The Eachway Bet - Grand National - Runners, Odds & Tips

The human gazed at the aliens around him and knew, just knew, he was in a LOT of trouble.
They were not much to look at. Small. Furry. Possessing faintly rodent like features. Their powerful hindlegs had them leaping quite large distances. When humans first encountered this species their initial impression was of some kind of hybrid of Kangaroos, harvest mice and Hobbits.
Their gentle and passive nature and their habit of communal sleeping had led humans to call them ‘Dormice’ out of affection.
The human wanted, very much wanted, to go back home and inform his fellow humans that this was a bad idea. A very bad idea.
The Yucani did not appreciate the term. The Yucani did not appreciate a lot of things. Mostly, right now, this group of about 400 of them did not appreciate him.
Their angry chirps and trills grow in intensity as they hopped angrily around him. Younger males would seemingly leap towards him at high speed, before landing close with a furious hissing noise. While the human could speak Yucani, he could barely understand them as they trilled so quickly. He held up his hands in what he hoped was a universal sign of surrender.
The human may not have been an expert on Yucani culture, but he was fairly sure he knew what a lynch mob looked like. The mass of small creatures had cornered him against a wall and continued to gaze at him balefully. Each passing moment they seemed to increase in anger, in their aggression, in their potential for violence.
A stone slammed into the wall besides him.
Three things happened immediately. The human saw the stones arrival seemed to give the Yucani the idea that this was a brilliant innovation.
Oh crap! They are going to stone me!
The largest Yucani in the mob, stood about seven feet away from him, suddenly removed a vicious looking knife, with a long serrated edge.
It’s gonna stab me!
And a roar of a Yucani constabulary patrol ship suddenly was heard, its distinctive sound causing many of the small creatures at the back to turn their heads.
The police! They’re gonna save me!
As the vechicle moved closer, more and more of the mob heard it and the human was very relieved to see that they didn’t start picking up rocks and the one with a knife, his large brown eyes filled with fury and rage, slowly returned the knife back to his clothing.
The craft landed, and six Yucani got out; their green uniforms were armoured, which made them look actually impressive (the human had long ago realised that only the larger members of the race were ever chosen for their constabulary).
They slowly hopped towards the mob, who had now turned and were trilling and squeaking in high pitched tones towards the newly arrived officers.
The human gulped down a breath of air. The sense of relief and gratitude he felt was immense. He was saved. As the officers made their way towards him, the crowd parting, he felt his legs go weak. He wanted to collapse. But he managed to hold it together long enough, to offer a grateful smile as one finally made his way towards him, dividing his fellow Yuanci like the Moses before the Red Sea.
“I am very happy to see you,” says the human, smiling down at the Yucani constabulary officer. It responds by removing a short grey metallic pole and jabbing it into the humans leg.
Pain. SO much pain. A searing, agonising, exploding pain that begins in his leg and races through every single nerve cluster in his body. The human convulses and screams, his bladder empties and he almost instantly drops into unconsciousness from the agony. He falls into a crumpled heap against the wall. The Yucani officer, ignoring the little cheer that had began from his fellow species, gazed down at the human with contempt and spat.
Two months later…
The young human, manacled and bound is thrown into the small conference room the aliens had built for this meeting. His eyes glance up and fall upon the first human face he had seen in many weeks.
“Oh God, thank you. Are you here to save me?”
The other human was in his fifties; his eyes bore the look of a man who had seen many things, perhaps too many. His suit was well made, sensible, if not slightly on the conservative side.
In response to the question he smiles gently and says, “Kid, I’m fairly sure only God can save you. But I am here to try and help with the mess you are in.”
Relief, mixed with wild joy fill the prisoners face. The younger man spots a chair to sit in (the room had the familiar setting of two human shaped chairs and a desk between them), and falls into it in a heap, his manacled hands landing heavily upon the table.
“Oh, thank you! You need to get me off this planet. The conditions I’ve been kept in have been awful. I am totally isolated. A hole in the ground with a large vent in the ceiling. They throw food down to me. The place stinks.”
The older man raises an eyebrow, “That’s good. You getting off lightly.”
“Lightly? The entire thing stinks like a sewer.”
“That’s because it probably IS a sewer,” shrugs the older man, reaching for a briefcase by his side.
“What?”
“Yucani prisons. They don’t incarcerate anyone but worst offenders on their world. The closest they have to prisons are specially made sewers.”
“That’s…”
“Tell me, have random Yucani been coming along and urinating and crapping into your cell as they pass?”
“What? No. That’s horrible.”
As the older man places his briefcase upon the table between them, he smiles a cold, tight smile, “The Yucani word for ‘prisoner’ literally translates into English as ‘Eaters of Our Shit’. I think the fact that they are throwing you human food and not pissing on you qualifies as light treatment.”
The younger man’s jaw just drops. A stunned look of absolute horror crosses his face. The older human uses this as an excuse to open his briefcase, remove a heafty file in a manilla cover out (it lands on the table with a satisfying heavy sound), closes the briefcase and places it on the floor besides him.
“Are you from the Embassy?”
“No. I just arrived in-world an hour ago. Four days at warp. My guts feel mushy.”
“Oh. Are you a lawyer?”
“I afraid not. Formally the excuse the Embassy will give you is there are no humans conversant in the intricacies of Yucani jurisprudence to be able to offer effective advice. Off the record? No lawyer in the entire solar system would touch your case. So, they sent me. I’m a specialist.”
“What in?”
“Apparently being human,” says the older man, who opens the folder and begins scanning the pages underneath. The younger man is too confused to say anything which suits the older one just fine. He glances up into the scared eyes of the prisoner.
“Andrew Montgomery Eversham, born 2118, Britain. British? Should have figured. Father was an engineer on Ares station, mother was… French. Well that explains much.”
“What does my mother have to do with anything?”
The older man gazes him up and down and asks, “Only child huh?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Thought so. Right, Mr Eversham. Do you know what they are charging you with?”
“No one has told me anything at all. I was performing, and the next thing I know I was being chased by a mob of angry Dormice, and then one of their police…”
“Yucani. Not Dormice.”
“What?” Eversham’s eyes widen, and he nods, “Yes, right. I know. I figured that out. But you know its just us here.”
“Saying Dormouse to describe a Yucani is like being home and using the word ‘Kike’. It’s a derogative term. An insult. Maybe not enough to get you punched, but we don’t do that.”
“Alright. Yes. I understand. I will try. Good job you ain’t Jewish eh?”
“Bad news I’m afraid. I am.”
“Oh.”
The older man scans through the documents and frowns.
“You are charged with a multitude of offenses. The first of which is Causing Great Disgust of Public Morals; Crude and Offensive Language; Heresy towards the Gods of the Yucani; Causing a Disturbance of the Peace… what were you doing?”
“I was doing my routine.”
“Routine?”
“I’m a comedian. Stand up.”
There was a raised eyebrow.
“You are comedian?”
“Yes.”
“And you caused this reaction?”
“Apparently.”
“Gonna say Kid, I’d work on your act.”
Eversham blinks and his face contorts with frustration, “Are you here to help me or not?”
The older man however just gazes at the file before him, “As well as the above you are charged with Inciting a Yucani to Wish to Commit Violence- this is a serious offense by itself, but they have charged you with inciting every individual in the crowd who heard you. So that’s 496 separate charges. And given each one carries a possible death sentence…”
“Death sentence? I could die?”
The older man smiles coldly across the table, “And we haven’t even gotten onto the serious allegations yet. So far, its just been the warm up. Now it says here that you perform under a different name.”
“Yeah. Abe Froman.”
“What?”
“Abe Froman. You know from that old movie.”
“What old movie?”
“A 20th century classic. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. The character of Abe Froman- the Sausage King of Chicargo? You must have heard of it?”
The older human raises his eyebrows high.
“No ‘Abe’ I haven’t. Neither have the Yucani. Which means they arrested someone called Abe Froman, only then to discover his real name is Andrew Eversham.”
“It’s my stage name.”
“The Yuctani don’t have concepts for ‘stage names’. All they know is a human arrived on planet with one name and then started using another name once here. And THIS is why they have charged you with espionage.”
“ESPIONAGE!!?”
“Yes. Specifically, because of the two names thing. And THEN because they think you are some kind of human agent, but don’t know what exactly you could have been up to, they assume the worst and charged you with everything they think you COULD have been here to do. That’s what the rest of the folder is.”
Andrew gazes at the thick pages with a look of absolute terror. The older humans eyes begin scanning; “So, from the top, ‘Suspected of Wishing to Assassinate the Emperor of the Yucani; Suspected of wishing to Assassinate the Chancellor of the Emperor of the Yucani…”
He moves forward a few pages.
“Suspected of wishing to put poison in the water supply of the cities of Heshis and Jebin…”
“But I…”
The older man lifts up more pages and smiles, “Suspected of seeking to violate the sacred virginity of the High Priestess of Rho- that’s impressive.”
“Are you serious? This is a joke.”
“Deadly serious,” hisses the old man, who closes the file with a loud thump. He fixes Eversham with a fierce stare.
“I gotta tell you ‘Abe’- you are in so much trouble right now that EarthGov is an inch away from washing their hands of you, throwing you to the Yucani and letting them take dumps on your for the rest of your short life. I am, literally, the only hope in hell you have of surviving and if I’m being honest- it aint much of a hope.”
“But it was just a few jokes,” mews Eversham, his eyes welling up with tears.
“Who thought it would be a good idea to travel to another planet and do stand up comedy?”
“My agent.”
“Your agent? What did you do? Sleep with his wife?”
“No,” comes the panicked reply.
“Didn’t you even do some basic research on what the Yucani considered humour?”
“No. I thought it would be more interesting to just turn up and see how they reacted to human jokes… you know… see the raw reaction.”
The older man is briefly speechless. He takes a breath and says quietly, “Gotta admire your chutzpah Kid. Not smart but that’s a LOT of chutzpah…”
“Why would EarthGov throw me under the bus? I don’t understand. I screwed up sure, but…”
He stops as the older man just holds up a hand. He gazes into his eyes as the first human he has seen in months speaks very quietly.
“Here’s the deal. As far as we can tell, a couple of months ago, this young human leaves Earth and flies to Yucani homeworld. He passes customs, checks into a Yucani version of a hotel and asks if they have versions of ‘clubs’. He discovers that, being social creatures, Yucani do indeed have these places where they gather to be entertained. Brilliant says he. The human goes to one of these. This human, he is not entirely ignorant- he’s learned basic Yucani. Not much, but enough to converse conversationally.”
The older mans stare nails the young man to his chair.
“So he goes there and meets the Yucani in charge. Explains that he is a ‘human entertainer’. Asks if he can perform. The Yucani, like the rest of his species? They get on well with us. We share similar traits. We have had good relations since the Treaty of Commerce and Travel was signed fifteen years ago. Sure, he says. He announces this human. Who gets on stage. But does not sing. Doesn’t dance. He talks. He talks to them. He says some pretty damn insulting things about them. He ignores their obvious growls of displeasure.”
“I thought they were laughing!”
“You thought wrong kid. The crowd sat for about twenty minutes getting madder and then decides enough is enough. They chase him out of the club, across two streets and corner him outside of his hotel. Where he is arrested and not lynched because the club owner rang the constabulary. Have I missed anything out?”
“No,” says Eversham quietly.
“So the EarthGov embassy gets informed of all this and do what they do and move to smooth ruffled fur. It’s just a misunderstanding they say. It’s an easy mistake they say. Their records show he is JUST a comedian. But here’s the thing kid. Yucani don’t have comedians. They don’t get it. So the Ambassador tries to explain it to them. Which in turn leads to a discussion about a very unique trait we humans have that Yucani do NOT have. Know what that is?”
“A sense of humour?” Eversham says, literally unable to help himself. He is surprised at the response.
“Well spotted. They have one but it is nothing like our own. They became fascinated at our sense of humour and then in quick measure, horrified at it. They find the very essence of human humour to be offensive, aggressive, cruel and vicious. Their government is considering tearing up the Treaty between our two races. Literally, your little stunt has caused the MOTHER of all diplomatic incidents.”
“I… I had… no idea,” stammers the Englishman.
“That comes as no surprise to me whatsoever,” comes the hissed reply. The older man sighs and rubs his eyes and continues. “Now the GOOD news is, given the severity of the charges you face, the nature of the issue, and the sheer monumental insanity of this whole thing, the Yucani have decided to not bother with all the minor courts, judges, appleant proceadures. You are going to be tried by the top court on the planet. The Ultimate Court. One trial, one hearing, one.”
Eversham just nods.
“The bad news is, it won’t be you alone on trial. It will be the entire human species. And our sense of humour. Somehow, just somehow, we have to convince these creatures that actually our sense of humour isn’t just an awful trait that they find offensive. And that means somehow, just somehow, I’ve got to defend human comedy in front of a species who has no concept of comedy at all.”
The older man sighs.
“And I thought raising my eldest daughter was tough!”
There is a silence. The full weight of the moment clearly hits the young man. He lowers his head and fights back tears. Eventually, without looking up, he says quietly.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure you are kid.”
“I’ve been a fool.”
“This much EVERYONE can agree upon.”
“I never meant to cause this…”
The older man sighs again, “I know you didn’t kid. Everyone knows you didn’t MEAN it. Doesn’t make it any easier for folks back home.”
Andrew Eversham nods. Displaying the stoicism his nation was famed for, he remains very quiet. Tears drip off his nose but he makes no sound. The older man just looks at him, an iota of sympathy creeping into his sad eyes. Moments pass. Eversham finally speaks.
“It… maybe it would be better if everyone just wrote me off. Said I was insane. Aberrational. Throw me under the bus. Let everyone get on with it?”
A small sad smile crosses the older mans face.
“To be blunt, that is what a LOT wanted to do back in EarthGov. A lot still do. But it’s too late for that. The whole race is in the mix now. Like it or not, we gotta jump on this ride and see it through to the end. And this is why they sent me. Because some fool thinks that if anyone can win this, can somehow get you off, its me.”
“Are you a diplomat?”
“No, no, nothing like that.”
“So why did they send you?”
“Beats me kid. I mean I have a rough idea, but really? I think they sent me because they are desperate.”
“What do you do for a living?”
A smile.
“For my sins? I’m a Rabbi.”
Four Days Later; The Grand Chamber of the Yucani Ultimate Court
Rabbi Johnathan Cohen had to admit- it was impressive. For such a small race, the Yucani could do ‘grand’. As he looked around the chamber of the highest judiciary on their planet, he could imagine it being used for an equally impressive purpose back on Earth. Of course on Earth the décor and colour scheme would be a tad different. More imposing.
Regal even. This?
It reminded him of the garish interior of some Western Bordelo from the 1890’s if he was honest. Still, the gold and purples and reds didn’t distract from the gravitas of the assembly or the importance of the room.
Or the size of the crowd.
EarthGov told him it was going to be a big show. They were not kidding. The five judges (known as a ‘claw’ the standard designation in all Yucani trials apparently) were looking impressive in their yellow robes of office, but they were upstaged by everyone else. The importance of the nature of this trial had demanded that anyone who was anyone would be here.
Rabbi Cohen could see the heir to the Yucani Empire had arrived (representing his father and 83 siblings); the Minister for Relations With The Hairless Ones (the formal designation for the poor Yucani official who dealt with humans) was also there, talking to him in hurried trills.
There were delegations of all the great and the good of this species, including The High Matron of the Sacred Priestesses of Rho, whose arrival caused him to smile inwardly. And it wasn’t just the Yucani who were here.
The unique nature of the diplomatic spat had caused interest from a half dozen other species. He saw the Ambassador of the Tu-Kek sitting within a glass encased sphere; the Emissary of the Golden Hive, which sat unmoving upon a perch, witnessing all that it relayed to the collective hive mind of the crew of the colony/ship that had arrived in orbit a few days before.
There was even a Frosh there, hovering enigmatically in its encounter suit, and the Frosh didn’t seem interested in anything except fractal mathematical equations most of the time. None of the species knew a damn thing about them- highly advanced but utterly abstract.
And there were the other humans. The Ambassador was there looking nervous (he was partly to blame for messing up the aftermath of the event- his job was on the line); the Commodore of Human Forces in the nearest sector was to his right, looking bored (only here because EarthGov was slightly worried this could end in a war). The attractive secretary (who everyone whispered the Ambassdor was sleeping with), sat on the other side of the Commodore, his handsom eyes glancing at the proceedings nervously.
And this ignored the several hundred normal Yucani who had managed to gain attendance to the trial. Rabbi Cohen took a sip of water and muttered to himself, “No pressure then Johnathan…”
“What?”
