Grapevines of War

[tomash3]

Another look at reactions on the System in the wake of the inciting incident of Marsh

---

The war-grapevines of Lagrange thrummed in the wake of the event.

They'd always been thin things built on whispers. Their stems were friends-of-friends and eyes-only messages and little private libraries and ephemeral forks whose memories would be left to wither away. They dealt in what-if and suppose and should-we-when. To call these barely affiliated blobs of people who had some occasional interest in making sure there was a final answer of the uploaded an "army" would be a grave mistake that would, if you asked these non-soldiers, make the thing they wanted to avoid more likely.

But these networks were still known, still sometimes observed. They were rumors of an outline of a deterrent, for they knew they had to be.

When the time jumped over a year and the death reports started rolling in, questions darted around. Messages to friends, to colleagues, to that person who might know, seeking answers. Seeking a plan. Wondering if this was the time when centuries of chatter left the realm of speculation.

"i don't know yet,* said those millions in their pairs and feeds, some hastily made for the occasion. "Might be an accident."

"Keep it calm for now."

"We have time."

"No attacks, and tell your friends that too."

---

Once the news swirled around, once it was known that the event was a Century Attack and not a Century Asteroid Strike, you could almost hear the war-grapevines of Lagrange, shouting at their fellows and the world. "No. Reprisals."

Oh, many of them were angry. Had lost so much. Oh, in those first days, some vaults of dirty tricks were cracked open and promptly closed again. The inventories of hard and soft power, of how it could be used or circumvented, were read carefully to see if something could be done.

They who now and then whisper about the end of the world reminded each other, reminded everyone, why they shouldn't bring it about. So many forks in so many offices and bars and couches doing their part to talk the System out of a leap it didn't need to take. No, that it must not take. Cladist by cladist, city by city, it needed to be said: "No hacking back. That'll make it way worse." and so on.

Many of System's ad-hoc war-planners went out and awkwardly held their friends and neighbors through sobs and screams. It had been decided by everyone and no one that this was the plan now, that this was the best thing to do.

(And if conversation didn't work, someone knew someone who knew a systech who could do something to stop anyone who was getting serious about this.)

Ultimately, the war-grapevines of Lagrange were an ingredient of the recipe for continued peace.

Were these people an organized thing, there'd be a glowing report and drinks all around once the dust settled. Since they weren't, a broad sense of satisfaction and relief would have to do.

Eventually, the many strangers and friends who had become the wisps of a defense response settled into their new normal, as did the rest of Lagrange, strengthened, changed, and renewed by loss.