Confession Roulette

"Now that councilors Walker and Lin have joined us, would you kindly explain why my assistant woke me up at six in the morning?" 

Chairman Yamamoto had a smile on his lips, but steel in his voice. At nearly one hundred and thirty years, he was the eldest of the High Command's council and had been reelected as its chairman for the ninth time last year. 

This privilege meant his armchair was placed at the head of the oval birch wood table on the top floor of New Endurance's central tower. There were nine replicas of it all around the world, each made of a different sort of wood. It used to be ten, but the oak table had been lost with the fall of Thornwall. 

Each of them were akin to shellfish, carefully surrounded by layer upon layer of wiretap-proof plating. The built in antenna array sent out its data to a network of unhackeable satellites. They were solely used for council communication; while smaller meetings took place regularly, the full council only convened once a week.

Normally, that meant Saturday evening. Only now it was Tuesday night, and judging by the exhausted and exasperated faces of the other councilors they hadn't been much more prepared for this emergency meeting than Yamamoto. 

Their holographic likenesses were sitting around the table, each of them projected by the room's sophisticated tech with a fraction of a second's delay. The council was a colorful bunch, always had been, and a look around the table might leave an unsuspecting viewer clueless of what power was currently assembled in the room. 

The Cavalcades' own Sandpiper wore robes in the style of the ancient Bedouins, councilor Lin of the Guerilla Collective was in pilots omnipresent neurosuit and Anderson of AFROC's Utility Tech Division didn't bother wearing clothes at all. Their body, overgrown with all kinds of vegetation, twitched restlessly. If it hadn't been for the rather serious attire of councilors Galilei, Walker and Yamamoto, one might easily mistake them for a carnival of sorts.

Helen took a deep breath and rose from her chair. Her back was straight, her hands folded behind her back. She'd known this moment would come, and that knowledge had loomed over her like the shadow of a Damocles sword for the longest time. Now that it was here, a great weight lifted off her shoulders. Looking Yamamoto dead in the eyes, she spoke the words that might end her career.

"Esteemed councilors. I have assembled you all here today to confess to treason."

To the council's credit, there was no unrest breaking out in the room. Most of the others’ faces did show a certain degree of shock, but Yamamoto himself just squinted. Helen didn't let herself be fooled though; the man was the stillest and deepest of waters.

"How so, councilor Ceres?"

Before Helen could answer, a sharp voice cut through the room. "Interim councilor. We all know she's just holding Nero's seat before we can elect an official replacement." It was Barkreiter of AFROC's Warfare Optimization Research who had spoken, an impossibly slim woman with pitch black hair and even darker eyes. When it came to the inevitable vote, she would be the toughest nut to crack. 

"Just like we know who was his favored successor and already partook in many sessions in his stead while he was bedridden, councilor Barkreiter. We will hear interim councilor Ceres out."

Helen cleared her throat. Her heartbeat was deafening. For the first time in a long time, she missed Clemens' voice in her head. "Thank you, chairman Yamamoto."

"As you all know, the number of active MAKs has been slowly declining over the past four hundred years. In Thornwall alone we lost thirty, paid for the evacuation with their lives and cores. There's a war on, esteemed councilors, and we've been losing it for a long time now." 

Walker, representing Cape Town Academy, interrupted her. Perhaps he'd interpreted her taking a breath as being finished. "The sky's blue and water's wet, Ceres. What's that to do with.." Councilor Galilei, both hands on the table, lifted two fingers. Walker went silent. "Please, continue." 

Helen had speculated whether or not Galilei would support her. It looked promising, but there was that saying about not counting the chickens before they hatched.

"What's obvious to me is that the way we've been playing it for centuries, we have no shot at winning. We cannot rely on pilot skill alone to edge out a small victory here and there. For every prodigy that sticks the landing, there's ten that don't. No, the way I see it, this war is going to be won on the technological front." 

Helen nodded toward the two AFROC councilors. While Anderson's face was unreadable, Barkreiter now looked at her with unmistakable interest in her raven eyes. But next to her, Nadarajah of the Indonesian Diaspora Alliance was shaking her head in disapproval. Helen had never thought to be her opponent in such a setting when Nadarajah had turned down her advances years ago. It was still hard for her to reconcile the image of her dancing in that Cape Town bar with the stern woman sitting at the council table. I'm getting distracted.

