Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
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Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
Morning court was being held in the Imperial Palace in Shireroth. Reynardine was often brought to boredom by the petty needs of lesser nobles. Some count or other squabbles with some other count or other about borders. Why the local Baron or Duke couldn't handle this was beyond him.
"The disputed land will be split evenly among the involved parties. Next issue!" The Kaiser was growing impatient with pointless bickering. He was having enough trouble keeping his nation together with Loki III's amendments still in effect indefinitely and the Treaty of Musica's conclusion causing stress between Brookshire and Yardistan.
The Master of Ceremonies presented the next issue. "Presenting, for His Niftiness Reynardine I, a message from the Maraguan government in Jasonia. They request military aid against invasion by Novatainia-controlled Jasonia. They report attempts at destabilization of their region by a group called the "Gold Eagle Society", supposedly supported by the Kingdom of Novatainia. After a retaliatory attack on a Novatainia compound, the Novatainian government has made several demands on Maraguo that Senechal Jonas Windsor and the Vryheer find unacceptable."
"What is the state of foreign affairs with both of these nations?"
"We are bound by treaty with Novatainia, but Maraguo has traditionally been much farther within Shireroth's sphere of influence."
Reynardine took a second to think it through. King Andreas of Novatainia was a Baron and the Minister of Trade in Shireroth, but Jonas was Duke of Kildare and Prætor of the Landsraad, and Loki III was very influential in Maraguo. While Jonas is partly responsible for the Kaiser's current troubles involving the Charter, Shireroth's ties with Maraguo were much stronger than with Novatainia.
"Prepare the Imperial forces for war. And someone fetch me my helmet, I need to have a meeting with Lord Atterock as soon as possible. All issues remaining for today shall be left to Steward Ari." The Kaiser stood, grabbed the Sword of Vengence, and stormed out of the main hall.
Summary: The Imperial Republic of Shireroth agrees to aid Maraguo in the upcoming conflict. Kaiser Reynardine sends for King Andreas.
"The disputed land will be split evenly among the involved parties. Next issue!" The Kaiser was growing impatient with pointless bickering. He was having enough trouble keeping his nation together with Loki III's amendments still in effect indefinitely and the Treaty of Musica's conclusion causing stress between Brookshire and Yardistan.
The Master of Ceremonies presented the next issue. "Presenting, for His Niftiness Reynardine I, a message from the Maraguan government in Jasonia. They request military aid against invasion by Novatainia-controlled Jasonia. They report attempts at destabilization of their region by a group called the "Gold Eagle Society", supposedly supported by the Kingdom of Novatainia. After a retaliatory attack on a Novatainia compound, the Novatainian government has made several demands on Maraguo that Senechal Jonas Windsor and the Vryheer find unacceptable."
"What is the state of foreign affairs with both of these nations?"
"We are bound by treaty with Novatainia, but Maraguo has traditionally been much farther within Shireroth's sphere of influence."
Reynardine took a second to think it through. King Andreas of Novatainia was a Baron and the Minister of Trade in Shireroth, but Jonas was Duke of Kildare and Prætor of the Landsraad, and Loki III was very influential in Maraguo. While Jonas is partly responsible for the Kaiser's current troubles involving the Charter, Shireroth's ties with Maraguo were much stronger than with Novatainia.
"Prepare the Imperial forces for war. And someone fetch me my helmet, I need to have a meeting with Lord Atterock as soon as possible. All issues remaining for today shall be left to Steward Ari." The Kaiser stood, grabbed the Sword of Vengence, and stormed out of the main hall.
Summary: The Imperial Republic of Shireroth agrees to aid Maraguo in the upcoming conflict. Kaiser Reynardine sends for King Andreas.
His Imperial Niftiness, Reynardine I
94th Kaiser of Shireroth
94th Kaiser of Shireroth
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Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
King Andreas was reviewing Academy defences when his aide interrupted. "A royal message, your majesty," the aide told him.
"Toketi was fast," Andreas said, pleasantly surprised.
"Err ... it's not Toketi," the aide said. "It's the Kaiser. He'd like to talk to you. In person."
"Well, he knows where my office is," Andreas said, turning back to his work, but his aide interrupted him again.
"He specifically called for a meeting in your capacity as Baron of Atterock. Which means you're obligated to go where he is."
Andreas sighed. "Is Mel'Kat in international waters yet?"
"Well en-route to the Floating Islands, due to arrive tonight, your majesty," his aide replied, consulting his notes.
"Well, at least that's one less thing to worry about," Andreas said. "For the sake of international diplomatic conventions, I'd best visit. I might even be able to talk him into talking to Maraguo and sorting this."
"And Fides may speak a sentence with perfect grammar and spelling," his aide muttered.
"What was that?" Andreas asked.
"Nothing, your majesty. Shall I prepare your jet?"
"No," Andreas replied thoughtfully. "I'll take something faster."
Summary: Andreas goes to visit the Kaiser. It better be a quick visit.
"Toketi was fast," Andreas said, pleasantly surprised.
"Err ... it's not Toketi," the aide said. "It's the Kaiser. He'd like to talk to you. In person."
"Well, he knows where my office is," Andreas said, turning back to his work, but his aide interrupted him again.
"He specifically called for a meeting in your capacity as Baron of Atterock. Which means you're obligated to go where he is."
Andreas sighed. "Is Mel'Kat in international waters yet?"
"Well en-route to the Floating Islands, due to arrive tonight, your majesty," his aide replied, consulting his notes.
"Well, at least that's one less thing to worry about," Andreas said. "For the sake of international diplomatic conventions, I'd best visit. I might even be able to talk him into talking to Maraguo and sorting this."
"And Fides may speak a sentence with perfect grammar and spelling," his aide muttered.
"What was that?" Andreas asked.
"Nothing, your majesty. Shall I prepare your jet?"
"No," Andreas replied thoughtfully. "I'll take something faster."
Summary: Andreas goes to visit the Kaiser. It better be a quick visit.
Andreas
"He showed up three or four years ago and accidentally took over the micronational world by being way more competent and enthusiastic than everyone else. Now he sort of rules us all, but it's a benevolent sort of thing, as far as we know."
~Scott Alexander
"He showed up three or four years ago and accidentally took over the micronational world by being way more competent and enthusiastic than everyone else. Now he sort of rules us all, but it's a benevolent sort of thing, as far as we know."
~Scott Alexander
- Scott Alexander
- Special Map Cartographer
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Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
"Hey."
It was one of Konstan's few acts of rebellion against his captors. He wasn't the dramatic type, to rage defiance at the heavens and promise they would rue the day they captured Konstan Ifrostik. He wasn't even all that angry at them. He worked for his people, they worked for different people, and at the end of the day it didn't really matter. But he also wasn't the type to fawn over them and play the obedient little prisoner. It wasn't his style. So he limited himself to a brusque lack of politeness that could never quite be pinned down. Like greeting the infamous Glorious Enlightened Leader with "Hey".
The voice on the cell phone didn't skip a beat. "Hey," said the Glorious Enlightened Leader. You're Konstan, right? Glad to finally get a chance to talk to you."
Konstan frowned. It wasn't the way he expected a Glorious Enlightened Leader to behave, even during a telephone conversation.
"First," the voice continued, "I'm sorry if some of the guys back at base were harsh with you. The orders were to treat prisoners respectfully. But you know how it is,"
"Yeah," said Konstan, somewhat sarcastically, because he didn't know how it was at all, but he was pretty sure it wasn't nearly as trivial as this man was making it sound.
The Leader must have noticed the sarcasm. "No. I'm sorry. That wasn't how I meant it. It's just...everyone wants to do good, and no one knows how. Some people want to do it by respecting everyone and showing mercy, and other people want to do it by using every tool at their disposal to help our cause. I owe everyone there so much, and I know they're doing it for me and for FIoNa, and it's so hard to get angry at anyone...do you understand? Am I making sense?"
Konstan didn't quite understand. He'd been perfectly happy doing whatever Raiki had asked of him, and Raiki had been very clear that without discipline, the whole organization would break down. But he sensed the sincerity in the man's voice, and so he grunted assent.
"That's the Gold Eagle Society in a nutshell," said the Leader. "A bunch of people trying to do good and not knowing whether they're making a terrible mistake or not, but soldiering on anyway. It means something different to everyone. We all have different reasons to keep going. My reason is...well...what's your reason, Konstan? Why do you fight for Maraguo?"
Konstan chewed the question over for a while, suddenly uncomfortable. His experience as a mercentary had been limited. A few engagements in the Amokolian Civil War, one or two border conflicts in Bosworth. But he was pretty sure it wasn't normal for your enemies to ask you that kind of question. He resisted the urge to tell the Leader it was mostly money. For one thing, he would have been embarrassed. For another, he wasn't sure it was the whole truth. There were easier ways to make money back in Bjorngard.
He fought because it was what he did. Bjorngard had been a martial society long before the Hyperboreans had arrived, and had become in some ways even more so. He fought to prove that he was as good as anyone else in Hyfrost, Hyperborean or Shirerithian or Elw. Because he had always won the barfights he had been in as a teenager and could shoot a gun more accurately than most people. How did you explain that to a Glorious Enlightened Leader?
"Because fighting is who I am," he said laconically. "And Maraguo needed fighters."
The Leader thought for a second. "It sounds like you don't know who you are," he said. "For a long time, we didn't know either. We Islanders didn't think of ourselves as Zindarians, because Zindaria's long gone. We didn't think of ourselves as Novatainians, because Novatainia just wants us out of the way while they dig up our heritage and send it to gleaming, climate-controlled museums in Novatica. Maraguo just wants our land and our resources. We - the people who have lived on these islands since gods know when - were just sort of the debris of history, a mixture of people of indeterminate ethnicity stuck between the past and the present without a future to speak of. Until some of us realized it was our job to make our own future. That's what we're about here. Do you have a future, Konstan from Maraguo?"
"I figure my future's going to look a lot like my present," he said without thinking.
"But that's the problem!" said the Glorious Enlightened Leader. "Why do the Novatainians and Maraguans make so much money off of old artifacts here? It's because we long for the past. The present is full of second-best solutions, whole cultures based on sheer inertia, the sense of can't-be-done. On these isles, we look to the past because we believed it was better back then. But in the end, the only way out of the present is into the future. And what has the present ever done for you?"
"Look, I'm not sure where you're going with this," said Konstan.
"We want to try something new," said the Leader. "We want to restore democracy, pacificism, and enlightened values to the world. We want to take the liberal ideal that's disappeared from Micras and bring it back. I want you to join us."
"Join you?" said Konstan.
"Well, we can't really let you out just yet. You've seen too much. If you want, you can stick around in your cell until our plans come together, and eventually we should be able to release you. But I'd rather just invite you into the organization. Rumor is Shireroth and Novatainia and Toketi are gathering their forces. We need some professionals who know how military matters work. We can pay you whatever the Maraguans were, I'm sure."
"Yeah, the Maraguans were paying me three hundred erb per week," Konstan said, assuming that a Glorious Enlightened Leader wouldn't know what the going rates for mercenaries were.
"Three hundred," mused the Leader. "Yes, of course. Talk to Matt about it. Welcome on board. I know we seem strange now, but I promise you, you're working for a good cause. Doing the gods' work and all that. Look, I'd like to speak to you more, but I've got a superweapon to steal. I'll be in contact with you later. May the spirit of FIoNA be with you. Three hundred erb, right?"
"Uh, no, I said two hundred," said Konstan. For some reason, he just felt bad lying to someone who was that earnest about, well, everything.
"Right," said the Leader. "Talk to Matt. And welcome to the Society."
Summary: Backstory. The Leader has hired Konstan for the Gold Eagle Society. Konstan is still cynical, but is impressed by the Leader's idealism.
It was one of Konstan's few acts of rebellion against his captors. He wasn't the dramatic type, to rage defiance at the heavens and promise they would rue the day they captured Konstan Ifrostik. He wasn't even all that angry at them. He worked for his people, they worked for different people, and at the end of the day it didn't really matter. But he also wasn't the type to fawn over them and play the obedient little prisoner. It wasn't his style. So he limited himself to a brusque lack of politeness that could never quite be pinned down. Like greeting the infamous Glorious Enlightened Leader with "Hey".
The voice on the cell phone didn't skip a beat. "Hey," said the Glorious Enlightened Leader. You're Konstan, right? Glad to finally get a chance to talk to you."
Konstan frowned. It wasn't the way he expected a Glorious Enlightened Leader to behave, even during a telephone conversation.
"First," the voice continued, "I'm sorry if some of the guys back at base were harsh with you. The orders were to treat prisoners respectfully. But you know how it is,"
"Yeah," said Konstan, somewhat sarcastically, because he didn't know how it was at all, but he was pretty sure it wasn't nearly as trivial as this man was making it sound.
The Leader must have noticed the sarcasm. "No. I'm sorry. That wasn't how I meant it. It's just...everyone wants to do good, and no one knows how. Some people want to do it by respecting everyone and showing mercy, and other people want to do it by using every tool at their disposal to help our cause. I owe everyone there so much, and I know they're doing it for me and for FIoNa, and it's so hard to get angry at anyone...do you understand? Am I making sense?"
Konstan didn't quite understand. He'd been perfectly happy doing whatever Raiki had asked of him, and Raiki had been very clear that without discipline, the whole organization would break down. But he sensed the sincerity in the man's voice, and so he grunted assent.
"That's the Gold Eagle Society in a nutshell," said the Leader. "A bunch of people trying to do good and not knowing whether they're making a terrible mistake or not, but soldiering on anyway. It means something different to everyone. We all have different reasons to keep going. My reason is...well...what's your reason, Konstan? Why do you fight for Maraguo?"
Konstan chewed the question over for a while, suddenly uncomfortable. His experience as a mercentary had been limited. A few engagements in the Amokolian Civil War, one or two border conflicts in Bosworth. But he was pretty sure it wasn't normal for your enemies to ask you that kind of question. He resisted the urge to tell the Leader it was mostly money. For one thing, he would have been embarrassed. For another, he wasn't sure it was the whole truth. There were easier ways to make money back in Bjorngard.
He fought because it was what he did. Bjorngard had been a martial society long before the Hyperboreans had arrived, and had become in some ways even more so. He fought to prove that he was as good as anyone else in Hyfrost, Hyperborean or Shirerithian or Elw. Because he had always won the barfights he had been in as a teenager and could shoot a gun more accurately than most people. How did you explain that to a Glorious Enlightened Leader?
"Because fighting is who I am," he said laconically. "And Maraguo needed fighters."
The Leader thought for a second. "It sounds like you don't know who you are," he said. "For a long time, we didn't know either. We Islanders didn't think of ourselves as Zindarians, because Zindaria's long gone. We didn't think of ourselves as Novatainians, because Novatainia just wants us out of the way while they dig up our heritage and send it to gleaming, climate-controlled museums in Novatica. Maraguo just wants our land and our resources. We - the people who have lived on these islands since gods know when - were just sort of the debris of history, a mixture of people of indeterminate ethnicity stuck between the past and the present without a future to speak of. Until some of us realized it was our job to make our own future. That's what we're about here. Do you have a future, Konstan from Maraguo?"
"I figure my future's going to look a lot like my present," he said without thinking.
"But that's the problem!" said the Glorious Enlightened Leader. "Why do the Novatainians and Maraguans make so much money off of old artifacts here? It's because we long for the past. The present is full of second-best solutions, whole cultures based on sheer inertia, the sense of can't-be-done. On these isles, we look to the past because we believed it was better back then. But in the end, the only way out of the present is into the future. And what has the present ever done for you?"
"Look, I'm not sure where you're going with this," said Konstan.
"We want to try something new," said the Leader. "We want to restore democracy, pacificism, and enlightened values to the world. We want to take the liberal ideal that's disappeared from Micras and bring it back. I want you to join us."
"Join you?" said Konstan.
"Well, we can't really let you out just yet. You've seen too much. If you want, you can stick around in your cell until our plans come together, and eventually we should be able to release you. But I'd rather just invite you into the organization. Rumor is Shireroth and Novatainia and Toketi are gathering their forces. We need some professionals who know how military matters work. We can pay you whatever the Maraguans were, I'm sure."
"Yeah, the Maraguans were paying me three hundred erb per week," Konstan said, assuming that a Glorious Enlightened Leader wouldn't know what the going rates for mercenaries were.
"Three hundred," mused the Leader. "Yes, of course. Talk to Matt about it. Welcome on board. I know we seem strange now, but I promise you, you're working for a good cause. Doing the gods' work and all that. Look, I'd like to speak to you more, but I've got a superweapon to steal. I'll be in contact with you later. May the spirit of FIoNA be with you. Three hundred erb, right?"
"Uh, no, I said two hundred," said Konstan. For some reason, he just felt bad lying to someone who was that earnest about, well, everything.