He turned to the rather pathetic figure of Andrew Eversham besides him. He wasn’t chained, and he had been issued new clothing, but his eyes were sunken and he looked the very image of a broken man.
“Nothing kid,” he says kindly, “you ready for this?”
“No,” comes the dispondant reply. For some reason Johnathan smiles at this.
“That’s the way. Honesty is always the best policy.”
The beating of a gavel is enough to start the proceedings. Ear pieces to allow fluent translations of all sides words are donned, and Rabbi Cohen takes a deep breath. Yucani trials followed a slightly differing format than humans- but the jist was roughly the same. The ‘prosecution’ he noticed was a grey furred alien, whose somewhat rotund body revealed him to be a corpulent and well fed member of his species. No doubt some great legal mind.
The trial passed quickly enough- the facts were not in dispute and indeed the defence case being as it was (the human in question was ignorant of any harm he could cause and meant no malice) was not even seriously contested by the state. No, in truth the real reckoning lay in the deeper issue of human sense of humour, and how in would colour future Human-Yucani relations.
Eventually, after about an hour, the rotund alien hopped back towards his table and began trilling in low, dark tones. In Cohen’s ear the translation came across clearly.
Which leads us, most supreme claw, to the crux of the issue. The human’s case rests upon a simple defense; he was innocent of any illwill towards our peoples, but sought to ‘entertain’ us with an example of human ‘humour’. This has led to our people investigating this aspect of the aliens personalities, and what we have found is disturbing indeed.
Johnathan watched closely as little creature trilled and squeaked in strong tones, his brown eyes forever gazing around him; while he was no expert on Yucani bodylanguage, Cohen knew showboating when he saw it. The little fat furball was playing to the crowd, playing upon the sensibilities of his race.
We have found humans delight in mockery; in lampooning; in deriding. They claim they do the same to themselves, as if this excuses them, as if it gives them the writ to inflict such things upon the rest of the galaxy. For a human, mockery of their institutions and their leaders is to be expected. But as we all KNOW- such things are anathema to we Yucani; where the familial bonds of love and honour are as natural to us as breathing…
The Rabbi tried hard not to roll his eyes. The prosecution was laying it on thick. Really thick. He watched as the creature hopped and trilled, waving its little arms about, modulating its voice expertly. He could see every Yucani in the room moved by this; their noses twitched, eyes welled up, their tails would go back and forth violently.
Carefully the Rabbi listened as the little creature moved onto the mainstay of his argument.
Is it not said by the Goddess Rho, that ‘all things shall be in its natural place, from star to planet, from ruler to bondman’; does not Rho teach us that there is only joy to be found in ‘careful appreciation of the natural order of all things’? Is it not said within our most sacred texts that ‘The ONLY path towards elevation of a soul, is through acceptance of its time within the body’? These are the foundations of our very society, our very civilisations…
The prosecution begins waxing lyrical about the virtues of the civilisation of the Yucani, but Johnathan was only half listening. There was a religious aspect to this after all?
As he mused on the sacred words of the Rho, part of him wondered if the wiley President of Earth was smarter than he liked to appear. Did the old guy KNOW this was going to be their approach? Is this why he sent him?
His thoughts are broken as the prosecution brings his long and somewhat vaudevillian diatribe to its conclusion…
…which bases itself upon mockery, and lampoon and cruelty towards living things are ideas we Yucani cannot afford to allow infect our civilisation. They gnaw at its roots. They will in time infest our nests. Supreme Claw, I must ask, no implore, no BEG of you, to issue an edict which petitions our Emperor to reconsider allowing these humans access to our world. Lest one night, one terrible night, the scenes we saw, where a single voice defiles the virtues of our culture are repeated… but this time by one of our own children.
Cohen takes a breath and smiles to himself. He glances over at the ambassador who looks back nervously. Besides him the quiet voice of Andrew Eversham says, “I really screwed this all up didn’t I?”
“Yes kid. But look on the bright side?”
“There’s a bright side?”
“It’s not everyday you get to be accused of defiling an entire civilisation. Think about how it will look on your CV?”
Rabbi Cohen stands as his opposing side sits down heavily. He picks up a small card wherein the correct honourifics needed to address the court are clearly printed and runs through the formalities quickly enough. That done he gazes at the five judges for a moment, and shrugs.
“The human sense of humour. Where do I, one of our species, even BEGIN to start describing this complex thing that lies at the heart of who we are, to your most Supreme Claw? There are great minds on Earth who have wondered about this for many centuries and reached no conclusion. And yet it is clear, I must. So let me try and break this down into a way I feel the Yucani can understand and I hope, accept it, for all its imperfections.”
“It is a question often asked by us humans- what makes us laugh? What is the source of our humour? The prosecution would have you believe it is cruelty and mockery. And from the surface it would appear so. But allow me to illustrate that human humour is complicated and made up of many levels.”
He strides out from behind his table, keeping his voice low and his eyes focused on the judges.
“The starting point is incongruity. We humans like you Yucanti had an issue with incongruity. Evolutionary speaking our ancestors, like yours, lived lives fearing predators; both our species in our ancient past? We would gaze, eyes to the horizon, forever searching for danger. We learned well the safety in patterns, the formal, fixed nature of our surroundings. Anything out of place, incongruous, we would be drawn to. It spelt danger, it spelt threat.”
“For my species, long after we had evolved past the need to spot such things, we had this trait inherent still within us. Why do I stress this? When humans spot an incongruity in nature, when it does not threaten us? We laugh. An exclamation of relief. Identical to what Yucani call the ‘musk of fear ending’. For your species it is natural and normal. Same with ours. Yours is scent. Ours is sound. Identical reactions. A thing we have in common yes?”
A few aliens nod at this. A good start.
“However this is not the full basis of our humour. Incongruity cannot be the full extent of our humour. If I was to find a shoe in a dishwasher, or you were to find Gurnix inside a Flubuton, that in itself would not be the cause of humour to us. It would be odd, but not humorous. The key for us humans is that incogurity has to be of a correct kind. For humans it has to involve a shift of perspective. The great human psychologist, Koestler, pointed out that for humans this shift is all important. An example would be…”
He nods to one of the technicians and displayed in the air in both languages are words.
When is a door not a door?
When it is a jar!
“This is an example of that type of humour. Incongruity presenting a perspective shift.”
There is utter silence from the audience and he scans the translation and smiles.
“Of course the joke does not translate at all to your race. The play on contexts and language is entirely lost to you. But notice how my fellow humans did not laugh either. Such things are primitive; plays on words, sudden perspective shifts. Proto-Jokes almost. I raise it to establish the baseline of our humour.”
“We humans have many of these jokes. We call them things like ‘knock-knock jokes’ and ‘lightbulb jokes’. They are not truly appealing to our humour, the highest compliment they can get is to be called clever, for you see they are missing a particular element of humour which the prosecution has done well to highlight.”
“What they miss, is a degree of cruelty.”
The little rotund advocate for the state stands and begins trilling in high pitched tones. Cohen waits for the translation to come through.
So you admit that humans revel in cruelty?
He smiles, “No.”
But you just said that your humour needs cruelty!
“A certain type, yes. But not the type you described.”
Semantics! Your supreme clawness, I urge you end this nonsense…
We will hear the human defence, intones the oldest, long whiskered judge, As we are curious as not how they will justify this.
“I thank the indulgence of the court,” smiles Cohen, and he takes a breath.
“There remains, there always will, an aspect of human behaviour that is mistaken for our humour but is not. This is how we humans use laughter. Laughter is a physical response to things. Mostly to humour yes, but also, and this is where the prosecution made their mistake, it can be a sound of triumph. At such times the sound is indeed dark and unmistakably cruel. Many have observed that for all the love we have of the sound of laughter it is by volume and in ferocity, an aggressive sound. And there exists many examples of our species using laughter when committing acts of cruelty.”
He shrugs, “It was only a few centruies ago that it became unfashionable to visit the places we kept our psychically and mentally disable for the purpose of laughing at them. We thought it good sport to look upon their pain. All of human history contains accounts of how public executions were raucous affairs, we would attend and celebrate the killing of one of our own, often with laughter as the guillotine came down upon them…”
Rabbi Cohen sighs heavily, “When I was younger I once saw a picture. Germany. The 1930’s. A small child, a Jewish boy, was being forced to clean the street on his hands and knees. Around him stood adults and they were laughing. This isn’t human humour, it’s cruelty. There are countless episodes of torturers laughing as they inflict pain. Of laughter being heard from mass shooters, from soldiers in war, at our most darkest moments. These things I do not refute. But point out a similarity of experience between our species.”
“Every species in the galaxy knows Yucani are fastidious in cleaning, how they value healthy and clean fur. No Yucani would ever dose another in urine for example. What then of your treatment of prisoners? Are we to take that as indicative of Yucani finding such things acceptable? Of course not. It is a certain, dark aspect of your society, misunderstood except BY your species. This is the same as using laughter by humans in moments of cruelty. It is separate FROM the debate about humour.”
He takes a breath and a sip of water before continuing.
“No, to say human humour is incognuity mixed with cruelty is too simplistic. It has to be the right type of cruelty…”
What do you mean the right type of cruelty? asks the supreme judge.
Johnathan Cohen thinks for a moment and smiles, “On Earth, a wise man called Mel Brooks once asked the question- what is the difference between tragedy and comedy?”
What was his answer?
“Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall down a manhole cover and die.”
The Ambassadors secretary bursts out laughing, the sound carries across the room, ALL eyes fall upon him. Hurridly he covers his mouth, going red in the process.
“And you see the very nature of it right there. A sudden juxtaposition of incongruity and a certain element of cruelty, producing an involuntary response. Laughter.”
He pauses for a moment and says quietly, “In our distant past, in the year 1991 of our calander, a human writer called David Barry said the following, “The most important humor truth of all is that to really see the humour in a situation, you have to have perspective. ‘Perspective’ is derived from two ancient Greek words: ‘persp’ meaning ‘something bad happens to someone else’ and ‘ective’ meaning ‘ideally someone like Donald Trump’.”
At this all the humans bursts out laughing and Rabbi Cohen holds up his hands, “Again- the involuntary reaction. I won’t bother to explain it your honours, just to say that last statement was a joke designed to highlight something.”
“The core cruelty here is that someone must lose dignity. As we humans say be brought down a peg or two, or be knocked off a pedestal. It can be used by the mob as a weapon, and YES, it does have a subversive power. One of our ancients, a man called Plato, thought humour was destabalsing to the state and should be banned from it, which for us humans? Tell us much about the kind of guy Plato actually was.”
See? This is my allegation Supreme Claw. The human ADMITS what I am saying is true…
“What we do you got right, WHY we do it you got wrong. I heard you speaking about how Rho says we must appreciate the time our souls connect with our bodies correct?”
The prosecution’s whiskers twitch a little, and carefully it says Yes
“Well, the most basic, the most universal, the most raw and successful brand of comedy, the one my clients version was but a verbal variation of, the one that transcends the many human languages, is humour based upon just that. The realisation that there is a split between the soul, the essence of a human, and these dull, mundane frail bodies we exist in. What a psychologist once called the ‘dualism of subtle mind and inert matter’. “
“We call that humour, slapstick.”
He grins to himself.
“The core of all slapstick is the ‘the blow and the fall’. It can be as simple as a human slipping on the skin of recently eaten fruit. Or elaborate and detailed, but at its core is something very important. We understand, totally, the immortality of the soul, what the Goddess Rho holds to essence of being, but we also recognise the limitations of the body. Your species finds solance in holding to the immutable structure of the universe to reconcile this correct? We reconcile it by finding humor when we are reminded that these frail bodies cannot match the perfection of what lies within.”
“All of this is just by way of explaining this…”
An image appears on screen. It is a small human infant, wearing a sundress, maybe aged about 2 or 3 years old. Walking towards them is an image of Rabbi Cohen. He smiles at the child, and walks towards her and then, suddenly, slips and lands on his backside, a look of mock shock on his face. And at that, the court room is filled with the sound of the small child laughing, laughing hard; uncontrollable laughter, a sound that makes every human in the room smile. The image ends.
“Your honours, THAT is the most beloved sound on my home planet. The sound of an innocent child laughing. It transcends cultures and languages, transcends time. It delights us like NO other sound. We can spend hours just trying to get children to make it.”
“Consider then what you just saw? An innocent- capable of no higher functions of thought; an infant. It’s reactions are primal. But what DID you see? An infant is able to identify itself as a being, and me as a separate being. It saw the classic imposition upon my being by this mundane body. I tripped and slipped on my tuchus. A sudden juxtaposition of incongruity. One second I am stood, the next I am not. Mixed with the RIGHT kind of cruelty. Misfortune happening to another. But notice my reaction- my mock smile? My grand daughter realises that it is not hurting me and responds with a spontainious reaction of laughter.”
“THIS is at its base, the core of ALL human comedy and humour; it is based on empathy, and innocence. Not for her convoluted explanations involving cruelty and mockery. Just instinct. As we grow we develop more sophisticated methods to find humour but at its core? That is it. Is that not a demonstration of how our humour is as identical as your veneration of the soul within the body? The acceptance of the duality of body and spirit?”
Rabbi Cohen smiles, gently and turns to the Judges.
“Your honours, I urge you to dismiss this case. And I urge you to do so because let me tell you what will happen to the defendant. He will be released. He will return home. And when he does? He will become the subject of many, many jokes. He bore no ill will in his heart towards your race- but he was a schmuck.”
What is a schmuck?
“It’s a certain type of human. For the Yucani? A schmuck will forever be my client.”
In his chair the stand up comedian opens his mouth and then closes it. Defeated.
“He will return home and we will make stories about what he did. We will laugh at his foolishness, his ignorance, his pride….”
And we so gonna have fun with you little fat gerbil, he thinks but does not say as he eyes the prosecutor.
“And our ambassador will sit down with the Crown Prince and they will add a provision to the Treaty of Trade and friendship that says, based on the psychological underpinnings of our two species, and given we recognise that we share in common a belief of the duality of our existence and indeed of the existence of the soul, that human humour is a natural byproduct of our evolution like musk scenting is part of yours. Neither of our species share these traits, so lets not inflict it upon the other huh?”
“That would seem to me to be a most equitable and fair solution.”
The judges consulte one another, the Yucani remove their translation devices, but Johnathan can see their chirpings are appreciative. He may not have convinced them humans are FUNNY… but he may have convinced them to let this slide. He sits down at his table, gathers up his case note and begins to place them inside his briefcase.
Besides him, the comedian gazes over and sees there, amidst the papers in the briefcase, a hard backed book… ‘On the origins of humor: why Neaderthals can’t take a joke’ by Dr Johnathan Cohen, and a sudden realisation crosses his mind and he whispers, “You wrote that?”
“When not studying the Torah, I dabble in evolutionary psychology. It pays the bills.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey kid, what we gonna do? Let aliens say we bad for liking to laugh? What’s next? We are sinful because we breath?”
As the court recesses, and the judges leave to make their judgement, Rabbi Cohen stands and turns to make his way over to the Ambassadour when he is stopped suddenly. There, before him, stands the representative of the Frosh. It’s towering form, its huge encounter suit, obscuring the being from within. It’s cold black visage, plain glass of some kind, looms balefully over him.
In all the hustle of the Yucani leaving, no one notices this member of the most elusive and obscure of all the alien species, make his way to stand before the human. Johnathan clears his throat and goes, “Hello?”
The alien just stands.
“Can I help you?”
The black screen suddenly flashes brief, fractal images upon it, who flare in and out of existing as quick as a human blink. At the same time a warbling high pitch noise emits from deep in the chest area.
The Rabbi blinks and says, “What?”
The images and the noise is repeated again. Realisation dawning, Rabbi Cohen places down his briefcase and picks up the translator device he was using back on the table.
“Say that again please?”
The images flash and the noise is made and two seconds later words form in the humans ear… a simple message…
Pull my finger.
There is a silence. Around them the Yucani chitter and trill but Johnathan Cohen begins to smile…

