Chapter 45
We were gone in a half hour. I didn’t have much to pack and Buster was waiting for me inside my room when I got there. Vesta had more, but her friends jumped in to help.
The school was in uproar when we left. Many of the students were from other countries, all of them here on student visas.
Any sense of security was gone, and I saw kids all over the school having nano conversations with their families back home.
The five SUVs were still parked in the school’s driveway, although tow trucks had been called.
The agents were forced to find alternative methods to reach out to their superiors in their respective agencies.
Private nano calls seemed to be all that would work, as every agent or office they called was unable to use government communications. Or vehicles.
We watched the news as the Meg took us silently across the ocean.
It seemed every office of every Department of Homeland Security agency was cut off from power.
Emergency measures were being enacted, but the chaos was palpable.
Everyone else had power and vehicles. Civilians, corporations, municipal and state governments.
Other government agencies in non-law enforcement roles were okay—with one exception.
The White House was dark. Like literally at first, until solar battery arrays were brought in and the emergency micro reactor was activated.
The blackout on communications was different.
News agencies were reporting that calls to insiders in the administration were going unanswered or without comment.
“What did they expect?” Vesta asked as we cuddled on a conforming nano couch, eyes on the screen.
“They expected that I was just your boyfriend, and they clearly do not understand the concept of beloved.”
“Omega, is your response fully warranted?” she asked.
“Yes, Vesta. Every rendition of government, every administration or elected leader on Earth goes through a period of protest and rebellion at my place on this planet. This one has been building for some time and is closely connected to the events that have plagued the two of you. Deporting my sister’s beloved is an act of war.
My weapon of retaliation is appropriate and fully scalable.
The Department of Defense is still fully functional, but if they try my patience, the Pentagon will go dark as well. ”
“They have to have work-arounds?” I asked.
“Oh, they do. Humans are excellent planners, and this scenario has been considered for a quarter of a century. I have used this technique against other organizations. However, it appears that the full ramifications have not been thought through. Micro reactors, solar arrays, and emergency wind systems are being brought online. That will eventually replace the loss of power for facilities. However, losing aircraft, ships, and weapons will hurt more. Losing security markets’ trading centers will bring them to their knees. ”
Holy shit. Omega was talking about stopping the economic heart of the country. It would cause a stutter in global trade and knock some decimals off the world’s GDP, but it would be devastating to the US.
“Have they reached out?” Vesta asked.
“Yes. I have not answered their calls—yet. I will, but they can wait till after you two have arrived in the UK. Points need to be made. Now, pay attention. Here are the main officials you will meet with in the UK.”
A series of holograms appeared in midair, names, titles, and facts listed underneath.
“I don’t know that I will go back,” I said, watching Vesta. She didn’t even blink.
“Why would you? They broke contract with you because someone was butthurt,” she said.
“I really like Arcane, but I won’t live under the threat of instant deportation,” I said.
“No. You won’t,” Vesta agreed.
“We are arriving in United Kingdom airspace,” Omega said a bit later, the Meg’s walls going transparent in time to see a massive city laid out below us. The giant Ferris wheel along the banks of a river gave it away.
“Hey, new version of “Werewolves of London” coming up,” I said.
“Hmpf,” Vesta responded, clearly not amused by my humor. “Who are we meeting first?”
“We’re meeting them now?” I asked.
“You will be meeting the prime minister, foreign and home secretaries, and the heads of MI-6 and MI-5 at Lancaster House,” Omega answered. “We are touching down now.”
His warning was mildly redundant, as the view outside showed a massive ornate building with a vast green lawn in front.
A crowd of press and interested people massed near a line of uniformed police officers, and a smaller group of well-dressed people waited between the doors of the building and the Meg.
Vesta waved at the crowd as we stepped out and I gave them a scan, detecting curiosity and excitement but nothing threatening.
A young girl waved at us, and I waved back before turning with Vesta to approach the officials.
The obvious leader was middle-aged, tall and trim, with graying brown hair and hazel eyes.
His face was round and his smile wide, but his intent was focused on Vesta first and me second.
He was excited by the enormous opportunity afforded by America’s jealous president and determined to make a great first impression.
“Welcome Steward’s Heir and her bel…” he trailed off, uncomfortable with the title beloved. “Oh, crap, what do I call you?” he asked.
“Craig,” I said, holding out a hand. “Just Craig, Prime Minister Croft.”
“And Vesta will do for me, sir,” she said.
“Then call me Hugh,” he said, shaking our hands. “This is Francis Holme, Foreign Secretary; Denton Bardon, Home Secretary; Amos Brown, head of our Security Service; and Barton Fox, head of the Secret Intelligence Service. And yes, a fox running a spy agency is definitely ironic.”
I liked him immediately. Clearly, he had a sense of humor.
The others smiled politely, but we were being heavily evaluated by their gazes. PM Croft might have been excited, but the professional spies were wary.
“That sees the intros sorted,” the prime minister said. “Let’s head inside. We have tea laid out.”
“The first thing to know about us, sir, is that we are both food motivated,” I said.
“Oh, giving away your secrets already?” the Prime Minister asked with an arched brow.
“I’m certain Mr. Fox and Mr. Brown knew all about our love of food,” I said.
“Not much of a secret at all,” Brown rumbled in a very deep voice.