Broken Ascension

The Plight of the Believer

James Stuart, he of Whitechapel, proprietor of the Jolly Cavalier, (a traditional English pub if ever there was one) husband to a Letitia Wren and father to Gabe and Madeline Stuart; walked along, walked along. Whitechapel had always had a dark reputation and never quite exceeded its grimy past. These were the streets that Jack walked, they used to say. Jack of course being the Ripper and Whitechapel had gained immortality. Notoriety. Over the years it became a thriving place for migrants until the rezoning exercise years ago which had changed the demographics of London significantly. The migrant descendants had left for Reading and brought their rich culture had been brought with them. For a while, Whitechapel was thought to return to slums but it had eventually gained some respectability as a City Prime borough. But even then, the dastardly did take a shine to it. The Frontier Army had decided to operate out of here and The Jolly Cavalier had been set up as a most nostalgic front. They were the action arm of the Jacobites, sworn to do what was needed to attain true Monarchy. The Army had been fairly inactive for a great number of years. Then, it was hardly an army but a bunch of militants. There had been some coordinated efforts with the Propaganda wing in the attack on the Royal house, but mostly it was just waiting and training and laying the ground for all out war if necessary. But the Bill of Monarchial Succession had changed all that. Victory now seemed properly attainable and with careful plans and proper strategies, it would be theirs. But this small battle won had not been without less savory circumstances. The less balanced of their own, the less patient had gained hysteria and was prepared to firebomb the streets of London on Coronation Day itself. But if the Jacobite Cause taught anything it was the virtue of patience. They had waited centuries. What was a little more time? The cause was beyond the individual. Even perhaps Charles the Ninth would not gain ultimate victory. But it would come. In a glorious wave of blood and fire.

For so long things had been quiet among themselves. There was always politics and persons jockeying for more power and influence but nothing extraordinary than in any other organization. Then when things moved, the blood of everyone had been inflamed and chaos descended quickly into every corner. When the prize could be seen, all the suppressed personal agendas had erupted. So it had come that the factions began to form. Those who would stay the course and picked their careful steps and those who would rush forward to embrace uncertain results. The splits had thrived across all the different wings, Propaganda, the Communicate, even the Discipline. But in this Stuart was very proud. Though there were splits and factions in other wings, the FA had stood true and tall. And they had taken the blade to those who would sway from the true path. They had purged the movement of all those who would jeopardize their true victory. It had cost them dearly in numbers, so many put to pasture. But it had primed them into an even sharper tool. The FA now stood supreme and Stuart was unquestionably the man in charge. He always had a vision of how things would run and he took his opportunity well. Gone were the hundred and one divisions and useless little wings. They only needed one and that was the FA and that was all. No longer working through the hierarchy of various wings and divisions. He dealt now directly with the Old Masters. All would serve him it as he would serve the Divine cause. There was no avenue for dissension. God had chosen the King to enact his will and he was the King’s chosen to enact His Majesty’s will. Theirs not to reason why, but theirs to do and die.

He walked the streets now, content with this moment. But yet expecting the great fire that would rage again. London would burn once more for her King.

And yet problems, problems, problems. Little niggling details to take care of. Always this things the burden of leadership. He had a sudden rush of admiration for the King bursting through his heart. He was but a small leader in a small role and yet so much to do. The King would rule a Kingdom and his duties would be thousand fold. But God’s chosen one was he and it would do. But for now, his little problems. Three of his operatives and been taken out by someone or something and while it would not appear to put a rent in the plans, still one mustn’t be careless. Always so much to do by himself. Most of the FA were loyal and brave, but fanaticism often got in the way of right thinking capabilities. And some of them were so far gone; trained monkeys could have been more effective. That’s what you got in return for loyalty and dedication and self sacrifice. These were real warriors; unhinged as they were, real warriors ready for a real fight. Not some blackguard anonymous commentator who had the convictions of a Morean Slug. The purge had rooted out some of the more extreme but any person willing to die for the Jacobite cause could never be completely on the level. Himself included. Stuart had no illusions to what he was. He was a thoroughly unreasonable man with a hatred for what he saw as the world’s disease. He didn’t want the vote because it meant choosing a slimy Peter or a corrupt Paul. He didn’t need this. He wanted a true leader, one chosen by God. He didn’t need to philosophies or discuss the merits of a manifesto. He needed a King to rule so he didn’t have to be responsible for choosing the f*****g i***t who ended up running the country. They took everything from you, left you s**t for supper and then said be happy; because you have the f*****g right to choose a f*****g i***t to run the bloody country. Be happy because you are free. Freedom was an illusion. William Wallace didn’t fight for f*****g freedom, he fought for the right to tax. It didn’t matter in the end, because the Great King James had unified everyone. For sure, the Scots had been talking about breaking off ever since and they had some fifty years back. But in the end, they came back, the first sign of things to come. The return of the King. O glorious Britannia!

