"Walk with me, Mr Colston."
Nathan opened his mouth to answer, and shut it again when he realised no response was required. Fred Sullivan had already turned on his heel and marched away at a brisk pace, with all the arrogance that stemmed from a lifetime of having his orders followed without question.
"I detest these metal boxes we are forced to live in, don’t you?" Fred said as Nathan scurried to catch up to the old man’s leggy stride.
"It’s not the luxuries I miss," Fred continued. "And God knows I had plenty of those before all this. No, it’s the space. All of us living on top of each other, breathing in each other’s stink, bumping into each other in the corridors. Sort of makes a mockery of depopulating the planet, wouldn’t you say?"
Fred shot a glance at Nathan and seemed amused at the confused look he received in return.
"That was a joke. Lighten up, Mr Colston. As yet, you haven’t given me any reason to become irritated with you. I’m not a monster or some deranged psychopath, despite what you might have heard to the contrary. What I am is a businessman who doesn’t like his time being wasted."
Those last few syllables seemed dangerous to Nathan, like Sullivan had spent decades sparring with barbed words and knew exactly when to employ a jab for maximum effect.
Here comes the point, Nathan thought.
Fred stooped to pass through a small doorway that led out onto the huge flight deck, and breathed in a deep lungful of fresh air.
In the distance, Nathan saw a team of mechanics tinkering with a harrier. The rest of the deck was largely empty. Not for the first time Nathan marvelled at the fact that the ship was so large that he felt no sensation of rocking as the harsh waves of the North Sea battered the hull.
After a few paces, Sullivan stopped and arched his back with a satisfied sigh, like a cat that had just been released after many hours trapped in a basket.
"You don’t agree with what we’re doing—or should I say: what we’ve done," Fred said finally.
"No, Sir, it’s not that-"
Fred snorted.
"It’s fine, Mr Colston. I understand perfectly. I’ve killed a lot of people. I certainly expect nothing other than vilification. I don’t expect you to agree, nor even to understand, really. Somebody had to initiate Project Wildfire, or something very like it. There were several arms manufacturers close to producing a weapon as powerful as mine. It was only a matter of time."
He shrugged.
Nathan frowned dubiously.
"Permission to speak freely, Sir?"
Fred's eyes twinkled with amusement.
"I’m not a military officer, Mr Colston, but…permission granted," he said.
"What about the people?" Nathan said, surprising himself a little with the bitterness in his tone. "Even if I buy the idea that the planet was overcrowded, that the people needed...pruning somehow, it doesn’t change the fact that you—we, I guess—acted outside the law. No government would allow—"
"Oh, please," Fred interrupted with weary sarcasm. "Governments? Is that where you think power resided before all this? I thought of our government as a mildly diverting puppet show. I suppose perception really is everything."
Fred began to stroll forward.
"Chrysalis had been retained by the governments of the world for decades to develop better and better weapons, and not one of them had the foresight to understand that letting others create weapons for you is a route to certain disaster. The governments of the world were more than happy for me to hold enormous power because I promised them that my work would be cheap, and would not be paraded in front of the media. What sort of businessman would I be if I didn’t leverage that power to secure the best outcome for my company? For myself?"
He stopped and looked Nathan in the eye.
"Do you know that Oppenheimer is said to have regretted creating the atomic bomb?”
Nathan shook his head. In truth he had heard something similar a long time ago, but he had a feeling the question was rhetorical.
“So they say,” Fred said thoughtfully, staring out to sea. “For myself, I think that is probably bullshit. Can you imagine giving birth to such power and wishing you had not? Can you imagine anything more pointless?”
The old man’s gaze flicked sharply back to Nathan, like a viper striking.
“What happens when somebody develops a weapon that is too dangerous to sell? The only thing left then is to use the damn thing, or destroy it and render the entire endeavour a pointless charade. Well, I don’t like charades. And I like pointlessness even less."
Nathan cleared his throat awkwardly. Increasingly as Fred spoke, he as beginning to get the impression that the old man was talking primarily to himself.
“I became attached to this project in the 1970s. Forty years ago. Hard to believe, isn’t it? I’ve handed over my entire life to Project Wildfire, but it goes back further than that. A long way back, way before I was even born.”
When Fred paused for effect, Nathan decided the best course of action was silence, and he took it.