I think we're all aware by now of the conspiracy that's building in the background of 2077. Most of us know about the mysterious Blue Eyes who appears in The Sun ending to the game. He operates as The Stinger of sorts for (that) ending of the game; He and V discuss a job vaguely alluded to through out the ending sequence and then the ending cuts to V in space charging off towards The Crystal Palace. Cue DLC Hook and credits.
But, let's go back here. This is only the tail end of the conspiracy and where it actually intersects with V's story. Blue Eyes (and some connections to him) crop up multiple times through out the game and, when pieced together, start building a larger picture that runs deeper into Night City than the pockets of most corporats.
I've finished my second playthrough of the game and I've been drafting this post as I play and find more clues. I doubt I'll find everything or might completely dismiss some, but I want to be on the front lines of uncovering this mystery, especially if this will be our Gaunter O'Dim for Cyberpunk 2077. I apologize for the length of this post ahead of time, but I need to summarize a bunch of lore and at least 4 major side-quests; "I Fought The Law", "Dream On", "Full Disclosure", and "The Prophet's Song".
Here's a long essay incoming, but I hope you chooms enjoy and I hope you read through to the end because, oh boy, I uncovered some cool shit!
So, who is Blue Eyes? Who are his contacts? What is his role in the ecosystem of this city?
"I FOUGHT THE LAW"
Let's start with where he most appears in the game; Jefferson and Elizabeth Peralez, political family in the running for Night City's first family. Which I kinda have to summarize their questlines, including the first one which Blue Eyes never appears in. But I'd prefer to go in chronological order and not jump around, so stick with me.
Elizabeth first contacts you for the job "I Fought The Law". It's fairly basic, but the quest tells us she convinced her husband to hire V to look into the recent death of Mayor Rhyne. We get a BD of a cyberpsycho attack by Peter Horvath on Mayor Rhyne. Weldon Holt leaves the room before the attack and then the security gate crashes right before Peter walks in with billions of eddies worth of chrome. The attack is unsuccessful and stopped by Detective River Ward, who was only there because Peter went missing internally at the NCPD and he knew where Peter would go.
When investigating Peter Horvath, his previous boss describes him as paranoid that "probably thought Mayor Rhyne talked to him through the TV" and that the world was out to fuck him. She then mentions that someone "finally saw what he was worth" which cues into how Peter was thrown into this attack in the first place; he had a patron who funded his chrome and the attempt on Rhyne's life. Tellingly, River than goes into a little talk about how clues rarely make sense until put into the larger context, much like we're doing right now.
V goes to the club Rhyne died in; The Red Queen's Race. V sneaks through, takes out some Animals, and can investigate what actually happened to Rhyne. If we read the emails on the office terminal, we know that Weldon Holt arranged for Rhyne to be there. He initially mentioned this to Rhyne during the first BD; Rhyne asked Holt directly to arrange his usual room at the club. So, this doesn't inherently look too suspicious on it's own, but Holt knew where Rhyne would be. We also find out via the Animals Boss there that Weldon Holt is the one who hired them to smash up the club and they're currently waiting around for payment. Further, you can go to the room Rhyne died in, find the BD headset, and put it on... which INSTANTLY knocks V out and they need to be rescued by River (who, btw, takes out any Animals on the property you didn't get to! Ty bro!). They surmise that Rhyne was killed by a virus in the headset. Lastly, we find footage of Detective Han (River's partner) covering up the death of Rhyne. They confront Han, V goes off to the Peralezs, and quest ends.
Of note, finding the BD set is a hidden dialogue option with the Peralezes suggesting, yes, that's the correct deduction to make. You don't get that option otherwise. And V never actually comes to any real conclusion to what happened to Rhyne.
So, let's summarize what we know about the death of our Mayor. Peter Horvath was hired by an unknown Patron who spent a ton of money to turn him into a suicide bomb against Rhyne. They have connections internally to the corrupt NCPD which allowed Horvath to get access to Rhyne, both from escaping NCPD custody and for the security to give him access to Rhyne's conference room. That fails so our mastermind instead assassinates Rhyne at his usual sex club, one that we know for sure Holt knew about. Rhyne is assassinated via malware in a BD porno headset, NCPD comes in an Detective Han cleans it up. Later, Holt hires the Animals to take claim to the club and fuck it up.
Holt is looking suspicious AF rn, but we also don't have any direct evidence and V says as much if you accuse him. Personally, I think it's a little too clumsy if it's him. Holt leaves the room just as an assassination attempt goes down, sets up a sex club appointment for the Mayor where he's successfully assassinated, NCPD covers it up... and then he hires a gang to cover it up more? Something doesn't fit here.
My theory is Holt is innocent. He's a scum bag, but not the culprit here. Why would you EVER give your identity to the Animals you hired to cover up an assassination? The big dumb brutes of the underworld? A name they give up with almost no fight? No, I think someone hired them under Holt's name. And I think they hired them because they KNEW the BD Headset was left behind; Han dismissed it entirely as Rhyne dying of a heart attack brought on during sex. They needed that destroyed to cover the final footprints. It's the only piece of evidence that doesn't have Holt or NCPD's name on it and doesn't fit the narrative that both are pushing. If they're covering NCPD or Holt's tracks, why not delete the emails or footage of Han? And if Holt or Han were trying to push this false narrative, why leave the headset right there the first time?
And, while I have no evidence of this assertion, the Animals are only still there because they're waiting for payment to come in... I think our employer never intended to pay them and left them in the path of V, who is likely to shoot them and tie up the loose end for our mysterious entity. Animals destroy the BD set, V shoots the animals, no trace. And, even if he doesn't, Animals will point V to the wrong person.
No, we've got a third party here. But let's continue so we can finally let our lead actor take center stage.
"DREAM ON"
"Dream On" starts when Jefferson calls V and asks them to help in another case. Long and Short; Jefferson woke up in the night and found a man in a mask (or an implant) standing over him. Jefferson shot the man, only for his head to fry and knock him out. Coming to, he's back in bed with no evidence it ever happened. SSI, their private security, insists that there was nothing on the cameras, no evidence, and nothing happened. Elizabeth claims she slept through the whole thing event.
V investigates the apartment, with Elizabeth giving the tour, and finds a lot of evidence. Elizabeth is kinda dismissive at first thinking V won't find much. First small stuff leading into larger reveals. Let's start small and work our way up.
First room Liz takes us to is the campaign room. She talks about running the campaign entirely out of pocket and having to keep most of their supplies at the Penthouse; "It's cheaper that way". You find a picture of their daughter on the wall and Liz explains that she's off at university in Europe while Jefferson is running for office; "It's easier that way" she says. That phrasing again.
EDIT: A redditor in the comments pointed out that the Peralez are being controlled via drugs in their food as part of the tech. They mention they've been eating fast food lately, explaining why Jefferson was lucid enough to catch the agent and shoot him.
V can look at Jefferson's emails (which Liz slightly discourages them, saying there's nothing there) which reveals a bit more about their campaign. There's a video of the iconic commercial and poster of Jefferson pulling out a gun and shooting a bunch of paperwork. In the email, Jefferson HATES this commercial, but his assistant, Lea Patel, insists on it as it will air in television time slots with action-drama series and catch the attention of voters. Further emails have Eric Boucher, Jefferson's Campaign Partner (Manager?), saying Jefferson has been acting unpredictably lately; presumably referencing one of the next emails. Boucher is confused because they fired Lea Patel together, only for her to continue working and sent him a new ad for approval. When emailed, Jefferson is confused about Lea being fired at all and doesn't remember the event ever happening, even telling Boucher to be honest if he has some issue with her. A final email is from SSI Chief of Security, Wallace, discussing Jefferson's intent to hire a merc to look into Rhyne's death ("Dream On") and they suggest Jefferson drop it or have NCPD or themselves look into it. Private Security just... offering to investigate the former mayor's death? Huh... sounds more like they want to squash the issue to me.
We should now talk about the Peralez's campaign. As you explore the apartment, Liz explains that they're running on a corp free campaign; they want to get Night City out of the control of the corps and do so without ever owing any favors to them. She specifically cites "Night Corp, Militech, and Petrochem" as ones they've denied. Militech and Petrochem come up a few times in other quests but Night Corp is relatively obscure. And they choose that corp to be the first one she mentions? Stands out to me. It also isn't lost on me that we're talking about running a campaign out of pocket and refusing corp assistance... while walking on the fancy ass balcony of a penthouse in Charter Hill- North Oak.
Next room, we find Jefferson's office. Elizabeth and Jefferson both graduated with law degrees from Asukaga University in Berkley. V points out it would be extremely expensive for them both, but Elizabeth says that both got full ride scholarships from the Richard Night Foundation, run by Night Corp. To further fucking cement this moment, there's a Richard Night biography shard on the desk. But we'll drop this for now because I want to get to Night Corp a bit later.
The computer on the office desk has some emails on it sent by Elizabeth. One is between her and Judy where she's asking Judy for help on the original "I Fought The Law" quest and Judy is the one who gave her your contact in the first place. Another is from their daughter kinda asserting the same thing earlier; safer for her in Europe so she's not a target on the campaign trail. And here's the interesting one; Boucher emailed Elizabeth asking why Jefferson changed his mind on Lea Patel. Elizabth says Jefferson explained it to her that it "slipped his mind" and "circumstances changed in Lea's favor" and she asks him to drop the whole thing. She's dismissive and gives extremely vague details.
Next room, Bedroom. Elziabeth's gun is on the table. It's the one Jefferson claimed he fired and scanning it tells us that it has been fired recently. We also find the wedding photo of Jefferson and Elizabeth where she fondly talks about having blue roses because she loves them so much... except the photo's roses are red and V says as much. Elizabeth quietly corrects herself that they only had red roses instead and moves on.
In the hall, we find the blood trail and gun shots in the wall; both covered up hastily. Following the trail, we enter a tv room. The Smart Glass isn't working and Elizabeth says it stopped working recently; not like they use it much anyway. Passing a Tech Check lets us try and fix it... only to be quickly blacked out by it so hard Johnny felt it too. V asks Elizabeth about it but she doesn't know what V is talking about despite having been standing right there. We also find a hidden door in the wall. Unlike earlier, Liz is actually confused by the door but demands V try and open it.
Downstairs we have the security room. Liz says that it used to be her place but "Security had to set up somewhere" and that she had to make sacrifices for this campaign; "it wasn't the first nor will it be the last". One computer has a Welcome email from SSI to new recruits. It details that they have access to all areas except Section Zero, which is reserved for Blue or Black agents and that, should the encounter a Blue or Black Agent (SPECIFICALLY "in the night"), do not interact or acknowledge them. The next email from Wallace mentions an accident where there was a "behavioral anomaly" and "ALPHA" injured a Blue Agent (BLUE-66M) who is in critical and the SSI head is requesting access to Sector Zero to give medical aid. SSI gives Wallace the code to Sector Zero and sends a team to aid. SSI knew about the accident and lied. You go to the second computer, unlock it, and can unlock the upstairs door. On that terminal is a bunch of deleted files (presumably the security footage from that night) and emails discussing "normal maintenance procedure" and further informing security that ALPHA (Jefferson) hired a merc (V) and, should security encounter them, do not interact with them.
Small thing I found interesting, a shard called "You Are What You Slot" is found down here too. It details a fictional assassin who kills and then steals the identity of her victims. Small and doesn't mean much on it's own, but the shards are hinting at the story here; one of false identities and manipulation.
Now, let's get to the main event; the secret room. Inside is a control center. Elizabeth is horrified and feels violated. She shouts that she's not letting SSI anywhere near them, only for her head to start hurting and she tells V to do what he needs to do. She leaves him. Inside the control room is a box of bloody medical supplies. The computer discusses "behavioral norms" for ALPHA (Jefferson) and suggests amplifying "neural dampening". It discusses things similar to Wallace's terminal, but from the other side; ALPHA is displaying odd behavior by hiring a merc, the SSI teams avoided meeting the merc, and then the actual accident that occurred injuring BLUE-66M during regular 'maintenance'. The other side of the room also has another data shard, "Rewriting Synaptic Pathways", basically talking about using tech to rewire the brain a bit.
Following some wires from the control room to the roof, we find a signal dish. Johnny (replacing Elizabeth for conversation now that she's gone), joins in that the tech looks prehistoric but functional and that Militech used it in the war; it requires line of sight to transmit data but otherwise can't be intercepted. We can see the tower and go to investigate. V tells Liz the whole deal; V can suggest that the Van near the tower could be SSIs or that it might not be due to unconventional tech. Liz then itterates twice that it's a stressful campaign time for Jefferson and V should talk to her, NOT him. "Sure, whatever" V and the player dismiss.
(I SWEAR WE'RE ALMOST DONE WITH THE SUMMARIZING FOR DREAM ON, I'M SO SORRY.)
We drive after the van, Johnny is suddenly excited for smashing a corpo conspiracy and iterates that citizens do not choose their representatives, instead they're chosen by "key players" who watch the Peralezes for weaknesses or blackmail material. We arrive at the facility patrolled by Maelstrom and the occupants of our van park, get out, and climb ladders to the roof where they get into an AV that is cloaked to be near invisible (as shown in a couple of vids on YouTube and this subreddit).
At the place, Maelstom is explained; "UNKNOWN USER" contacted them while driving the van for protection to take care of V and then destroy the van. Van's data makes it pretty clear; the Peralezs' minds are being manipulated, new neural pathways are being created, and their memories are being created, changed, or erased. There are also a couple of other names of other test subjects. The data is then erased. We do see an almost flower like symbol before the data is destroyed.
The agents on the cloaked AV CAN be killed and do drop a shard, thought it doesn’t have many more details, merely that they’re contacting HQ to arrange extraction and that the Van’s data should be destroyed and echoing the arrangement with Maelstrom mentioned earlier in their shards.
V calls Liz, Liz wants to meet in person instead of over holo and send him to a Japantown Raman shop (same one that used to be Rainbow Cadenza, coincidentally). Odd choice for an upstanding congresswoman. She says her nerves are shot, the ramen shop is a quieter place to meet than the apartment, and she needs a moment to gather herself since she last saw V, with V even asking if something has happened since they last saw each other. Of note, Liz is stress smoking the entire scene, something she hasn't done until now. She then explains, no, it's been over a longer period of time. She's been watching her husband change and act differently for awhile; he stopped reading, his taste changed, and he even insisted he was an only child and never had a bother when Liz asks about visiting the grave. Of note, yes, Antonio Peralez has a Columbarium Vault, which proves Liz is correct on this. She confesses that she herself has been told by others she's been acting strangely. V says she knew what V would find and she asserts that she doesn't know the who, how, or why, but "they're changing us". Jefferson apparently went on in great detail about a trip she swears they never went on, but she doesn't know if the vacation is a fake memory or if she's the one that doesn't remember.
She saw a stranger in their apartment tinkering with a monitor, only for him to be missing when it was reported to SSI and they looked at the feeds. The next day, she got a phone call from a stranger (whom she refers to by "he") saying that she's walking on thin ice and Jefferson could have an accident. They later erased all data that the phone call had happened. Elizabeth claims she's terrified for herself and her husband's safety and doesn't want V to reveal the truth. V points out "they" could be telling her to say that but it doesn't really change how she feels since she just wants Jefferson to be safe. She tells V to tell Jefferson it was SSI spying for Holt. She asserts she wants SSI out of her roof if they're spying on their sleep. She will take responsibility for firing SSI, but wants Jefferson to be safe and out of that fight. She adds a meeting with Jefferson to his calendar at Reconciliation Park. But, ultimately it's V's choice (especially since she has no idea if she'll remember the conversation) and leaves. Johnny jumps and and talks and mentions that there were talks like this back in his day and worrying about the damage a puppet mayor could do.
V heads to Reconciliation Park to meet with Jefferson. Entering, V is called by an Unknown Number which blacks out V's optics. They claim to know who V is, *what* V is, and what V wants. It doesn't matter what V tells Jefferson, but "don't dare cross that line" and "you're playing with fire". Its a garbled male robo voice, so safe to say it's irrelevant to the owner.
Enter Stage Right, our missing lead; Mr. Blue Eyes. He is standing on a balcony watching the place where we meet Jefferson. In the Scanner, he is labeled "Mr. Blue Eyes", has no known affiliation, is wanted for "SC 370", and is wanted for "Classified". His eyes are electronically glowing blue you can even see from several yards away. You cannot injure him as grenades do nothing and you can't aim at him. Of small note, and I don't know if this ACTUALLY means anything, but his hair style asset is referred to as Morgan Blackhand in the files, but could mean nothing if this hair is actually used by other NPCs. MOST LIKELY THIS IS NOTHING UNLESS SOMEONE HAS FURTHER INFO.
(Plot twist: It meant something. But we'll get there.)
V sits with Jefferson and can reveal the truth; "SSI is on the take from an unknown group to control your lives". V can even point out the absurdity of Peralez being as successful of a politician as he is without any corp sponsors. "They want you to be *their* mayor. Molding you like clay". You can tell Jefferson how to proceed and additional details, but it doesn't matter. Later, Jefferson will send a text and delete your number and so will Elizabeth, who will call you out for telling Jeff. In the end credits voicemails, Jefferson has decended into paranoia about some vitamins Liz gave him which he didn't trust so he sent them to the lab, only to then not trust the lab results saying they're fine. Jefferson Peralez is confirmed the new mayor during Late Act 2 and the major difference is his state of mind at the end game; either hiring V to be on his security staff or descending into absolute paranoia over everything in his life.
Lastly, Johnny appears and cryptically talks about back in his day when they'd talk about rogue AIs. Personally... I kinda completely dismiss this? It comes out of nowhere, Johnny cites NOTHING for why he'd bring this up in relation to the case, and I can't fathom a motive. I’d also point out that this isn’t the only time Johnny is outright wrong. In fact, he’s wrong A LOT in the game. For example, he criticizes V for listening to the Netwatch Agent and that he’s bullshitting you. Except, the agent is 100% correct that VDB did spike V as a suicide virus and Johnny is actually wrong. He also claims he doesn’t know what happened with Thompson after Never Fade Away, but this is a lie because Thompson is flying the AV Johnny takes to Arasaka in 2023. The only connection I can find is "Who is controlling Blue-Eyes" which might make Johnny correct, if just not in the way 'Rogue AIs' initially implies.
So, what actually has happened?
The Peralez family has been molded for a very long time into being the perfect political couple. They got scholarships from the Night Foundation for two fancy law degrees, have successful political careers, and Jefferson is running for Mayor on an anti-corp platform, an insanity for Night City. And he's actually successful at it. During a maintenance service at night on the Peralez's apartment, Jefferson woke up and shot an SSI/Unknown agent making repairs. The Control Booth knocked Jefferson out and they pulled the agent out of the apartment into the secret room. SSI put the Peralezes back into bed and hastily cleaned up everything, but the damage was done and Peralez hired V who uncovered mostly everything.
Elizabeth seems to be initially very upset by the discovery, but wants V off the trail when we meet her next. However, she's not in on it as she's equally a victim to the brainwashing/gaslighting and that's for certain. I think she's a pawn who is either too scared or too programmed to break the rules of movement on this chessboard. It's worth noting that, while the unknown entity threatens Jefferson's life and V's well being, they do not make due on either of these threats. I call their bluff. They have put too much work into Jefferson to abandon or kill him.
But, where else have we heard of this gaslighting brainwash process before?
"FULL DISCLOSURE"
Ok, we're on the shorter end so I don't have to actually explain this quest in full. Sandra Dorsett is a netrunner and a very skilled on at that, actually collecting data from Night Corp. She was kidnapped by the savs we rescued her from at the beginning of the game shortly AFTER she stole this data, suggesting Night Corp was behind it. This data is on the shard she asks you to collect during the aforementioned quest. V has full ability to NOT read it, but let's look at it; "Operation Carpe Noctem" ("Seize The Night" in Latin)
Described in it is an experiment on Night Corp's own employees where they are quietly brainwashing them and getting them to do whatever they want. They specifically cite an empathetic and calm employee who they got to fight a co-worker and then jump from a 16th floor window. The shard ends on mentioning that they're ready to install CN-07 on "our actual target".
I think multiple quests discussing brainwashing and gaslighting is too coincidental to be utterly unrelated to each other. I think Night Corp's actual target mentioned here is Peralez.
So, what is Night Corp?
Night Corp is the most mysterious of the corps in Night City. It currently operates to better Night City via philanthropic ventures, fundraising, community support, and city infrastructure. Basically, while Militech and Arasaka and the others operate in the city, Night Corp basically RUNS the actual city. They're also noteworthy for the level of security they have that even the best netrunners can't get much from them and, since they keep to themselves and seemingly just do city infrastructure stuff, no one really super bothers them. It has been run by Miriam Night, wife of late-Richard Night, until recently and we currently don’t actually know who runs NightCorp.
Originally, they were the Night Foundation, but that requires explaining Richard Night... oh boy, Lore Drop. I'll make it quick as possible.
Richard Night is the founder of Night City. He started as a partner of a firm, but his ambitions grew beyond that to founding "Night International" to build his dream; a city that would be so grand it would make all other cities pale by comparison, Coronado City. A capitalist mecha of opportunity, Night City would be run by corporations and have next to no anti-business policies on the books. Arasaka, EMB, and Petrochem were his first backers and he came into claim of land on the central-California coast; Del Coronado Bay and Morro Bay would be the location of his dream city.
(BTW, irl, Morro Bay, California is a real place. Been there, have family there, go there regularly, kinda cool!).
Despite being a capitalist mecca city and run by corps, Richard Night also dreamed it to be "A sprawling metropolis, free of crime, of poverty, of debt. A place where people could live safely, peacefully, without having to worry about the dire situations that were growing around the world at the time".
However, due to the design plans, Night didn't employ local contractors and instead got expensive architects and builders from all over the world. Local builders didn't like that, they had mob connections, bloodshed started. And soon Richard Night was murdered by an unknown assassin, presumably a mob hitman. The city was renamed Night City in his honor and his dream utopia became to embody everything that was destroying the world. Mob took control and corps didn't give a fuck since it didn't hurt them any until they eventually had to take out the mob gangs, but not in any favor to Night’s dream either.
Miriam Night, Richard's Widow, founded the Night Foundation (later Night Corp) to stick to Richard's Ideal dreams of what he wanted the city to be. They invest heavily in ecological research, alt power sources, civic infrastructure, public works, and charities and scholarships for Night City youth. "They've even managed to stay out of the normal corporate power struggles which tend to plague every other corporation, both inside the city and out. Even the shadowy corporate rumors about them, like having underwater bases in the bay or access to orbital satellites, remain unsubstantiated despite extensive investigation."
So, where does this put us now? We have ONE last quest...
"THE PROPHET'S SONG"
Garry The Prophet is our local crazy man. He spouts off insanities to anyone who will listen near Misty's Esoterica in Kabuki. However, some of his ideas aren't quite as much off the mark as one might think. There ain't no technonecromancers from Alpha Centuri (or Spanish Inquisition) nor is Saburo Arasaka an immortal vampire, but he was correct that Saburo wasn't dead and in fact immortal; via Mikoshi and The Relic.
He send you on a quest to investigate a meeting; he says that his ripper mistuned some cyberware in his head and he can hear their communications. You show up to a meeting between corps and Maelstrom. They say some nonsense phrases and transfer a data shard. Reading it ("Destroy After Reading") it seems like nonsense. But does include the line "The cages of men melt as night descends". You can decode it via a Null Cipher; first letter of every line: “Project Oracle Command Execute Plans”.
We don’t know what Project Oracle is. In real life, secret project or operation names actually tend to be chosen at random and are unrelated to the actual project (you can google funny stories about names that ended up awkward to the actual project), so this could mean nothing. But, narratives tend to give meaning to everything. Oracles are mythical in references and could predict the future or see the unseen. Perhaps perfect prediction via behind the scenes manipulations? Not sure we’ll get answers on this one for now.
Going back to Garry, he's been kidnapped. His protoge is screaming he's been kidnapped "Black suits came by - blue eyes and all". Blue Eyes huh? Further, she claims that they threw him into an invisible AV... Huh, like the one we saw back during "Dream On"? "Night's comin... The eternal night"
So, it’s time to jump us to the final step in our Fool’s Journey: The Sun.
“THE SUN”
The Sun ending has V wake up in their new penthouse apartment (with their love interest if they have one). Checking the computer, we see emails from our dear Mr. Blue Eyes. He wants an answer from V as to the job to the Crystal Palace he has planned and that they’re on a tight schedule for “obvious reasons”. We meet with him at the Afterlife and he talks about the job; Casino security is going into maintenance and V mentions giving him the casino client list. V also asks him to “hold up your end of the bargain”. They never discuss eddies or payment. It’s all in such vague terms. “Your end” or “Obvious reasons”. Smaller point but an email from Vik on the space shuttle also tells us that he’s asked around about Blue Eyes and has nothing; either he works with people WAY above Vik’s paygrade or he’s shady as hell… or both.
I think Blue Eyes knows V is dying (the obvious reasons) and I think the unspecified payment is V’s survival. V always says that they want to come back to their love interest so it’s not a mindless suicide run and I don’t think V would risk it all for nothing but eddies; especially not after Reaper (both versions) paint suicide runs as a horrible terrible thing. To then glorify it in another ending… no, the game is smarter than that.
Your love interest doesn’t seem to be too upset about the situation either. Panam and Judy leave V in The Sun due to their lives taking different directions, but it seems mostly amicable and understanding. They even express desire to see V again because they know V needs to do this job. Kerry, who stays with V in The Sun and expresses worry and also a desire to settle down with V, also seems mostly understanding that V needs to go on this quest. I don’t think they’d be so calm and loving and understanding if this were a suicide run. They know more than the player does.
Further, I think Blue Eyes isn’t after the casino aspect of the Crystal Palace at all. While that’s the major commercial aspect of the station as marketed to the citizen world, the station also has embassies from every nation on earth, facilities from all the major corporations, and is pretty much THE place where all the dark corporate espionage goes down. There’s so much more to this location than ‘casino resort’. *EVERY* corp has space stations and hideaways in space because the Crystal Palace offers it’s own legalities and opportunities that are not allowed within Earth’s terms and conditions. If they want to do some research that would be frowned upon elsewhere and get up to some Top Secret shit, it’ll be in outer space. Night City is controlled by corps and has lax laws, but outer space’s are even more so.
I think the cure V wants is not only on the station, I think it’s what Blue Eyes himself is after, but I’ll get there when it’s time to theory craft about the future.
I think it’s worth noting; Blue Eyes IS IN THE TRAILER FOR THE GAME. Yeah, anyone remember that shot on a shuttle with a guy being burned out from the inside? Yeah, he’s there. In the foreground. *Smirking*. The shuttle also seems like they’re in space.
These events leading to the Crystal Palace and the conspiracy with Blue Eyes are blatant DLC Hooks for the future and suggest a post-game DLC. This isn’t the first CDPR has done so either; Blood and Wine takes place after the story of Witcher 3 and is explicitly incompatible with the worst endings of that game. I think, conceivably, other endings where V is still alive could be roped into this adventure; Blue Eyes merely needs to hire them with the same offer of survival. While The Star takes V to Arizona and away from Night City, I think that choice of location is appropriate as, to even get to space for The Crystal Palace, citizens go from LAX to Arizona for a space port to launch them off Earth’s surface. They could have chosen anywhere else to send Panam and V, but they choose Arizona, huh. I do think Reaper, Temperance, and Devil will be locked out of this future, however, as all make any point of Blue Eyes hiring V irrelevant; there’s no V left to hire/save. MAYBE a rejected Devil ending, but I wouldn’t blame them for not continuing that conclusion either as Devil is one of the bad endings.
So, it’s finally time to really compile a lot of this information into where I think this is going in the next comment below

