Power is derived solely from the controlling of all forms of wealth and wealth production, requiring total war against any and all Adoptables and Responsibles who can and do legitimately generate personal wealth.
The Eternal War | Doctrine | Power | Resentfuls Principle
Preparing for her regular very early morning private session on the matt with Jake, at the Gracie studio on California, Annabelle’s thoughts are on the men who so unobtrusively secure her. There’s Carl, of course, the one she sees most, her close in man. Not really her man. Honestly, he’s the Earl’s man. There’s the Earl, at times, though always omnipresent. And there’s the new man. Something different about this one. Something to be observed and understood. How interesting, something new. She’ll have to put in an exceptional effort this morning to burn up all the excess excitement. Before her daily studies begin in earnest.
Riding back across the Presidio, above Baker Beach, north towards the Golden Gate Bridge, the tops of the towers just showing through the trees, Annabelle is confident Carl will report her morning session had gone well. The Earl and his man Carl are a known entity, obviously members of their Order but firmly her champions. What about this new one, this tall dark knight? This one interacts with her in ways quite unlike all the others, all those teachers, tutors, instructors, security and their support staff. There’s something far more direct in his interactions. She can’t shake the sense she’s being prepared for a major change, on the other side of an assessment this new one seems to be here to conduct. Something more than the constant assessments began the moment her father had given her into the care of the program.
She’d asked Bronson about this man but had received a less than understandable response. Not merely vague, but actually unintelligible. There’s a power struggle within the organization her keepers belonged to, and Bronson obviously was a leader, if not the leader, of the opposition. She had worked out this much. This man’s arrival meant whatever the plans for her future are, these plans are proceeding regardless of the opposition. Having stated something to this effect to Bronson had induced a visceral response from the old man, an obviously strongly negative response.
From the time of her earliest memories, long before being given over to the care of these men and their organization, Annabelle knew there was something different about her. Not special. Just different. Even during the happy early years, before her beloved mother died of cancer at a far too early age. During the years after in boarding schools and summer programs abroad, where she did quite well academically, but not even remotely as well socially. Her mother had taught her to approach the world in particular ways. Ways her almost solely female teachers, instructors and peers could not define but sought to remove from her, generally unpleasantly.
It's so obvious to even her young self. The world has changed dramatically, even in the couple decades of her life so far. Under the tutelage of these men and their organization, she’s coming to recognize the fullness of it, to see the details of what she’d only loosely roughed out prior. Some pieces of the old world remain, the pre- and post-WWII organization of forces, that of the Westphalian World of nation states, and the locus of power being with these states and their individual and collective institutions. Less and less though, as wealth, immense wealth, virtualizes at an ever-greater rate, real power becoming no longer tethered to geography nor to definable resources and populations. Wealth and power no longer bound by and within institutions, but returning to a far older model, the most ancient and sustained of all models, that of great houses. Once, a mere century ago, known as the inescapable and must be tolerated if not outright hated, aristocracy, which had morphed across the past century into the oligopoly.
Now back at the gated and guarded suite of rooms at the end of Vallejo, on the very top of Russian Hill, overlooking the Bay, from the Golden Gate Bridge right around to the Bay Bridge, across over from the Marin Headlands to the hills above Fremont and the South Bay. As she settles back into her lessons, after a shower and a healthy breakfast. She can’t help but surreptitiously observe the Earl and the new one, Bobby, as they stand bathed in sunlight flooding through the large windows, discussing what she does not know. Nor can she help but observe, more know and feel, the security all around her and this place, the preparation for movement and violence. Even the support staff exude this presence and readiness.
As seems to be the way of these people, the Earl uses her every question and interaction as a means to impart knowledge and ways of approaching the world. Without stating details, he’d shared with her the basics of urban security. How what she saw and sensed was only the close in inner circle of layered assets and efforts within the building, surrounding neighborhood, the city and surrounding areas. Human and machine intelligence assets, real-world and online observation and intelligence assets, communications platforms, as well as land, sea and air assets, mechanisms and efforts. All engaged or actively standing by in preparation for activation at a moment’s notice. A herculean effort which of necessity extended to the securing of the families of those men and women engaged in the efforts here in the city and the Bay Area.