“Mostly prior to my involvement it was just idle dreaming by fat men with a great deal of money and an even greater deal of time on their hands. Their dreams were small and messy, and seemed to inevitably gravitate toward starting petty wars with little thought of controlling the outcome. Such imprecise ways of achieving their goals.”
He’s not a psychopath, Nathan thought. What the hell is he?
“Most of them were too concerned with the aftermath, you see. Preoccupied with keeping their presence a secret; all of them worried that the masses would discover who really ran things, and would rise up to oust them. Thinking small. No vision."
Fred's hands were clenched into fists. Nathan edged away from the old man a little.
“My plan was perfect. Or, at least, it should have been perfect. But when you are forced to rely on other people...”
Nathan thought he detected a slight wistfulness in Fred’s tone as he trailed off; regret that the old man had tried to bury deeply but hadn’t quite succeeded.
At no point did Nathan hear even a hint of remorse about the genocide—or worse, the transformation—of billions. The only thing that seemed to matter to Fred Sullivan was that his immaculately-prepared scheme hadn’t been quite so immaculate after all.
Nathan shuddered involuntarily. The conversation had not gone as he had expected it would. Fred’s reputation for threats and intimidation preceded the old man by a long distance, but to Nathan it felt more like the man simply wanted somebody to hear his thoughts. Almost as if the old bastard somehow believed the end was near, and that somebody at least should know why he had done it.
"You can choose to think of me as a monster if you wish, Mr Colston. I don’t care. The only thing I care about at this point is your loyalty. I need to know that despite whatever…reservations you might have about all of this, that you can be trusted to carry out orders."
Nathan nodded.
"Of course. It’s not like there’s anything else out there anyway, right?"
Fred chuckled and clapped Nathan on the shoulder.
"Quite so, my boy. And I’m glad to hear it, because we have reached a crossroads, and I have to make a decision. Your input would be appreciated."
Nathan lifted an eyebrow in surprise.
"I’m not much of a tactician, Sir. I-"
Fred waved a dismissive hand.
"Phil Sanderson believes he can pull a rabbit out of the proverbial hat and turn this clusterfuck into something I can make use of. As useless as he is in most aspects, Sanderson knows his way around research."
Fred spat the last word out; laced it with contempt and poisoned the air with it.
"And so he may very well be right. However, given Sanderson's recent track record, it would be prudent to assume otherwise and to plan accordingly. So what I need from you is an answer on one simple question."
Nathan stared at Fred expectantly.
"How many people on this boat remain loyal to our cause? To my cause, if you prefer to think in those terms."
"Sir, I'm not sure I understand-"
"We've been getting along so well, Mr Colston. Don't throw it all away now. I know very well that there are...agitators on this ship. The only reason I can see for you to deny that would be that you are one of them. Is that the case?"
"No, Sir."
"Good," Fred said. "This is a numbers game now, Mr Colston, and I need to know how many I have. I believe implicitly in our friend Mr Skinner’s loyalty, but I have considerably less confidence that he has his finger on the pulse. The fact that he insisted on your joining our little meeting confirms that pretty clearly, I’d say, wouldn’t you?"
Nathan frowned.
"It’s just as Skinner said, Mr Sullivan. I'd estimate three to four hundred, but it could be less. Mostly those that came with us from Northumberland. But, Sir, even many of them are having doubts. If this turns violent I am honestly not sure how many people you could count on to back you."
Fred nodded, as if the news was not unexpected.
"If your estimate is correct we would be outnumbered by roughly six-to-one, at least."
"Outnumbered, Sir?"
Fred levelled his gaze at Nathan.
"The situation on this boat is going to escalate, Mr Colston. Accepting that truth as inevitable leaves me with a simple decision to make. And that is who gets to turn up the temperature: them or me."
Nathan nodded, and felt anxiety begin to unravel in his stomach. All Fred’s reminiscing suddenly seemed to have little to do with the past. Instead Nathan felt like it had been designed to test how he might react to the future that Fred was planning.
"Find the people that are loyal to me," Fred said. "Gather them together, and get them ready."
"Ready, Sir?"
Fred levelled his gaze at Nathan, and for a brief moment the legendary menace was more than evident in the old man’s eyes.
"For escalation."