So what you are saying, basically, is you got rich because Bendolzians will have sex with each other more easily than humans will sex with each other?
Yes.
But what does THAT have to do with accusations of defrauding an entire species for billions?
I didn’t do that. Ever.
But everyone accused you off it?
I made my money legally. Those charges were dropped.
So why did you have 384 separate arrest warrants out on you at one time?
Jealousy.
Jealousy? You were accused of massive intergalactic fraud and theft by 83 separate nations, out of jealousy?
Yes Mr Robert.
That’s a big statement.
I can back it up. With evidence.
Alright.
Not on the phone. It’s too dangerous. Come to my house.
The Bendolzian consulate?
My house. I know you are nearby. Come quick. Before someone tries to intercept you. They’re watching me closely. Get down to the marina. Look for a Bendolzian boat.
How will I spot it?
You’ll spot it. Hurry. They will be moving in on you from the moment this call ends.
Click
Belize, June 4th 2114
The line went dead. Robert Fadden blinked. The fact he managed to get a phone interview with the most elusive man on Earth was enough to keep his editor happy.
He had heard the rumours, everyone had; Sanjay Gupta was an Indian who had made his fortune in the waste disposal business. Somehow a decade or so ago he then made a bigger fortune defrauding the Bendolzians. The details were sealed and secret.
But everyone wanted this man. He had gone on the run. He was utterly paranoid they said. He lived on a private island where he partook in drug fulled orgies.
He was a real life Bond villain.
Still, mused Fadden, there WERE parts of his story that had his hard-nosed journalistic soul wondering. The Bendolzians had responded to the arrest warrants out on him by designating his island home their consulate and was considered Bendolzian territory. Rumour said he was forced them to do it- but how do you influence an entire alien species to do your bidding?
And the charges were ALL mysteriously dropped a couple of years ago. No clear explanation was ever given.
Every journalist on Earth wanted to work out what was going on with this story. And he had gotten to talk to the man. The first to have ever done that.
Fadden sat at the desk of his hotel room, sweat clinging to his body. ‘They will be moving in on you’? Well the paranoia part was correct.
Inwardly, Fadden could hear his mother, her strict Presbyterian Scottish accent, Don’t be having anything to do with dangerous men Bobby his internal version of her intones, Ya neva know what trouble it can land ya in.
But another part of him hears the words of his editor, Get the story Rob, and I promise you a front page. For about ten seconds Robert Fadden is torn between prudence and daring, between caution and risk.
He opts for risk. He moves without explanation or pause. He grabs his phone and throws it into his bag, followed by his digital recorder, a cheap digital camera, and the keys to the rental car parked in the garage below the hotel. He puts on his jacket (despite the heat) and heads out.
He foregoes waiting for the old lift, but takes the fire stairwell: moving fast, leaping the last three steps to each landing, downwards, forwards, driven as much by the excitement of the story than the fears of some paranoid billionaire.
In a few moments he enters the relative coolness of the underground car park; half full, he spots the small green 2093 Zephyr sat by itself. It was boxy, had seen much better days and was clearly the kind of hire car people on a budget would take. Which is why it was his.
He leaps in, inserts the key, watches as its electric engine starts instantly and silently, and quickly makes his way up and out onto the street besides the Hotel Anacebo.
The heat is stifling; even with the cars aircon he can feel it. A tropical heat, wet and stuffy, where the humidity was enhanced by the rainforest that surrounded the town and threatened, always, to overwhelm it.
The town was small. All roads led either out to the forest or down to the marina. He took the turns to the latter. He didn’t drive especially quickly but he did glance, nervously, at his rear view mirror a few times.
30 years had passed since humans had encountered Bendolzians; a gentle, faintly insectoid, interstellar species, whose exploration ship had emerged on the edge of the solar system and who had come towards Earth broadcasting messages of peace in a dozen languages.
Three decades of amazement and wonder. It had changed the world. The Bendolzians were far more advanced than we were in the realm of science. Human life expectancy had increased on average 25 years since they began sharing their technologies with us.
People spoke of a new golden age.
In return the humans had a culture and a civilisation that fascinated the aliens. Human music, human languages, human art. The Bendolzians, it was said, had given the human race the technology to produce stable clones in return for a live performance of a concerto by Bach. At least that is what everyone said. The aliens didn’t use currency. They gave us technology, we gave them culture.
But as Fadden drove he realised that while a generation had passed since then and Bendolzian technology had impacted upon all aspects of human life... in some places it was more apparent than others. Here? Miles from anywhere, a small, poor town, in a small, poor province of a small, poor country? You couldn’t tell at all.
The cars were ramshackle, the streets badly paved, the shops were basic. Life here carried on as if it was the 2030’s not the 2110’s. Poverty. Unemployment. Corruption.
Mankind maybe wasn’t alone anymore but it sure hadn’t changed much.
The marina’s car park is crowded but he finds a spot, parks the car, slugs his bag over his shoulder and strides towards the water. Inwardly he grins.
He was on his way to meet a real life Bond villain.
He scans the scene before him. As usual the place is filled with rusty fishing boats that have seen better days and a few small cargo craft. Further down is where the private boats are- he can see the masts of about two dozen yachts. Most will be small, he knows from experience; folks who live on the sea, often retirees. Living the dream and sailing the world.
As he walks he finds himself looking behind him and wondering if anyone was following him... Stop it. The guys paranoid
He strides onwards purposefully and notices a bunch of locals staring with real interest out at the edge of the marina. And then he sees what they are staring at.
It’s a boat. It’s a boat because it moves on water. But no part of it is touching the water. It hovers about six feet above the waves, gliding through the air. Its not... flying... as it’s wake causes the water to stir as if it was gliding in on some kind of invisible fin.
Long, sleek, elegant, very purple, and slightly ominous.
Clearly the Bendolzian boat then.
Robert makes his way towards the pier the boat seemed to be aiming at. The glare of the water makes him squint for a moment before he decides to put on his sunglasses. He stands there, watching the boat cut its engine and drift towards him. A tall Scot, in casual trousers, blond crew cut, and sunglasses.
How very fuckin James Bond of ya, ya wee Weegie Shite! goes his inner monologue.
Fadden is a tad disappointed that stepping onto the edge of the boat isn’t an actual Bendolzian but a human. By the looks of things, a local, dressed in a crisp white uniform.
“Mr Fadden?”
“Yes. Is this for me?”
“Yes Mr Fadden. Please come on board. We have instructions to take you at once to the Consulate...”
The Consulate of the Most Serene Chorus of the Beldolzia Collective had once been on the market as a millionaires retreat, a few decades ago. A half moon shaped island, two miles off the coast of Belize and facing the Caribbean.
There was a mansion, tennis courts, private grounds, more. All available for anyone who wished for privacy and avoidance of US Tax laws.
But then Sanjay Gupta has bought it and it had become an alien consulate and was one of the more discussed places on Earth.
Still, as the craft sliced through the air above the sea Robert couldn’t help have the impression he wasn’t approaching the some evil lair, rather somewhere that looked like a small, tacky, tourist resort. It was conservative, slightly garish and very boring.
No grand displays of alien technology, no alien flags, no aliens.
As the ship carefully and expertly navigated to a landing pad next to a pier the only indication he was technically on alien soil was a small sign which informed visitors that this island was under the laws and jurisdiction of the Bendolzians.
He was met by a polite staff and escorted to see the elusive billionaire. As he strides, Fadden looked about him.
Can’t imagine anyone having an orgy in a place like this. Maybe a game of bingo...
Twenty five minutes later, small talk over with, he has his recorder set up and mic placed to pick up his target.
He had to admit- Sanjay Gupta was not what he was expecting. Bespectacled, hair thinning, his face filed with a smile that was a little too over eager, a growing gut. If anything Fadden would have said he seemed more needy Indian uncle than evil billionaire.
The Scottish reporter clears his throat, turns on the recorder and begins.
“So, Mr Gupta...”
“Sanjay please. I prefer informality in my interviews,” comes the reply. Gupta’s English was perfect; the exact intonations of formal Received Pronunciation. Fadden could tell he had spent a lot to hide his origins form Uttar Pradesh.
“Fine. Sanjay. So, for the record, why did so many governments accuse you of fraud and theft?”
The billionaire smiles his over eager smile and sits back on his luxurious couch.
“Do you know the precise accusations or only the board terms?”
He’s avoiding...
“Only the broad terms, obviously.”
“Why is this? You are a journalist after all? Surely YOU would know more?”
Fadden can sense some kind of trap, so makes sure to answer precisely.
“The United World Global Council declared that since the crimes were committed against Beldolzians it would be better if the exact details remains a secret, to prevent any inter-species misunderstandings they said.”
Gupta seems pleased with this answer, and nodding says, “Indeed. The seven nations in the UWGC decreed it and the other 79 in the general assembly who had made allegations against me agreed to follow their decision. So the world was only ever given a broad over view of what I supposedly did.”
“Massive fraud of the Beldolzians,” says Robert, hoping to get more out of him, “and theft and deception. Hundreds of counts. Which makes me restate my question: Why?”
“Because they were jealous. I merely saw a gap in the market first and they could not see a way of closing this gap,” comes the reply.
“So the accusations were untrue?”
“Indeed Mr Robert, but it is worse that that? They were a smokescreen. The governments of humanity only alleged those things so they could shake me down for money. They wanted a cut of my profits. Extortion. So I made a deal with them and suddenly the charges were dropped.”
“Really?”
Fadden tried to keep the skepticism out of his voice but fails. Gupta did not seem to notice.
“Really Mr Robert. There WAS a fraud committed but not enacted by myself. It was done by the leaders of the world. I’m the victim here.”
“That’s a very serious accusation...”
“Would you like me to show you the emails? The private correspondence I have from the worlds leaders? The President of the EU? Prime Minister of the Greater Indian Republic? I even have a mail from the Patriarch of the Holy Russian Theocracy offering to lift the excommunication they had placed upon me, in exchange for hard currency. Extortion.”
“Because you are making...”
“Because I’ve made a fortune and made the Bendolzians very happy. Our alien friends pay me for simply providing them a service,” says the Indian. The Scot was having none of this, his hard nose journalist edge sought to sting his subject into revealing more.
“By selling them fake art? That seemed to be the gist of the accusations.”
Gupta smiles, all teeth and thin lips, but his eyes are cold.
“I never sold fakes. I sold copies.”
“You don’t pay a fortune for a copy,” spits back Fadden.
“The Bendolzians do.”
“Why?”
Gupta thinks and leans forward and say quietly, ‘I need to talk about that sex statement I made on the phone yes?”
“It was a hell of a statement to make. Provocative.”
“Deliberately so, Mr Robert. But not incorrect.”
“Explain it to me. Why do alien sexual practices mean you made fortune selling them copies of art?”
The billionaire nods and leans back again, his eyes searching Fadden’s face for a moment.
“Alright Mr Robert. I need to ask you a hypothetical question to begin. Indulge me for a moment.”
“Go ahead,” comes the crisp Glaswegian accent.
“Let us assume you are gay. Or that sexuality and gender is not something you cared about. I don’t know if you do, I don’t care, I just need you to suspend those concepts for me before I ask you this question,” says Gupta.
“Alright. Consider them suspended. What’s the question?”
“Would you be inclined to sleep with me. Right now.”
Robert blinks. Part of him has to admit, he did NOT expect such a question. Rapidly, he regains his composure.
“Er... no.”
“Alright. Why?”
“I don’t find you attractive. As men go. If I was to find a man attractive, I don’t think you would be it.”
“So,” says Gupta, talking as casually as he would an old friend, “there is an aesthetic quality you would desire in a partner. My ‘looks’ are not attractive enough to entice you?”
“Indeed. Not attractive enough.”
The Indian smiles, this time with an amused twinkle in his eye.
“But consider- I am the richest man on Earth. Worth billions. Being my sexual partner has its advantages then.”
“Are you offering me cash to sleep with you? Hypothetically speaking of course,” says Robert, also amused at the conversation.
“Let’s assume I’m not, so let me be more precise- isn’t there a certain allure to the idea of having said ‘I slept with the richest man on Earth?’ Would this change your mind?”
“Maybe. I’m unsure.”
“Let us assume then if you slept with me, you would receive financial benefits.”
“How much?”
“Assume a lot.”
“No offence, it would have to be,” he says automatically, but the journalist inwardly worries if his reply went too far. Luckily it did not seem to have.
“None taken. But assume it would be a life changing amount. Does this change your answer?”
“Maybe. Probably. I don’t know. Probably.”
“Aha. So the result of my proposition depends upon the CONTEXT it occurs in. By myself? You have no desire to have sex with me. With my wealth? Maybe. With material reward? Probably. I am correct in this?”
Robert couldn’t help but worry where this was going.
“Mr Gupta, I have to say...”
“Mr Robert- firstly? It’s Sanjay. Secondly, let me assure you, I have NO desire to sleep with you. At all. You are are someone I do not find attractive. And you do not have an alluring multi-billion dollar fortune to help compensate for this.”
Fadden grins, and says, “So why the questions?”
“Consider the human criteria for sleeping with people. Trust me Mr Robert, I am not one of the winners in the lottery of life in this regards. But I am aware that all people have certain traits, certain criteria we all place before us when it comes to choosing a sexual partner.”
The billionaire folds one leg under his body and gets into his stride.
“For some it is good looks we value most. For others it is wealth. Others would find a man who is gentle to be what they seek for most. Still others would place the ability to make them laugh. Usually it is not just one thing, but a combination of things, of desires, that all mix together and are manifest in something called the hierarchy of desire.”
The Scotsman blinks and says quietly, “You referring to Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs?”
The Indians face lights up, the way a persons face changes when they realise someone understands what they are talking about.
“Partly. Maslow’s theories do not have any scientific proof behind them yes? But they remain popular over 150 years after they come out because we all recognise something of ourselves in them?”
“That’s a fair assessment,” says Robert, trying to remember courses in psychology and sociology he had studied in university decades ago.
“So, I do not use HIS example as the actual model of this heirachy, as humans are more complex and there is probably much more interplay beteeen the actual levels...”
“I’d always thought so.”
“Good. We agree. But I use the term ‘hierarchy of desire’ as shorthand to describe the complicated, and uniquely individualistic ways we humans make the choice to decide if we are going to have sex with someone. Or not. There are a myriad of factors yes?”
Robert remained silent. He’d have to do some reading after this interview to see if Gupta’s words were valid or just cherry picking aspects of things, but for now he was just letting his target speak. Gupta simply carries on.
“Deep seated desires, physical fetishes, the circumstances you find yourself in, your location, all these are a factor. But, when the decision is made, we ALL follow a simple concept- where does the person who wishes to sleep with me fit within my heirachy of desire?”
A shrug, “Above the criteria for sex? We will have sex most probably. Below it? And we most probably won’t.”
Fadden sat and watched this little Indian explain the theory with glee. He was also aware he had allowed Gupta steer the interview away from him. It was time to try and bring it back.
“Alright Sanjay, assume I agree with that. What has all of this to do with accusations of defrauding an entire alien species?”
Sanjay Gupta sighs and shakes his head. He stands and walks away from the seating area towards the far wall of his grand study. Along one side, open windows with billowing curtains, reveal a stunning vista of the Caribbean but he ignores it.
“Follow me please,” he says as he does this. Robert Fadden, startled, grabs his microphone and follows the billionaire.
Gupta walks towards a painting at the far, far end of the massive room, leans upon a nearby desk and indicates to it.
“Mr Robert? Please, look at this,” he says politely.
The Scotsman joins the billionaire and gazed at the painting. It was sumptuous. A renaissance work he was sure. A woman holding a rather chubby baby, talking to another woman, with a man stood behind her. Robert is drawn to the way the sumptuous colours and fine detail.
He gazed at it a few seconds and says “Beautiful. Is it expensive?”
Gupta grins and says,”It is ‘A Sacra Conversazione: The Madonna and Child with Saints Luke and Catherine of Alexandria’ by the Renaissance master, Titian. Painted around 550 years ago. It was last sold in 2011 for just shy of 17 million dollars. Its current value is 378 million dollars. US.”
Unsure of how to respond to the billionaire showing off his wealth Robert simply says, “It’s amazing.”
Gupta raises his eyebrows.
“I bought this for 250,000 dollars. Cash.”
“Why so cheap?”
“Its not the original,” comes the cool reply.
“It isn’t?”