"Right," said the Leader. "Talk to Matt. And welcome to the Society."
Summary: Backstory. The Leader has hired Konstan for the Gold Eagle Society. Konstan is still cynical, but is impressed by the Leader's idealism.
Scott Alexander | Autokrator of Archipelago (What is Archipelago?)
Illustrious Founder of the MCS, and sometime Special Cartographer
Illustrious Founder of the MCS, and sometime Special Cartographer
Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
Bob Robinson had a feeling that he was becoming a bitter old man far before his time. He was the Omen Guardian; the second highest ranking position in the Apollo Foundation, right under the Administrator himself. He had a hefty salary, lots of vacation time, and unlimited access to one of the most bizarre and enigmatic pieces of technology ever built. Yet, it wasn’t enough for Bob. He wanted the top chair and had wanted it for almost twenty years.
There wasn’t any mystery involved in who would become the next Administrator when the current one resigned; it was Bob for sure. Omen Guardians became Apollo Foundation Administrators. That’s just how it was and had been for hundreds of years. The real tension and political maneuvering came up around who was going to be the next Omen Guardian. Once you had that position, you were set for sure. Bob’s future in the Foundation should have been a bright one.
The problem was that the current Administrator, Col. Vilhelm von Benkern, was quite young and unlikely to retire any time soon. He got the job after being Omen Guardian for only a few years when the previous administrator died in a fatal car crash incident somehow involving a random rock. Worse, the man was competent, blast him, so there was no realistic chance of getting the Council to remove him prematurely. So, barring a similar accident, it looked like Bob would be stuck doing the job of Omen Guardian until his retirement years. The thought of spending the better days of his waning adult years in backwater Apolytown was not something that sat well with him.
In the end, Bob kept himself sane by taking long holidays to the Yardistani isles or Amity, often flimsily under the guise of an official Foundation research expedition. His salary and job security more than allowed him to take advantage of the perks. Yet that failed to satisfy him as well. Ultimately Bob was not a lazy man, and as relaxing as sitting on a tropical beach was supposed to be, it ended up making him feel more anxious about his lack of progress in the world.
That wasn’t to mean that he enjoyed being called back a week early to supervise and assist the latest engineering team coming to examine the Omen. And it was the realization that he neither enjoyed his job nor enjoyed not doing his job that seriously made Bob wonder if he was well on the way towards a midlife crisis.
“… still can’t believe you won over a mercenary with propaganda,†some woman was saying as she and her companion approached.
The man replied, “Not propaganda. Money. I did offer him a salary. I can’t demand that everyone to be an idealist like I am, else I would live a very tortured life. It would be nice if some of what I said sunk in, but I don’t expect it overnight.â€
Bob didn’t care what the man was talking about, or what was in the boxes that the rest of his team were unloading to be taken inside. Pety problems of elsewhere in the world, no doubt. Of little use to him.
“Ah, Professor Robinson. I’m glad you could meet us on such short notice,†the man said, extending his hand for a handshake. Bob shook it weakly. He continued, “I am Harvey Lekuan from Novatainia. This is my assistant Areuhat.â€
“A pleasure to meet the both of you,†said Bob entirely without meaning it. The woman who must have been the Areuhat that lacked a last name only nodded.
Harvey said, “I take it that the Omen is cleared out for our inspection?â€
“Of course, sir, though I must admit that is an unusual request. Usually, if nothing else, the repair teams are allowed to keep their normal shifts running to keep our maintenance schedules.â€
Harvey shook his head. “Impossible,†he said. “I’m afraid our experiments may be dangerous and I could not think of endangering your men. As Novatainia is a major contributor of your organization, I’m sure you have no objections.â€
“None whatsoever,†Bob said through partially clenched teeth. It was only a matter of time before most of the foreign engineering teams pulled that card, but it seemed Harvey wasn’t wasting any time with pretenses pretending that Bob had any actual authority. The Apollo Foundation generated next to no income and keeping the Omen running even as a broken down science project required somewhat significant funding. Free access to all systems of the Omen, scheduled in advance of course, was one of the conditions the contributors had made when the first charters had been signed so long ago.
Bob asked, “Which subsystems will your team be inspecting?†Bob knew this already. He knew Harvey knew he knew this already. He was asking it anyway, just to set the record straight that he wasn’t about to be a very useful assistant.
If Harvey cared, he didn’t show it. “Hyperlaser cooling systems. Maybe a little bit into the actual hyperlaser crystal refractors if we have time, but I doubt we will. The guys here will be taking all our equipment up, but I was wondering if you could give me the grand tour first?â€
“I’d be happy to,†Bob lied. Everyone asked for the tour. At least this would be the end of it. An hour with these two and then he could leave them to their work. If he timed his lunch right when they were leaving, he might never have to see them again. He indulged in the grand tour, showing off the enigmatic and utterly perplexing main gravitron engines, the massive Epoch fighter docking bays, the central firing mechanism of the bottom-mounted laser cannon systems, and finally the main bridge at the top of the spire.
“Wow,†said Harvey once they had reached the bridge. “So this is where it all happened.â€
Bob said, “Yes. All the main systems were controlled from this room, from the weaponry and engines straight down to the elevators and waste disposals. In theory, when all of the computer-aided subsystems were up and running, a skeleton crew could control the whole ship from here alone.â€
“And you’ve never been able to activate those subsystems?†Areuhat asked suddenly, speaking up for the first time.
“No,†Bob said. “We’ve barely managed to get any of the subsystems online directly. This room is an entire dead zone to us. In the past they tried nearly everything to get some of this stuff online, but the circuitry is so intertwined with tamperproofing within itself that the best we’ve managed to do is break things, sometimes temporarily, other times permanently.â€
“Nothing vital was disabled permanently, I hope?†Harvey said with an odd amount of concern on his face.
But Bob said, “No. Extremely minor systems. Lighting for several of the floors. A few conveyors inside the living quarters.â€
“Hmm,†said Harvey. “Yet I see you’ve made some permanent modifications. This panel wasn’t here before, and it looks like this this control system was replaced some time ago.â€
“Yes, that was replaced about-“ started Bob before he caught himself. “Wait. How did you know about that? There are no public plans of the Omen.â€
A small smile started to cross Harvey’s face. He said, “Come now, professor. I know you’ve just been toying with us this whole time, leading us around, but I think it’s time to end the little games.â€
“I’m afraid I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about,†Bob said. If there was one thing he had meant all day, it was that.
Harvey looked taken aback. “No? I apologize; I took you as one of the quick types. Well, I suppose it would be too awkward to go back now. Perhaps this will clear things up for you?†And suddenly there was a gun in his hand.
After the initial shock wore off, Bob began to laugh. Harvey had just done the stupidest possible thing. Finally, after far too long, someone was about to have a worse day than him!
Summary: Harvey and Areuhat are on the disabled Omen Gravship with Prof. Bob Robinson, a high-ranking member of the Apollo Foundation, and are holding him at gunpoint.
There wasn’t any mystery involved in who would become the next Administrator when the current one resigned; it was Bob for sure. Omen Guardians became Apollo Foundation Administrators. That’s just how it was and had been for hundreds of years. The real tension and political maneuvering came up around who was going to be the next Omen Guardian. Once you had that position, you were set for sure. Bob’s future in the Foundation should have been a bright one.
The problem was that the current Administrator, Col. Vilhelm von Benkern, was quite young and unlikely to retire any time soon. He got the job after being Omen Guardian for only a few years when the previous administrator died in a fatal car crash incident somehow involving a random rock. Worse, the man was competent, blast him, so there was no realistic chance of getting the Council to remove him prematurely. So, barring a similar accident, it looked like Bob would be stuck doing the job of Omen Guardian until his retirement years. The thought of spending the better days of his waning adult years in backwater Apolytown was not something that sat well with him.
In the end, Bob kept himself sane by taking long holidays to the Yardistani isles or Amity, often flimsily under the guise of an official Foundation research expedition. His salary and job security more than allowed him to take advantage of the perks. Yet that failed to satisfy him as well. Ultimately Bob was not a lazy man, and as relaxing as sitting on a tropical beach was supposed to be, it ended up making him feel more anxious about his lack of progress in the world.
That wasn’t to mean that he enjoyed being called back a week early to supervise and assist the latest engineering team coming to examine the Omen. And it was the realization that he neither enjoyed his job nor enjoyed not doing his job that seriously made Bob wonder if he was well on the way towards a midlife crisis.
“… still can’t believe you won over a mercenary with propaganda,†some woman was saying as she and her companion approached.
The man replied, “Not propaganda. Money. I did offer him a salary. I can’t demand that everyone to be an idealist like I am, else I would live a very tortured life. It would be nice if some of what I said sunk in, but I don’t expect it overnight.â€
Bob didn’t care what the man was talking about, or what was in the boxes that the rest of his team were unloading to be taken inside. Pety problems of elsewhere in the world, no doubt. Of little use to him.
“Ah, Professor Robinson. I’m glad you could meet us on such short notice,†the man said, extending his hand for a handshake. Bob shook it weakly. He continued, “I am Harvey Lekuan from Novatainia. This is my assistant Areuhat.â€
“A pleasure to meet the both of you,†said Bob entirely without meaning it. The woman who must have been the Areuhat that lacked a last name only nodded.
Harvey said, “I take it that the Omen is cleared out for our inspection?â€
“Of course, sir, though I must admit that is an unusual request. Usually, if nothing else, the repair teams are allowed to keep their normal shifts running to keep our maintenance schedules.â€
Harvey shook his head. “Impossible,†he said. “I’m afraid our experiments may be dangerous and I could not think of endangering your men. As Novatainia is a major contributor of your organization, I’m sure you have no objections.â€
“None whatsoever,†Bob said through partially clenched teeth. It was only a matter of time before most of the foreign engineering teams pulled that card, but it seemed Harvey wasn’t wasting any time with pretenses pretending that Bob had any actual authority. The Apollo Foundation generated next to no income and keeping the Omen running even as a broken down science project required somewhat significant funding. Free access to all systems of the Omen, scheduled in advance of course, was one of the conditions the contributors had made when the first charters had been signed so long ago.
Bob asked, “Which subsystems will your team be inspecting?†Bob knew this already. He knew Harvey knew he knew this already. He was asking it anyway, just to set the record straight that he wasn’t about to be a very useful assistant.
If Harvey cared, he didn’t show it. “Hyperlaser cooling systems. Maybe a little bit into the actual hyperlaser crystal refractors if we have time, but I doubt we will. The guys here will be taking all our equipment up, but I was wondering if you could give me the grand tour first?â€
“I’d be happy to,†Bob lied. Everyone asked for the tour. At least this would be the end of it. An hour with these two and then he could leave them to their work. If he timed his lunch right when they were leaving, he might never have to see them again. He indulged in the grand tour, showing off the enigmatic and utterly perplexing main gravitron engines, the massive Epoch fighter docking bays, the central firing mechanism of the bottom-mounted laser cannon systems, and finally the main bridge at the top of the spire.
“Wow,†said Harvey once they had reached the bridge. “So this is where it all happened.â€
Bob said, “Yes. All the main systems were controlled from this room, from the weaponry and engines straight down to the elevators and waste disposals. In theory, when all of the computer-aided subsystems were up and running, a skeleton crew could control the whole ship from here alone.â€
“And you’ve never been able to activate those subsystems?†Areuhat asked suddenly, speaking up for the first time.
“No,†Bob said. “We’ve barely managed to get any of the subsystems online directly. This room is an entire dead zone to us. In the past they tried nearly everything to get some of this stuff online, but the circuitry is so intertwined with tamperproofing within itself that the best we’ve managed to do is break things, sometimes temporarily, other times permanently.â€
“Nothing vital was disabled permanently, I hope?†Harvey said with an odd amount of concern on his face.
But Bob said, “No. Extremely minor systems. Lighting for several of the floors. A few conveyors inside the living quarters.â€
“Hmm,†said Harvey. “Yet I see you’ve made some permanent modifications. This panel wasn’t here before, and it looks like this this control system was replaced some time ago.â€
“Yes, that was replaced about-“ started Bob before he caught himself. “Wait. How did you know about that? There are no public plans of the Omen.â€
A small smile started to cross Harvey’s face. He said, “Come now, professor. I know you’ve just been toying with us this whole time, leading us around, but I think it’s time to end the little games.â€
“I’m afraid I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about,†Bob said. If there was one thing he had meant all day, it was that.
Harvey looked taken aback. “No? I apologize; I took you as one of the quick types. Well, I suppose it would be too awkward to go back now. Perhaps this will clear things up for you?†And suddenly there was a gun in his hand.
After the initial shock wore off, Bob began to laugh. Harvey had just done the stupidest possible thing. Finally, after far too long, someone was about to have a worse day than him!
Summary: Harvey and Areuhat are on the disabled Omen Gravship with Prof. Bob Robinson, a high-ranking member of the Apollo Foundation, and are holding him at gunpoint.
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Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
King Boris Serov ronToketi VI read the short message from his Novatainian counterpart after dismissing the mage. The King, after several failed and one successful kidnapping attempts, had grown paranoid in the short time he had occupied the throne so far.
"Always with the political tension," the cyborg muttered to himself, crumpling the missive in his metal fingers. "God dammit..."
He stood from his small, unadorned golden throne and walked down the steps to the floor, his gray cloak dragging on the carpet behind him. Time to make a visit.
~~~~~
Kale Todestag acted as the interim Executor while his superior, Prodigy, dealt with business in Toketi. Still overseeing the reconstruction process of Aeriona after the massive terrorist attack had flooded the city with a tidal wave, there was much to be done. The chelkran general stood on ground zero of the city with the relief workers, personally directing the efforts. A blinking red light caught his attention. The emergency phone? Kale thought, walking over to the bright-red handset.
"Kale Todestag here," he grumbled, though he figured he didn't have to.
"Kale, it's Prodigy," the Russian voice responded, though he figured Kale already knew.
"What is it, sir?"
The sense of urgency in his leader's voice startled Kale. "There's a problem over in the Jasonian Isles."
The interim Executor listened darkly as Prodigy recounted what he knew of the incident.
"That's some problem, alright."
"It looks like I don't have a choice, though," Prodigy growled. Kale could practically hear the scowl over the phone. "I have to support Novatainia."
Kale nodded. As always, aside from his other duties in other nations, Prodigy always held true to Toketi.
The cyborg sighed heavily over the phone. "Kale, tell Korstokk he needs to arrange an island-hopping strike force. Nothing to do yet, but they should be on stand-by. I'll tell Andreas."
"Understood sir. Todestag out." Kale hung up the phone heavily, cursing as he did. Sometimes, being second in command had its downsides.
Kale really wanted to join that fight. Instead, he made the call to Korstokk Melebroch and turned back to the table arranged in the relief camp tent.
SUMMARY: Toketi is with Novatainia.
"Always with the political tension," the cyborg muttered to himself, crumpling the missive in his metal fingers. "God dammit..."
He stood from his small, unadorned golden throne and walked down the steps to the floor, his gray cloak dragging on the carpet behind him. Time to make a visit.
~~~~~
Kale Todestag acted as the interim Executor while his superior, Prodigy, dealt with business in Toketi. Still overseeing the reconstruction process of Aeriona after the massive terrorist attack had flooded the city with a tidal wave, there was much to be done. The chelkran general stood on ground zero of the city with the relief workers, personally directing the efforts. A blinking red light caught his attention. The emergency phone? Kale thought, walking over to the bright-red handset.
"Kale Todestag here," he grumbled, though he figured he didn't have to.
"Kale, it's Prodigy," the Russian voice responded, though he figured Kale already knew.
"What is it, sir?"
The sense of urgency in his leader's voice startled Kale. "There's a problem over in the Jasonian Isles."
The interim Executor listened darkly as Prodigy recounted what he knew of the incident.
"That's some problem, alright."
"It looks like I don't have a choice, though," Prodigy growled. Kale could practically hear the scowl over the phone. "I have to support Novatainia."
Kale nodded. As always, aside from his other duties in other nations, Prodigy always held true to Toketi.
The cyborg sighed heavily over the phone. "Kale, tell Korstokk he needs to arrange an island-hopping strike force. Nothing to do yet, but they should be on stand-by. I'll tell Andreas."
"Understood sir. Todestag out." Kale hung up the phone heavily, cursing as he did. Sometimes, being second in command had its downsides.
Kale really wanted to join that fight. Instead, he made the call to Korstokk Melebroch and turned back to the table arranged in the relief camp tent.
SUMMARY: Toketi is with Novatainia.
