Aetheral Space

Chapter 73:3.36: A Modest Proposal

Dragan picked himself up off the ground, nursing his bruised arm. He glared at the holographic bull in front of him.

"You have an offer for me?" he asked. "I have to say, I’m not loving your opening pitch."

"I ask you to forgive them," the Sponsor of War said, voice a steady rumble. "Their line of work often requires violence, so it is the first solution they turn to. They are accustomed to hammers, so each problem becomes a nail. They had no malice towards you."

"Wish I could say the same," Dragan said. "So - what’s this offer of yours?"

His mind was racing. What was going on here? Why was the Sponsor of War going to him with this? Had the other members of the crew been approached individually as well?

He didn’t ask, though - best to hide curiosity unless it could be of use to you.

"You are a young man that I find agreeable," the bull began.

"How’s that?"

"Our philosophies are compatible - you see the world and the people in it as they truly are. You are not swayed by pleasant platitudes or self-serving moralities."

As Dragan spoke, he began to circle the hologram, looking it up and down. As an artificial projection, it wouldn’t actually have any body language he could use against it, but it was still a good idea for Dragan to give the impression that he was looking for tells.

"How’s that?" he asked quietly, electric-blue eyes scanning. "I don’t think we’ve talked much - and the one time we did, I’m pretty sure you were threatening me. Not exactly a heart-to-heart."

The bull flickered in place - and a second later, it was replaced by a hologram of Dragan as he’d been last night, speaking to Dir outside the hospital.

"There’s no point," the holographic Dragan said, body language passionate. "There’s no point to anything until you force there to be. Nobody in the world knows what they’re doing, so you might as well do what you think is best. You have as good a chance of getting it right as anyone else! And I’m not letting some trillionaire voice from the sky tell me what to do - the only one who decides what happens to me is me!"

Dragan felt the twinge of a headache as he looked at the recording - both from the unexpected switch in analysis target, and the embarrassment of having his own words thrown in his face.

As the hologram switched back to the bull, Dragan smirked. "Does Dir know you’ve got him bugged?"

"Of course," the Sponsor of War chuckled. "He expects it. He is a dutiful man who believes in structures that do not exist. He obeys unwritten and unread rules without question."

Dragan raised an eyebrow. "Doesn’t much sound like you appreciate the people who work for you."

"Dir does not work for me," the bull said. "He works for himself - to prove that the worldview he believes in is correct. Everything he does is for that purpose. I’m simply the one who gives him orders."

"Those are some fancy words, but he still works for you. You pay him, and he does what you say. It’s pretty black and white, as far as I see it."

The Sponsor of War sighed, the flames around him intensifying in time with it. "I didn’t bring you here to talk about Dir. I have a proposal for your future."

"And what’s that?"

"That you have a future."

Dragan stopped his circling of the hologram, biting his lip. Had they finally reached the part of the meeting where the threats came out again? "You’re going to have to expand on that for me," he said quietly.

"Imagine this scenario: in a very short span of time, something unfortunate will happen to the city, something that will cause a great deal of damage. Should you cooperate with me, you and your friends will be in a position where you can escape that situation. Should you not, your fate will be the same as those around you."

Dragan narrowed his eyes. "The Citizen’s going to try something? Something big?"

"Big would be an understatement in this case."

"How so?" The conversation was accelerating, the gaps between statement and response getting shorter and shorter by the second.

The bull shook its head, charred fur flopping from side to side as it did so. "Not until I know we are of one mind. Before this incident takes place, I require someone to tie up loose ends. To ensure that - once this event takes place - the situation is thoroughly closed."

Dragan put a hand to his chin, ran the bull’s statement back in his mind - using all the references in his Archive to

With a thought, Dragan moved himself out of the hallways and to a central study. A huge table stretched out before him - and with a few glances, he stocked it with the relevant information. The conversation he’d had with the Sponsor of War, what he knew about the planet and it’s government, every absurd situation he’d found himself in since he touched down here.

Running his eyes over it all, Dragan bit his lip. This was no good - there was just too much. It was all just noise, with nothing unifying it. He needed to organise this somehow, give structure to his theorycrafting.