“I paid a man in Hong King, a most skilled fabricator, that much cash to create a copy of it. A copy so good that only a true expert armed with a bevvy of technology would be able to detect it is NOT the real thing. It is by all accounts an amazing replica. Right down to the exact number of brushstrokes.”
Robert gazed at it. It LOOKED authentic. He has no idea why he is looking at it, but part of him senses the billionaire is close to confessing his fraud, So remains silent. People hate silence. They fill it.
Two seconds later Gupta fills the silence.
“Next question Mr Robert; if this is virtually indistinguishable from the original, except to the eye of an utter expert who has spent a lifetime studying the paintings of Titian, why is original verison worth 1384 times more than this?”
“Its a fake.”
“No, it would ONLY become a fake if I ever tried to say it was the original. I do not. It is a replica. A copy. I repeat the question; why is it worth much less than the original?”
“Because it’s NOT the original.”
“Agreed. But why do we insist an original is worth more than a copy?”
This is it Robert- this is him confessing... careful man... just entice him to confess...
“I dunno”, comes the Scottish brogue accent, “it’s complicated. Why do we value art?”
“A complex question, yes. But consider it this way- ultimately all you are saying is that the difference between this painting and the one it copies is the CONTEXT of both paintings yes?”
Robert Fadden frowns and thinks for a moment before speaking.
“Are you saying it’s like the way we pick sexual partners?”
“Not in so many words but at its heart, yes. There is an underlying pattern of thought. The thoughts themselves differ Mr Robert, but the pattern of thought, the idea of a hierarchy of desire remains.”
“I suppose I see your point Mr Gupta... Sanjay. But it’s rather thin don’t you think?”
Slowly the billionaire walks away from the painting to the open windows and just beyond it, a wide balcony that runs along the side of the massive room. There is no wind today, but despite the sun, the balcony is in shade. Robert finds it so wonderfully refreshing... and it’s a heck of a view.
As he walks, Gupta chats along with the journalist casually.
“You know what I was reading the other day? The original reviews of an old 20th century movie called ‘Psycho’. It is an amazing film. It is about a woman who steals money of her employer and then flees to join up with her lover in another state. As she drives, she is troubled by a violent storm and so decides to stop on her journey at somewhere called the Bates Motel, where she meets the owner, one Norman Bates...”
“Yes Sanjay, I am aware of ‘Psycho’. She gets murdered in the shower.”
“Oh good. Now what’s interesting is that the critics, without exception, slated the film. They called it unimaginative and plodding and even said it was infested with tediousness. Meanwhile the public hated it. They did not go see it. It was a commercial failure.”
The reporter frowns, “No. Wait. That’s not right. Hitchcock’s Psycho is a classic.”
The Indian smiles broadly at this reply.
“Ah. I refer to the remake made by Gus Van Sant 38 years later. An almost shot for shot remake of the original. A perfect copy. Utterly overlooked. It’s existence is almost forgotten about.”
There was a remake?
“Tell me- what is it about copies we hate so much? In the heriarchy of desire why do we hate ‘fakes’- men who try too hard, or movies that make copies of classics or modern versions of ancient paintings?”
Fadden gazed at the waves for a moment and says, “Authenticity. We value authenticity.”
“Ah, very good Mr Robert. We value authenticity. The key word there is ‘value’. When we talk about art we say authenticity. When we talk about sexual partners we can say sincerity. Or attractiveness. Whatever. It is NOT about HOW we place things in the heirarchy of desire, it is that we have these values at all that is crucial.”
“Alright Sanjay. Let’s assume I go along with this. What does all this have to do...”
“I’m getting to that Mr Robert. All I am saying ultimately is that when you study humans you quickly realise that this method of thinking in ingrained so deeply into us that it manifests itself in a million ways. So, shall I have sex with this person or that person? Shall I buy this suit or this coat? Shall I purchase this limited edition car? Shall I visit this country or that country? How much is this painting worth? Do you see?”
Robert stares out at the sea for a few seconds.
“Yes. I see. I think.”
“Or put it this way. Take the Mona Lisa. The most expensive painting in the world. It said to be priceless but I happen to know that if you offered the French government 7 billion Euros? They would let you purchase it. Of course it must remain in the Louvre for all time. But for seven billion you get a little plaque next to it saying it’s yours.”
Fadden can’t help but grin at Gupta.
“You asked didn’t you?”
“I was curious,” he laughs, “but now consider this. The Mona Lisa is worth 7 billion. A high grade copy of it printed on canvus with the best processes money can buy? Ten thousand euros. A low grade copy? Maybe 400. And a poster? Ten euro. See? We value originals, authenticated and unique above all others. And the CONTEXT of the other copies will dictate where we place them on the hierarchy of desire.”
“Right but...”
“But what about our alien friends?”
“Indeed,” says Fadden.
“Bendolzian’s are an odd bunch to look at. You must have seen pictures. Trust me they are much more shocking to meet for real. Eight feet high. Six legs around a long central core containing their mouth for eating and oriface for excretion. They have the torso above the core, which means arms, mouths, eyes and ears and crucially brains are separate from functions for eating and movement...”
“Yes I am aware of how... different they look. When did you first have dealings with them?”
The billionaire began walking back to his fake painting by the desk, the reporter carefully making sure his microphone picks up every word. Gupta seems to be happy to talk about his dealings with the aliens.
“I first visited the Bendolzian home world 9 years ago. Part of a mostly failed trade delegation. I was hoping to see if they needed any large scale waste disposal.”
“Go on?”
“My first day there? I met a human XenoBiologist. One of the first who went there. He told me something fascinating. The Bendolzians love sex. For the sake of sex.”
Robert nodded. Back to the sex talk.
“They DO?” He tried to sound mock shocked.
“Yes. Or so he thought. Bendolzians are capable of feeling intense pleasure during sex and seem to copulate often. Yet sex is a common social interaction for them. They use sex in greeting, departing, in establishing rapport. They have no sense of shame about it. And aside from a prohibition upon close familial members, to prevent genetic deformities, no hangs ups. They copulate. Frequently. Its why their population is so staggeringly large. There are 11 billion humans and 580 billion Bendolzian”
“So they like sex, good for them...”
“No Mr Robert. That’s not the point. You make the same mistake the XenoBiologists make. You see events but don’t think about what they mean...”
Gupta is back leaning against his desk. It’s covered in papers, neatly arranged, held down with some kind of gold coloured paperweight; perfectly aligned pens; a small, but powerful computer to one side. Fadden however is focused utterly upon the Indian.
“What this shows Mr Robert, is the Bendolzians do NOT have a heirarchy of desire.”
Gupta smiles, “And I realised at that exact moment that they and we THINK differently. This is not exactly a original thing to realise. It obvious really. My gift was I saw exactly how we differed in thought- what process of human thought they did not have. It’s why they don’t use currency. Why their society is far more fluid socially. They simply appreciate the pleasure of sex or the beauty in an object because it is pleasurable or beautiful.”
The Scotsman raises an eyebrow and says quietly, “So you mean...”
“I mean that to a Bendolzian, the ten euro poster of the Mona Lisa is as valuable as the high grade copy, or even the original. They do not fixate upon the need for authenticity. A thing is a thing to them. If it is a beautiful painting? They appreciate the painting, even if it is merely a cheap copy to us.”
Fadden watched as the India picked up the golden paperweight on his desk in an absent-minded manner. He then realised it wasn’t a golden paperweight at all, but an actual small ingot of gold, a few inches long, solid and set. Having it on the desk seemed like the kind of onsetentious display a billionaire liked to make. But he put it out of his mind. He had his exclusive.
“So,” says the reporter, zeroing in on his story, “you realised this and then exploited this?”
“I capitalised upon it. Bendolzians adore human culture yes? So I made a deal with them. I gained the exclusive rights to sell them human art. They love human art. Its alien but fascinating to them. I would sell copies of human paintings to them. To all of them. Any Beldozian now could own a small copy of any human painting. A simple high resolution copy. And they would pay me. Not much. But there are hundreds of billions of them. Micro transactions really do add up.”
“Wait- that IS fraud. That’s the work of artists. You are using THEIR work to gain profit...”
That smug grin returns.
“I never used any art created by a living painter. In fact I don’t use any work less than 100 years old. That left me all the art work from antiquity to the start of the twentieth century. Billions of images. All in the public domain. A never ending supply really.”
“What about the owners of these paintings? Or the museums? They hold the rights to these images, in terms of profit making...”
The India smiles and begins walking back to the comfy chairs, the reporter following him as he spoke.
“Two things Mr Robert- firstly, ALL human laws regarding licensing rights were written specifically to do with the gaining of currency and Bendoldzians do not use currency so they are technically inapplicable.”
Sanjay Gupta sits down, his face wearing a Cheshire Cat grin, “Secondly- museums? Really? Did you ever read about how in the early 21st century there was a rash of ‘copyright farmers’? Legal firms who would purchase the rights to old songs and then go after anyone who used those songs in any media, demanding payment? Men who never had a damn thing to do with the writing, performing and recording of the song, but who bought the rights and made a fortune from them? Tell me, how are museums functionally different from those odious creatures?”
“That’s a debate for the courts. I don’t think they would agree,” says the reporter sitting down opposite his target.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But the cases never came to court. The great and the good spluttered at what I was doing in utter indignation and rage, unleashed a bevvy of criminal charges upon me, sought to demand I cut them into my deal. A shake down. They were outraged that I, solely, was profiting from the collective output of thousands of years of human art.”
“Yes, agreed. Its not fair really...”
The billionaire smiles as he stares into his reflection in the small gold ingot he casually toyed with in his hands.
“Perhaps. But then? They dropped ALL the charges. Dropped everything. Retracted every single allegation. Can you guess why?”
“You cut them in?”
“Actually? I made a deal but not the one they wanted. I never gave them a penny. Which begs the question- why did they drop the allegations?”
“It was the Bendolzians? They were getting art from you. They moved to protect you?”
“Oh no Mr Robert. The answer is much more mundane and obvious. Think back along what I have told you during the interview. What is the one glaring inconsistency in my story. What part, when you think about it, doesn’t make sense? A single idea that doesn’t sit right?”
Robert Fadden blinks and sits back. His mind ranges over the rambling discussion. None of it really made too much sense he supposed. A billionaire justifying his fraudulent method of getting rich. Still, it DID seem to have a consistency to it. Fadden mused.
About sex, and art, and how humans think and how the aliens think, and about copies of art, and museums and lawsuits and fraud and...
He blinks.
“Wait. You said the Bendolzians PAID you. But Bendolzians don’t use currency. They never ‘pay’ anyone. They trade. Technology for art.”
“Ah, you are very intelligent Mr.Robert. Yes they trade. A thing for a thing.”
“They gave you technology?”
“No. I have never displayed any advanced technological item have I? No, they did not give me any technology for this art.”
“So what did they give you?”
The Indian smiles and tosses across the small gold ingot casually at him, underarm. Fadden catches it, loses it, and hurriedly grabs it as it falls. He stares at the gold bar for a few seconds.
“Gold?”
“The heriarchy of desire Mr Robert. Question- why do we value gold?”
“It’s precious.”
“No, WHY? Why is it considered precious?”
“It’s rare.”
“Yes. All gold on Earth arrived here at a very specific time period in the planets history. The late heavy bombardment; the asteroids came they hit the thick crust and gold was deposited. But it isn’t much. Gold is a rare and precious commodity on Earth. This rarity makes it desirable. It moves up the heirarchy of desire.”
“But the Bendolzians...”
“The Bendolzians are a very advanced civilisation. They harvest plasma from their sun you know? This process provides fuel for their ships. There is, however, an annoying side effect in this process.”
“Annoying side effect?”
“What business did I begin in again Mr Robert?”
Robert Fadden clings to the small gold ingot, but his eyes widen and in a horse Scottish whisper says, “Waste disposal...”
“Well done Mr Fadden. Bendolzians harvest plasma from their sun and remove the many impurities they find there, including huge quantities of a useless, soft yellow metal, that they have no need for. Gold. I offered to dispose of it for them. In my eagerness however, I unfortunately mentioned it had a value to us humans. Otherwise they may have just given it to me for free. But I was able to fashion an arrangement. I give them art, they give me lots of this waste metal,” he smiles.
“But... that... I mean...”
“Question Mr Robert- can you imagine what would happen to human civilisation if it was revealed that the most precious metal, the actual bedrock of the global economy, was actually as common as sea water?”
“It would... the price would...”
“It would lose its place in the heriarchy of desire Mr Robert. It would no longer be a Mona Lisa, but a low quality postcard of it. The value would plummet.”
“It would... it could... cause a global economic meltdown.”
“Which is what the leaders of the world realised. So a deal was struck. They leave me alone and I keep this a secret. I was allowed enough gold to enter the market to make me richer than anyone else who has ever been and then? I sit on the rest. Occasionally I make secret transfers to the few governments who know. I have actually helped prevent a economic crisis or two. I get good rates.”
“But that’s...”
“Merely a function of the hierarchy of desire Mr Robert. Human beings are no longer alone in the universe. But we haven’t actually changed at all have we? We are still human.”
He laughs, joyful and happy. He catches Robert’s shocked face and his grin seems to grow.
“Of course, I need to keep this fact a secret, but I’m fine with that. Mostly.”
The reporter feels a cold clammy sweat trickle down his back. He gazed at the gold bar in his hand, his mind awash with a thousand thoughts and then one thought stops his thinking dead. One single thought makes him slowly look up, look at his microphone and the recording device, and then look Sanjay Gupta dead in the eye.
“Wait. You have to keep this secret. From everyone. Why are you confessing to me?”
“Oh Mr Robert. I’m not confessing... I am BRAGGING. The only issue with having pulled this off, this brilliant manipulation of TWO species is, alas, I can’t tell anyone about it. It can be somewhat vexing.”
He leans forwards eagerly, a cold glint in his eyes.
“And so? Every so often, when the desire to gloat gets too much much for me? I invite a journalist who is sniffing around, and there are ALWAYS journalists sniffing around, to come meet me. And then I get to brag about this brilliant thing I have done. It is most refreshing and enjoyable to do so. You will be the fourth person I have told this too.”
“What happened to the other three?”
A shrug.
“They are all dead. Oh, it wasn’t me who did it. All three left this Island as alive as when they arrived. But what can I say? All three knew a secret. And maybe they would have published the story. Or maybe they would have kept it to themselves. Who knows? But I ask you? What government can take that chance eh?”
“They were killed?”
“Maybe. They are all certainly dead. Which is odd don’t you think?”
Robert Madden finds himself standing, moving towards the open windows, staring out onto the perfect Caribbean Sea. It’s blue waves gently undulate but the beauty of it is lost upon him. His mind races, considering possibilities and permutations.
Behind him two security men enter the room quietly, and the Indian muses, “Of course we have to ask WHY human governments would think it better to dispose of the reporters like this. Where exactly DO trashy tabloid journalists fit on the hierarchy?”
Fadden feels very cold.
A Bond villain after all...
“You can keep that, by the way,” says Gupta, and Robert is aware he is still holding the gold bar; he gazed at it as his host says, “it’s not like I would miss it.”
Robert closes his eyes. He considers all he knows about the world, all he has learned about life and comes to one sudden, cold, reality.
“I’m fucked,” he says openly, his Glaswegian accent becoming thicker as he gets upset.
“Alas yes Mr Andrew. It would appear so. Now, these gentlemen will escort you to the boat.”
Robert turns and sees his recording device on the table. Next to it sits Sanjay Gupta, smiling away and next to him stand two menacing gentlemen in well made suits.
Twenty minutes later he gathers his wits. As he sits on the purple boat he realises he has one chance, just one chance... if he can upload the interview onto the web, he could maybe use it as leverage. His mind races through possible negotiations with mysterious government figures, his silence can be bought.
But as he fumbles with his phone he spots something and a few minutes later a crew member explains “Mr Gupta apologises, but Bendolozian craft generate a field that prevents signal getting out. If you could wait until you reach the shore...”
Robert Fadden’s mind races. He’ll upload the moment he gets to the marina, then go back to his hotel, if he has time, encrypt the recording, hide all trace, use its existence as a way to...
But as the boat comes into view of its destination he sees them. A small handful of local police officers. Amidst them westerners. Tall ones. Casually dressed. Wearing sunglasses. Their faces all staring at the purple boat that glides into the marina...
He hears his mother’s voice echo in his mind Don’t be having anything to do with dangerous men Bobby; Ya neva know what trouble it can land ya in.