Prodigy Almighty, Executor of Chelkran Kesh
Baron of Absentia, Count of Western Absentia
"Denken ist schwer, darum urteilen die Meisten." - Carl Jung
Baron of Absentia, Count of Western Absentia
"Denken ist schwer, darum urteilen die Meisten." - Carl Jung
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Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
After another weak attempt of the Senechal to avoid a war between Maraguo and Novatainia, he agreed to mobilise his own troops.
“Mobilisationâ€, said Vryholder Tom Rotkin who represented Airosamente Island in the Groote Schuur, “is the only way to defend our beloved nation and safe it from those evil Novatainians.
“That’s enough, mr. Rotkin. Thank you for your opinion about this matter,†shoutted Jonas. The Vryholders were crying so loud that his words almost didn’t reach their ears. “It looks like we all agree that giving in to their demands is out of the question.â€
The Vryholders mumbled, the shouting was stopped, and nodded yes while the Senechal said those words.
“This means that we sent them a message back with the statement we don’t agree. They will see no other choice then invading our islands...â€
“And we will be ready, My Lord!†replied Lord Rotkin of Airosamente Island.
“... because otherwise they will suffer a terrible diplomatic humiliation, in our advantage,†said Jonas without looking up from the speakers desk, ignoring the shouting Lord Rotkin.
“I hope you all forgive me. But I’m going to prepare myself for war. A good evening to you all.â€
Senechal Jonas Windsor left the room, leaving the selfconfindent Vryholders bragging about their future victories.
While Jonas walked from the Groote Schuur to the Residentie, the government palace, an aide ran against him.
“I’m sorry, Your Lokiness. It’s urgent! We get support!†told the aide with much enthousiasm and a lack of manners.
“Support? From who?†asked Jonas, he almost sounded a bit excitted.
“Shireroth! And Batavia is considiring to help us!â€
“Excellent!†replied Jonas, and he walked further in the direction of the Residentie.
Summary: The Vryholders denied the demands of Novatainia. Senechal Jonas is preparing for war.
“Mobilisationâ€, said Vryholder Tom Rotkin who represented Airosamente Island in the Groote Schuur, “is the only way to defend our beloved nation and safe it from those evil Novatainians.
“That’s enough, mr. Rotkin. Thank you for your opinion about this matter,†shoutted Jonas. The Vryholders were crying so loud that his words almost didn’t reach their ears. “It looks like we all agree that giving in to their demands is out of the question.â€
The Vryholders mumbled, the shouting was stopped, and nodded yes while the Senechal said those words.
“This means that we sent them a message back with the statement we don’t agree. They will see no other choice then invading our islands...â€
“And we will be ready, My Lord!†replied Lord Rotkin of Airosamente Island.
“... because otherwise they will suffer a terrible diplomatic humiliation, in our advantage,†said Jonas without looking up from the speakers desk, ignoring the shouting Lord Rotkin.
“I hope you all forgive me. But I’m going to prepare myself for war. A good evening to you all.â€
Senechal Jonas Windsor left the room, leaving the selfconfindent Vryholders bragging about their future victories.
While Jonas walked from the Groote Schuur to the Residentie, the government palace, an aide ran against him.
“I’m sorry, Your Lokiness. It’s urgent! We get support!†told the aide with much enthousiasm and a lack of manners.
“Support? From who?†asked Jonas, he almost sounded a bit excitted.
“Shireroth! And Batavia is considiring to help us!â€
“Excellent!†replied Jonas, and he walked further in the direction of the Residentie.
Summary: The Vryholders denied the demands of Novatainia. Senechal Jonas is preparing for war.
Honoured Servant of the Jingdaoese Heavenly Light and the Kaiseress of Shireroth
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- Location: McCallavre, Straylight, Shireroth
- Contact:
Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
A court page knocked on the door to the Kaiser's office and peered in, "Your Niftiness? Lord Atterock to see you."
In monotone, the Kaiser waved in acknowledgment and said, "Send him in."
The page bowed and pulled open the door for Andreas, who walked in looking stern. "What business do you have with me, I have urgent issues in Novatainia and then..."
"Yes, you are soon to be crowned Duke of Kildare. You act as if I don't have urgent matters of my own."
"You know about my ascension to Duke already? My, SHINE works fast. Regardless, what is it you wished to talk to me about."
Reynardine looked up from the documents he was reviewing and pointed to a chair. "Sit, we may be a while. Tell me your side of the story."
Andreas sat and related the events of the recent past in Jasonia to the Kaiser. Reynardine listened quietly to the soon-to-be-Duke's take on the situation and some of the less important information gathered by the NSIB for nearly 2 hours. Satisfied he had heard a fair amount of Novatainia's story, he interrupted.
"I hope you realize that your duchy's forces will be fighting against Novatainia."
"I assumed as much. But under who's command?"
"Likely Duke Jonas, I'm short on military commanders, since you seem to have called my Minister of Military Affairs to Novatainia's cause as well. Be sure, though, that I won't strip your titles here, so long as you make sure a mess like this doesn't occur in the future. I've had enough of chaos in my reign, and after Hasan, Ayreon, and Loki III, it's about time Shireroth has a bit of peace."
"I understand, your Niftiness."
"Now, I find your entire argument in your favor rubbish. Shireroth will stay aligned to Maraguo. But I thank you for your time. I find I understand the situation much better now. Be gone and deal with business in your home nation."
"As you wish. Thank you for granting me some time to explain my actions." With this, Andreas walked out the door, and gated back to Novatainia.
"And so it begins again," Reynardine said as he returned to the matter of the Charter.
In monotone, the Kaiser waved in acknowledgment and said, "Send him in."
The page bowed and pulled open the door for Andreas, who walked in looking stern. "What business do you have with me, I have urgent issues in Novatainia and then..."
"Yes, you are soon to be crowned Duke of Kildare. You act as if I don't have urgent matters of my own."
"You know about my ascension to Duke already? My, SHINE works fast. Regardless, what is it you wished to talk to me about."
Reynardine looked up from the documents he was reviewing and pointed to a chair. "Sit, we may be a while. Tell me your side of the story."
Andreas sat and related the events of the recent past in Jasonia to the Kaiser. Reynardine listened quietly to the soon-to-be-Duke's take on the situation and some of the less important information gathered by the NSIB for nearly 2 hours. Satisfied he had heard a fair amount of Novatainia's story, he interrupted.
"I hope you realize that your duchy's forces will be fighting against Novatainia."
"I assumed as much. But under who's command?"
"Likely Duke Jonas, I'm short on military commanders, since you seem to have called my Minister of Military Affairs to Novatainia's cause as well. Be sure, though, that I won't strip your titles here, so long as you make sure a mess like this doesn't occur in the future. I've had enough of chaos in my reign, and after Hasan, Ayreon, and Loki III, it's about time Shireroth has a bit of peace."
"I understand, your Niftiness."
"Now, I find your entire argument in your favor rubbish. Shireroth will stay aligned to Maraguo. But I thank you for your time. I find I understand the situation much better now. Be gone and deal with business in your home nation."
"As you wish. Thank you for granting me some time to explain my actions." With this, Andreas walked out the door, and gated back to Novatainia.
"And so it begins again," Reynardine said as he returned to the matter of the Charter.
His Imperial Niftiness, Reynardine I
94th Kaiser of Shireroth
94th Kaiser of Shireroth
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- Joined: Sun Jun 24, 2007 8:34 pm
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- Contact:
Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
Back in Novatainia, Andreas reviewed the situation. Kildare's forces would be required for the upcoming conflict - well, he'd expected that. In the meantime, Mel'Kat had arrived with the finest portion of the Atterockian Navy, so his Barony was safely not fighting against him. As he had hoped, there were no hard feelings in Shireroth - though they were fighting against him. How they could support Maraguo's unprovoked attacks morally was beyond him (though politically he understood it clearly).
Yes, all in all, it was worth a brief "Yes," and punch of the air. Mainly for getting Mel'Kat out.
Then the NISB director of Novatainian Jasonia walked in. That surprised Andreas slightly - he would have thought the director needed in Jasonia.
"I hope it's good news, Phillip," Andreas said. He wasn't sure if Phillip was the man's real name, but Andreas liked to be able to refer to people by a name, and the agent had consented to Phillip.
"Good mixed in with bad," Phillip replied. He pulled out several documents and passed them to Andreas, to peruse.
"The first is from Toketi," he explained. "King Prodigy has decided to support us ..."
"And fight himself. This is wonderful news!" Andreas said, beaming. With Prodigy, North and Toketi by his side, any fighting would be miraculously easier than it otherwise would have been. "Ensure an official thanks is sent, with a small, no ... medium sized gift of fine Novatainian wine with that."
"Most wise, your Majesty," Phillip replied, noting that down. "The next document is from Maraguo. They refuse your demands."
"I didn't make any demands," Andreas noted, chuckling slightly. "Only requests. Alas, I had hoped they would see reason. Is there also an accompanying declaration of war?"
"Not yet," Phillip replied. "I believe they are expecting you to do so."
"Well, we'll wait a day or two then, and see if they do it. I hate declaring war," Andreas replied. "Those who declare war often tend to lose."
"Very good, your majesty," Phillip continued. "The next two documents are not official, but are accurate. Both Batavie and Shireroth have pledged their support to Maraguo in war."
"I was there when the Kaiser did so, Phillip," Andreas replied, unsurprised by this news. "And it's just us and Toketi. This might be more challenging than I thought."
"Not quite just you and Toketi," Phillip murmured.
"Whatever do you mean?" Andreas asked, looking up and surprised by this comment.
"You have talked to the Kaiser, yes?" Phillip asked.
"Yes, and what has that got to do with anything?" Andreas replied.
"Well, I didn't like to tell you before hand, because I know how you hate to lie," Phillip began.
"What is it Phillip?" Andreas demanded. "You're not about to say Maraguo's attacks weren't unprovoked, are you?"
"Well ..." Phillip began.
Summary: Andreas hears and thanks Toketi for their support, and hears and accepts that Shireroth and Batavie are supporting Maraguo. He opts to wait a few days to see if Maraguo declares war. Then his NISB agent begins to make cryptic comments about their being someone else supporting Novatainia and Toketi ...
Yes, all in all, it was worth a brief "Yes," and punch of the air. Mainly for getting Mel'Kat out.
Then the NISB director of Novatainian Jasonia walked in. That surprised Andreas slightly - he would have thought the director needed in Jasonia.
"I hope it's good news, Phillip," Andreas said. He wasn't sure if Phillip was the man's real name, but Andreas liked to be able to refer to people by a name, and the agent had consented to Phillip.
"Good mixed in with bad," Phillip replied. He pulled out several documents and passed them to Andreas, to peruse.
"The first is from Toketi," he explained. "King Prodigy has decided to support us ..."
"And fight himself. This is wonderful news!" Andreas said, beaming. With Prodigy, North and Toketi by his side, any fighting would be miraculously easier than it otherwise would have been. "Ensure an official thanks is sent, with a small, no ... medium sized gift of fine Novatainian wine with that."
"Most wise, your Majesty," Phillip replied, noting that down. "The next document is from Maraguo. They refuse your demands."
"I didn't make any demands," Andreas noted, chuckling slightly. "Only requests. Alas, I had hoped they would see reason. Is there also an accompanying declaration of war?"
"Not yet," Phillip replied. "I believe they are expecting you to do so."
"Well, we'll wait a day or two then, and see if they do it. I hate declaring war," Andreas replied. "Those who declare war often tend to lose."
"Very good, your majesty," Phillip continued. "The next two documents are not official, but are accurate. Both Batavie and Shireroth have pledged their support to Maraguo in war."
"I was there when the Kaiser did so, Phillip," Andreas replied, unsurprised by this news. "And it's just us and Toketi. This might be more challenging than I thought."
"Not quite just you and Toketi," Phillip murmured.
"Whatever do you mean?" Andreas asked, looking up and surprised by this comment.
"You have talked to the Kaiser, yes?" Phillip asked.
"Yes, and what has that got to do with anything?" Andreas replied.
"Well, I didn't like to tell you before hand, because I know how you hate to lie," Phillip began.
"What is it Phillip?" Andreas demanded. "You're not about to say Maraguo's attacks weren't unprovoked, are you?"
"Well ..." Phillip began.
Summary: Andreas hears and thanks Toketi for their support, and hears and accepts that Shireroth and Batavie are supporting Maraguo. He opts to wait a few days to see if Maraguo declares war. Then his NISB agent begins to make cryptic comments about their being someone else supporting Novatainia and Toketi ...
Andreas
"He showed up three or four years ago and accidentally took over the micronational world by being way more competent and enthusiastic than everyone else. Now he sort of rules us all, but it's a benevolent sort of thing, as far as we know."
~Scott Alexander
"He showed up three or four years ago and accidentally took over the micronational world by being way more competent and enthusiastic than everyone else. Now he sort of rules us all, but it's a benevolent sort of thing, as far as we know."
~Scott Alexander
Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
Derelict Omen-class Gravship, Apolytown
“Wow,†Professor Bob Robinson huffed as his laugher died down. “Just wow. You’ve made a huge mistake here, son, let me tell you.†The laugh had done him good. It had also made the tense situation of being held at gunpoint on the bridge of the broken-down Omen Gravship by someone who definitely wasn’t a Novatainian scientist even more awkward.
Harvey, his captor, still holding the gun, said, “Yes. Go ahead and tell me.â€
Bob wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity. In a voice oozing with sarcasm and contempt, he said, “Let me guess. You read a little too much Jasonian-based fiction as a kid. Probably a big fan of the old Sean Zidane spy movies. They filled your little head with dreams of stars and oceans and a whole big wide world at your grasp if you just had the means to get it. So you put together this little scheme to get a bunch of your guys on the Omen and got its guardian alone in the bridge, and you figured it was only a matter of pointing a gun in his general direction to get you well on your way of taking over the world.â€
“You, are, therefore, a colossal idiot!†Bob squawked. He was really getting fired up now. “Do you think you’re the first person to try this? Do you have any idea how many times Omen Guardians have been threatened or blackmailed or cajoled or bribed or schmoozed?! Dozens, easily. Probably hundreds, knowing all the stuff that goes on behind the scenes around here. They threaten us and they beat us up and they occasionally shoot us in the leg, but eventually they have to come to terms with the fact that we don’t know how to get the Omen running, because if we did, it wouldn’t be sunk twenty feet down into the mud in this backwater hellhole! It would have been sold off to the highest bidder a millennium ago, and they would have carved their own empire out of the world with it long before you were born!â€
“So,†he continued, “there’s no way out of this for you. You can threaten me a bit if you want, but unless you really are as stupid as you’re looking right now, you will realize that you can’t actually steal this thing and will try to run away, at which time I’ll go directly to the authorities and tell them what happened. Won’t be the first time. Or you can shoot me so I don’t tell anyone, but still not be able to steal the Omen, and be on the run with a murder charge. Either way, you lose.†And Bob knew it was true, because he had heard the story being played out exactly that same way at least twenty times before.
All of this didn’t seem to have much effect on Harvey. He said, “I’ll admit that I made a mistake here.â€
“You’re damn right you did!†Bob exclaimed.
Harvey shook his head. “The mistake wasn’t pointing this gun at you. It was believing that a Foundation man could be a useful ally to me here. Unfortunately you’ve been nothing but a bother, and so since you seem to respect only force I am showing you force. From your rotten attitude, it’s clear something is wrong with the Apollo Foundation these days. I’ve heard that Vilhelm is a better man, but still, if he employs people like you there are some problems. I’ll have to have a talk with him later about this.â€
“When you talk to- what?“ Bob stammered.
Harvey continued, “To answer your question a minute ago, I know you replaced the panels because they weren’t on the original plans. Plans that I have in my possession. Our organization recovered them several years ago in preparation for this move from the ruins of Menelmacar.â€
Bob said, “Our teams were all over the ruins of Caras Menelmacar centuries ago. If there were any plans there, we would have found them.â€
“No doubt,†Harvey said. “But they weren’t in Caras Menelmacar. I’d tell you where they were, but, you know, we’re not friends and stuff.†He wobbed the gun slightly. “Anyway, I’m not here to threaten you into telling me how to get the Omen moving. I already know you don’t know for all the reasons you so-eloquently described. But I was hoping you’d have some insight on the current state of the repairs. Clearly, you don’t seem ready to give that information willingly. Thus, the gun.â€
“If I refuse to help you, you’re going to shoot me?†Bob asked, his eyes narrowed.
Harvey gave a half shrug. “I’d certainly like not to. But I have a lot of problems right now and I’m not going to let you become another one. Take a seat, Professor.â€
Areuhat gestured towards one of the consoles in the room, likely used to monitor some subsystem or another. When Bob didn’t take a seat, she gave him a sharp push into it.