The sheer scope of it, for one package, is mind boggling. The expense alone, of all those many pieces, absolutely extraordinary. All to secure one individual human. A package, she knows, is her. It’s exhilarating, truly frightening and humbling, all at once. The Earl and his men, the support staff came with them, are all here for one purpose, to ensure she remains secure against absolutely any and all threats. A fact obviously enrages Bronson. Rage the Earl looks off, unphased, as do his people. These are his people, she’s under his protection, and everyone knows it.
All this is coded into the now enhanced lessons and education she’s receiving from these stoic men. Men of The Order, an entity she’d not been able to find anything on in her secure online searches, nor which she’d been able to elicit information on from those she probed with all her not inconsiderable skills. None of it was unknowable though. There are patterns to it, patterns she’d strangely and unknowingly always seen. Though not in the detail she’s now taking in too fast, forced to drink in a raging river, as to say. How does one secure an apartment in a building, in a city, in a country, from attacks which can originate from anywhere at any time. In a country which itself, its organized crime and law enforcement, its secret police, its military and intelligence assets, its privately funded assets and even full-spectrum capable private armies, might well be hostile. To say nothing of foreign actors and insider threats. Of course, it’s all complex, but its knowable, the pieces of the thing fitting ancient patterns.
Biological, chemical and explosive threats, once more at the fore, as well as the newer targeted energy weapons, requiring sensor systems, highly advanced sensors, be embedded in layers, overtly and covertly, into entries and corridors of movement. Highly targeted genetic coded diseases, intended to pass invisibly through populations till they find their target, rapidly becoming the preferred method of assassination. Highly targeted energy weapons designed to destroy human tissues and cellular processes from a distance, in tight narrow energy, light and acoustic beams. Both increasingly the preferred method of threat and control. As evidenced in what records are not destroyed in the shockingly many biological and advanced weapons labs strewn about in the world’s most corrupt and failed states, increasingly being found as the world realigns martial and economic power. As evidenced by the growing number of those with Havana Syndrome and other energy weapon injuries.
She’d learned shortly upon his arrival, the Earl strongly dislikes static defenses, remaining in any one place too long. Patterns emerge in behaviour when humans become comfortable, confident in their surroundings. Dangerous patterns. The greatest danger being in attachment. There’s no length the human mind won’t go to in order to ignore even obvious threats, when one is comfortable. There’s no denying the Earl’s superior knowledge of such things, nor that of any of his men she’d yet spoken with. Each of them freely sharing with her such knowledge, though not the details of her particular security. This free but careful sharing not the result of any instruction from the Earl, seeming instead to be the nature of these peculiarly driven men and the equally loyal and knowledgeable support staff they brought with them. People she wants to know more about. To this, Carl had been prodded more than once to provide some background on himself, the Earl and his people. But, to no avail. He remains a bearded enigma.
Except for the temporary, out of absolute last resort necessity, and even then, only if absolutely confident of extraction by larger and more capable and supported assets, does one allow themselves to adopt the siege posture. She knows from her studies the Earl and his man Carl are greatly accelerating. The siege mentality is an ancient artifact has lost any real value in the age of aircraft, precision munitions and satellites, to say nothing of NBC and Energy weapons. Unless one has the power and resources of a capable and well-led nation state. Increasingly, not even these suffice. Something preppers fail to recognize and think through. How well did Waco, Ruby Ridge and all the many parallels around the world go for those who hunkered down to sit or fight it out?