The anime is just getting to the amazing info dump chapters of 956-957 so I figured it’s a good time to post what I make of the information learned from these chapters as well as how they may set the stage for our final war. Also, there is an additional fringe, bold theory of mine at the end :)
Foreshadowing of the Reverie events
First, I would like to begin with what I believe was some clever foreshadowing by Oda that the Reverie would have an incident that involved Alabasta, the military, the Rev Army, (and possibly) the Red Hair Pirates.
Post-Zou we get another classic worldbuilding chapter (823) that has many of the world’s characters getting ready to depart for the Reverie. Among them is the kingdom of Alabasta which features a shit ton of death flags for Cobra as well as this bit of dialogue from Igaram.
Take note of the three oddly specific things he’s worried about: A meteorite falling on Vivi, a monstrous bird carrying her away, and a sniper with their sights on her.
Conveniently enough, these powers all made a debut in the story shortly before in Dressrosa:

• Fujitora making a meteorite fall from the sky
• Karasu producing giant birds that carry Sabo away
• Usopp awakening his Observation haki to snipe Sugar from extremely far away

Why list these three specific things to worry about? I think Oda was using it as foreshadowing of the events that were to take place at The Reverie.
As we know from the break between Act I and Act II, Blackbeard relays the newspaper report that The Revolutionaries and the Admirals clashed at The Reverie. As you see in the background, you can see two of the three aforementioned people about to clash (Fujitora and Karasu).
In between Act II and Act III, we are relayed that there is a certain incident involving Alabasta, to which Shirahoshi is immediately worried about Vivi.
What of the Sniper? While Usopp was obviously not there, a certain mysterious pirate was. Who happens to have a highly skilled sniper in his crew who just happens to be Usopp’s father. While Yasopp hasn’t been shown at The Reverie, I think there may be a chance he could be the “sniper with sights on her'' (not as an enemy though imo) in Igaram’s worries. As Usopp said in Dressrosa: He’s best as a backup. I wouldn’t be surprised if Shanks has his sniper present as backup with all those tall buildings around in Mariejois.
So I believe Igaram’s seemingly hyperbolic worry about Vivi was foreshadowing that three factions representing these powers would clash with Vivi and Alabasta caught in the middle.

• The meteorite from the sky represented by Fujitora and the Marines
• The Birds carrying her away represented by Karasu and the Rev Army
• The sniper with their sights on her represented by Yassop and the Red Hair Pirates

All factions who were present at The Reverie.
What we know of the events that occurred at The Reverie
I’d like to take a moment to review what we know of what events occurred at The Reverie:

• The Gorosei speak of Cobra’s request of them and refer to him as a traitor.
• The one known as “Imu” has chosen Vivi’s picture as an apparent “light to erase from history”
• Shanks meets with the Gorosei to discuss a pirate
• The Admirals And The Revolutionary Army clashed in their mission to retrieve Kuma, as reported by Blackbeard
• The Shichibukai system was abolished
• There was a fatality, as reported by Morgans
• There was also an “attempted murder” as reported by Morgans
• Alabasta is somehow involved with the events that transpired, as reported by Garp
• Sabo is also involved in events, as we learn from the reactions of many people that know him, including shock of his comrades and sadness from his family.
• Whatever has transpired, Blackbeard decides to mobilize to claim something before the government can get their hands on it.
• Finally, Wapol also calls Morgans to leak some additional intel

More or less, I think these events are almost all directly connected. Here is what I believe happened:
Imu and the Gorosei decided it was time to eliminate Cobra and Vivi, as Alabasta houses the Ancient Weapon Pluton, they know of their allyship to the Strawhat’s who is led by a dreaded “D”, and Cobra is asking questions about the history they seek to hide. Ultimately making them a growing threat to their power. They even refer to their family as “traitors”
Shanks meets with the Gorosei to “talk to them about a pirate”. I believe this pirate to be Blackbeard. Similar to what he tried to do with Whitebeard, he is attempting to stop the Gorosei from doing anything hasty because of the threat Blackbeard poses and he’ll take advantage of any chaos, in true Blackbeard fashion.
The Revolutionaries attack at The Reverie in order to rescue their comrade, Kuma. The Gorosei see this as the perfect opportunity to enact their plans to eliminate Cobra and Vivi in the chaos and place the blame on the Revolutionary Army.
They succeed in killing Cobra (who has been riddled with death flags), this is the fatality that Morgans was talking about reporting. However, they were unsuccessful in eliminating Vivi, I believe that she escaped with The Revolutionary Army, however Sabo stayed behind to ensure their escape and was captured (he was determined to die beforehand). The government used this to say that they abducted heshe is missing following an attempt on her life (this is the “attempted murder” Morgans spoke of).
This is why the Revolutionary Army is shocked and Sabo’s family and friends are sad. For the Revolutionary Army, we were told by Koala that the enemy was the Celestial Dragons not the World Government. An important distinction, because news of Sabo killing Cobra and hurting/harming Vivi would certainly shock his comrades as it undermines their mission. However, they haven’t been able to contact them to confirm the facts. To his family, it looks like Sabo has assassinated a world leader and is now in the government’s hands making them insanely sad.
The importance of the World Government eliminating Cobra and Vivi and being able to successfully place the blame on the Revolutionary Army allows them to move into Alabasta unimpeded, giving them the opportunity to get one of their most sought after objectives, The Ancient Weapon Pluton. If it is known the World Government was responsible for their deaths, they wouldn’t have the excuse to move into the country. But being able to place the blame on the Revolutionary Army allows them to fill that vacancy without protest from others of it being some sort of coup.
Which brings me to my next point, this is why Blackbeard is mobilizing. He said he wants to get his hands on it before the Government does. He is speaking of Pluton. He knows the Government will look to seize control of Alabasta but he’ll claim the “prize” Pluton.
At this point, you may ask why the Government was trying to apparently cover up this news and not have Morgans publish it, given it paints the Revolutionary Army in the bad light. Well, I don't think they were actually trying to cover it up. The government has a number of powerful resources at their disposal but they sent a lone nameless fodder CP agent. Why? This is “Big News” Morgans we’re talking about, the man lives for scoops!!
Seriously look at this fearless man! In fact, CP-0 KNOWS that sending a lone agent shouldn’t intimidate him, Stussy is right here with him while they’re FALLING OFF A CASTLE as she remarks he shows no fear in the face of a scoop. The government trying to “cover it up” gives the story more legitimacy for him. They know sending a single nameless fodder agent won’t stop Morgans, they also know it’ll make him publish it as the biggest scoop!
This is important for the government because their ruse depends on a single piece of information from being known to the world at large: The Strawhat Pirates are allies of Vivi and the Alabasta Kingdom. If this were to get out to the world, the plan to frame the Revolutionary Army would fall apart given Luffy’s Father is the head and his sworn brother is the second in command. This is where the call from Wapol comes in...
Finally, Wapol calls Morgans to leak some info. I believe the info that Wapol has is that the Strawhat crew is allied with Vivi, as he ran into them on the way to Drum Island. He is one of the few in the world (who is not their friend) that knows of their relationship, since the government hid the Strawhat’s involvement at Alabasta. If you recall, it was Morgans who published the info that Luffy and Sabo were sworn brothers after Whole Cake Island. If this incident at The Reverie involves both Alabasta and Sabo, then Morgans learning that they're both allies of Strawhat Luffy flips the entire dynamic of the Revolutionary Army attacking the Alabastan royalty.
That is why they sent a single nameless fodder CP agent to “bribe” Morgans, to give him belief that this story worries them enough to hush. That action has more pull than the words of Wapol, who is pretty much known for being a punk ass. So even if Morgans was to learn of the SH-Alabasta connection, he wouldn’t necessarily run with it, as Wapol’s leak is simply hearsay compared to the action of the Government trying to cover it up. This is why Dragon and company accuse Morgans of lying when they read the news as it is something they would not do, however Morgans believes it to be true.
Shanks’ and Blackbeard’s Roles
The second part of the huge info dump chapters has a big focus on the Rocks crew and the history behind them. This is where I believe our other two major players in the final war come in: Shanks and Blackbeard.