No longer pointing the gun at Bob, Harvey paced around the room. “It took us a long time to solve your problems for you, time made longer yet because we didn’t have easy access to the Omen, being a bunch of idealistic volunteers and not accredited scientists. Still, we had access to records you’ve been seeking for ages. In particular, we found some of the early JASO design specs for the Omen, as well as some interesting pages of the diary of Jason Steffke. President Jason, it seemed, was involved in the construction of this Omen, the FIoJ Fist, and added a few personal touches to the project.â€
He turned back to Bob and said, “Do you know why you’ve never been able to get this thing flying, or fire the guns, or activate the gravitron power plant? Do you know why this room, the control room for every system, is so tightly protected against tampering? It’s because the Omen is in sleep mode and has been for almost 2700 years. And sleep mode is not mentioned in any of the diagrams for one specific reason; because the people that knew about the sleep mode didn’t want the others knowing, because if anyone else knew, they might be able to figure out how to turn it off.â€
Harvey turned away again, almost running around the room as he lectured. “They were quite crafty, those ancients. The architects of the Omen knew that if this weapon were to fall into the wrong hands, nobody would be able to stop it without a major fight, not even the Jasonians that built it. So they made sure that the Omen could only be used with direct approval of the President. They made sure that he would need to be physically on board the gravship in order to turn off sleep mode and activate the weapon.â€
“Here,†he said suddenly, stopping before a small alcove, that, coincidentally, Bob had been sitting in front of all along. “This is it. This small, circular indent is the lock to the whole ship. You, my ill-tempered friend, are sitting in the old President’s chair. He would sit right here, and he would place the key into the indent, and it would all start up†And Harvey held up a small red sphere with his other hand. “This. The Ruby Sphere. It’s not actually a ruby apparently; just red-colored crystal. It’s not even of fine quality. Stories vary wildly about its alleged powers, but one thing is certain; Jason kept this with him at all times. A good luck charm, perhaps, and the key to the Omen. You have no idea how hard this was to find.â€
Bob was totally taken aback. “That’s your plan?! To just walk in here, plug in the crystal, and float away into the sunset?â€
Harvey shrugged and said, “Yeah. It’s a bit of a gamble, sure, but completely worth it if it works. Let’s find out, shall we?â€
As Harvey reached over Bob to put the crystal into its indent, Bob knew it was now or never. He lunged at Harvey’s gun arm and sent the man’s frail frame tumbling, the crystal bouncing to the floor.
Summary: Backstory. Harvey seems quite convinced he’ll be able to gain control the Omen where all others have failed. A captive Professor Robinson is trying to disarm him.
“Wow,†Professor Bob Robinson huffed as his laugher died down. “Just wow. You’ve made a huge mistake here, son, let me tell you.†The laugh had done him good. It had also made the tense situation of being held at gunpoint on the bridge of the broken-down Omen Gravship by someone who definitely wasn’t a Novatainian scientist even more awkward.
Harvey, his captor, still holding the gun, said, “Yes. Go ahead and tell me.â€
Bob wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity. In a voice oozing with sarcasm and contempt, he said, “Let me guess. You read a little too much Jasonian-based fiction as a kid. Probably a big fan of the old Sean Zidane spy movies. They filled your little head with dreams of stars and oceans and a whole big wide world at your grasp if you just had the means to get it. So you put together this little scheme to get a bunch of your guys on the Omen and got its guardian alone in the bridge, and you figured it was only a matter of pointing a gun in his general direction to get you well on your way of taking over the world.â€
“You, are, therefore, a colossal idiot!†Bob squawked. He was really getting fired up now. “Do you think you’re the first person to try this? Do you have any idea how many times Omen Guardians have been threatened or blackmailed or cajoled or bribed or schmoozed?! Dozens, easily. Probably hundreds, knowing all the stuff that goes on behind the scenes around here. They threaten us and they beat us up and they occasionally shoot us in the leg, but eventually they have to come to terms with the fact that we don’t know how to get the Omen running, because if we did, it wouldn’t be sunk twenty feet down into the mud in this backwater hellhole! It would have been sold off to the highest bidder a millennium ago, and they would have carved their own empire out of the world with it long before you were born!â€
“So,†he continued, “there’s no way out of this for you. You can threaten me a bit if you want, but unless you really are as stupid as you’re looking right now, you will realize that you can’t actually steal this thing and will try to run away, at which time I’ll go directly to the authorities and tell them what happened. Won’t be the first time. Or you can shoot me so I don’t tell anyone, but still not be able to steal the Omen, and be on the run with a murder charge. Either way, you lose.†And Bob knew it was true, because he had heard the story being played out exactly that same way at least twenty times before.
All of this didn’t seem to have much effect on Harvey. He said, “I’ll admit that I made a mistake here.â€
“You’re damn right you did!†Bob exclaimed.
Harvey shook his head. “The mistake wasn’t pointing this gun at you. It was believing that a Foundation man could be a useful ally to me here. Unfortunately you’ve been nothing but a bother, and so since you seem to respect only force I am showing you force. From your rotten attitude, it’s clear something is wrong with the Apollo Foundation these days. I’ve heard that Vilhelm is a better man, but still, if he employs people like you there are some problems. I’ll have to have a talk with him later about this.â€
“When you talk to- what?“ Bob stammered.
Harvey continued, “To answer your question a minute ago, I know you replaced the panels because they weren’t on the original plans. Plans that I have in my possession. Our organization recovered them several years ago in preparation for this move from the ruins of Menelmacar.â€
Bob said, “Our teams were all over the ruins of Caras Menelmacar centuries ago. If there were any plans there, we would have found them.â€
“No doubt,†Harvey said. “But they weren’t in Caras Menelmacar. I’d tell you where they were, but, you know, we’re not friends and stuff.†He wobbed the gun slightly. “Anyway, I’m not here to threaten you into telling me how to get the Omen moving. I already know you don’t know for all the reasons you so-eloquently described. But I was hoping you’d have some insight on the current state of the repairs. Clearly, you don’t seem ready to give that information willingly. Thus, the gun.â€
“If I refuse to help you, you’re going to shoot me?†Bob asked, his eyes narrowed.
Harvey gave a half shrug. “I’d certainly like not to. But I have a lot of problems right now and I’m not going to let you become another one. Take a seat, Professor.â€
Areuhat gestured towards one of the consoles in the room, likely used to monitor some subsystem or another. When Bob didn’t take a seat, she gave him a sharp push into it.
No longer pointing the gun at Bob, Harvey paced around the room. “It took us a long time to solve your problems for you, time made longer yet because we didn’t have easy access to the Omen, being a bunch of idealistic volunteers and not accredited scientists. Still, we had access to records you’ve been seeking for ages. In particular, we found some of the early JASO design specs for the Omen, as well as some interesting pages of the diary of Jason Steffke. President Jason, it seemed, was involved in the construction of this Omen, the FIoJ Fist, and added a few personal touches to the project.â€
He turned back to Bob and said, “Do you know why you’ve never been able to get this thing flying, or fire the guns, or activate the gravitron power plant? Do you know why this room, the control room for every system, is so tightly protected against tampering? It’s because the Omen is in sleep mode and has been for almost 2700 years. And sleep mode is not mentioned in any of the diagrams for one specific reason; because the people that knew about the sleep mode didn’t want the others knowing, because if anyone else knew, they might be able to figure out how to turn it off.â€
Harvey turned away again, almost running around the room as he lectured. “They were quite crafty, those ancients. The architects of the Omen knew that if this weapon were to fall into the wrong hands, nobody would be able to stop it without a major fight, not even the Jasonians that built it. So they made sure that the Omen could only be used with direct approval of the President. They made sure that he would need to be physically on board the gravship in order to turn off sleep mode and activate the weapon.â€
“Here,†he said suddenly, stopping before a small alcove, that, coincidentally, Bob had been sitting in front of all along. “This is it. This small, circular indent is the lock to the whole ship. You, my ill-tempered friend, are sitting in the old President’s chair. He would sit right here, and he would place the key into the indent, and it would all start up†And Harvey held up a small red sphere with his other hand. “This. The Ruby Sphere. It’s not actually a ruby apparently; just red-colored crystal. It’s not even of fine quality. Stories vary wildly about its alleged powers, but one thing is certain; Jason kept this with him at all times. A good luck charm, perhaps, and the key to the Omen. You have no idea how hard this was to find.â€
Bob was totally taken aback. “That’s your plan?! To just walk in here, plug in the crystal, and float away into the sunset?â€
Harvey shrugged and said, “Yeah. It’s a bit of a gamble, sure, but completely worth it if it works. Let’s find out, shall we?â€
As Harvey reached over Bob to put the crystal into its indent, Bob knew it was now or never. He lunged at Harvey’s gun arm and sent the man’s frail frame tumbling, the crystal bouncing to the floor.
Summary: Backstory. Harvey seems quite convinced he’ll be able to gain control the Omen where all others have failed. A captive Professor Robinson is trying to disarm him.
Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
Nathan was sitting on a temporary stage set up in a snow-covered and breezy Lindstrom Square. The city was about to light up its first ever Cowmas tree. Essentially the same as the previous year's Xmas tree, the star on the top was replaced with a silver yoke this year, the symbol of the Dozan Bovic faith. Cowmas was not mentioned anywhere in the Bovic Book of Doctrine, but some things had to be fabricated and stretched to appease the mass of people under the new state religion who were used to Christianity. Also, Christmas was too important economically to abolish. Cowmas promoted peace and goodwill to all men, cows and goats... and you should buy presents for each other. Who cares if it celebrated the birth of a 2000 year old Jew or a cow statue made of butter?
Of course, the honor of throwing the switch to light the tree would go to Nathan who was the pentheros of the church. He stood up and moved to the podium, "Beloved calves... what a joyous Cowmas season is upon us. May peace and goodwill bless our nation in the coming year and your families as well. Happy Cowmas!" and he threw the overly large switch and the giant tree lit up with brilliant orange and blue lights with silver tinsel and garland, it glowed as if on fire. Nathan then turned to step off the stage as an aid came up behind him, "Majesty! There is some activity near the Jasonian Islands, we have a report from our listening post in Opaeghia." Nathan took the file and leafed through it, "How did no one notice that that area was such a tinderbox before now? One fight and practically half the world is loading their shotguns. So much for that pact we all signed to protect the historical integrity of the area."
Nathan left the square and entered the Ministerial Annex adjacent to Vista de Nada palace. He made his way towards the secure War Room, where all matters of security were discussed. A sign on the door read "You can't fight here" and was an eternal reminder to the military heads that they indeed were not fighting here, but the brace imperial soldiers who would be doing the fighting. Domestic Affairs Minister Duke Konrad was already awaiting him in the War Room. "Hello Konrad... how about this Jasonian stuff, eh?" The duke bowed slightly then proceeded in the relaxed manner all Natopians used to address the emperor, "Indeed, I am more concerned with the trade routes between Opaeghia and Natopia proper being disrupted, that entire area will become a war zone and we depend on that colony for our fresh fruits. If that area destabilizes, our lucrative juicing businesses will be at stake, we must consider our economy and the welfare of our people who expect the free juice that we promise them." "Yes true," replied Nathan, "but what side must we support to ensure stability?" Nathan looks a map of the area projected on a large touch screen monitor, "the Novan colony is centralized on the main island... however the Maraguan islands are smaller, spread out. If Maraguan control is threatened in those islands and fractures, the entire sea will be controlled by petty island-states." Konrad merely nodded, "We should wait for Duke Tom, to see if his expertise as defense minister would provide more light on the matter." "Yes, agreed. Until then place the Opaeghian coastal defense on high alert."
Summary: Natopia monitors the situation from its nearby colony of Opaeghia, considers aiding Maraguo and her allies to maintain stability in region.
Of course, the honor of throwing the switch to light the tree would go to Nathan who was the pentheros of the church. He stood up and moved to the podium, "Beloved calves... what a joyous Cowmas season is upon us. May peace and goodwill bless our nation in the coming year and your families as well. Happy Cowmas!" and he threw the overly large switch and the giant tree lit up with brilliant orange and blue lights with silver tinsel and garland, it glowed as if on fire. Nathan then turned to step off the stage as an aid came up behind him, "Majesty! There is some activity near the Jasonian Islands, we have a report from our listening post in Opaeghia." Nathan took the file and leafed through it, "How did no one notice that that area was such a tinderbox before now? One fight and practically half the world is loading their shotguns. So much for that pact we all signed to protect the historical integrity of the area."
Nathan left the square and entered the Ministerial Annex adjacent to Vista de Nada palace. He made his way towards the secure War Room, where all matters of security were discussed. A sign on the door read "You can't fight here" and was an eternal reminder to the military heads that they indeed were not fighting here, but the brace imperial soldiers who would be doing the fighting. Domestic Affairs Minister Duke Konrad was already awaiting him in the War Room. "Hello Konrad... how about this Jasonian stuff, eh?" The duke bowed slightly then proceeded in the relaxed manner all Natopians used to address the emperor, "Indeed, I am more concerned with the trade routes between Opaeghia and Natopia proper being disrupted, that entire area will become a war zone and we depend on that colony for our fresh fruits. If that area destabilizes, our lucrative juicing businesses will be at stake, we must consider our economy and the welfare of our people who expect the free juice that we promise them." "Yes true," replied Nathan, "but what side must we support to ensure stability?" Nathan looks a map of the area projected on a large touch screen monitor, "the Novan colony is centralized on the main island... however the Maraguan islands are smaller, spread out. If Maraguan control is threatened in those islands and fractures, the entire sea will be controlled by petty island-states." Konrad merely nodded, "We should wait for Duke Tom, to see if his expertise as defense minister would provide more light on the matter." "Yes, agreed. Until then place the Opaeghian coastal defense on high alert."
Summary: Natopia monitors the situation from its nearby colony of Opaeghia, considers aiding Maraguo and her allies to maintain stability in region.
Currently playing:
Nathan, a person
Nathan, a person
- Scott Alexander
- Special Map Cartographer
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Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
It was Konstan's fourth time out of the bunker. Matt, who had some kind of unofficial leadership role while the Glorious Enlightened Leader was away, had been reluctant to let him out, even after the Leader had assured them all that Konstan was on their side now. But in the end, he had bowed to pragmatism. Their army sucked. Yes, that was the only word for it. Sucked. Konstan wasn't exactly General Jackabar himself, but at least he had a modicum of professional military training. He'd taught the ragtag militia they'd gathered to follow a few simple commands. And Matt had eventually acknowledged that you couldn't train an army when you were stuck inside an underground bunker all day.
So here they were, in a town called Naukel, in one of the many small hidden valleys in the side of the great mountain Sai'Por. This was the sort of place, Anna had told him, that the Gold Eagle Society loved. Small towns that had barely been touched since the Zindarian era or before, where half the people couldn't tell you whether they were on the Maraguan or the Novatainian side of the border. The larger empires had observed their complete lack of money and passed them by. The Society was the closest thing they had to a unified government, and sometimes it seemed like half the population came out for their little drill exercises.
And exercises were all they were, Konstan thought to himself. He could get them to fight in formation without blowing their fellow soldiers' heads off, but he didn't think for a second they could go up against Shireroth or someone serious like that. If the Gold Eagle Society ever wanted to become more than a bunch of rabble-rousers, which thank the gods it looked like they didn't, they would be wiped out completely. He already had his excuse ready for when that happened. He'd been forced into helping them. At gunpoint. There was nothing he could have done. Right?
He watched them from his perch on a ledge a few tens of meters above the troops. He'd told Anna to lead them through some formations and run off, curious whether they'd keep their discipline when they didn't know he was watching. So far, they seemed to be holding. Well, as well as they ever did.
"Don't move. Don't speak or yell. Put your hands up and turn around very slowly."
Konstan cursed, then obeyed. There, standing behind him, was the arrogant annoying smirk that could only belong to Raiki Volanion.
"I thought it was you," said Raiki, "but I had to make sure."
"PRH!" shouted Konstan. "What in the name of Mors are you doing here? They told me you were being kept prisoner in Thassala Bone!"
"I was," said Raiki, "until I escaped. Scorching provincials. Don't know a thing about decent security. You know, it's true what they say about every password in these islands being 'aurora'. I disabled the security systems and was halfway up the mountain before anyone noticed I was gone."
"What are you doing here?" asked Konstan. "Shouldn't you be trying to get back to Nang?"
"I am," said Raiki, "but I came to get you first. Snowfox Lot doesn't leave soldiers behind."
"I'm...uh...okay where I am," said Konstan.
Raiki's eyes narrowed.
"Come on, Snowfox Nineteen," he said. "There's no need to stay behind here. I've got enough gear to get us both back safely." He turned to regard the militiamen going through their formations.
"Not half bad, eh?" asked Konstan.
"No. More like all bad," said Raiki. "Come on. We can be back in Nang day after tomorrow."
"They're not that bad!" Konstan protested. "And it's not just this village. There are two other valleys that have practices just like these, and they're going to start organizing something similar for the plains towns soon."