"The experimental tech division in my city has been making steady progress in that field, but that's exactly the problem. Our weapons, scanners, subsystems have been improving. Our fusion core quality has not. For centuries, the vast majority of cores we were able to harvest came from slain Kaiju, but most lower category cores aren't potent enough to reliably power a MAK. So we resorted to higher category cores, only those are significantly harder to preserve in a sufficient condition because the Kaiju carrying them are so dangerous. They don't exactly volunteer to be put down."

"Please, get to the point. My troop is ready to deploy. I hate making them wait." Lin was tapping pilots right middle and ring finger on the table at a rhythm too fast for the hologram to follow. Pilot looked more annoyed than anything else, which Helen called a win, considering the topic at hand. But this also meant she was putting her goodwill at risk by keeping pilot around longer than necessary, and every vote counted. 

"Of course, councilor. The problem now becomes: We can't use new tech that requires more energy with our current cores. Neither can we reliably harvest category nine and ten cores to supply the new tech. So we're at a stalemate, and while we metas are limited, the Kaiju keep coming. A stalemate, in this case, equals a loss. Which is why I have sent a handpicked troop to the Minsk Well two days ago to harvest cores directly from the source."

A smile grazed Yamamoto's face. "That's unconventional. In the light of current events I might call it a horrible strategy. Wildly irresponsible. But this wouldn't get you court-martialed for treason. What else is there?"

Far away in New London, councilor Mortimer sneered from under his flat cap. Thanks to bleeding edge hologram projectors, Helen could see it in real time. "Right, let's play it out. Your miracle patchwork troop makes it to the well. Harvest a bunch of high quality cores, because, as everyone knows, they grow on the trees there. They break through the horde on the way back and then somehow enter the city during the siege. Just dandy. Then what?"

"Then, we're going to plug them into the sixty-four state of the art MAKs that I've had my eggheads and makanics build with embezzled money." 

The petals on Anderson's face flared, their equivalent of a frown. "I take it that's why my people's research output dropped so dramatically?" They shook their head, a resigned smile on their lips. "And here I am, considering to fire them for poor performance. Maybe the one to be fired is me for not noticing."

"The fault isn't yours. I outsourced most of the logistics and had medical records forged in case you would look for a reason in the system."

Barkreiter's palm hit the table. "So you let some shady, unqualified personnel roam the experimental tech catacombs? Unacceptable." 

A bead of sweat was forming on Helen's forehead, but she didn't flinch. "Shady, certainly. Unqualified, definitely not. I'm no amateur, ma'am."

"Let us ignore the question of manpower for now. What I'm interested in is where you stole the money from, councilor Ceres. Do enlighten us." Yamamoto's voice was firm, but not angry. Yet.

"I prepared a dossier on that." Helen pulled out her datapad and, with a swipe, transferred the file she'd prepared to the room's systems. "You'll find that most of the money came from reclamation projects between here and Thornwall that never existed. You will remember Nero advocating for those, I'm sure. I had.."

"So Nero was in on this, too? I'll bloody tear him a new one when I meet him in the afterlife." Mortimer was looking genuinely enraged now, but at least he seemed to have nothing else to say for now, so Helen continued.

"I had specifically composed logistics crews briefed. They moved out, went missing in action, got brought back by one of my transport crews on the down low. After that, they spent years tirelessly working on the project without ever seeing daylight. They finished the project the day before yesterday and are reconnecting with their families in the city right now, in case you want to interview some of them. The complete personnel list is in the file."

"Were their families also briefed?"

"No, sir."

"You got hundreds of people to fake their deaths? What about those who turned you down?"

"Memory wiped, sir."

Yamamoto started massaging his temples. "Alright. The rest of the money?"

"Stolen from social services, minerals we mined while expanding the catacombs for the project, confiscated contraband re-sold on the gray market. Nero's and my own private fortune. There's more, but this accounts for about ninety-eight percent. All in the file, sir."

"You call this treason. Why?" It took Helen a second to realize it wasn't Yamamoto who had asked but Galilei.  They were looking at Helen over their folded hands now, and even more than before she was feeling like she was being tested. 

"Wouldn't you?"

"I want to hear it in your words." 

Before Helen could answer, Mortimer snapped. "Isn't it obv-"

"In her words." Mortimer spat out. The man had been on the council for the better part of two decades, but apparently still preferred chewing glass over picking a fight with Galilei. He stayed silent.