1. Shanks is the son of Rocks D. Xebec
2. Blackbeard is the one who inherited the will of Rocks D. Xebec

I will start with Shanks, below are some relevant details I’d like to highlight:

• The Rocks Crew fell 38 years ago at God Valley in an incident that has been erased from the history books. Most notable about this incident is that Garp and Roger teamed up for it and it involved protecting Celestial Dragons. Shanks is slightly older than this at 39 years of age.
• In the Oden flashback Roger remarks it has been ages since he’s held a baby, to which Rayleigh responds it reminds him of “the good ole days” implying they once had a baby involved in their adventures or on the ship.
• During the ceasefire of the Roger vs Whitebeard duel, a newly recruited Teach asks his crew about Buggy and Shanks, to which they tell him despite their young age they have been on Roger’s ship for ages.
• Prior to his death, Roger tells Garp he has a child and he needs to protect him as the son does not carry the sins of the father and he deserves his own life. Garp then takes in his rival’s child and raises him as his own.
• When Whitebeard and Shanks meet up Whitebeard remarks that seeing Shanks’ face makes the scars he got from him ache. It is said that the Rocks crew got along terribly and were often very violent to each other, with even killing occurring within the crew.

If you recall, after Roger was executed one of the first objectives of the Government was to hunt down and end his bloodline. Prior to Roger, Rocks was the government’s biggest threat. I suspect that after Rocks D. Xebec fell 38 years ago, the World Government tried doing the same thing.
Enter Shanks. I believe that Shanks, in similar fashion to Ace, was the surviving heir of a bloodline the World Government wished to eliminate. Upon discovery of his existence Garp had Roger take him and raise him as to not kill a new born child. Shanks was then raised aboard Roger’s ship, this all comes full circle years later when Roger asks the same of Garp with a sheepish grin on his face, knowing he will agree to it.
Many believe that Blackbeard is the descendant of Rocks, while I believe he 100% does have a relation to Rocks it is not familial, instead he is the one who inherited Rocks will. After all, he seemingly has a lot in common with Rocks:

• Sengoku said Rocks’ ambition was to become King of the world and that he broke the world's taboos. Shanks suggests something similar about Blackbeard when he warns Whitebeard - he won’t ever stop aiming for the top. Blackbeard has also broken the world’s taboos by consuming two Devil Fruit which was previously unheard of.
• His ship is named Saber of Xebec, seemingly after Rocks D. Xebec
• His base of operations is on Hachinosu Island, which was the same place that the Rocks pirates were formed. Also the birthplace of the Davy Back Fight.

However, in One Piece, there is a pattern that the son does not inherit the will of their father and oftentimes it's the exact opposite:

• Monkey D. Garp - His son Dragon directly looks to overthrow the organization he works for and his grandson is also one of their biggest threats and aims to become Pirate King like his rival, Roger.
• Gol D. Roger - His son, Portgas D. Ace completely rejected him and dedicated his life to making his pirate rival, Whitebeard, the Pirate King.
• Kaido - His son Yamato literally wants to be Kozuki Oden, the only person to ever scar him and someone he only shamefully defeated through trickery.
• Oden - While his son Momonosuke seeks to carry out his father’s will, by an ironic twist of fate he ate a Devil Fruit that turned him into a Dragon, the same form as the beast who killed his father. (This is a little different, but worth pointing out imo)
• Shanks (D. Xebec)? - If what I believe to be true, Shanks is the son of Rocks D. Xebec, and was raised by his father’s rival Gol D. Roger, who he respects and reveres. Shanks seeks to stop Marshall D. Teach, the man who inherited his father’s evil will.

If Blackbeard is aiming for the top of the world like Rocks, what is it that Shanks is trying to accomplish?
Since Shanks accompanied Roger on his voyages everywhere except Laugh Tale, he at least knows important info like Shyarly’s predictions. I believe he is trying his best to buy time until it is Luffy’s time to bring change to the world.
It has become clear that the story is quickly approaching the important moment in time that Roger was “too early” for.
Shanks, aware of this, made this bet on Luffy as a child seemingly after hearing him say the exact same words Roger said (got a long ass post for that too lol).
Shanks aims to maintain balance in the world until it is Luffy’s time to carry out what his captain could not. Many of his actions seem to indicate he is trying to avoid catastrophic situations that could arise until that time comes and Blackbeard, inheritor of Rocks’ will, is the biggest threat to that:

• When Shanks warns Whitebeard about Teach, he doesn’t try to prevent a quarrel altogether but says it isn't time yet.
• When he saves Koby he mentions the importance of a few seconds.
• When he asks Teach if he wants to fight he laughs it off and he too seems to recognize it is not yet time.
• Most recently Shanks has gone to the Gorosei in an attempt to talk to them, most likely about Teach, in an attempt to maintain balance.

Conclusion - Setting the stage for the Final War
I believe it’s these events that will set the stage of our final war for our participants:

• The World Government
• The Revolutionary Army
• Blackbeard Pirates
• Red-Hair Pirates
• Strawhat Crew (and Grand Fleet)

With the Alabasta royalty out of the way and a convenient scapegoat in the Revolutionary Army, the World Government will move in on Alabasta under the guise of being helpful since their leaders are gone in an attempt to gain control of Pluton.
Blackbeard, inheritor of Rock’s will, who seems to have a lot of knowledge about the secrets of the world, will make his move to try to claim the weapon before they do. “If the government is going to take it (Alabasta) then I’ll claim the prize (Pluton)!”
The Revolutionary Army, who will be blamed by the World Government (and who was also once attacked by Blackbeard) will get involved in this quarrel as well in an attempt to keep the weapon out of their enemy’s hands, and to retrieve Sabo if he is indeed captured.
I think this will be where Shanks makes a move as well (which Oda mentioned in his year end message), in an attempt to maintain order until Luffy is ready and to stop Blackbeard from becoming too powerful, as he is the only one that seemingly knows what he is truly capable of.
We also have the internal split of the WG/CP-0/Akainu “absolute justice” type and the SWORD/Garp type of the military, who seem more noble in their intentions. All of these forces will collide in our final major confrontation.
And of course the Strawhat Crew. The Grand Fleet will get involved as well. A number of them fought alongside Sabo and The Revolutionary Army in Dressrosa and were also present at The Reverie, where they learned of Vivi and the Strawhat friendship. When they read the news about Alabasta and The Revolutionary Army they will know something is afoot and will be ready to spring into action.
Thank you for reading all of this, this is the end of the main body of the post. At the beginning I mentioned I also have a bold fringe theory. I typically like to throw these in at the end as they’re a little more out there but I still believe baby!
Without further ado I present to you below the Vivi Paw Paw Theory:
I will begin with the very first piece of evidence, this intriguing observation in SBS 59 and Oda’s equally interesting answer to it:

D: Odacchi! I noticed an amazing thing!!! It is that if you show the Straw Hat Devil Fruit users in numbers, it will be the numbers from 1~10!!
Luffy→Gomu Gomu (5.6.5.6.), Chopper→Hito Hito (1.10.1.10), Robin→Hana Hana (8.7.8.7.), Brook→Yomi Yomi (4.3.4.3.)
(1.3.4.5.6.7.8.10), but there is no (2.9), so is the one who ate the Nikyu Nikyu (2.9.2.9.) no Mi, Bartholomew Kuma, gonna be a Straw Hat next? Please tell me!!! P.N. SHANKUS.LOVE
O: WHAAAAAT?! (shock) Gosh that surprised me! Why was I surprised?! NO COMMENTTTTTTT!!!!!!!! NEXT!!

Oda’s answer is very interesting to say the least. We’ve seen him play with this (2.9.) thing with Kuma before as well:

• His bounty is 296,000,000
• His birthday is February 9th (2/9)

So the (2.9) fruit is missing from a member of the Strawhat Crew. I think this will go to Vivi, and I'll circle back to her (2.9.) connection in a bit...
“So u/africhic how the hell is Vivi gonna end up with the fruit?”
Since you just read through my long ass theory, I think the Revolutionary Army will be successful in retrieving Kuma, and that Vivi left along with them, aided by whatever sacrifice Sabo made that has been reported in the papers.
If you recall, while they’re going over their plan underground, Karasu mentions that even if they rescue Kuma he might not ever be able to return to being a human.
I believe this will be the case. They will rescue him and he’ll simply be a shell of a person. He is only programmed to take orders from the Government and the Celestial Dragons. While they may rescue him from slavery, there’s the chance he never returns to being human again.
This is where I believe the Revolutionary Army will make the decision to kill him and let him rest instead of existing as an empty husk. However, after the events of The Reverie they decide that it’s best to transfer his Devil Fruit power to someone who will make good use of it. Someone else who is also the leader of a nation that was allied with the government but is now an enemy in their eyes...Princess Vivi!!!
Just like with the Mera-Mera passing on from one sworn brother to the next, the Nikyu Nikyu will go from the leader of a WG allied nation who challenged them, Bartholomew Kuma of the Sorbet Kingdom to another leader who now faces their wrath, Princess Vivi of the Alabasta Kingdom.
While we as an audience still do not understand exactly how Devil Fruit powers transfer after death, it seems some characters have an idea:

• Most notably, Blackbeard is able to take Whitebeard’s power immediately after death. While this could be something unique to Blackbeard it has been demonstrated that they can take the fruit of others and give them to their own crew (shiryu gaining the Clear-Clear fruit)
• Caesar Clown also has shown some knowledge of this, as he seemingly left a bag of fruit on the raft rigged to fail when Smiley was to reincarnate. The fruit then transformed into a Devil Fruit, and he said he’d meet Smiley again.
• Vegapunk also seems to have an insane breadth of knowledge when it comes to Devil Fruit. However, we don’t have evidence of him knowing how they transfer.

My theory relies on someone in the Revolutionary Army having this sort of knowledge. Perhaps Dragon or someone like Lindbergh who seems to be a genius inventor.
This would complete the pattern of all the “numbered” Devil Fruit belonging to a member of the Strawhat Crew. So how does the (2.9.) fit in like I mentioned earlier?
Let us go way back to the Baroque Works Saga. The only reason why Vivi was able to: Meet up and ally with the Straw Hats to begin their journey Meet up on their way out to depart on great terms and establish a beautiful friendship
Is because of two men who chose the power of FRIENDSHIP over all:

• Mr. 2
• Mr. 9

It was because of Mr. 9 (and Ms. Monday) that Vivi was able to escape Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine. He chose their friendship and gave her an avenue to escape and reach the Strawhats.
It was because of Mr. 2 choosing his friendship with the Straw Hats that they were able to meet up with Vivi and say goodbye in this iconic scene, able to leave on beautiful terms.
What were the two numbers missing from the crew’s Devil fruit? 2 and 9.
Whose heroic actions enabled the friendship of the Strawhat Crew and Vivi to bloom? Mr. 2 and Mr. 9.
Luffy = Gomu Gomu (5,6 5,6)
Chopper = Hito Hito (1,10 1, 10)
Robin = Hana Hana (8, 7 8, 7)
Brook = Yomi Yomi (4,3 4,3)
Vivi = Nikyu Nikyu (2,9 2,9)
Thus completes my Vivi PawPaw Theory.
If you’re still here...thank you for reading all this lmfao