"Snowfox Nineteen, I'm your commanding officer. Get your head together and come with me before someone spots us here. That's an order." That was Raiki Volanion all over, thought Konstan - a brief, cursory attempt to acknowledge your existence as a human being, followed by orders.
"Sorry, Raiki. I've got work to do here."
The big Hyperborean grabbed him and held him close. "Listen, Konstan Ifrosdik, have you gone out of your mind? You can't go native! Properly prepared, Snowfox could take these people out in an hour. This is some two bit militia organization of peasants from some scorching backwater. You're a good soldier. Your place is with us. Now come on."
"This isn't a backwater!" yelled Konstan. "The Leader said this place had potential! He said they were going to get weapons! Superweapons, even! For the first time, I'm finally doing something useful! People are looking up to me! Which is more than I can say about you, or any of the generals Snowfox ever worked with!"
"You poor, poor man," said Raiki. Then he began climbing back up the mountain. Konstan could just barely see the trail he must have used to get down here.
"Wait," he shouted back. "They could use you here! They're trying to train an army! You could help!"
"What?" asked Raiki when he had regained his balance.
"Um, nothing," said Konstan. He had just realized that he was opening himself up to the admittedly unlikely possibility of Raiki actually agreeing. Now that would be a sorry fate.
Summary: Raiki has escaped, and finds Konstan in order to bring him back to the Maraguan base in Nang. Konstan, who finally feels useful and part of a greater cause for the first time (and who's always disliked Raiki) decides to stay in Sai'Por instead.
So here they were, in a town called Naukel, in one of the many small hidden valleys in the side of the great mountain Sai'Por. This was the sort of place, Anna had told him, that the Gold Eagle Society loved. Small towns that had barely been touched since the Zindarian era or before, where half the people couldn't tell you whether they were on the Maraguan or the Novatainian side of the border. The larger empires had observed their complete lack of money and passed them by. The Society was the closest thing they had to a unified government, and sometimes it seemed like half the population came out for their little drill exercises.
And exercises were all they were, Konstan thought to himself. He could get them to fight in formation without blowing their fellow soldiers' heads off, but he didn't think for a second they could go up against Shireroth or someone serious like that. If the Gold Eagle Society ever wanted to become more than a bunch of rabble-rousers, which thank the gods it looked like they didn't, they would be wiped out completely. He already had his excuse ready for when that happened. He'd been forced into helping them. At gunpoint. There was nothing he could have done. Right?
He watched them from his perch on a ledge a few tens of meters above the troops. He'd told Anna to lead them through some formations and run off, curious whether they'd keep their discipline when they didn't know he was watching. So far, they seemed to be holding. Well, as well as they ever did.
"Don't move. Don't speak or yell. Put your hands up and turn around very slowly."
Konstan cursed, then obeyed. There, standing behind him, was the arrogant annoying smirk that could only belong to Raiki Volanion.
"I thought it was you," said Raiki, "but I had to make sure."
"PRH!" shouted Konstan. "What in the name of Mors are you doing here? They told me you were being kept prisoner in Thassala Bone!"
"I was," said Raiki, "until I escaped. Scorching provincials. Don't know a thing about decent security. You know, it's true what they say about every password in these islands being 'aurora'. I disabled the security systems and was halfway up the mountain before anyone noticed I was gone."
"What are you doing here?" asked Konstan. "Shouldn't you be trying to get back to Nang?"
"I am," said Raiki, "but I came to get you first. Snowfox Lot doesn't leave soldiers behind."
"I'm...uh...okay where I am," said Konstan.
Raiki's eyes narrowed.
"Come on, Snowfox Nineteen," he said. "There's no need to stay behind here. I've got enough gear to get us both back safely." He turned to regard the militiamen going through their formations.
"Not half bad, eh?" asked Konstan.
"No. More like all bad," said Raiki. "Come on. We can be back in Nang day after tomorrow."
"They're not that bad!" Konstan protested. "And it's not just this village. There are two other valleys that have practices just like these, and they're going to start organizing something similar for the plains towns soon."
"Snowfox Nineteen, I'm your commanding officer. Get your head together and come with me before someone spots us here. That's an order." That was Raiki Volanion all over, thought Konstan - a brief, cursory attempt to acknowledge your existence as a human being, followed by orders.
"Sorry, Raiki. I've got work to do here."
The big Hyperborean grabbed him and held him close. "Listen, Konstan Ifrosdik, have you gone out of your mind? You can't go native! Properly prepared, Snowfox could take these people out in an hour. This is some two bit militia organization of peasants from some scorching backwater. You're a good soldier. Your place is with us. Now come on."
"This isn't a backwater!" yelled Konstan. "The Leader said this place had potential! He said they were going to get weapons! Superweapons, even! For the first time, I'm finally doing something useful! People are looking up to me! Which is more than I can say about you, or any of the generals Snowfox ever worked with!"
"You poor, poor man," said Raiki. Then he began climbing back up the mountain. Konstan could just barely see the trail he must have used to get down here.
"Wait," he shouted back. "They could use you here! They're trying to train an army! You could help!"
"What?" asked Raiki when he had regained his balance.
"Um, nothing," said Konstan. He had just realized that he was opening himself up to the admittedly unlikely possibility of Raiki actually agreeing. Now that would be a sorry fate.
Summary: Raiki has escaped, and finds Konstan in order to bring him back to the Maraguan base in Nang. Konstan, who finally feels useful and part of a greater cause for the first time (and who's always disliked Raiki) decides to stay in Sai'Por instead.
Last edited by Scott Alexander on Tue Dec 23, 2008 4:06 am, edited 1 time in total.
Scott Alexander | Autokrator of Archipelago (What is Archipelago?)
Illustrious Founder of the MCS, and sometime Special Cartographer
Illustrious Founder of the MCS, and sometime Special Cartographer
- chrimigules
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- Joined: Sun Aug 19, 2007 7:04 am
Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
Poplar Hall, Vincennes, Sylvania
Sylvania was strangely bleak in December, yet still alluring in its way; rather like some old, forgotten actress of the stage or fuzzily-recorded vamp of the silent screen, applauded loyally by a few straggling admirers. The deeply-contrasting landscapes for which the territory was famous were all permeated by ice, frozen deep and solid: its hills, wrinkled like an old man’s hands or the brow of a calculus student, seemed clad in a shockingly-indecent manner, the trees which served as their raiment being denuded of leaves, bearing forth the earth below to general scrutiny. The prairies and cornfields all stood bare, punctuated by dried, cracking stalks of various height, forming long lines across the plain like the ruling in a notebook, all deprived of their harvest gaiety. The few paved roads were all slicked over, and the much more common red dirt ones had become virtual creeks: a bone-piercing cold filled the atmosphere, and occasionally the bitter wind blew gusts of snow and sleet to further smite this pastoral sketchbook.
Poplar Hall, the white, corniced, columned building which was the home of the House of Indianensis was equally affected by the insidious usurpations of Jack Frost as were the acres of rolling woodland and fields upon which it sat, and which composed the five-hundred-acre prime property plantation of which the house was headquarters. The pillared veranda was vacant now, it being far too cold to do anything there: the fair-weather amusements of outdoor reading, music, dancing, landscape painting, socializing with affluent neighbors, the imbibing of iced tea (and other substances) and general performance of many of those things which make life enjoyable in that part of the world were rendered impossible.
It was thus that Braden Indianensis; his cousin, Meghan Indianensis; Braden’s personal assistant and close friend (and ex-brother-in-law) Nelson Werner; and Colonel Evangeline Munier were constrained in their amusements to those which could be performed within the second-best-parlor. It was not Sunday, nor a holiday: as such, the best one was locked. Of course, there were no children in the house, but it was locked anyway—this was the custom. So, then, the second-best—reserved for visiting with guests to whom one really wanted to talk, on days which were not especially holy—was warmed by a cheery fire in the grate and warm, companionable conversation all around. The Colonel had just been defeated in euchre for the fourth time in a row, and Werner was beginning to wish he’d picked another partner—“I am a maitresse de l’euchre,†she had assured him in her heavy Sylvanienne accent, being of Alexandrian stock—and a fresh round of tea was being poured by the housekeeper, Ms. Katherine McKinnock (affectionately called Kitty by the inhabitants of the house), when a loud, thudding knock was heard on the door.
“Who in God’s name?†Braden wondered aloud. He smoothed his language somewhat, being in polite company, though among friends. He did not care to see small gatherings enlarged, especially by uninvited guests. “‘It’s not a fit night out for man nor beast!’†he said, quoting a popular Sylvanian exclamation. That was quite literally true—Col. Munier’s horse, Auralien, was stabled snugly in the barn for the night. The Indianenses would not hear of the colonel attempting the five miles back to Vincennes on “those infernal roads†in such weather, and insisted that she stay at least until morning; Werner practically lived at Poplar Hall, in all events. Kitty smoothed her apron, left the room, and stalked down the main hall to the door—large enough, it was said (and proved by experience, though that is another story entirely) to admit a man on horseback—and opened it a crack.
The young man on the other side wore the formal winter uniform of the Sylvanian Guard—slouch hat, knee boots, blue jacket and pants—as well as a long, heavy coat. He bore the look of a man who has achieved the impossible and is now very impatient to see that his efforts are not wasted: he had navigated Mulberry Street for five miles out of Vincennes in the depths of winter, and as such, did not care terribly if he slouched when he saluted the maid, and barely had the patience to wait for her to ask him what he wanted.
“P-Private Jean-Paul Coffer,†he announced. “I need to speak with Commander Indianensis immediately. Very urgent business from Nafticon, it can’t wait.†Kitty leveled the suspicious eye of a good housekeeper at the visitor, showed him into the hall, rather forcefully took his dripping coat and boots, despite his protestations that he wasn’t staying long, and ushered the poor, shivering fellow back to the second-best parlor.
The whole company stood when Pvt. Coffer stumbled into the room. He saluted, and Braden returned the gesture. “My good man,†Braden said, “you look positively beat. I hope whatever you’re clutching is important, for your sake—it would be rather terrible to discover you’d ridden all the way out here for nothing.â€
“It’s a telegram, Sir!†Coffer blurted, rather impetuously. “Straight from Nafticon. You’re to report for a meeting of the Panel of Commanders.†Meghan seized the Liberator and the Waluptonachgat from the coffee table, and brandished the front pages about.
“I knew it!†she declared, going into Cassandra-mode. “I knew it! I knew we couldn’t avoid this. We have to go in. You will have to go and command the Guard, Cousin, and probably die a mangled death on some savage island. I’m sure I don’t know what the squabblings of these mud-huts have to do with us—“
“Do not say that, cousin.â€
“Why not?†retorted Meghan, visibly furious.
“Because it is common, and common, vulgar people use it. Not hardly fitting to proceed from the mouth of a personage of ancient, noble Kaikian blood. Besides, the Assembly will not declare war without questioning Speaker Henzelli extensively.â€
“Ze Speaker would not endanger ‘is position wis an unnecessary war,†added Col. Munier. “ ‘E would lose ze support of ze majority.†Meghan composed herself, but was still disgusted with the whole business, saying nothing about it.
“I still have my vote, don’t forget,†said Braden, perusing the telegram. “We’ll see what happens at the conference. I’ll need to leave for Nafticon first thing in the morning—“
“That won’t do,†interrupted the Private. “You’re to be en route to Nafticon this very evening. I am to convey you to the airfield in Vincennes myself, where a special flight awaits. Mr. Werner is not to come.â€
Braden now disliked Private Coffer, and regretted even considering offering the impudent scad a shot of brandy. But Braden disliked anybody who thought that the business of state was important enough to interrupt someone else when they were talking, or to tell a person of higher station than oneself whom he would or would not bring along.
“Well, then, I’d better pack,†he said, biting back comments regarding Coffer’s impertinence. “Meanwhile, I don’t suppose you’d mind to go out to the barn and prepare Gunpowder? That’s a good fellow. Steady as you go.†Braden departed upstairs, and returned a few minutes later in his winter uniform: a coat similar to Coffer’s, but rather less threadbare; frock-coat with brass buttons; knee-high leather boots; wide-brimmed hat; trusty revolver and saber appended along with a well-stocked suitcase. He gave warm embraces to his three companions, and bidding them farewell, left the house, shutting the tall, heavy door behind him, the click of the hasp seeming somehow to resound in the cold, cold night.
North District, Ano City, Lyris Region, Kaikias Territory, Antican Commonwealth
The shovel's blade cut into the moist dirt, which chose to clump together rather than giving way as it was levered out of the ground, only collapsing when the shovel tipped over and dumped it upon the grass nearby. Another shovelful of dirt, and Christopher put it down and picked up a nearby pot, a couple of medium-sized, leafy green plants sticking out of it. They had gotten sufficiently large that they needed to either be separated into their own separate pots or they needed to be put into the ground. Being that the only extra pot Christopher could find in the shed was cracked, and besides, these two plants had spent a long enough time in the pot. It was about time that they were let go to live in the real world. The closest they had previously gotten to that was sitting in the sunlight on the porch, which didn't really count because whenever a shower was due to come through, Christopher would move it so that the pot didn't become inundated with water.
A several meters away, the front gate swung open, creaking lightly as it went. It needed a spot of oil to lubricate the joint. From where Christopher was, a myrtle tree, which to him looked mildly pathetic the way that it had been slowly wasting away ever since he planted it, blocked his part of his view of the front path. The tapping of shoes against the hard stone path did seem to indicate that someone had indeed entered his property. Christopher sat the pot down and leaned back, to see if he could make out who had entered. Around another bush stepped Lt Katharine Valeria. Immediately, he rolled forward and stood up to greet her.
"Kate! Haven't seen you in months!" He said pulling his garden gloves off.
"Good morning, Commodore." She said, holding back a smirk on her face. Her hands rested in front of her, a rolled up newspaper in her right hand, and her left grasping her right wrist, letting her arms dangle mostly free. Her hair had probably gotten longer, but she had done away with the simple ponytail to go with a lose bun. It was probably just a ponytail wrapped around and pinned in place.
"Oh must we now? You no longer work directly for me. Hell, I can barely be considered on duty. The replacement they've assigned for you is only around once a week to get me to sign off on things and he's got absolutely no sense of humor." Christopher never quite liked when someone continued to address him formally after he chose to drop the formality level, and Katharine insisted on referring to him as the military dictated it. One day. One day, he would break her. "How was the Halimede's patrol?"
He asked this even though there was nothing about the Commonwealth Naval Service that he was not aware of as its virtual Commander-in-Chief, and Katharine probably knew that. "Oh, just fine. Fitting in there just nice." She paused to fold her arms together, the rolled up newspaper sticking out the side. "Think I prefer destroyer detail to serving on a carrier. Not entirely sure why, though, honestly. They don't even have a proper dentist aboard. Just got back from baseside check up. Medic aboard ship didn't notice that I'm starting to get a cavity on one of my molars. Pathetic. You ought to do something about that." She said, nodding for emphasis.
"What am -- come, follow me -- "Christopher said, directing Katharine toward the steps up to the side of the house while lightly pushing her along with a hand to her shoulder. "What am I supposed to do about dental hygiene aboard destroyers? Write a memo to the Medical Corps? I'm sure Captain Agonius will be delighted to get a scathing memo demanding that proper dental care be taken care of with specially trained personnel aboard ships with a crew of less than a hundred fifty, which would be a luxury since there's plenty enough time for personnel to get their teeth checked landside at the base between patrols." Christopher popped open the side door and directed with his hand that Katherine proceed him in.
"Dear me... you're really moving in here, aren't you?" Katharine asked as she weaved through a series of boxes that littered the near side of the living room. On the far side was a sloppily placed couch and coffee table along with a few other pieces of living room furniture, similarly placed with an obvious temporariness to their positions.
"That I am. I mean, I was already alternating between here and the country home in the Highlands, but ever since I had to dump the rest of my family there, I haven't exactly been keen on staying there for long periods of time. I still own the property, but they've taken over it and I've moved all of my belongings here." Christopher stopped to scratch at his chin. He had neglected to shave this morning. It probably didn't look all that flattering. Good thing he hadn't been out in public yet, for he would have been looked down at as some sort of unclear ruffian. That is assuming that none of them recognized him. "The house is somewhat larger than I really need, but it really called out to me, I think. I might turn the second bedroom into some sort of office. The attic's one large studio. I'll probably just store my excess stuff in there."
Katharine nodded, and then she glanced down at the newspaper rolled up in her hand. "Oh right. This is yours. You might be interested what the front page is. I also assume you haven't bothered watching morning news or anything."