"When I took my command, I swore an oath. To protect and serve the people of New Endurance and metakind at large to the best of my ability. And, perhaps most relevantly in this case, to always be accountable to my people." Breathing wasn't that hard last time I checked. "And taking that into consideration... if you ask me, what I did is treason."

Galilei's face was a perfect mask. Slowly they nodded, then leaned back into the shadows. A dismissive wave of their hand signaled Yamamoto to continue. 

The chairman cleared his throat. "Now, I'm not one to cut important moments short, but, as the saying goes, time is money. And since the legal precedent here is muddy at best, what I propose is this: We put it to a vote. If the majority of us is of the opinion that what councilor Ceres did is, in fact, treason, she will suffer two consequences: Firstly, she will be relieved of her command over New Endurance. Secondly, she will never fuse with a licensed MAK again. Emerald Golem will be permanently assigned to its proxy pilot." 

Something cramped in Helen's gut. This was the knife she'd chosen. And yet, facing the option of never fusing with Emerald Golem again flooded her with unparalleled terror.

"Conversely, if this caucus decides on the opposite, all actions taken by Commander Ceres will retroactively be sanctified.  We will take all measures necessary to clean up whatever mess her less-than-legal machinations made, and we will do it together. Also, Ceres will be awarded her eighth star. If everyone is in agreement.." 

He waited a second, then another. Nobody spoke up.

"..then it is tradition to leave the last words to the defendant before we move on. Commander Ceres, do you have anything to add?"

"Only a simple plea, sir. I will accept any and all consequences you see fit. But none of you would be in this room if you didn't want the best for metakind's future, and that includes the citizens of New Endurance. If you decide to exhonorate me, let me at least fight for my city one last time. If Boomerang doesn't return, I'm done for anyway. I know New Endurance better than anyone, so let me coordinate the evacuation effort until the end. And when the day comes, I will go down with the ship. You won't have to deal with cleaning up my mess, the Conclave saves face and thousands of lives. Whatever your feelings about my actions, putting someone else in charge at such a pivotal moment is sure to create chaos, and chaos causes bodies to drop. That's all, esteemed councilors."

Yamamoto slightly pursed his lips. "Agreed. So it shall be."

For the first time since she'd started speaking, Helen sat back down again. Her back ached like hell, but that didn't change anything about what she had to do. The taste of bile accompanied the words coming out of her mouth.

"I vote guilty."

The cone of light illuminating her turned a vicious red. It was out of her hands now.

Anderson sat next to her, so they were up next. They were the only one present in the flesh; it was their table, after all. Helen was only a guest here, and the look Anderson shot her let her know exactly that. 

"You would've had my vote if you'd approached me with it instead of doing it behind our backs. I vote guilty."

Surprisingly, Barkreiter didn't immediately concur. Her eyes seemed focused on something beyond the room when she finally raised her voice. "Ceres' actions are unacceptable. I would love to see her stripped of her titles." She looked like she had swallwed something sour. "But progress sometimes requires a leap of faith. Innocent." Oh. Something fluttered in Helen's chest as Barkreiter's light flashed blue. 

Morales of the American Remnant was next. She hadn't said anything before, which wasn't very surprising. She was a logistics genius, not a talker. And her vote could swing either way. Her tails nervously twitched as she rapped her claws on the table. "I would have called this project impossible if you'd asked me before, but I read through the file. It's solid. I hope your gamble pays off, Ceres. Innocent."

The seven ornate star tattoos on Nadarajah's bald head flashed in the light as she shook her head again. "I wish it didn't have to be this way. I get your point, Helen. I really do. But this is too great a risk. And we can't have a councilor just go off on their own like that. I'm voting guilty." She had seen it coming, but that one hurt in a different way. With every vote against her, Helen felt Emerald Golem slip further from her grasp. 

Unlike the others, Mortimer didn't waste any time explaining himself. "Guilty." The hateful glare accompanying the verdict made Helen's skin crawl all without him using his metability. This isn't looking good. 

Lin was massaging pilots calves by now, one leg on the table. "I agree. Tech alone can't win us this fight, and we can't risk lives and MAKs for such reckless endeavors. I hope I'm wrong, but I say she's guilty." When the light above Lin turned red, it was five votes against two. Six would make it a majority.

Sandpiper cocked his feathered head, not blind to that fact. His robes rustled as he chuckled. "No, I won't be the one to finalize that decision. I haven't made up my mind enough, so I'll pass this hot potato to Walker. Sorry Ryan, drinks are on me next time. Innocent."