Stuart continued walking towards his pub. He told himself to calm down, too early for fanatical fervor. It wasn’t good for his spleen or some such organ. Leadership meant clear headed and even though at times he would have gladly stripped naked, douse himself with petrol and run running down the streets to incite revolution; he had a responsibility to the cause. He was its Captain now, all other pretenders to the title put beneath the sword. Or drill, or hammer or whatever he could get his hands on.

There were a few people about at this hour walking the streets, most known to him. He was big man here and even those who had no idea of the Jacobites knew him as someone to be respected and feared. They gave him nods, few would barter smiles with him. Perhaps if he looked less serious. But he was born with that face. And born with this duty. Here right up the street his would be his lovely little pub. One of the few in the city that preserved an authentic ancient look. There was nothing digital in there for one thing. It attracted its share of patrons, most out looking for a slice of history. The place had always been a pub since perhaps the Ripper days. Restored to its glory, it was a curio a sign of London old. But in there the future was being hatched. In there a new Kingdom will dawn. In the old days, inns and pubs and drinking houses were the province of the common and here was rebellion and revolution planned and discussed. That is why The Jolly Cavalier was what it was, an olde custom house not a corporate office or a data procs center.

Stuart reached his pub; it wasn’t his really, he was just the front guy. But still. And now that he was firmly in lead of the FA and the rest of the Jacobite machinery, surely it wouldn’t be amiss to call it his. He regarded the wooden doors – real wood rare as it was, for a moment, breathing in the occasion. For a short moment, he felt as if it was all a dream; the FA, the dirty work, the strong fanatical belief in the course and he was nothing more than a guy with a pub. A shiver ran through him and he cast aside the thoughts. Reflection was not a strong suit of his. He pushed open the doors and stepped in. It wasn’t opening time so all was quiet with Dreyfus seated at the bar as usual.

“Morning Guvnor. They’re waiting inside.” Stuart tossed a wave but said nothing. Dreyfuss was never a conversationalist. And he didn’t feel like small talk. He never felt like small talk. He stepped around the bar. The trapdoor was already opened. He went down the stairs without ceremony. At the bottom, he came into a hallway and made an immediate right into the White Room. Because truth was white and in there they sought it ever. There were three of them in the room. One was seated in a chair with the others standing by him.

“Eccles, Marky.” He acknowledged the two standing. They gave him a curt nod. Sometimes, he wished the FA had people with more sunny dispositions. But to do the work they did. That dirty work in the dark of night. And anyway they did get sunny at times. When the fever raged, when the fires were stoked. Eccles and Marky anyhow were dependable. For one thing they had more control over themselves than the rest of the mouth frothing ijits. They were his trusted lieutenants, leaders and most active of the purge. These were men with stained hands. And clothes and faces and what have you. Between them they had blood banks worth of spillage. If these were his most trusted, what did that say about himself, James Stuart the Jacobite? Whatever the means. To the ends if it be. His destiny had already been set in stone when dear old Da, Jacob Stuart had named his son James. After the Grand Old King himself. And ever did Da taught him that the only way to shine for the likes of him was to be tougher than the other. He wasn’t the strongest or biggest. Height was not something he could be proud of. But if when it came to holding the burning coals none could outlast him.

“What do we have here?” He thought of sitting but the guy in the chair put him off. His head was lolling to one side, unresponsive eyes staring at the floor. Some drool left his mouth and dripped on the floor. Stuart turned away, disgusted. He brushed at his hands.

“This is Brandon.” Eccles indicated the guy sitting in the chair.