Christopher took the newspaper and rolled the rubber band off of it. "Oh come now. I never watch morning news. It's rubbish. Bunch of peacocks comparing feathers half the time." Christopher had forgotten to fetch the day's edition of the Lyrian Daily Journal. When he read the headline, he wished that he had. Maybe then, he wouldn't have ignored the sound of his telephone ringing like he was wont to do on days that he had no scheduled responsibilities.
"You know, Commodore... maybe you ought to get a mobile phone to keep with you at all times."
Christopher's eyes did not blink as they scanned the beginning of the main article. Explosions in the Novatainian-held island of Nelaga. The building up of active-duty military in both Novatainian territory as well as in Maraguo.
"You know, I ought to stop by the office every once in a while."
* * *
Katherine sat on the corner of a large brown box, nearly pushing the smaller box on top of it off to tumble to the floor, as she tried to find something to entertain her mind. No, Kate, you can't look through his stuff. The shower upstairs stopped, and after a long, drawn out moment of silence, foot steps, randomly shooting all over the place. If the upstairs was as scattered as the downstairs, the Commodore probably did not even know where his uniform was located.
Sitting on the coffee table was the pot that he was working with when she had arrived. It had two plants sticking out of it, though Kate would be hard pressed to identify them. They seemed to have no distinguishing features at all, except that they were green, and had stalks, or something. Kate wasn't a plant person. If she had to pick an aspect of Kaikian Culture held up as having appreciable value, it was probably the theater, but she hadn't gone in ages.
Kate could hear the front gate swung open and slam shut in quick succession, followed shortly by rapid steps heading along the front porch toward the front door. Before the footsteps even had the chance to cease, the doorbell rang. And again. And again--again--again--again. Katharine unlocked the bolt and turned the knob. She hadn't noticed that the chain was put in place, so the door bounced back against that. Before she could shut the door and undo it, the man outside was already pushing against. He was a thin man and looked up at her with squirrely, nervous eyes.
He blinked in short succession before asking his question, "Is uh--- is..." or at least tried to ask his question. He seemed a little dumbfounded. The Commodore mostly spent his time alone, sometimes meeting up with friends, sometimes on a surprise inspection of the Oe Naval Base. Sometimes he just disappeared, but it was usually just himself. This man, wearing a military uniform and no distinctive insignia, meaning that he was either an Ensign or a Midshipman, at least knew the regular habits of Commodore Octavius to not expect anyone in his home answering his door. "...is Mister Octavius home?" He finally got out of his mouth. Mister? A poor way of addressing the senior officer of the Naval Service.
"Commodore Octavius is upstairs getting ready to go out on business." Katharine stated. "Can I be of assistance..."
"Midshipman Tully..." His eyes, which seemed to have been afraid to venture below Katharine's face, finally noticed her uniform. "uh, sir." He backed away and saluted.
Katharine shut the door, undid the chain, and let the Midshipman in. So this was her replacement when she was finally put permanently on line officer duty. Pathetic little man. Did the Commodore verbally abuse him? He looked like a petrified little dog. Katharine returned to her position sitting on the edge of the large brown box.
"Lieutenant, sir. If I might ask... what brings you here?" The Midshipman finally asked.
"Lieutenant Valeria. Umm..."she began, pausing to think of how best to put it, "..colleague and friend of the Commodore."
The Midshipman nodded.
"Friend? How very generous of you, Kate, even though you refuse to address me by anything other than rank." The Commodore said, standing on the staircase landing, his duty uniform crisp as ever. Must have just gotten back from the dry cleaner, Katharine surmised. "Midshipman!" He said, turning his head toward Mid Tully. "Where have you been? I should have expected you at least an hour ago. I had to learn of what was happening in the Far West from a newspaper! Unsatisfactory."
"Sorry, sir."
"Now go fetch the Lieutenant and I some tea."
"Yes, sir." Midshipman Tully held his briefcase close to his body as he made his way around to the kitchen.
The Commodore stood there, looking somewhat uncomfortable in his uniform. He obviously hadn't bothered to dress in uniform in a while. He never really needed to. He wasn't expected in office. He had no daily requirements. Kate wouldn't have been surprised if he signed the paperwork that Mid Tully brought him in his underwear. He had done that once to her -- not that he meant to --, and he seemed to have a great deal less respect for Mid Tully than he afforded Kate. The Commodore glanced over to her with his usual calm expression, then lept forth.
"Get off of that!" He exclaimed, pulling Katharine off the large, brown box just as the smaller box on top of it began to tumble to the side. He caught it in time, and placed it back on top of the larger box. "Phew." He exclaimed after a moment, then, after seeing her expression, elaborated. "Fireworks."
Katharine hadn't taken a proper look at it when she chose to sit next to it. TITAN LLC near the top, and near the bottom, surrounded in a cartoonish depiction of an explosion, the words "Start the Party with a Bang!" She glanced up at him, trying to convey her feeling of you have got to be kidding me with her glare.
"I got it as a birthday present from Paul Bellini. Said that I was the only major stockholder that didn't choose to enjoy himself with some excess explosives, so he gave me a box of some. It's civilian-grade, don't worry. He'd need a permit to give me something military-grade... though he probably could obtain one, being a Bellini."
Mid Tully returned with a tray, with three tea cups and a small kettle on it. As he poured the three cups out, the Commodore glanced silently, waiting for him to finish filling each one. When one was lifted off the try and offered to the Commodore, the Commodore simply said, "For whom is the third one?"
Mid Tully froze instantly, and the Commodore picked up the tea cup, and then yanked the saucer from the Midshipman's grip. Mid Tully snapped out of it and handed the second tea cup to Katharine, who bowed her head slightly thanking him.
"Oh just drink it. You've already taken the liberty of pouring it."
"Kate, did you come by car?"
Katharine nodded as she sipped the last of her tea out of her cup. "I did. Not the easiest finding a parking space on the street, is it?"
"Indeed not. Midshipman, I'll be riding with the Lieutenant to the naval base. You... follow behind I guess."
Midshipman Tully nodded and collected his briefcase, following Commodore Octavius and Lieutenant Valeria out the door.
Speaker's Quarters, Nafticon City, Nafticon Capital Territory
Bartholomew Henzelli turned the corner as he quickly made his way to the conference room. Up ahead, he could see the different military officers standing and waiting for him. Commodore Nicholas Foghorn, who continued to insist on wearing his uniform from the late Dinarchial period, the flag badge on the shoulder now having been changed twice since then, examined his nail while leaning against the wall, his shoe pressed up against it. Opposite him were Brigadier Braden Indianensis and Commodore Christopher Octavius, who where discussing something. Octavius was saying something that he obviously thought was funny, probably to liven the mood, but it wasn't getting through to Indianensis, whose bloodshot eyes indicated how little sleep he had gotten. Sylvania had been hit by a snow storm, and then for him to be called out from his country home and rushed here as soon as physically possible.
Standing nearby with a bundle of folders was Captain Andrew Holt, head of Military Intelligence, if one could even call it that by now. A major military crisis quickly begins to escalate from seemingly nothing, and everyone, even the top officials in the government had to find out about it off the wire from the INS. Whatever sort of Military Intelligence Captain Holt was running, good was a word that could not easily be attributed. As Bartholomew got close and he opened his mouth to greet them, one came to his mind. Good at missing things. "Shall we get started?" He said, welcoming them into the conference room. Each of them filed in and took seats at the table inside, with the head of the table reserved for himself. The benefit of being Speaker of the Assembly, however short he has had the position.
"Captain, if you may begin?" He prompted once everyone was comfortable and waiting.
"Oh yes, right!" Captain Holt said as if he were not even listening. He handed each person at the table a folder -- or rather, he handed them out to all but one. Commodore Foghorn was left neglected. Bartholomew smirked. He could not even get the intelligence right on how many were attending the meeting. The smirk quickly shrank away as he realized how unfunny that was, all things considered. Head of Military Intelligence indeed. Post-Dinarchial Antica was not exactly well known for having a particularly good intelligence service, and during the Dinarchy itself, there were several crises that were just barely averted through negotiation. But really, this was ridiculous.
"A number of explosions took place in the mountains outside of the city of Sai'Por. The Novatainian government asserts that it was Maraguo that had launched the attack, which the Maraguan government obviously denies. The Novatainian government then gave the Maraguan government a list of 'requests', including the standing down of all military within one hundred kilometers of the islands, the cessation of any further attacks, and payment, namely for the repair of anything that may have been damaged in the bomb attack, chalking it up to being necessary for the defense of Novatainian's people.
"The 'requests' haven't been taken lightly, and a number of military units from both the Novatainian and the Maraguan militaries have begun to mobilize and move into defensive positions. There has also been some chatter that Maraguo has successfully gained the promise of military support from Shireroth."
"Ah well, that's decided it, hasn't it? I mean, Shireroth? They'll be lucky if the YAC doesn't try to annex the ruins from the Novatainians after its done." Foghorn said, obviously dismissive of the very idea of any nation singlehandedly going up against Shireroth.
"That does assume that Shireroth even goes at full force, which it has a tendency to not, usually thanks to some rogue feudal lord deciding to join the other side or sitting it out, or to avoid the sheer cost of total mobilization. Or that Novatainia goes at it alone. They've made a good deal of friends so far." Octavius added.
"Shireroth will already be divided over this. The King of Novatainia is the Count of Melangia." Indianensis said. After a moment, an almost perfectly concealed smirk formed on his face, though Bartholomew caught it momentarily.
"Could that pose a problem for us?" Bartholomew asked.
"If a war takes place, and Shireroth does indeed commit itself to the war, they might try to install someone else as Count of Melangia, which could bring the war to Jaris Bay." Octavius answered, before adding, "that could be problematic for us."
"Unless, perhaps, we were to assist the Shirerithians and pacify Melangia ourselves." Indianensis said. "And perhaps even install a pro-Antican as Count ourselves."
"I'm not sure if we ought to involve ourselves in this." Bartholomew insisted. "We're still working to rebuild the military nearly from scratch. Only one active carrier group? Only two active land formations?" And while there were also a number of reserve units, he was mostly apprehensive about engaging Antica in a war so soon after rising to position as the Speaker of the Assembly. It might not be taken well by the Assembly, he said to himself.
Foghorn leaned forward. "Two land formations?"
Octavius rolled his eyes. "I know you like to think that your Naval Infantry can fight just about anywhere they please, but the Naval Infantry Regiment is technically a land formation."
Foghorn insisted. "We can fight. Land or Sea!"
"How are you going to fight on sea with just powered armor? Naval Infantrymen can't even float in those suits of theirs."
Foghorn. " We fight where we want."
"To be honest, sir," Captain Holt began, finally rejoining the conversation, "I don't think we have a choice in the matter. If Brigadier Indianensis is correct, then we could find ourselves entangled no matter which course we take, whether to support Shireroth, to support Novatainia, or to remain neutral.
"If even only that area of the world is consumed by war, then a great deal of trade will be probably be disrupted, and anyone foolish enough to attempt crossing through it will probably be lost at sea, and that would look even worse. If anything, we ought to be making sure that there be no war at all."
Bartholomew nodded silently, while Octavius looked up confusingly. Captain Holt must have misremembered who had made the point. Military Intelligence indeed.
The Antican Government called upon all nations involved to stand down and negotiate the matter peacefully. A peacekeeping force is being assembled should the appeal fail.Speaker's Quarters, Nafticon City, Nafticon Capital Territory
Bartholemew Henzelli adjusted his necktie for the third time, grateful for one of the few full-length, gold-leaf mirrors installed during Steven's term which Speaker Indianensis had spared in his renovations.
"It's fine," insisted his chief-of-staff, Moyra Hawkins. "You're only going to make it crooked." She reached into her purse, and fished out a red, rubber stress-ball. She slipped it into the Speaker's sweaty palm. Henzelli shot her and her squeaky ball a skeptical glance, but squeezed away, nonetheless.
"It's only your third press conference," she continued, drawing out the vowels in "conference" in a way that was meant to be reassuring, but came out patronizing. "It's normal to be nervous." Her manner was that of an overprotective older sister--not quite motherly. Moyra was no more experienced than the Speaker, so her demeanor was quite unjustified; she didn't do it purposefully, she was naturally imperious. Henzelli scoffed.
"Only my third as Speaker, you mean. I don't know how many mediocre speeches I gave at block parties and university town-hall meetings trying to win votes for SAP," he said, referring to the Social Action Party. "I didn't feel a thing, then." Hawkins said nothing about his choice of words: she wasn't the type to engage in Socratic questioning, especially not when there were scheduling requirements to be met. The conference was beginning in moments. She could see the reporters fidgeting in their seats from the press-room windows at the end of the hall.
"You weren't announcing the possibility of war at any of those rallies," she said. "In fact, quite the opposite."
Henzelli was the most notable of a cadre of youthful new politicians, borne up from provincial governments and large city councils upon a cloud of progressivism. Most of them belonged to the same party, SAP, and but Henzelli has something they lacked, to one degree or another: a genuine passion for the platform he espoused, and a unique, conversational style of oratory which appealed to the urban masses. It caught the attention of bloggers, and then magazine reporters; soon, with the aid of then-campaign manager Moyra Hawkins, he secured appearances on several popular late-night talk shows, and became a household name, nearly unanimously winning his constituency in the Assembly, and achieving national fame, all in a few weeks.
The party, now occupying a comfortable (not to say luxurious) majority upon the final counting of the ballots, rewarded his efforts--and his celebrity, always useful--with their utter confidence. When the results of the election were known, Henzelli found himself one of the most powerful people on Micras.
In this way, Antica was the epitome of a democracy: it was easy to become both famous and powerful, if one knew the right thing to do and could get enough of the right people to see one doing it. In Antica, and countries like it, the world of politics is hardly insulated from popular culture, and mimics its cycles in some ways. Like the inhabitants of their sister-realm, celebrities, politicians who court mass popularity are constantly at risk of wearing their novelty off, and faux pases only hasten the fall. The commencement of a possibly-costly, possibly-bloody, possibly unnecessary war by a reform government could certainly be reckoned a faux pas.
"I guess I've got to get used to it--disagreement. Hostility," the Speaker said, somewhat distantly, images of a fallen party swimming in his brain. "It's not like I didn't face it on the campaign." Moyra placed her hand on his shoulder.
"The people like you," she said, smiling gently. "Just be sure to keep it that way--tell them what they need to know, and only what they need to know." Henzelli was about to raise an ethical objection, but was being pushed toward the press-room door.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the press," he began, partially blinded by camera flashes, his voice wavering a little. The lights made him perspire, and the curious looks on the faces of the journalists, who had never witnessed anything but beaming confidence from the Speaker, didn't help. The sharks smelled blood. "The recent bombings, and the ensuing escalation of hostilities in the Far West place Antica in a delicate position, with friends of Antica choosing to join both sides. My party was elected on promises of peace, labor reform, and financial regulation. I will not violate the principles for which the Antican people found my party worthy of their vote. I call on both sides to back off from their military buildups, and come to the table. Tension is mounting, and could lead to war--that would be disastrous for everyone. But I do promise, if they are determined to fight, a peacekeeping force will be sent to protect Antican interests in the area. That's all; thank you for your time."
Henzelli turned from the podium, and walk back into the hall. An aide shut the door behind him, cutting off cries of "Mr. Speaker!" from the journalists.
"If you thought that was bad," Hawkins said with a grin, "the Opposition will try to shred you to pieces in the Assembly. Can't refuse to take their questions, either."
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Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
“The Golden Eagle Society aren’t entirely unconnected to Novatainia,†Phillip began. “In fact, we’ve been channelling funds to them from the NISB budget for some months.â€
“You’re telling me I’ve just gone and told the most powerful ruler on the planet that we have nothing to do with it, and I was lieing!†Andreas yelled.
“No, you weren’t lying,†Phillip said quietly. “That’s why I didn’t tell you until after that meeting.â€
Andreas was aware enough to take the hint to drop his voice. He still continued in an angry tone, however. “What happened to NISB having unquestionable loyalty to the King? Telling him everything?â€
“Are you questioning my loyalty?†Phillip asked.
“I’m questioning why I’m only being told now we’re funding terrorists,†Andreas replied evasively.
“Will you give me a moment to explain then?†Phillip asked. Andreas fell silent, and Phillip continued. “Your majesty, our loyalty to you IS unquestionable; our aims, your aims. You had a hand in designing our training programs, and you still supervise closely those who climb to higher ranks. You know our attitude is that of yours. However, we are also aware that you don’t like lying. Famous for it. And so, occasionally, we decide to withhold information from you to save you doing so.â€
“Like now,†Andreas said, a hint of coldness in his voice.
“Yes, like now,†Phillip continued, ignoring him. “I knew you would completely approve of it, but that there would be trouble in the international community because of it, and problems for you in explaining yourself diplomatically. So I removed the problem of explaining yourself, until the right time.â€
“So what is this organisation doing?†Andreas asked.
