NationStates Jolt Archive

Secret IC

Alexander Kazansky’s study, Reichsburg

“Listen, Angela, can you do me a big favor? There’s a copy of Annie on that shelf, give it to me, please, I need to quote it.”

“Yes, Mr. Kazansky..” – said the girl as she tossed the Chief Advisor the collected works of Anne Coulter, printed in a beautiful leather binding. He caught it expertly. “Please, Angela! Have a little more respect for books! Do you know what kind of public shit the woman who wrote it had to take? Did you ever read it? I know I told you to, but have you?”

“I have, Sir. You will find that I go through the various stuff you advise me to learn very carefully.” – Angela smiled at the man she loved. Sometimes – well, often – she wished he would just stop acting like a Chief Advisor and start acting like a human being instead.

She did not know he wished to do so, too. He just didn’t feel he was free to. There was still to much work. He opened the book. “Now, let’s see.. here. I’m probably going to quote this page in it’s entirety… go rest, Angela. I’ll do the typing.”

She smiled again. “Yes, Alex… I mean, Mr. Kazansky.”

When she left, the man whispered – below the perception limit of his audio analyzer. Only two words. “Thanks, Angie.”

Then, he resumed typing. He was still typing two hours later when someone knocked on his door. A second later, a servant – his only servant – announced:

“His Majesty Arch-Chancellor Andropov, ruler of Derscon!”

Alexei walked into the office with another person who was wearing a monk's cloak, with the hood up. It was an SPG, one of the four most deadly beings in the Empire.

Alexei, on the other hand, was wearing a large black trenchcoat to not only escape the rain that was outside but to cover his clothes so he couldn't be identified easily. When he shut the door behind him, he hung up is coat on the rack and approached Kazansky, but unlike his normal custom, he did not shake hands or embrace him.

The SPG's cloak was a simple brown and tan cloak worn by monks of old, the hood clearly covering his face. Alexei, however, was wearing a simple black polo shirt with black Dockers and black Vans shoes, as Alexei found them comfortable, as well as sporting a pair of mirror finish sunglasses. After all, this was supposed to be a covert meeting, why wear a uniform?

"You know, Alex," Alexei started, staring into the black gaping screens that were Kazansky's viewports. "We obviously know each other, so there's no point in hiding your identity. There is no need to wear that silly armour." Alexei said it in the tone that, subliminally, said Take your damn armour off, I will not tolerate it.

It wasn't a well-known fact, but the Arch-Chancellor of Greater Prussia was not fond of the current Greater Prussian Leadership on all fronts -- including Kazansky himself. However, that's what this meeting was about, wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

Kazansky nodded solemnly, without saying a word, then turned to his manservant nodded, again. The servant closed the door to Angela’s room and left. Kazansky reached for his faceplate and removed it slowly, then proceding with the rest of the helmet.

What was revealed was not some horrible visage, but the face of an eighteen-year-old boy. He wasn’t really that old, of course – the being that was Alexander Kirillovich dated back to the Old Common Era and was several centuries old. Kazansky looked at the Dersconi and smiled sadly. Then, his face twitched strangely, revealing a whole flurry of emotions. Embarrasment. Anger. Sadness.

“I am sorry, Alexei. It is something that Javivalenta left me before I killed the bitch. Some ancient curse, I presume. I can’t control my voice, or my expression. You can see it all on my face. All of it. I need to wear the faceplate to maintain even a small modicum of politeness.”

“Let me guess.” – Alexander Kazansky passed through room, cleaning his glasses with the side of his cloak before putting them on. He then passed his hand gently on the many rows of books crammed into the shelves. “You did not just come here. Men of your station don’t stay there because they just do things. You never just do something. You came because you require something to be done. I am the Chief Advisor of the Greater Prussian Empire. Those who steer the Imperial ship come to me for advice and knowledge. You came here for that – and you came unofficially. You don’t want anybody to know you’re here. So the knowledge that I am to provide will be of an… occult quality. Not in the dumb modern sense of the word, but in the true, ancient sense – “occult” to mean “secret”.”

“What question are you here to ask, my friend, that nobody must know you even cared about?”

Alexei smiled as he looked down towards the street from the window. So, that explains a lot, he thought to himself. The armour is necessary for everything. Well, for a meeting like this, I'd rather him keep it off.