“He is from our data procs team. We think he is an informant.” The big man slapped the data guy on the head. There was no response. Marky shot his partner a look. Eccles shot back a look. What? Stuart ignored all that. Boys will be boys. He studied the young man seating in the chair. Nondescript, a bit on the thin side. Nothing in particular. Looked like a data guy all right. But unlikely to be able to do data anymore. Guy had fried noodles for brains.

“You’ve hooked him to the Reader?” He asked Eccles in a calm tone.

“Eh?” Eccles shrugged.

“Did you hook him to the Reader? Is that what you bloody did? Is that why he looks like your sister’s f*****g rag doll?” Stuart’s tone never changed. It hardly ever did. Even when his hand was going for the hammer or crowbar.

“I don’t have a sister.” He looked on confused.

“Shut the f**k up Eccles. Talk to me Marky, or have you been at the sauce too.”

“Swear I haven’t drank anything guvnor. Not yet anyway. Too early.” Marky smiled sheepishly, prodding Eccles in the ribs. Eccles gave him the ‘what?’ look again. As good as they were as enforcers, you could rule them out in the intelligence sweepstakes.

“Just tell me what the hell happened before I ground up your nads.” He decided to sit down, drumming his fingers on the desk.

“Right, we were told he was an informant. So we brought him here and gave him a few swishes you know. The like, nothing too heavy. Guy didn’t say nothing so we hooked him up. To the Reader, like.”

“Do you know how to operate the Reader Marky?” he looked up, his eyes hard as flint.

“You stick that prong thing on the head and you turn it on. Ain’t hard.” Marky gave him two thumbs up.

“If you knew how to really bloody operate it, we wouldn’t have cheese for brains here now would we?”

“I thought all of them ended up like that. You now, side effects and that shit.”

“Thought? Thinking is not what you do. See what happens when you think? No, they don’t end up all like that. It’s called a Reader not a Destroyer. The machine reads minds, not destroy them you f**k”

“We were just trying to have initiative you know. Like you say the way to leadership. Like.” Marky looked around just to make sure that there was no weapon within Stuart’s range.

“I swear if you guys show any more initiative I’m going to burn out your jewels with a blow torch. Now tell me after mushing his brains, did you get anything at all? Anything?”

“Yeah we got stuff. But we couldn’t get any clear images. Don’t really know what it all means. A lot of religious stuff, a confession and some sort like that.”

“Confession. Like with a Priest.”

“Yeah, something like that. Confession. You know Hail Mary yadda yadda yadda.”

“Have some respect, Marky.” Marky recoiled at that.

“So what we found out is that he’s religious. And Catholic. That’s what it is?”

“Don’t know man, I mean he’s a Jacobite ain’t he.”

“And we’re religious?”

“Aren’t we? Divine Right and all that.”

“I would clearly love to explain our philosophy to you right now but I don’t f*****g want to. Is that all we got?”

“Kind of. Some other stuff, but it doesn’t make sense.” Marky laughed forcefully. Stay calm, for God and King. For God and King, stay calm. Stuart told himself. It wasn’t their fault, they were idiots. What could you do when you worked with idiots? He breathed deeply and let it out slowly. Tried to imagine himself in a garden of white roses.

“What tipped us to him?” He asked, suppressing his emotions. Otherwise he might just hit them with a spiked baton on the head. There was one in the room he knew.

“Eh?”

“You thought he was an informer, how did you know? How did you find out? Let me ask again, an easier question. Who told you?”

“Frisk. The Data Procs security guy. He told us. He was the one who found out”

“Any idea how he find out? Did he kindly share that information with you?”

“Well, a routine sweep on procs patterns found an anomaly. He was using some low level language in his work. They suspected he might be constructing a pipeline or some sort. I think that’s what he said. But yeah, I’m not a data guy.”

“No you’re not. So they sent him here and you guys fried his brains.” The two henchmen (Stuart thought of them surely as such) gave noncommittal shrugs.

“My dear friends, let me explain something to you. The Reader despite its f*****g awesome name doesn’t actually read minds. Nothing f*****g does.” Even when he swore, his voice hardly rose from the flat warm tone that everyone was used to. Stuart didn’t raise his voice, he never needed to.