“Recreating Jasonia,†Phillip said, calmly. Andreas looked shocked, and Phillip continued before Andreas could interrupt. “I know you have often said you do not have the right or ability to recreate Jasonia. Neither do I. However, we both dearly desire to have seen Jasonia in the height of its glory. This organisation, however, does have the right and ability to recreate Jasonia.â€
“Did you found it?†Andreas interrupted, now he was over the initial shock.
“No,†Phillip replied. “I did not seek out the Glorious Enlightened Leader. He found me.â€
“And who is this Glorious Enlightened Leader, that he can inspire the loyalty of my loyalest men, and merit recreating Jasonia?†Andreas asked.
“His name is Harvey,†Phillip replied. “Beyond that, I cannot tell you. You will have to meet him. But if you have any trust in me, trust this – if anyone has the right or ability to recreate Jasonia, it is he. And very soon, the sign shall come.â€
“Sign?†Andreas began to ask, but Phillip continued, ignoring him.
“The Golden Eagle Society aims to reunite the isles as a new state. As such, they have been working among the local populace to gain support. They have it.â€
“Did you take the job to help them?†Andreas interrupted again.
“It was the Glorious Enlightened Leader’s idea I request a posting in Jasonia, yes. That base the mercenaries attacked was actually quite well equipped ...†Phillip replied.
“And out of our budget,†Andreas finished. “And we’re just meant to give up our land?â€
“It isn’t really our land,†Phillip answered. “You’ve said it yourself – we’re custodians for Jasonian history, nothing more. ¾ of the Novatainian populace on the isles are archaeologists and researchers – and they could stay on in the new state. But would you even want them to? You have the Concept Boxes. The only other remaining piece of Jasonian Tech is held by the Apollo Foundation. Any other archaeology is just to keep the legend alive, really. And if the nation itself is there ...â€
He looked Andreas straight in the eye, and continued. “I know you, and I took the actions I did in full belief that you would approve of them when you learnt about them, and confirmed for yourself that these people really are capable and have the right to recreate Jasonia. I believe that after you’ve met the Glorious Enlightened Leader, you’ll be delighted to hand control of the islands over to him. Have I done wrong?â€
Andreas met his stare, held it for a moment, then said quietly, “No, I trust you Phillip. I do have to meet this man for myself. But if he and the Society are as you say ... I would be honoured to have a hand in recreating Jasonia. But tell me ... has Sai’Kar contacted you or him in all this?â€
“We’re NISB,†Phillip said pointedly. “We don’t deal with magic.â€
“Oh, yeah ....â€
Andreas had, for a moment, forgotten that fact. Phillip was a man after Andreas’ own heart – honourable, politically savvy, interested in history (especially Jasonian), and an active member of the Church of St Nova. The one area he differed from Andreas strongly was on his view of magic. Oh, and he supported the Ridgedon Rams. Who would support the Rams? Anyway, he didn’t think magic had any place in politics, and was dubious of its role in the nation. It was Andreas’ own fault, in a way. Andreas had been in charge of NISB training even when Lachlan, who was also strongly anti-magic, was King. Any agent who showed promise and was supportive of magic was snapped up by Andreas to work for the Dark Watchers. As a result, those left in the high ranks of NISB showed a general disdain, if not enmity, for magic. Apart from that, marvellous people.
While Andreas was thinking, Phillip decided to steer the conversation in another direction. “A slightly worrying development of late is Antica, however. They’re calling for peace and diplomacy.â€
“We aren’t at war!†Andreas protested.
“No, but you almost certainly will be,†Phillip observed.
“When is your leader revealing himself?†Andreas asked. “If it’s soon, it provides us the perfect option – we merely declare our support for Nelaga, and ask Maraguo to give up their land too.â€
Phillip thought about it. “That’s actually quite wise, your majesty. Even if they don’t accept, it’s not our fault.â€
“Though of course, for the defence of our citizens, and all the others on the island, we hope they do,†Andreas said.
“Of course,†Phillip replied. “But that was only the start of Antica’s worryingness. We have reason to believe they may use this as an excuse to make another move on Melangia.â€
“Historically unverify them!†Andreas cried. “Haven’t they learnt yet the Melangians are loyal Shirithians, and always will be?â€
“Apparently not,†Phillip replied. “NISB suggests you place a clear acting count in your place while you’re concerned with this.â€
“I’m so lucky I have you guys to watch out for Atterock as well,†Andreas said, smiling at Phillip. “SHINE are still keeping tabs on me after the incident in the War of Jeremy’s Nose, and even if they weren’t, wouldn’t bother to pass on this sort of information.â€
“We’re just doing more than our job,†Phillip said, winking.
“Well, Mel’Kat is obviously not an option,†Andreas said, musing aloud on possible acting-counts. “Cla’Udi has a good head on his shoulders ....â€
“If I may make a suggestion,†Phillip said, “Cla’Udi is competent, but he is also quite old. You should look for someone inspiring and authoritative to protect Melangia in this time.â€
“Well, Sakat knows inspiring and authoritative and Melangian don’t go in the same sentence,†Andreas replied, laughing. “Kel’Jarâ€
“Too young, and SHINE is still keeping tabs on him too,†Phillip replied.
“Wait, Sakat knows .... why not Sakat?†Andreas said brightly. “With Cla’Udi as his representative when he ‘can’t personally oversee matters’. We combine Cla’Udi’s wisdom with the authority of a god himself. And the Melangians won’t object.â€
“Another wise solution, your majesty,†Phillip replied. “I’ll have a dispatch sent over immediately.â€
“I’ll go myself, on the way to Nelaga,†Andreas said, taking Phillip by the arm. “And you’ll come with me. Despite your objections to gating, I need you back in Nelaga with me ... fast.â€
Summary: Phillip explains that the Golden Eagle Society, led by the mysterious Glorious Enlightened Leader, actually aim to recreate Jasonia. He was approached by them to get Novatainia’s help, and, via NISB, has been channelling funds to assist them, believing the King, like he, wants to see Jasonia renewed. He hadn’t told the King beforehand to avoid the King having to lie to other diplomats. The King assents to this assessment of the situation, though holds full judgement off until he’s met this Glorious Enlightened Leader. He intends to reply to Antica’s call by pledging his support to the new Jasonia, and asking Maraguo to also hand over their lands. In the meantime Phillip also observes the potential for an Antican move on Melangia. Sakat (yes, the god) is installed as acting count, with the wise Cla’Udi as his fill in when Sakat is elsewhere.
“You’re telling me I’ve just gone and told the most powerful ruler on the planet that we have nothing to do with it, and I was lieing!†Andreas yelled.
“No, you weren’t lying,†Phillip said quietly. “That’s why I didn’t tell you until after that meeting.â€
Andreas was aware enough to take the hint to drop his voice. He still continued in an angry tone, however. “What happened to NISB having unquestionable loyalty to the King? Telling him everything?â€
“Are you questioning my loyalty?†Phillip asked.
“I’m questioning why I’m only being told now we’re funding terrorists,†Andreas replied evasively.
“Will you give me a moment to explain then?†Phillip asked. Andreas fell silent, and Phillip continued. “Your majesty, our loyalty to you IS unquestionable; our aims, your aims. You had a hand in designing our training programs, and you still supervise closely those who climb to higher ranks. You know our attitude is that of yours. However, we are also aware that you don’t like lying. Famous for it. And so, occasionally, we decide to withhold information from you to save you doing so.â€
“Like now,†Andreas said, a hint of coldness in his voice.
“Yes, like now,†Phillip continued, ignoring him. “I knew you would completely approve of it, but that there would be trouble in the international community because of it, and problems for you in explaining yourself diplomatically. So I removed the problem of explaining yourself, until the right time.â€
“So what is this organisation doing?†Andreas asked.
“Recreating Jasonia,†Phillip said, calmly. Andreas looked shocked, and Phillip continued before Andreas could interrupt. “I know you have often said you do not have the right or ability to recreate Jasonia. Neither do I. However, we both dearly desire to have seen Jasonia in the height of its glory. This organisation, however, does have the right and ability to recreate Jasonia.â€
“Did you found it?†Andreas interrupted, now he was over the initial shock.
“No,†Phillip replied. “I did not seek out the Glorious Enlightened Leader. He found me.â€
“And who is this Glorious Enlightened Leader, that he can inspire the loyalty of my loyalest men, and merit recreating Jasonia?†Andreas asked.
“His name is Harvey,†Phillip replied. “Beyond that, I cannot tell you. You will have to meet him. But if you have any trust in me, trust this – if anyone has the right or ability to recreate Jasonia, it is he. And very soon, the sign shall come.â€
“Sign?†Andreas began to ask, but Phillip continued, ignoring him.
“The Golden Eagle Society aims to reunite the isles as a new state. As such, they have been working among the local populace to gain support. They have it.â€
“Did you take the job to help them?†Andreas interrupted again.
“It was the Glorious Enlightened Leader’s idea I request a posting in Jasonia, yes. That base the mercenaries attacked was actually quite well equipped ...†Phillip replied.
“And out of our budget,†Andreas finished. “And we’re just meant to give up our land?â€
“It isn’t really our land,†Phillip answered. “You’ve said it yourself – we’re custodians for Jasonian history, nothing more. ¾ of the Novatainian populace on the isles are archaeologists and researchers – and they could stay on in the new state. But would you even want them to? You have the Concept Boxes. The only other remaining piece of Jasonian Tech is held by the Apollo Foundation. Any other archaeology is just to keep the legend alive, really. And if the nation itself is there ...â€
He looked Andreas straight in the eye, and continued. “I know you, and I took the actions I did in full belief that you would approve of them when you learnt about them, and confirmed for yourself that these people really are capable and have the right to recreate Jasonia. I believe that after you’ve met the Glorious Enlightened Leader, you’ll be delighted to hand control of the islands over to him. Have I done wrong?â€
Andreas met his stare, held it for a moment, then said quietly, “No, I trust you Phillip. I do have to meet this man for myself. But if he and the Society are as you say ... I would be honoured to have a hand in recreating Jasonia. But tell me ... has Sai’Kar contacted you or him in all this?â€
“We’re NISB,†Phillip said pointedly. “We don’t deal with magic.â€
“Oh, yeah ....â€
Andreas had, for a moment, forgotten that fact. Phillip was a man after Andreas’ own heart – honourable, politically savvy, interested in history (especially Jasonian), and an active member of the Church of St Nova. The one area he differed from Andreas strongly was on his view of magic. Oh, and he supported the Ridgedon Rams. Who would support the Rams? Anyway, he didn’t think magic had any place in politics, and was dubious of its role in the nation. It was Andreas’ own fault, in a way. Andreas had been in charge of NISB training even when Lachlan, who was also strongly anti-magic, was King. Any agent who showed promise and was supportive of magic was snapped up by Andreas to work for the Dark Watchers. As a result, those left in the high ranks of NISB showed a general disdain, if not enmity, for magic. Apart from that, marvellous people.
While Andreas was thinking, Phillip decided to steer the conversation in another direction. “A slightly worrying development of late is Antica, however. They’re calling for peace and diplomacy.â€
“We aren’t at war!†Andreas protested.
“No, but you almost certainly will be,†Phillip observed.
“When is your leader revealing himself?†Andreas asked. “If it’s soon, it provides us the perfect option – we merely declare our support for Nelaga, and ask Maraguo to give up their land too.â€
Phillip thought about it. “That’s actually quite wise, your majesty. Even if they don’t accept, it’s not our fault.â€
“Though of course, for the defence of our citizens, and all the others on the island, we hope they do,†Andreas said.
“Of course,†Phillip replied. “But that was only the start of Antica’s worryingness. We have reason to believe they may use this as an excuse to make another move on Melangia.â€
“Historically unverify them!†Andreas cried. “Haven’t they learnt yet the Melangians are loyal Shirithians, and always will be?â€
“Apparently not,†Phillip replied. “NISB suggests you place a clear acting count in your place while you’re concerned with this.â€
“I’m so lucky I have you guys to watch out for Atterock as well,†Andreas said, smiling at Phillip. “SHINE are still keeping tabs on me after the incident in the War of Jeremy’s Nose, and even if they weren’t, wouldn’t bother to pass on this sort of information.â€
“We’re just doing more than our job,†Phillip said, winking.
“Well, Mel’Kat is obviously not an option,†Andreas said, musing aloud on possible acting-counts. “Cla’Udi has a good head on his shoulders ....â€
“If I may make a suggestion,†Phillip said, “Cla’Udi is competent, but he is also quite old. You should look for someone inspiring and authoritative to protect Melangia in this time.â€
“Well, Sakat knows inspiring and authoritative and Melangian don’t go in the same sentence,†Andreas replied, laughing. “Kel’Jarâ€
“Too young, and SHINE is still keeping tabs on him too,†Phillip replied.
“Wait, Sakat knows .... why not Sakat?†Andreas said brightly. “With Cla’Udi as his representative when he ‘can’t personally oversee matters’. We combine Cla’Udi’s wisdom with the authority of a god himself. And the Melangians won’t object.â€
“Another wise solution, your majesty,†Phillip replied. “I’ll have a dispatch sent over immediately.â€
“I’ll go myself, on the way to Nelaga,†Andreas said, taking Phillip by the arm. “And you’ll come with me. Despite your objections to gating, I need you back in Nelaga with me ... fast.â€
Summary: Phillip explains that the Golden Eagle Society, led by the mysterious Glorious Enlightened Leader, actually aim to recreate Jasonia. He was approached by them to get Novatainia’s help, and, via NISB, has been channelling funds to assist them, believing the King, like he, wants to see Jasonia renewed. He hadn’t told the King beforehand to avoid the King having to lie to other diplomats. The King assents to this assessment of the situation, though holds full judgement off until he’s met this Glorious Enlightened Leader. He intends to reply to Antica’s call by pledging his support to the new Jasonia, and asking Maraguo to also hand over their lands. In the meantime Phillip also observes the potential for an Antican move on Melangia. Sakat (yes, the god) is installed as acting count, with the wise Cla’Udi as his fill in when Sakat is elsewhere.
Andreas
"He showed up three or four years ago and accidentally took over the micronational world by being way more competent and enthusiastic than everyone else. Now he sort of rules us all, but it's a benevolent sort of thing, as far as we know."
~Scott Alexander
"He showed up three or four years ago and accidentally took over the micronational world by being way more competent and enthusiastic than everyone else. Now he sort of rules us all, but it's a benevolent sort of thing, as far as we know."
~Scott Alexander
Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
Derelict Omen-class Gravship, Apolytown
As Harvey reached over Bob to put the crystal into its indent, Bob knew it was now or never. He lunged at Harvey’s gun arm and sent the man’s frail frame tumbling, the crystal bouncing to the floor. Areuhat reacted almost instantly, but Bob already had the gun and was pointing it in their directions.
“Stay back! Back, both of you!†Bob yelled wildly.
Areuhat stopped her advance. With a cough, Harvey untangled himself from the console, spitting out a bit of blood. His eyes turned to the crystal several feet away.
“Don’t even think about it!†Bob warned. “Hands up, come on!â€
Complying with his demands, Harvey said, “So, what now? Are you going to shoot me then?â€
“It looks like I’m going to have to,†Bob scowled, centering the gun on Harvey. “Your men are all over the ship and I’m alone. Two less people to stop me will do nothing but help my odds.â€
Harvey said, “Before you shoot me, would you like to know who I really am and what I plan to do with the Omen?â€
“No. I really wouldn’t,†said Bob, meaning every word. And he pulled the trigger.
The click of an empty barrel was deafening in the still room. The next five or so clicks sounded highly of desperation.
“Wow,†Harvey said, his voice a little thin. “You would have done it. Huh. I read you all wrong. I’m really not on my game today.â€
Bob's strength failed him then and the gun clamored to the floor. He sunk to his knees in shock and fear. Harvey picked up the Ruby Sphere from where it had fallen along with the gun.
“The gun was…†Bob stammered. “It was empty all along. You wanted me to take it from you.â€
“I’m not sure ‘wanted’ is the right word,†Harvey said as he wiped his bloody lip with his sleeve.
“But…â€
“Areuhat always tells me I put too much faith into other people. I had a feeling you’d try something like that sooner or later and I had to know if you really were against me. But, just because I was curious doesn’t mean I’m a fool. Thank you for showing your true colors sooner rather than later, Professor Robinson. Areuhat, take him to the bridge storage room and lock him inside for a few hours. That should keep him out of trouble while we get ready.â€
“Who… who are you?†Bob asked in shock.
