroundings.
The riot had started. All according to plan.
******
The Tradition
Somewhere in deep space
Hours had passed since the sudden, unceremonious fall of Senator Tancred Vanderhorst.
Ward had crept across the bubble, listening to the news feeds light up with speculation and shock at the revelation that he had been responsible for rigging the vote against a referendum of secession in Prism two years ago.
One by one, Vanderhorst's associates - including Prism's governor, Valeria Larsen - had been arrested and taken into custody. And with every new announcement that yet another person had been arrested, Ward felt a thrill of excitement.
"Vanderhorst was a dead end; he didn't offer any insight into Tiverion Academy's special projects group. So we're still at square one," Ward said to the person on the other end of the k-cast. "That being said, the news doesn't sound so bad in Prism."
"You think so? You should see the feeds. They've gone full feral down there," a gruff voice replied. "I sincerely hope that wasn't part of your plan."
Ward glanced to his side at one of the holo-displays, checking for unusual contacts. "No, it certainly wasn't. But it's a welcome development nonetheless. People should know the truth - they were being lied to from the start."
"Your old colors are showing through."
Ward made a dismissive sound in his throat. "Ain't about her anymore, buddy. Those days are over with. I'm doing this because it's the right thing to do. What happens as a result of these findings, these recordings and correspondences between Vanderhorst, Larsen, and the others - they're the consequences that should have happened years ago. They knew what kind of reaction the truth would elicit, and now they're face to face with it."
"I'm not sure I agree with your reasoning, but... it's done and it's out of our hands now."
Ward's mouth twisted slightly, his eyes closing for several long moments. Second-guessing himself had become second nature to Ward over the years. He'd spent the last two years in a state of exile, shutting himself off to the world around him and dwelling in the past. It was safe. Familiar. Lives weren't in his hands, and he had no attachments to worry himself with. Yet he felt that itch at the back of his mind, the will to act and to continue bumping up against his reasons and justifications for not doing so. The fear of the consequences, both anticipated and unintended. The belief that everything he'd done and would ever do was simply another play for power by someone far above him.
That was no way to live.
"Anyway," Ward continued, fidgeting with a data chit between his fingers. He let it float in zero-g, narrowing his eyes as it floated before him. "I managed to pull some information off his personal computer. I'm still going over it, trying to find some sort of lead to go off of. Tancred had a lot of connections in the Imperial hierarchy, not the least of which was the director at Tiverion, Marion Kaperneli. What Interstellar Factors has on him is pretty scarce - he seems to be on the level. I don't see a path to Gideon through him."
"Hathaway works from the shadows. He'll be exceptionally careful about who he associates with and how he does it. We need to look a little closer to the darker side of things," the other man said. "Considering what he was after in Carcosa, I have to think he's looking at people that are easily disposed of if necessary."
"Everything is disposable to scumbags like him. That's not telling us anything," Ward said. "He used the Reapers as a meatshield in Carcosa, not because they were ideally suited for the task, but because they were--"
"Disposable. I know."
Ward was silent for a few moments. The memory of a debris field, what once was an Adder. Her last words.
My love, please...
He blinked the memory away. "It was their blind allegiance to Salome. Pulled the wool right over their eyes so they couldn't see that it was much bigger than just building a safe haven for her followers." Ward drew in a breath, then continued. "Anyway, best course of action for now is to see what develops from these arrests. Prism's going to be a mess," Ward said, a slight grin on his face. "The rats are going to come to the surface for air soon enough. We'll see who pops up, and go from there."
"Sounds like a plan. Not much we can do right now except wait anyway."
"Aye. Talk soon."
"Take care."
Ward cut the k-cast and sighed, grabbing the data chit out from the air in front of him and putting it away. Waiting is all I've been doing for a while now. But things are moving again. Vanderhorst and Larsen are off the board - even if temporarily. Hathaway will get his in due time. And then...
And then...
He didn't know. Settling injustices, trying to reset the balance of power in the galaxy. Were those really the things he was after, or was he just lashing out?
The Club. The Dark Wheel. The Nameless. All names for people with different agendas, but the same goals and aims - imposing their vision of progress on humanity, no matter what the cost was in human life. He couldn't be sure that what he was doing was even right. At the very least, his disregard for the consequences made him no better than they were... but maybe that was the point. Doing this felt right. And it was that feeling that gave him something to hold onto.
The people who caused this mess have to pay the price. I'm just collecting what's owed.
A map of the galaxy appeared on the HUD, zooming in on the system the Tradition had settled in for the time being. Ward stretched his hands out, gestured, and the map expanded. Markers appeared on several systems in Federal space, along with one over Prism. Wars, famine, disease.
He sat back in his command chair, crossed his arms over his chest.
The world's on fire and you've got the skills to fan the flames.
Just like old times, huh?
"Let's see what kind of trouble we can stir up next," Ward said to himself.
******
Leeson City, Chione
The Prism System
Another night of protests.
Cale stood at the back of the crowds gathered outside the IISS precinct in lower Leeson City. Cigarette in the corner of his mouth, Cale slinked past a group of demonstrators leading others in chanting slogans, watching as a thin, frail gentleman bellowed in a deep voice that belied his frame.
"Patreus is gonna have to crack down pretty soon," Cale appeared to say to no one at all, but in fact he was conversing with an associate. "When it gets violent, we'll need to be ready."
"Do you remember Stannis Jellicoe?" the female on the other end said. "Some of my people have been saying he's the one pushing the attacks right now. We should reach out."
"Should we? I don't remember either one of us being very happy with him leaving Carcosa."
"He's here though. That counts for something in my book."
Cale stopped near a shattered storefront, watching the way the streetlamps glinted in the fragments of glass on the pavement. It was true that Cale was still sore over the perceived departure of Jellicoe's elements from Carcosa - but that battle had been lost long before they'd left. Even so, it still felt like a betrayal to the final true believers in the region that found themselves without a base of operations to work from.
Cale puffed on his cigarette. "You think it's worth it, then reach out. But remember - if this goes tits up and he backs out, I'm blaming you."
The woman laughed, a hint of playfulness in her voice. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Cale inhaled sharply. "Let's just focus on the here and now. We have a good chance at pushing this through, especially with Larsen in cuffs. Even if it's temporary."
There were a few seconds of silence on the line. Someone shouted an obscenity in the distance, then a loud pop went off as a concussion grenade detonated.
"Em, are you still there?"
"I am. I'm just thinking."
"About what?"
"What if this doesn't go through? What if Patreus does crack down? What if Prism becomes a battlefield again?"
Cale flicked the spent butt of his cigarette away, placing his hands on his hips. The concern in Em's voice gave him pause. They'd only just gotten together. Two revolutionaries, disenchanted with the world. But not with each other. No, theirs was a passion fueled by the constant danger of being arrested, thrown into prison, of never seeing each other again. The constant tension made for plenty of high-intensity affections. But when Em got like this, got quiet... it unsettled Cale. Shook him out of living for the moment.
"We got a shot, Em," he said, trying to sound confident. "We can't let what might happen stop us from trying in this moment."
"I know. But this feels different. Feels like it did during the reclamation."
The corner of Cale's mouth twitched at the mention of that event.
"It'll be different this time."
"You don't know that."
She was right. He didn't know that. But that didn't stop him from putting on the brave face.
"It has to be different this time, Em."