“It pries out images, feelings, impressions. We don’t use it until we’ve asked a few questions first, normally with the aid of SP3.” SP3 was a derivative of sodium pentothal, the truth serum used in the days gone by.

“And even so, SP3 doesn’t give all the answers. Please tell me you have heard of SP3, no? Have you guys never attended Interrogation 101?” They blinked at him.

“It’s a joke. Lighten up.” They gave him their shrug again. The FA shrug. Did they pick that up in training camp? Stuart felt like having a word with the instructors. He graduated and never picked up any shrug.

“So this guy’s a religious nut. Not surprising because most of us are nuts anyway. Which means we have nothing.” He sighed. There was no point in tearing these guys a new one. If they didn’t have the skills, perhaps it was time to rethink aspects of the training. Now that he was in charge of that too perhaps he could revamp it. Interrogation 101 to be included.

“Well first order of the day done with. With no f*****g results. So next item on the order – what happened in Thatcher Square?”

“Eh?” Patience. The Jacobites were all about patience.

“The three idiots?” He waved his hand exasperatedly for emphasis.

“The three…” Eccles started. Frowning.

“I can’t remember their names. Those two and the one with the iron arm. The ones stationed at Thatcher Square”

“It’s not iron. It’s pallatine.” Eccles withdrew from Stuart’s stare.

“They weren’t supposed to do anything. Just sit tight until further orders,” Marky said,

“they weren’t authorized for any action that’s for sure.”

“Nobody’s authorized for anything. Not yet. And if it is clear to the both of you, please convey this to the rest of the brethren. Can I have your word on that?”

“Ya Guvnor.” Eccles shrugged. Stuart felt like cutting off his head.

“No, nothing until the stuff they’re going to do in Parliament. I understand. And then the fires and the ashes and the glory after that.” Marky spoke with a smile and light in his eyes. Stuart shook his head softly. That’s what you got for working with fanatics. To be fair, sometimes he had that light and look too.

“How do we know all this? About those three?”

“Pallatine guy survived the encounter and got bagged by Pigs (funny how the name never went away) that’s how we know”.

“We have an inside Pig?”

“Yeah, guy’s addicted to Trippies. Want to spring him? The guy with the metal arm Strachan I think his name.”

“No leave him, too much trouble. He’s useless anyway. Intractable, I don’t want people like that.”

“What that means, intractable?”

“Can’t be controlled.” Jeez they need English lessons as well?

“He might talk, sir.”

“Guy’s loony as they come, who will believe him? Why did you think I placed those fools in Thatcher? It was meant to be a quiet zone. Anyone found out what happened from metal guy?”

“Said there was a soldier or something. He didn’t know really. He heard a fighting next door where Pratley was, you know the other guy. So he attacked this soldier guy. Or some agent.” Agent. Stuart stiffened. Was someone on to them? He couldn’t rule it out. With so many crazy idiots running about in the org, there was always going to be leaks. He’d have to do something.

“On second thought, make him go away permanently. It’s just cleaner. You can have it done Marky?” He doubted the guy could give valuable info anyway. Agent or soldier, probably just a field guy. He knew the Police used data procs as well. That might have given them the lead. Well, chalk this up as one more thing to see to. Using his own men would be counterproductive. He’d call in a contractor.

“Marky?”

“Yes sir. No worries.” Oh, all I got are worries. Stuart scratched his brow.

“Fine, go. And get rid of this sponge head. Ask Macklan to see me. I’ve got a job for him.” Macklan was the procurement guy. Macklan would come up with someone appropriate. And of course, he’d have to check with his informants. Last thing he wanted was to have the Masters summon him about a leak.

“Sure boss.” Stuart got up and left for his office at the other end of the hallway. The Grey Room it was called for obvious reasons. It was going to get very messy before it was going to get clean. The ends, the ends had to justify the means. Because all this was a lot to put up with. I hope the King’s worth it. There was still ample time before opening. Perhaps he should go home. Find the wife and have some canoodle. His lovely bonnie. Have her cook him a nice meal like Ma used to make. Wait for the kids to come home from school. Go to the park together and enjoy a picnic. Whatever. In another life, he would just be a man with a pub and his lovely family. But he was in this life and a list of would be murder victims sat in his office.