Walker found himself in a similar predicament. He was a distinguished pilot and, after surprisingly retiring, had taken up a career in teaching the Conclave's recruits a few years ago. His vita was extraordinary indeed. Nonetheless was an open secret that, especially on the council, Walker rarely if ever voted against his former commanding officer, Galilei. And as fate would have it, they were up to vote just after him. Helen could see him sweating bullets. "Ah, Ceres. I have s sneaking suspicion my daughter's top secret mission and this project might be related. If that's the case, well played. Or maybe it's just another smokescreen. As it stands, I can't make that decision either. I'll say innocent."

His light flashed blue, and it was five against four. Iron bands closed around Helen's chest as Galilei stood up to cast their vote. Their eyes, grey as granite, locked with Helen's.

"I agree with what you said, Ceres. It is important to always be accountable to your people, and I disapprove of this whole deception. But I'm an old dog, and I'm not sure if I can still learn new tricks. You, on the other hand.. I still remember when Jeanne told me about one of her new recruits. Fists of steel, she said. Literally. But that wasn't what impressed her most. She said behind her eyes, there still was that spark. Her words back then, but I see it now. I see your spark, Helen Ceres. And I believe in your vision. I vote innocent."

At the head of the table chairman Yamamoto's face was being illuminated by equal parts of red and blue. It made him look like an ancient sage depicted in an oil painting, and he was equally as still. Seconds turned into eternities. The old man didn't even blink. He just looked at Helen, his head tilted just enough to be noticeable. When the silence became unbearable, Yamamoto frowned. 

"You know, I was going to vote guilty. I had already made up my mind. Truth be told, I only put it to the vote to adhere to protocol. But Inertia might have a point after all. I will bow out soon, and maybe it is time to leave this world better than I found it. You should count your blessings, Councilor Ceres. I vote innocent."

Mortimer's fist crashed into his armrest. His hologram disappeared. Sandpiper shot a thin smile to where he'd sat a moment ago. "Well, if there's nothing else? I have relief shipments to coordinate."

Helen hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. "I.. no, nothing else."

Yamamoto stood. "Then I declare this session concluded. I will see you all Saturday. Sayōnara."

One by one, the holograms faded away until it was only Nadarajah and Galilei left in the room, plus Anderson and Helen in the flesh. The AFROC councilor squeezed past her, murmuring to themself. Helen didn't find the focus to listen. She was soaked in sweat, and her thighs were shivering uncontrollably. She always clenched them in stressful situations but it was never this bad, not even in battle.

When Galilei spoke to her, she startled. "Get some rest, Ceres. You will need it. I can't be there for the siege, there's heavy fighting in the north. But I know you'll pull through. Godspeed." 

"Thank y.." but they'd already disappeared. Now it was only Nadarajah left. She ran her hand along her tattooed scalp, and for a second she was just Ananya. Her crooked grin still packed the same punch.

"What a shitshow, huh?"

That made something inside of Helen burst. Manic chuckles bubbled up her throat. She simply couldn't contain them any more. In a gesture mirroring Ananya's, she swiped the sweat off her forehead. "Fuuuuck." Helen let her head fall back. The chair's backrest was cool against her nape. 

"When the siege is over and you don't hold my vote today against me, wine at my place. We'll have a star to celebrate." Helen was too busy chuckling to reply, let alone register her academy crush had probably just given her a second chance. 

When the chuckles turned into snickering and eventually subsided, Helen was alone. It was suddenly very clear to her that she hadn't planned for this outcome at all. She'd been convinced to leave the room disgraced, hopefully at least still in possession of Emerald Golem. And now all the little tasks came to her mind again. She had a meeting with Shen in the evening. There were Vanguard missions to coordinate. Her stomach was growling. Little by little, reality caught back up to her.

The stairs down to her office were very wobbly. Thea had filled her bowl with bananas, apples and titanium bars today, and it took Helen about ten minutes to down all of it. Then she turned her chair around and watched the sun rise over her city. 

But as all things did, the moment ended. A thought reactivated her implants and, with them, Clemens.

"Good morning, Helen. Your cortisol levels are extraordinarily high. Would you like me to schedule a doctor's appointment or a massage?"

Helen genuinely considered it for a moment.

"Neither, Clemens. It's time to get back to work."