Harvey smiled. “I knew you wanted to know. My name really is Harvey. I am the direct descendant of President Jason of Jasonia. I am the leader of the Gold Eagle Society that is, as we speak, beginning to ready the old Jasonian Isles for our arrival. Like my ancestors, I plan to use that area as the basis for a new country, a country based on freedoms and imagination, one that does not accept the status quo but boldly challenges it in new directions. A new country, based on the foundations of the past but looking ever towards the future. Something that the world is in desperate need of right now.â€
As Areuhat forced him to his feet, Bob said, “You… you’re trying to do all this, to defy the whole world, with an unloaded gun and a broken down superweapon?â€
“No,†Harvey said. “I’m not trying anything. I’m doing it, right now.†He placed the Ruby Sphere into the indent.
Immediately all sorts of lights came on and panels lit up, some immediately burning out from almost three millennia of disuse. Instruments that the top engineers from all over the world had not deciphered in thousands of years of work began to register values. Computerized autopilots, sensing the lack of human operators, automatically began controlling the various substations.
“Welcome, Mr. President,†came a pleasant female voice over an ancient speaker system.
Harvey said, “Omen gravship. Activate all subsystems. Run a full diagnostic check and compile a list of all major mechanical problems. If it is safe to do so, prepare to ascend to 500 feet.â€
“Yes, Mr. President.â€
As Areuhat lead Bob from the bridge, the world began to rumble with the hum of archaic machinery come back to life from beyond the grave.
Now alone, Harvey scanned the bridge. Some of the displays showed worrying signs; others nothing at all. There were going to be problems, no doubt. He’d have his Omen engineers determine the extent of them. But it looked like most of the subsystems were still functional. The FIoJ Fist would fly, oh yes. And, if necessary, it could fight.
“It’s time,†he said to himself, allowing him a bit of insanity to celebrate the moment. “I won’t be able to hide any longer. There’s no way I can go back now from this.†Tapping his communicator on his belt, Harvey said, “Nickleson, get the camera crew up here on the bridge as soon as you’re finished with the initial inspection. We have a worldwide announcement to make.â€
Summary: Harvey has taken control of the Omen and restored at least some of its systems to function. He is preparing to make a worldwide public statement.
Edit: the speech here on these forums can be assumed for story purposes to have been made by Harvey aboard the Omen.
As Harvey reached over Bob to put the crystal into its indent, Bob knew it was now or never. He lunged at Harvey’s gun arm and sent the man’s frail frame tumbling, the crystal bouncing to the floor. Areuhat reacted almost instantly, but Bob already had the gun and was pointing it in their directions.
“Stay back! Back, both of you!†Bob yelled wildly.
Areuhat stopped her advance. With a cough, Harvey untangled himself from the console, spitting out a bit of blood. His eyes turned to the crystal several feet away.
“Don’t even think about it!†Bob warned. “Hands up, come on!â€
Complying with his demands, Harvey said, “So, what now? Are you going to shoot me then?â€
“It looks like I’m going to have to,†Bob scowled, centering the gun on Harvey. “Your men are all over the ship and I’m alone. Two less people to stop me will do nothing but help my odds.â€
Harvey said, “Before you shoot me, would you like to know who I really am and what I plan to do with the Omen?â€
“No. I really wouldn’t,†said Bob, meaning every word. And he pulled the trigger.
The click of an empty barrel was deafening in the still room. The next five or so clicks sounded highly of desperation.
“Wow,†Harvey said, his voice a little thin. “You would have done it. Huh. I read you all wrong. I’m really not on my game today.â€
Bob's strength failed him then and the gun clamored to the floor. He sunk to his knees in shock and fear. Harvey picked up the Ruby Sphere from where it had fallen along with the gun.
“The gun was…†Bob stammered. “It was empty all along. You wanted me to take it from you.â€
“I’m not sure ‘wanted’ is the right word,†Harvey said as he wiped his bloody lip with his sleeve.
“But…â€
“Areuhat always tells me I put too much faith into other people. I had a feeling you’d try something like that sooner or later and I had to know if you really were against me. But, just because I was curious doesn’t mean I’m a fool. Thank you for showing your true colors sooner rather than later, Professor Robinson. Areuhat, take him to the bridge storage room and lock him inside for a few hours. That should keep him out of trouble while we get ready.â€
“Who… who are you?†Bob asked in shock.
Harvey smiled. “I knew you wanted to know. My name really is Harvey. I am the direct descendant of President Jason of Jasonia. I am the leader of the Gold Eagle Society that is, as we speak, beginning to ready the old Jasonian Isles for our arrival. Like my ancestors, I plan to use that area as the basis for a new country, a country based on freedoms and imagination, one that does not accept the status quo but boldly challenges it in new directions. A new country, based on the foundations of the past but looking ever towards the future. Something that the world is in desperate need of right now.â€
As Areuhat forced him to his feet, Bob said, “You… you’re trying to do all this, to defy the whole world, with an unloaded gun and a broken down superweapon?â€
“No,†Harvey said. “I’m not trying anything. I’m doing it, right now.†He placed the Ruby Sphere into the indent.
Immediately all sorts of lights came on and panels lit up, some immediately burning out from almost three millennia of disuse. Instruments that the top engineers from all over the world had not deciphered in thousands of years of work began to register values. Computerized autopilots, sensing the lack of human operators, automatically began controlling the various substations.
“Welcome, Mr. President,†came a pleasant female voice over an ancient speaker system.
Harvey said, “Omen gravship. Activate all subsystems. Run a full diagnostic check and compile a list of all major mechanical problems. If it is safe to do so, prepare to ascend to 500 feet.â€
“Yes, Mr. President.â€
As Areuhat lead Bob from the bridge, the world began to rumble with the hum of archaic machinery come back to life from beyond the grave.
Now alone, Harvey scanned the bridge. Some of the displays showed worrying signs; others nothing at all. There were going to be problems, no doubt. He’d have his Omen engineers determine the extent of them. But it looked like most of the subsystems were still functional. The FIoJ Fist would fly, oh yes. And, if necessary, it could fight.
“It’s time,†he said to himself, allowing him a bit of insanity to celebrate the moment. “I won’t be able to hide any longer. There’s no way I can go back now from this.†Tapping his communicator on his belt, Harvey said, “Nickleson, get the camera crew up here on the bridge as soon as you’re finished with the initial inspection. We have a worldwide announcement to make.â€
Summary: Harvey has taken control of the Omen and restored at least some of its systems to function. He is preparing to make a worldwide public statement.
Edit: the speech here on these forums can be assumed for story purposes to have been made by Harvey aboard the Omen.
Last edited by SaiKar on Tue Dec 23, 2008 8:10 am, edited 1 time in total.
- chrimigules
- Posts: 1102
- Joined: Sun Aug 19, 2007 7:04 am
Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
Antican peacekeeping force en route to the area. Antican government has chosen to support the Nelaga Territories.Officers' Mess, Antican Destroyer Halimede
Katharine Valeria nodded her head silently when the mess crewman set her main course in front of her.
It was their first night out from Antica, the Halimede acting as command ship among a three destroyer group, escorting with them transport ships which carried a detachment of the Sylvanian Home Guard. This was the peacekeeping mission that the government had decided to send out to the Far West to "defend" Antican interests there. Katharine could not help but wonder if they were intentionally being sent out there in order to attract attention and, once the war everyone expected to begin did so, allow Antica to more gracefully enter the fray without looking overtly belligerent.
As the mission's command ship, the Halimede was also serving as the temporary headquarters for the Home Guard detachment, and Captain Scutarius saw it fit to hold a special joint meal, a tradition when Anticans of both the Land Service and the Naval Service went out on mission together. Since the detachment was from Sylvania, the kitchen chose to put together a traditional Sylvanian meal. There was a great deal of bread, Katharine noted. Kaikians weren't exactly particular to bread, and now they were inundated with it. There was bread on everyone's plate. There were baskets of bread. Bread. Bread. Bread. Katharine didn't particularly like bread. It always tasted dry to her. Kaikians in general did not eat bread. But, it was a traditional act of good will between the services, in effect letting the two groups bond, so that they may be on more friendly terms when the action began.
One of the baskets was assigned to -- or rather, had been commandeered by -- Colonel Evangeline Munier, the commander of the Antican land detachment. This basket had been refilled once already, the Colonel being rather an aggressive eater. She was not a fat woman, by any means: but rather like the marathon-runner who is capable of putting away platefuls starchy fare and not gain a pound, the Colonel was a comparatively short person, her form consisting primarily of sinewy muscle. It was supposed by her subordinates that the Colonel burnt a fair portion of the calories she took in simply by yelling at people. The colonel's temper was notoriously short. She was frequently known to be calmly reposed one moment, and then, upon finding fault in something or someone, fizzing out all over the place like an improperly-opened champagne bottle.
She was a direct descendant of the Sieur de la Vincennes, founder of the Alexandrian fur-trapping colony which would later become the Province of Sylvania; pride ran like fiery whiskey through her veins, along with a great deal of blue blood. As the captain's honored guest, she sat to his right, he being at the head of the table, his back to the swinging galley doors. Captain Anthony Scutarius, commander of the Halimede and host of the dinner, was framed by the swinging doors of the galley, one of which was used for going in, the other for going out. Between these sat a small, decent sideboard: nothing fancy, but fine enough for its intended use. It held a few dishes which were not to be served until later, as well as a decanter of wine.
The Captain was a fairly slight older gentleman, a holdover from the old Dinarchial navy, and, as was often the case with such people, a nobleman. In those days, even a nobleman by birth was expected to prove that nobility by virtuous conduct and noble deportment, and most importantly meritorious achievement in one field or another. His hair had once been dark brown, but was greying significantly, particularly around the temples. He kept it trimmed short, so as to hide the fact that it was receding swiftly. His features were all deeply cut, his face careworn; his eyes were deep and dark, but had something of a wry smile in them. His nose was wedge-like, his lips thin and betraying mirth. Captain Scutarius was a figure of great dignity and authority, and was respected and obeyed by all the inhabitants of his floating realm, but saw no reason to rule as a dictator and was quite companionable in person. He was a prim, proper gentleman of elevated birth who had suffered more than his due in life, and who deserved a comfortable retirement in a seaside town, but was unlikely to get it anytime soon.
Katharine Valeria's eyes wandered as she slipped a forkful of food into her mouth. Not a single person was saying a thing. The dull hum of the engines seemed to fill the room, pierced by a random clank of dinnerware or the scratch of cutlery against plates. Katharine pushed the small bread roll on her plate into the corner. Dry, flaky, crumbly bread. Captain Scutarius lifted his tea cup to his lips to take a sip before returning it to its saucer. Katharine had been aboard the Halimede for... oh how many months has it been? It was soon after the St Jean campaign had concluded. She could see exactly where that would have led her. Right back to being Commodore Octavius's secretary. As much as she enjoyed his antics, secretarial duties were not why she joined the Naval Service. Her family always served with distinction in the Dinarchial Navy, and her father served with honor for the Republican Navy before his injury sent him into retirement.
Katharine had a legacy to maintain, especially with her older sister taking a civilian government job. And she was not going to maintain a legacy filing paperwork. She filed her request for transfer to a ship in the destroyer squadron, and the Commodore signed it with only a moment of hesitation. It was the last item that she had delivered to him as his assistant. She laid it down on the patio table at his country home. He read it and sat back in the chair. He looked up at her, feigned a smile, and signed it. Four months since that day. Since then, she was under the direction of a different kind of superior officer. Captain Scutarius took his duty seriously, and it inspired her to straighten herself out. Working directly under the Commodore was... exasperating. Junior Watch Officer aboard the Halimede. This was a career going in a direction.
Colonel Munier removed yet another roll from the basket, and tore it in half, using one hemisphere to soak up what remained of the brothy part of the Sylvanian beef stew she had practically imbibed. She ate this, and was preparing to consume the other half, when she had the shocking disappointment of finding it utterly bare, and unadorned. She looked up dejectedly, and happened to spy a little dispenser of olive oil. She was about to ask the Captain to pass it over, when her locked eyes on the uneaten bread roll which the young Lieutenant had been actively pushing away from the rest of her food. Unacceptable.
"Lieutenant," she queried, quirking her brow, "are you not goeeng to eat vot' pain?"
Katharine did not respond.
The Colonel cleared her throat. "Excusez-moi," she said, "Lieutenant?"
First Lieutenant Ischyrius's elbow lightly bumped into Katharine's arm. She looked up from her plate with surprise.
At first, Katharine was not sure what the Colonel was saying, or to whom. The Mainlanders did have a funny way of saying Lieutenant, and the Sylvanians simply drew it out even further, until it became almost unintelligible to an untrained Kaikian ear. Katharine wondered how long she had been filtering out the Colonel's unintelligible calls for a Lyeuuu-tih-non. Indefinitely, she supposed, but what kind of reaction would that provoke? She had heard horror stories, and remembered seeing some from a great distance back at St Jean.
"Yes, Colonel?"
"Ahre you goeeng to eat your bread, Lieutenant?"
Relief broke out over Katharine in an awesome way. She hadn't done anything wrong. She thought. "Oh. No, sir. I don't have much of a stomach for bread. Feel free."
The Colonel crossed crossed her arms, and stared coldly at Valeria's plate. "I don't vant eet," she said. "I vant to know why you ahre not eetinng eet."
"Well," Katharine said, "I don't really care for bread, in general--"
"Vat do you mean, you DON'T LIKE bread?"
Katharine blinked, unsure of just what it was she had said wrong. Clarification. "Well, sir, I don't care for the texture, or the taste. It's too dry. I'm more partial to noodles. But if you like you can--"
Colonel Munier slapped the roll out of Katharine's hand.
The Captain's eyes grew to about the size of his saucer. He said nothing, preferring to ponder the inside of his teacup.
Katharine was even more shocked, her hand still held out. Blinking, Katharine then cleared her throat and retracted it. Having collected herself, she managed, "Colonel, I am sorry, but--"
"You ahre SORRY!" exclaimed the Colonel, slapping her thighs, mouth agape. "You insulte my culture, and you ahre SORRY. Do you know zat we Sylvaniens survive on bread? Zere are starving children 'oo would keel for a roll like zat one."
Katharine knew that to be true, but doubted there were many such children in Antica. Her mother had used the old "starving children" routine on her many times: it was one of the oldest tricks in the book, and only one of many different shells which one might load into the rifle of maternal guilt. As a child, she'd imagined that all those starving, murderous children inhabited a single, sprawling slum known as Babkha.
"Well, Colonel," Katharine struggled to remain composed, "I offered it to you. It wouldn't have gone to waste, if you'd simply have taken it. I'm sure bread is important, but I thought corn, and not wheat, was Sylvania's staple crop? And I do believe it is the job of Social Services to deal with the 'starving children'."Quietly, she took a sip of her tea.
It was iced, of course, as Sylvanians didn't drink hot tea with supper, and enjoyed the beverage with ice, regardless of the season. The captain's hot tea was acceptable because, after all, he was the captain. One of the ice cube fragments flowed into Katharine's mouth, and as she lowered her glass down, her teeth closed and crunched on the ice. A shiver ticked up and down Katharine's spine. If there was anything that absolutely bothered her, it was chewing ice. As goosebumps formed on her skin, her composure remained as if nothing had happened. Bloody ice, Katharine thought as the crushed ice flowed back and down her throat.
Munier's fit of wrath had fizzled away, and gazing quizzically at Katharine from over the still-uneaten roll-half, she inquired, "'Aven't I seen you somewhehre befoure?"
Katharine winced a little at the thought of having to make further conversation with the colonel, even on much friendlier terms. The truth was that they had met during the St. Jean campaign, but Katharine dreaded reminding Munier of the place and time of their acquaintance, and was mercifully saved by the sudden appearance of a midshipman, hustling briskly into the Officers' Mess. Katharine couldn't remember the midshipman's name -- she had only been on the Halimede for a couple of days, assigned to complete her sea trials shortly before the ship disembarked for this mission.
"Thank you, Mr. Telenia." The Captain said, taking the sheet of paper, shifting his position in his seat to the side so that he might hold the paper at a distance and thus avoid having to fetch his reading glasses. The entire table's attention was directed as the Captain silently read the message. Once he reached the bottom, he looked up and said, "thank you. That will be all, Midshipman." Mid Telenia bowed her head slightly and departed as quickly as she entered. Captain Scutarius paused for a moment before turning his head to face his officers and guests and say, "the inhabitants of the island of Nelaga have declared their independence. We are instructed to push forward at full speed and to render them assistance. Until it is determined how the other powers will react to this latest development, we are to err on the side of caution when encountering any foreign military vessels. The bulk of the Commonwealth Defense Force is being mobilized in case further assistance is deemed necessary."
Another awkward silence fell over the assemblage. The Captain saw no need for it, and, being the practical sort, he folded the message up, slipped it in his breast pocket, and sat forward again. "Well!" he said. "I understand we're to have Sylvanian persimmon pudding for dessert. Sounds scrumptious."
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