The Isekai App

Amalthea had set up a presentation for us. We could see through various drones that followed Molly on her cross-country sprint rampage, and we could see media coverage of it. That was fine; nothing to hide here. This simply had to be done.

I finally asked my big question. "Any souls in the Pentagon?"

"Roughly four thousand," said Lir.

"Not a lot; they evacuated, didn't they. Good for them."

"True believers, I'm assuming."

We considered this as a single salad of mixed consciousnesses. "How important is this to them, you think? Important enough to maybe use a nuke after all?"

"On themselves, you mean." Lir's ears bobbed in holes through his cherry-red helmet. "They don't see any way out."

"Amalthea, can you call them?"

"What?" demanded President Michelle. "Mad at me again?"

"Where did you all go?" I asked.

"We're here, waiting for you." Michelle sounded cheerful.

"You have a nuke. You really do. And you're going to make a big gesture."

Michelle didn't speak for a long time. What kind of out-of-date pop-culture joke could she make? She was planning on nuking herself, her comrades, all because we were on the way.

Finally: "Sure."

"Why?" I spoke for all of us. "Why do that? Why not just…stop?"

"Stop what? Stop fighting for the sovereignty of Humanity? What if I asked you to give up your cause, would you do it?"

"None of what you want is important, President Michelle."

"Who are you to decide that?"

A fair question, easily answered: "We're here because you summoned us. By hurting people close to us. And you've made it clear you'll continue until we fix you up."

"And you think what we want is nothing? Nothing. To live in a world where Humans are around other Humans, instead of being confronted by horrors from other worlds. Imagine being a parent and trying to raise a child around that."

I sort of AM a parent, I didn't say. But my team noticed it, Molly too. "You can get used to it; Humans are adaptable. It's the whole thing with evolutionary success."

"Maybe. But that'll take generations; this is about right now. About what you…well, about what your other version did to the Earth. You destroyed it. He did, him and his monsters."

"As I recall, you asked him to do that."

"TOO MUCH! IT WAS TOO MUCH!" Michelle shouted, frustrated at my stupidity. "I wanted you to bring certain people over, not bring all of this HERE!"

"Wasn't me."

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Close enough! Do you disagree with what Owen Walsh did? At all?"

"No. Guys?"

"No," they said, one at a time.

"HA!" she shouted.

"It was that or go extinct, as I understand things." I was trying here, Human readers, I really was. "You weren't getting to pick from a menu of solutions. There was just the one available. You and yours had made things that bad."

She was snarling in frustration. "We could have started over! A new world!"

"You've been given a new world." I found myself rubbing the bridge of my nose in weariness. "You could have done literally anything, like just start a colony of Humans Only. There are beings who do that in the Slice. Tons of them. Racism and fear isn't a Humans-only trait."

"It's full of monsters, Owen."

"So was the Earth, they just looked and thought like you. You were going to let the rest of your people die there simply so you could have your private resort full of slaves. I read up on this. What you wanted wasn't any good then, and what you want now is pointless. You insult Humanity by fighting for it."

"I insult Humanity–"

"Yes, by denying them the chance to adapt and heal, to make new friends and stop being shitheads. Your pride keeps you from even admitting it."

"What would admitting it get me? What would you do if I did?"

I thought about it. Pride was his issue, right? Ours too, but he was pathological about it.

"I'll give you anything you want, Doc. All you have to do is beg."

"Beg you? Beg you? I tell you right now, Owen: you'll be begging before this is done."

Click.

"He's off the phone," Amalthea said. "Dibs on his liver. My people are carrion-eaters but I can make an exception for live prey once in a while."

Mabruk, from over in recon: "Got some of those bad guy machines. Five of them, they look pretty fancy. Upgraded, big heat sources, radioactivity and a decent number of UFP, lots of Runework. I'd say they have thousands of combat drones."

Ruhk: "Human pilots only, no doubt. Patriots."

"I'm not comfortable killing thousands of people, are you guys?"

Lir: "No, but they'll be ready for the tanks. They can just be whipped back to life if they want."

"What about if they don't want?"

It hit all of us simultaneously and we all said: "Ooooh yes."

"Amalthea, can you let the guys back home know about this? The tanks should be prepped. For this. For them."

"Heh heh heh," she said.

So did everyone else. A mirthless sound of cruelty. Sometimes that's just the way it goes, even if you mean well. Or if you don't.

A wall of the pressurized cabin erupted in green thrashing vines. First a silver knob popped out, about the size of a cueball. Then a strange little window, glowing a warm yellow; it looked in on a dial lined with alien symbols. Finally a circle like a drumhead on the top: golden fabric stretched across it.

A song blared from it. What sounded like a little girl, chanting a cute little song. This, I realized, was the Green Radio.

On the good ship

Lollypop

It's a sweet trip to a candy shop

"Mateo knew he was being asked for permission to come about the Good Ship Mollypop."

"Sure, you guys object?" Nobody did.

"The Feast of Fools formally acknowledges the efforts of the Chancla to destroy the hazards threatening this part of the Slice. The Silent Choir has withdrawn, no longer interested in Humanity, the Post-Slice Earth or its other inhabitants."

I shrugged. "Cool."

Everyone else made noises that it was, yeah, cool.

"Owen and his Owens also suddenly realized, stunned, that the Feast was completely at their disposal in this conflict."

We looked at one another, the ones who had faces who could do it, anyway.

"No thank you," we said in chorus. "Stay away. This isn't for you, this is Chancla business."