He opened his mouth, just slightly, and sighed. After last time, he hadn’t been looking forward to this, but he needed someone to bounce ideas off of.

Dragan tapped a finger against the mental table - and a second later, the younger Dragan was sitting opposite him, a smug smile crossing his lips.

"What’s wrong?" he jeered. "Can’t work this out by yourself? I thought you were meant to be smart."

Dragan gave his younger self a withering look. "I don’t remember being this much of a pain in the ass at your age," he said.

The younger Dragan shrugged. "You probably weren’t. I’m a representation of a whole bunch of mental processes, you know? You’ve got issues. Besides, you were kind of a dick at this age."

Well, he couldn’t deny that. Every kid, deep down, was an asshole. "I need you to help me work something out," he snapped. "Something’s about to happen here on Taldan - I need to know what it is, who’s doing it, and why.*

His younger self raised an eyebrow. "You already got told that, though, right? The Citizen’s planning something big. It’s certainly in character for him, isn’t it?"

"Don’t fuck around. You know as well as I do that the Sponsor of War was lying there. He took what I said and just went with it."

Young Dragan rolled his eyes. "You’ve clearly got a high opinion of yourself."

"No snark, kid. You’re only here for me to bounce ideas off of. That’s the only reason you exist - and you don’t exist, by the way, before you get any funny ideas."

The younger Dragan didn’t have anything to say to that. He just sat there, arms crossed, glaring across the table.

He was wasting time. Dragan knew that, but he somehow hadn’t been able to stop himself from getting into an argument with… well, with himself. He needed to get thinking now.

"So," he said, clearing his throat. "The Sponsor of War knows that something big is about to happen, something that I wouldn’t want to be around for. He’s offered to get me and the crew out of here if I kill Muzazi for him. What’re the catches?"

The younger Dragan counted them off his fingers as he went. "He could be lying about the event that’s going to happen, he could be lying about getting you and the crew out of here, he could have told Muzazi the exact same thing and now you’re walking into a trap..."

Dragan shook his head. "No."

The kid cocked his head. "No?"

"Muzazi would never take a deal like that. The other two are good points, though, uh… what do I call you?"

"Dragan Hadrien."

"I’m Dragan Hadrien."

The kid smirked. "I know you are, but what am I?"

Could it be considered homicide if you killed a part of your own psyche? Dragan was sorely tempted to find out. Luckily for the kid, though, he had other things to worry about for the time being.

Dragan waved a dismissive hand. "Fine, you’re, uh, you’re Dragon Hadrien. I’ll call you that."

"Imaginative."

"Says my imagination. I think we should forget about your third idea, now that I think about it more - I’m not important enough for the Sponsor of War to come up with some convoluted scheme where I’m led to believe I’m executing Muzazi but he’s actually executing me or whatever. So there’s only two possibilities, as far as I see it."

"Do go on." The sarcasm practically dripped from Dragon’s tone.

Dragan held up two fingers. "Let’s assume this horrible event actually is going to happen. Either he’s telling the truth about getting us out of here before then, or he’s not. Motivations and all that are irrelevant."

"Well," Dragon slouched in his seat. "What do you think?"

Dragan sighed. "I think he’s lying. People like him don’t get to where they are via acts of charity. He’s trying to trick me into doing work for free, then he’ll use this event as a pretext to get rid of me before I become inconvenient myself."

A smug smirk spread across Dragon’s lips. "Sounds like we’re fucked."

More gears clicked together in Dragan’s head, sounding like a tolling bell in his Archive. A smile of his own appeared on Dragan’s face. "With that attitude, sure."

"What other attitude is there?" Dragon cocked his head, frowning.

Dragan leaned forwards across the table, looking his younger double right in the eyes.

People like the Sponsor of War won because they knew people. They could predict their actions easily, like tracking the falling of dominoes, because they understood their behaviours and motivations. It wasn’t difficult for people like that to plan for the most likely choices their marks would make.

So the way to win was by doing something nobody would ever expect.

"I think," he grinned. "It’s time for a jailbreak."