“Every war and conflict fought since WWII has demonstrated definitively, advances in technology, even great advances, add very little to defensibility. Wars are no longer limited time events but are forever conflicts. Wars are no longer fought over points on the surface of the earth, nor even over control of physical resources. They’re fought right in the minds of individuals and groups. Even the most advanced and well-equipped military and internal defense agencies of nation states are easily defeated when it’s their own family, believing they are safely home in their beds, pay the price. Just as the gun provides women with equal capacity as men to defend themselves. Real-time and near real-time actionable intelligence enmeshed fully with asymmetric assets are the great leveler.” The Earl had expressed to her, in response to a casual question.
He’d gone on, seeing recognition of the pattern and truth of it in her eyes. “Bureaucratic feudalists across all of the 20th, and now all across this 21st Century, have demonstrated how far they will go to retain power. What degree of lies, usury, brutality, murder and genocide they will employ. Billions enslaved, hundreds of millions murdered, and all legally so. As distasteful as it may be, like can only be met with like.”
“Accountability.” The Earl had stated. “We’ve allowed fully unaccountable bureaucratic feudalist systems to emerge over the course of the past century. Nameless bureaucrats to conduct the abusive slaver work, with zero personal liability of any kind. The oligarchy, seeking ways to shield itself from its own failures, excesses and abuses, its own apathy and disinterest, steadily put in place sprawling and layered bureaucracies as modern shield walls. In older times, the Nobility had no such shield, each lord and lady being fully accountable. To the degree, if they went too far, their own people rose up against them.” Seeing she understood, he’d continued, “The only security in a static position, is the support of the local community and the certainty on the part of your adversary, that you’re prepared to pierce that unaccountability, to make them pay personally for moving against you. That lessons will be administered, which even your destruction cannot prevent. Painful lessons, as bureaucratic feudalists can only learn the lessons of accountability, through direct and personal loss.”
That was all he would share with her, having other duties to attend to. But that phrase had stuck with her, still wrung true in her mind, lessons of accountability. She’d questioned Bronson early the next morning, at their regular breakfast meeting. “Where can I learn about the lessons of accountability?”
“What is it you would like to know about them?”
“What are they? Are they tactics, techniques and procedures? Is there doctrine and guidelines?”
“Each lesson is tailored to the one who receives it and to what aspect of accountability they need learn.” There was something of a firmness in Bronson’s posture and tone, which gave Annabelle pause before asking more. There’s something profound, powerful, and disconcerting in The Order’s lessons.
“When you say lesson, you actually mean punishment?” Even as she asked the question, she knew it wasn’t quite on mark. That wasn’t the posture and tone in Bronson.
“No. Punishment leads only to two outcomes, fear or hatred. Humans make dangerously irrational decisions when they are afraid and when they hate. Hatred possesses the further risks of broader infection and transmission to all future generations. Fear does as well, but hatred is far more contagious.”
“Lessons must be measured and tailored to each individual, to their individual culpability. Something must then be taken from them of equal value, in such fashion they know the loss is directly related to specific actions they’ve determined, enabled or conducted. All of which must be applied swiftly, immediately, if possible.”
“My god, but the investment and resources it must entail. That means The Order has to be prepared before its enemies move against it.” The sheer thought of the depth and breadth of efforts must be underway always, everywhere, is staggering.
“Never operate in an environment where you do not have detailed information of currency on the actual decision makers among the nameless functionaries who run the local bureaucracy. Know the difference between those who define the orders, those who give the orders and those who carry out the orders. Each will require their own lesson.” Bronson continues. He might not believe in The Order’s mentor program, but it’s the way of those of The Order, to teach. “You must never forget that those who seek power care only for power, not for the things you seek and care for. Power must be taken from these. These are your adversaries. Those who carry out the orders, unless also power hungry, are not your adversaries. These are combatants. Each lesson must be tailored and measured to the individual, recognizing this difference.”
She’d asked why, why did they do it, go to such extreme lengths for her. She’d always known she was different, but never special, not deserving of anything like what was all about her now. The only answer she’d received from any of the members of The Order was basically the same, “A balance must be maintained. And you are more than you know.”