RoyalRoad
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Marketplace, Zakabara Second
Mollikutta got recognized again. She'd been wearing makeup disguises out in public to avoid the shame and scorn of her people. This time, it was a trader selling salt who saw through it, and he was not staying quiet about it.
"Hey guys, look, it's the governor herself trying to do her shopping like the rest of us dirty Seconders here!"
There were some jeers and boos among his peers.
"Governor, I'm so sorry, we're all out of salt," he taunted, not even bothering to hide the bags of goods on the table of his booth.
Not wanting trouble, Mollikutta started to back away.
"Going so soon, governor? You sure you don't want to shop around more?"
A crowd was gathering, and they were pushing up against her from behind. One of the adjacent tools vendors was pulling out a dangerous looking tool from the back, and she absolutely did not want to find out what he planned on doing with it.
She dropped her basket of shopping goods and bolted, squeezing a hole through the crowd. They didn't expect her to just start running! Behind her, Mollikutta could hear some of them starting to chase her.
Flapping her wings to give her a bit of speed, she ran down the street like a mad-bird.
Only half a mile to the palace, she thought, I should be able to make this! From now on, there would be no more shopping alone without guards.
As she came up next to an alleyway, a blur suddenly came out of nowhere and snatched her up, dragging her unceremoniously into a nearby hut. Struggling uselessly against the strong appendages that held her, she got a better look at her attacker and her surroundings.
It was a human! And he'd brought her into an empty street level hut with nothing but a table and a stool.
"Shh… quiet, quiet, Governor, you don't want everyone to hear you, do you?" he asked, loosening his grip on her as she slowly complied.
"Who are you and what do you want with me?" she asked like any hostage does.
"My name is Mark, and I'm here to help," he said, with a dangerous grin on his face. He chuckled, "your people don't seem too happy with you. And that guy with the Bhak welder didn't look like he was messing around-"
"That's none of your business, alien kidnapper! I have it all handled!" Mollikutta replied, not convincing herself even a little. She wanted to scream at him, but didn't dare attract any undue attention to where she was.
"Alright, well, I don't want to keep you from your busy schedule, Governor," the human said, winking as he handed over a laminated rectangular piece of paper to her, "but here's my card for when you change your mind."
She looked out the window of the dark little hut to check to see if the angry mob was still chasing her. "How did you even get onto this planet with the military blockade in orbit anyway, human?"
Not getting an answer, Mollikutta looked back towards him.
He wasn't there anymore.
Two Months After McDonald's Grand Opening
Gophor Spaceport Space Traffic Control Tower
"Gophor Tower, T-three zero-four-six, request clearance for landing pad," came the voice in Grayin's headset.
It was N'har again. She knew the serial number of his new Terra Three by heart. He'd even taken her into outer space on it once. It was an exhilarating experience that did not diminish her desire to go to space again. On the contrary, it burned brighter.
"T-two one-four-eight, cleared to approach pad two," she transmitted back without a hint of recognition. Pad two was objectively the best landing pad open on the spaceport at the moment. Except for pad one, which was only used for emergencies. Pad two was the closest to the market and hangar, and every space trucker wanted it.
"Thanks Grayin! You're the best," came his cheeky voice back on the radio, "see you tonight?"
Blushing right to her ears, Grayin glanced around the traffic control tower furtively. Luckily, none of her colleagues seemed to be paying attention. She hoped that no one else was listening in on this completely open and unsecured channel.
"See you tonight."
Ironically, what became known to the galaxy as the Earther Dream was mostly not for the original residents of Earth. In fact, while many humans took it as a point of pride for their planet, its originator was alien, and most of the creatures who see it as a guiding ethos were not of Earth.
Earth's streets were lined with credits, beings around the galaxy would say. Humans would sometimes give out credits for creatures who did work for them, even if they didn't agree to it beforehand! They called it tipping. Oddly, even human research showed that its practice only has a small correlation to quality of service. Rather, other effects have much more of an influence on tipping amount, like the bust to waist ratio of a waitress.
It was an odd practice which arose out of a combination of habit and social conditioning on Earth. For the rest of the galaxy, it only enhanced the mythos that all humans must be incredibly rich and lived their lives without worry. A few of them even managed a ride to Earth to see it for themselves.
Of all the non-human creatures who made the pilgrimage to the origin planet of currency, some were disappointed by the reality: that humans were just as mortal and concerned about the future as they were. However, one thing that most had in common was that dipping their appendages into this pot of wealth was not enough. Many went home to their planets with dreams of their own.
On some planets back home, their neighbors were skeptical. What good were new factories or new ideas that could barely compete with those of the poorest areas on Earth? Inevitably, it often took humans to lead the way and blaze the trail for these to advance and be accepted.
In that way, Rey's simple restaurant on Gakrek opened up an entire galactic market. And her dream became the Earther Dream for many around the galaxy.
"Gophor Tower, Z-sixteen six-two-two, request clearance for landing pad," came the next request on Grayin's plate.
The designation seemed familiar, but she did not recognize its owner out of hand. Pulling out a tablet from underneath her seat, she punched the designation into a program and waited for its return.
"Kwoofer from Olgix," her tablet showed, and then added, "paid for priority access."
Ah, it's that Olg trader who brings in raw materials, she vaguely recalled. That last part of his data snippet was her own innovation. She had the bright idea of charging traders a little extra on the side to skip the line or get a good landing pad closer to the merchants.
Bribery. Corruption. Graft. These were some of the ugly names that humans had given for what she was doing. On Gakrek, it was known by its other name: business as usual.
It wasn't anything that other Gaks with any power weren't also doing. She knew for a fact that the spaceport managers weren't supposed to charge the vendors for doing business on the spaceports, but they did it anyway. And they skimmed a little off the top of her government salary too. It's a cost she was now passing onto the traders.
Soon after she started doing it, the other traffic controllers caught on pretty quickly. Rather than reporting her (there was no one to report her to), they cut themselves in on the lucrative deal. After all, everyone knew the traders were rich and had plenty of credits to spare for all of them.
Of course, increasing the cost of doing business to their spaceport was not great in the long run. But as long as everyone did it, except Earth, nobody noticed it.
"Z-sixteen six-two-two, cleared to approach pad six," she dispatched. Pad six wasn't bad. It wasn't the best, but it was good. Much better than being in the double digits; nobody who came to Gakrek wanted a pad in the double digits. The long walk of shame with their heavy goods sucked unless they had a forklift or some other labor saving device.
"Thank you, Tower," came Kwoofer's reply, "is there a line at the burger place?"
Grayin stood up and looked over at the golden arches on the other end of the spaceport. It was far, but there did appear to be a small line of locals and traders out the front. Rey's business was still doing really well, she marveled to herself, and then prepared herself to transmit a reply to a hungry Olg waiting in orbit.
"There's about a ten-minute line right outside. Do you wish to place your order with us to deliver straight to your spaceship when you land? There is a small surcharge of 5 credits," she offered with her sweetest voice. This was another one of her bright ideas. One and a half of those credits would go to an honest local kid who was already in line, just standing by for her to place the call.
This business was an absolute no-brainer. Each delivery she facilitated was almost equivalent to two days' worth of pay for a mid-level controller like her. She was providing a useful service, even if she knew that ultimately the restaurant itself would probably be able to do something similar and cut her out. That's if Rey found out that she and her colleagues were doing this.
"Yes, please," came the reply from space. She did a mental fist pump as he continued, "I'll have one double cheeseburger meal with extra salt, please. And the drink will be a medium Coca-Cola."
"We'll get right on it," she said as she started typing out the order to her waiting contact, "welcome to Gakrek, captain Kwoofer."
"They're doing what?" Rey asked, amused at what she thought she heard.
"Uber Eats, essentially," Enrico summarized, then frowned, asking, "should we cut out the middleman and do it ourselves? If we bulk our orders, we could probably do it for a third the cost and still make more per delivery."
Rey almost thought about it, then smiled and rejected it, "there's no way Corporate would even think about approving something like this. Besides, why bother them? We need those controllers on our good side. Get Grob to pass them some of our menus on the side and ask if they'd like to borrow our wheelbarrow."
Grayin never expected that she'd ever fall for an alien, but N'har was a different beast. If her dad were still alive, he would probably throw a fit. An alien?! She could already hear him screaming at her.
Then again, N'har is rich, so maybe not. In many agrarian societies like Gakrek, parents often wielded their children as financial instruments, whether they knew that's what they were. It was just a normal way of life. A father who didn't care about the possessions of his children's suitors would be the outlier to the rule, and they were certainly not looked up to as good examples.
Of course, the humans didn't think like that. Not all of them at least. But they were the exceptions to everything.
Her still-alive mother would be supportive, though. That's what mothers did. If Grayin told her about this…
And Grayin liked N'har not for his spaceship or credits, she told herself. He's charming, and funny, and handsome in his own way. One day, he would often say, he would take her to see the gorgeous mountains of Yis'Meh. It was a beautiful dream, and her favorite part was the idea of traveling through space in his spaceship again.
So, here she was walking into the only restaurant on the spaceport. Strange for humans to think this would be the food place for a date night, but it wasn't like they had an abundance of choices. Spotting him on the second floor, she walked right past the line and straight up to his table where he was wolfing down a box of fries.
"Good evening, beautiful," he said as she approached. N'har was not subtle.
Her face reddened as she giggled, and replied, "good evening to you too! How did your new trade route go?"
"Never better," he replied in between bites. Then he pushed over the tray containing her usual order, and continued, "the example of the Zakabaran blockade is causing some other planets to think about closing their ports too. There's lots of hoarding on those planets, so prices have gone through the roof. How's traffic control?"
"Pretty good today too," she said as she unwrapped her sandwich, "we got four deliveries through today. And we've got one more trader signed up for priority access."
"Ah…" N'har almost instinctively started to complain about the priority fees that spaceports had, but then remembered that he wasn't exactly a saint himself, profiting from a goods shortage. Instead, he said, "that's wonderful. Cheers!"
He clinked his plastic soda cup against hers, which she returned cheerfully.
Grayin did have something on her mind. She brought it up casually, "I'm thinking of leaving my job."
"What?" N'har stopped chugging his Sprite for a second to look up at her, as if trying to detect if this was a test of some kind.
"I want to start a business like this one with your help," she said, completely seriously. Grayin didn't have nearly enough credits to start a venture like this, but if he agreed and could lend her some credits here and there… it could be done. She added dreamily, "I've thought of a good business with a lot of credits to be made in it, and one day I'll make enough to go into space."
N'har sputtered, "but you can already go into space in my… our ship. We can make it our ship. Let's go tonight!"
"N'har," she said, not giving up, "I don't want your ship. Maybe eventually it'll be our ship. But I want to do this. I've been thinking about it for a while." She smiled and held his paw in hers, hoping he could see it from her view.
He did. When it's all said and done, N'har liked her a lot. And he did have plenty of credits.
"So… what's the plan?" N'har asked. He'd lived most of his life in space, so while he was very familiar with the space trade, he was completely lost on how to do anything on the ground. "Enrico mentioned that their most money consuming part was buying the equipment from their chain headquarters, and there's some complicated scheme with regard to the building."
"Yes, they must spend a lot of money maintaining their equipment and buying food stuff from McDonald's," she said. She'd done some research, so she knew a bit about what she was talking about. "But that's not what my idea is. We don't sell food."
"Don't sell food?" he asked, confused. He thought that she wanted to open a restaurant! "So what do we sell?"
"We sell to the people who will come here to sell food!" It took a bit for N'har to get it. His eyes widened and recognition set in as he did.
She wanted to start the first commercial development company on Gakrek.
After she explained the business model to him and showed him human figures on how successful such a venture could be, N'har said, "I see." He thought about it and then asked, "realistically, how much profit could we make per building here on Gakrek?"
"Actually I did some research and math on that. When I said sell, I don't actually mean we sell the buildings, just the right to use it," Grayin said, bringing out some sheets of paper filled with writing and business planning that she'd been doing since a year ago. "It's called rent, and it's legal even on Earth. We finish the exterior of the building, and then we call up one of their companies that wants to open up a chain. Then, we let them use the building every month for a fee."
N'har seemed skeptical. "Isn't that just a protection fee? How much would that make us in the long run?"
"It's not!" she contested, "it's more like a partnership with the business, and it's all above board. And I heard from someone at work that Grob was getting paid a hundred thousand credits every month for their building!"
"One hundred thousand credits!" he exclaimed, "there is no way that isn't an exaggeration!"
"Yeah," Grayin admitted it sounded far-fetched, "but if we get even a fraction of that, we'll cover our construction costs in a few months. We'll start calling them once we're almost finished building and get a better idea of how much they're willing to pay."
East Gophor Quarry
"How much are you offering us, again?" the fore-Gak asked skeptically.
"Three credits a day per worker," Grayin replied, "it's a brick two-story building, just like the one you built for the humans."
"That's less than Rey paid us!" he sniffed. It was still a lot of money, and certainly more than the miners were paying him, but a good Gak never works for less money when they could get more. "She paid us four credits a day! Each!"
"It's still more than you make now," she replied, "and we'll build more buildings. And in the future, you'll be the first one we go to." Grayin wasn't the best businessbeing, but she knew how to barter as well as any human.
N'har interjected, "and we'll pay you ten credits a day!" Looking around to make sure none of the others were listening to their conversation, he added, "just you, though. And you'd be responsible for making sure the other Gaks get on board. We want to get started as soon as possible."
The fore-Gak was torn. On one hand, skilled workers often felt a kinship and solidarity towards each other, and this felt somewhat like a betrayal of that. On the other hand, the offer would earn him more money in a day than he currently got in a week!
He reluctantly accepted. His twelfth child was just born. He needed the credits to send her to a school when she got older.
The fore-Gak justified it to himself: three credits a workday was still a lot for the other Gaks, and he was providing a valuable managerial service for Grayin and N'har, even if the others would probably be paid a little more if he had haggled more.
"Okay. Do we get weekends?"
"Of course."
Hangar Sixteen, Gophor Spaceport
They moved their secret business planning from the McDonald's to the hangar where N'har stored his spaceship. It didn't feel quite right discussing it all in Rey's restaurant. And there was always a slight risk that they could be overheard by the workers there.
That didn't mean they couldn't still order takeout from there, though. N'har paid again this time. Grayin thought it was mighty chivalrous of him. She didn't feel like she wasn't taking advantage of him though: he had more money and made several times more than she did on a Gakrek government salary.
Between mouthfuls of chicken burger, N'har asked, "so where are we going to build our first site? Rey and Enrico seemed to have gotten the best location."
"I've thought about that," Grayin said. She wiped her paws on some napkins, and then she carefully pulled out a high definition top-down photo of the spaceport from her bag. It showed everything, from the traffic control tower to the vendors, food tents, and the restaurant.
"Wow, that's a great picture of Gophor," N'har looked genuinely impressed, which brought a swell of pride to her chest. He asked, "where did you get that?"
"I paid a trader with a camera four credits to take it while he was landing," she said proudly, "I read that this was how they plan for new construction on Earth. They have an entire profession for it called urban planning."
Then she continued directing his attention to the various spots on the photo she marked. "Here's where we are," she pointed at the row of hangars. And then she pointed at a space slightly offset from the vendors, "and here's where we can build our first buildings."
N'har frowned as he looked at her plan, and commented, "that seems pretty close to Rey and Enrico's place. They're not gonna be happy with the competition, whatever business we let open up right next to them."
"You're probably right," she admitted, "but they can't have expected no one to copy their idea when it makes them so much money!"
"That's true," N'har said as he picked a sesame crumb off her snout, "I just don't want to get the humans mad at us. That's all."
"Well, maybe eventually they'll want to get in on this too. Meanwhile, we can just try to build as much as possible before they notice. I have plans for our first three. We just need to start early in the morning…"
He let her ramble on and talk about her plan excitedly. It involved gathering materials and assembling the frames in the hangar, and then moving them to the right spot for the final construction.
This project was bringing out a passionate side of Grayin that he didn't know he'd be so attracted to. She got so confident, and she knew exactly what she wanted. He could really get used to this, N'har thought as a goofy grin naturally came up on his face.
"… and what are you smiling at me about?" she asked suspiciously as she came to a natural end to her presentation.
"Nothing!" N'har said hurriedly, blushing hard as he snapped out of his daydream, "I can't wait to meet your family."
Grayin's heart fluttered, and she grabbed his warm paws in hers.
"I can't wait either."
Zakabara Second
Mobs often start with grievances. In some cases, they may even seem trivial. Unfavorable results for a high stakes soccer game. A security guard striking a poor widow selling contraband cigarettes. Acquittal of some police officers who severely beat a motorist on film. In this case, however, the ignition point was anything but trivial.
Seeing the astronomical prices for Earth goods on Zakabara Second, a trader decided to risk it for the biscuit. Using a series of daring maneuvers and relying on the aftermarket upgrades on her already fast sublight engines, she somehow managed to get through the Prime military blockade in orbit.
The excited Seconder spaceport closest to her offered a good landing zone, and news of her arrival quickly spread. As she came in to land, a large crowd gathered near it cheering for the arrival of fresh new goods from the galaxy.
Then, without warning, a space-to-ground missile from an orbital blockade ship broke through the clouds, instantly vaporized her ship, killed a dozen merchants waiting near the landing pad, and severely burnt many others.
Seconders were furious.
This was the final straw.
At dusk, the factory workers who had just finished their shift had heard about the incident. They gathered their tools, and headed to the streets.
The students at the nearby Industrial Institute of Second also heard about the atrocity as they got out of class for the day. They gathered their friends, and headed to the streets.
The nurses at the Second Medical Center saw it firsthand from the horrific burn victims who were being rolled in on improvised stretchers. They gathered their medical equipment and first aid kits, and headed to the streets.
When the crowd was small, they were simply angry. Angry at… someone. They didn't really know who was to blame for this disaster; after all, the people who had done this were sitting pretty in outer space. Or on another planet.
Then, some students began singing some song about angry people and something called drums. Whatever that meant. It was a catchy tune.
As the crowd got bigger, and they all started singing it, this lull in rage provided some much-needed clarity to the unofficial leaders. Even if they couldn't reach the stars, they remembered that the Primers did have representatives on their planet after all.
They started making their way towards the Governor's palace.
???, Zakabara Second
"It's starting," Mark reported without emotion.
His tablet digitized, encrypted, and then transmitted his voice to a stealth ship hidden in orbit, which bounced the signal through various FTL relays before it got to its intended recipient. Technically, it was very impressive security work.
Realistically, none of it was necessary. None of the Zakabarans on Prime were listening. If they were, they would have noticed what was happening on the ground months, if not years, before this happened. It was possible that remote Inuit villagers in Greenland knew more about what was happening on Second than Popptaw herself.
"Copy that, we're running this upstairs now," came the reply, "how is the Governor?"
"Mollikutta is surprisingly competent for a hereditary appointee, but her hands are tied within the system they've set up here. She's on a call with Prime right now," Mark said, glancing at his small crew of four diligently working at their tablets. He gave a signal to one of them to get ready to put the next phase into action. He chuckled, "I'm surprised she's even bothering. Unless my translator is broken, I think they've had this same conversation thrice this past week already. It ends the same way every time."
"I see," the controller replied, "you have all their comms feeds locally right?"
Mark confirmed, "we're tapping into all their frequencies. And just in case, I slipped a listening device into her wings when we grabbed her near the market last week."
"And she didn't notice that?" came the incredulous reply from Langley.
Mark chuckled and said, "according to a local bird, they don't have nerve endings under there. She wasn't exactly concerned about being bugged when I snatched her off the street. And fortunately for us, the governor hasn't been indulging in luxuries like taking showers and baths since this crisis started."
"Alright. Hold on a second…" The line went silent for a second, and then it came back, "we just got word. Operation Vulture is a go. Good luck." The connection terminated.
Mark looked out his tent at their unpacked helicopter spinning up outside, gathered his supplies, and commanded his unit, "pack up or burn everything. Let's get to work!"
Governor Palace, Zakabara Second
"Mollikutta, you know how these people are! Things like these come and go. Just tell them that the prices of food are still lower than before, and they'll go home!" Popptaw said. She had heard absolutely nothing Mollikutta had to say for the past few years, and she was determined not to change her obtuse mind in the course of this two-hour conversation either.
Popptaw was the type of dictator who thought that the problem with "let them eat cake" wasn't the tone deafness; to her, the problem would obviously be the nutritional quality. If she was queried on the subject, she would have preferred "let them eat oatmeal" instead.
"Popptaw, you don't understand. People here are done with Prime! Don't you get it? They were at their breaking point before, and killing a few of them hasn't made them more afraid. They're just more angry now," Mollikutta insisted, "we need to de-escalate the situation by promising actual change and showing that we've heard their concerns!"
"Dear, that's not how we do things. We must show them that you are truly in charge. I've sent you more internal security troops every time we talk. It's time you put them to use and they start earning their pay!"
Mollikutta was exasperated. Those troops were truly useless. At best, they either had family or knew someone on Second, and weren't about to enforce any of Popptaw's mandates too harshly. At worst, the way they acted towards the Seconders only made people dislike the Primers even more.
She insisted, "we need to calm the people and convince them that we're doing the best we can. After all, as the leaders and governments of our people, we must express the general will of the people because we derive our power and right to rule from the consent of the governed-"
Popptaw narrowed her beady eyes at that last sentence, and squawked suspiciously, "you've been reading those human books again, haven't you?"
"We had to! You directed us to read them-"
"Yes! So you can run your factories to produce more goods for us!" Popptaw shrieked angrily at this display of insolence from the governor, "not so you learn their wretched and primitive ideas about how to run our species. Or did you not get to the part in their history where they fought not one, but TWO, planetary wars among themselves? Control your people, or I'll find someone else to control them instead!"
Mollikutta was going to make a biting retort about how the stupid protectionist policies that the Primers were enforcing onto her people were the same ones that had partly caused one of those human planetary wars, but Popptaw had already hung up.
She looked out her window at the mob banging on the gates of the Governor estate, and then she looked at the portraits hanging on the walls in her office representing an unbroken streak of countless millennia of oppressive rule from the homeworld.
The phone rang. It was probably the gate guards calling for permission to deploy a lethal response.
She looked at the caller number and frowned. Her eyes widened as she realized that it matched the one written on the business card she'd memorized last week, before burning it.
Mollikutta made up her mind.
Grayin and N'har got something wrong in this chapter. That was intentional.
Ironically, "let them eat cake" shouldn't be nearly as controversial today. Brioche, the type of luxurious cake Marie Antoinette supposedly referred to, is downright affordable for most households in developed nations. You can get a full loaf of it at Walmart for $3.50, only slightly above the cost of whole wheat bread. In terms of calorie-price ratio, even slightly fancier store-brand cake is probably below average compared to other major primary foods in an average grocery store.
Also, Marie Antoinette probably never actually said this.
Now, if you really wanted to offend hungry people with your tone-deafness today, what you should instead say is something like "let them eat low-fat, organic Greek yogurt from Whole Foods!"
RoyalRoad
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