There was little information to be gleaned from The Order’s private network and its extensive data and information files, at least when it came to The Order, to its knights and members. And nothing related to herself. From the lessons, however, she’d been piecing things together, small piece by small piece. From what she could gather from her searches, studies and from testing thoughts out on the staff, picking up little things mostly from subtle body language changes, she was getting a picture.
The Order had come into being in the early Middle Ages, chartered not by a church or religion, but by a queen. It was formally established by her champion, a great warrior and kingmaker knight. Drawing upon the model of a far more ancient order. Not religious or crusader in nature, not oriented to the defense of the crown and the realm. The Order was established to address one far more fundamental need, to secure bloodlines across many generations. Not patrilineal bloodlines, which rarely throughout history, survive more than four generations. Matrilineal bloodlines, which historically outlive patrilineal lines, often by a thousand years or more.
When the truth of it hit her. It woke her bolt upright from a lucid dream. The full pattern of all the gossamer threads finally assembled by that ninety percent of the brain’s activity that is the subconscious. The awareness had sent a shock through her entire being, as if all the nerves in her body had fired at once, in synchronous fashion. As if something hidden deep within each and every one of the hundred trillion cells made up her body had all unlocked a secret room, accessed previously inaccessible segments of her biodata. Now many days later, she can still feel the charge in her body and she’s coming to believe the sensation will always be with her.
She’s a direct descendant of one of these matrilineal lines. No. Given the level of effort being put into her, more than one matrilineal line. When she had informed Bronson of her awareness the following morning at breakfast, he ‘d stiffened and immediately closed himself off. The Earl had responded differently, nonchalantly, stating only, “You must learn to keep such things to yourself. Guard truth as if your very life depends on it.” Because it does! He didn’t have to say this last part. It was implied in the dangerous look he gave her just before showing a bit of paternal pride in his dark azure eyes, a barely discernable smile around his thin-lipped mouth. Goodness, but this Earl was a man who earned loyalty.
It would be almost another month before the fullness of the design struck her. Again, with a bolt of energy rushed through her entire body and being. She wasn’t being prepared to enter The Order. She was being prepared to be served by it. There was a man out there. A man of stature, of a great house. Her future husband and father of her children, who would each be descendants of whatever matrilineal dynasties she was heir to, that he may be heir to. A man she was to bind to herself, stand and walk with. Not to serve. But instead, to rule with. Now so much of her life began to make sense.
All struggles and conflicts, all wars, are at their very core genetic warfare. Whose genes get to propagate and continue and whose do not. Down beneath it all, driving nearly every aspect of this genetic warfare, is all out ruthless female versus female competition. She’d learned at a very early age, there’s no length to which female competition will not go. It would be a stretch to believe other women are to be feared and hated for this. No, it’s more that there’s something hard refining about female competition.
It's not the steel sharpening steel of males. More, blood sharpening blood. All out female competition hard selecting for genetic fitness through total war. Total female war that knows no morals, no limits, no restraints. Not any of any kind. Nor is there any shortage of soft, weak, or foolish men to manipulate and control, bring into this total war, willing to do horrible and evil things, to bear the blame for absolutely everything. Driven, mostly unconsciously, by the need to do whatever they must to get a chance to pass on their genes. Which eighty percent of every man who ever lived, never earned the chance for. Talk about ruthless!
A balance must be sustained, some things must be preserved. Indeed! Perhaps, The Order and these stoic and immensely dangerous men, are not so unknowable after all. Then again, they are men, not weak men, but instead, monstrous, extraordinarily capable men. Maybe, unless you’re truly one of them, there’s no understanding, only appreciation they exist and are out there. How very exciting! These men may be the Earl’s, but the Earl is hers! Damn, but he does earn one’s loyalties and best efforts. She will double that effort from here on out.
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