The ruler of Derscon and Arch-Chancellor of the Empire continued surveying the passerbys on the street. There weren't many, considering the time of day...night, rather. The full harvest moon was hidden behind a dark cumulonimbus cloud as the rain started to fall onto the small section of Reichsburg. The only light in the room was a small lamp in the corner, dimly illuminating the room, casting shadows and giving the room a very unnerving sight.

BOOM!

A massive explosion of thunder erupted not a second after a bolt of lightning assaulted the seventeenth century building from Mother Nature's capital ship, the GWC Thunderhead. The power in the building as well as the surrounding city block went out after a brief flicker from the lights.

The room was entirely darkened when the rain started coming down harder, pounding on the roof and the windows. It was as a tank rolled down the gravel road as the rain continued to smash and crash on the roof, the lightning and thunder rolling along. As the wind picked up a tad, the massive thunderheads moved out of the way to expose the full harvest moon, glowing a bright, firey orange. The moon was in a position to light up the room, however, and due to the composition of the windows, the light reflected the yellow light off, allowing the red light to seep in to the room, giving it the faint glow of a dimmed ship emergency light. It wasn't quite enough light to see the entire room, however.

Alexei turned away from the window, but he still stood there, half of his body a dim red from the moon, and the other half entrenched in the shadows.

"Kazansky, so like an Allanean to get right to the point," he began.

"I am concerned, troubled, by many things in this Empire," the monarch from the Andropov family continued. "However, that which concerns me most is our...leadership. All of it -- our Emperor, our High Command --" his voice trailed off.

"I sense something -- I can't place it as of yet -- but whatever it is, I can feel it, and it isn't good." He maintained a level face but sighed.

"Surely I can't be the only one to feel this, Kazansky. I know you must feel the same way. After all, you're part of it all."

Alexei's main concern at this point was to establish a dominance, and if not that, an equilibrium, in the conversation. One of the things he hated about Kazansky was his idea that he, Kazansky, was in charge of it all.

Alexander Kazansky could not help but smile at Alexei’s proposition. “Your Majesty… you may be surprised to hear this.. but the Empire has no leadership. Let me demonstrate, if you will.”

The Advisor moved like slender, silent shadow as he rose from his chair and began pacing back and forth across the room. “Look. How much of your own time do you spend doing the things a king of Derscon should be doing? How much time do you spend as Arch Chancellor of the Empire?” – he paused – “Better not, don’t answer. I believe you already. You work, very, very self-defiantly for Imperial interests.” – one could almost cut the sarcasm with a knife. Kazansky’s absolute lack of control over his tone of voice turned what was a polite hidden joke into a mockery. – “What about the Arch-Treasurer? The Chief Justice? The commander of the Luftwaffe?”

“The various positions in the Empire were so designed that the various Imperial leaders would share in the responsibility of running the Empire, as well as in the power of the Emperor. It was thought then that lightening the burden on the Emperor’s shoulders, separating it over dozens of supporting pillars. It would also give all of us a reason to actively participate in running the Empire.”

“Unfortunately, this doesn’t happen. The various positions of responsibility have turned into sinecures. Nobody actually does anything. When last have you heard the arch-treasurer of the Empire make some new decision? Start an Imperial corporation? Find us a new source of revenue?”

Kazansky poured himself a glass of cold drink.

“What happens, then? The pillars are not doing the carrying. The people who are supposed to be leading the Empire along with Napoleon are not actively doing so – and so the burden falls, again, to his shoulders. And that doesn’t appear to be too good of an influence. I know. I remember him as King of Allanea.”

He shrugged. “Well. That’s the gist of it.”

The rain continuing to fall outside, along with the occasional clasp of thunder and lightning, definitely set the mood for the meeting.

Alexei dismissed the mockery, as he knew it wasn't intended to be so. He stood up again and looked out the window, scanning the darkened sky, the blood-red moonlight shining on him, and smirked at Kazansky's response.

"And there in lies the problem -- you hit it right on the head, Alex." Alexei contined staring out the window with a very dark and strong gaze. The blood-red moonlight reflected off his eyes, making them seem almost a demonic, glowing red. "No one does their job. And if they do take part in their job, they don't do it enough. Am I guilty of it? Of course, everyone is, minus Napoleon, whom this situation does not apply to, and yourself, but for other reasons." He turned his head towards Kazansky, and Alex then realized it wasn't the moonlight, his eyes really were glowing red.

"But it is not our fault entirely. No, in fact, that is very, very far from the truth. Most of the blame lies with Napoleon and his desire to centralize power." The cloaked figure in the back got a little edgy, sensing the tension in the room. Alexei spun around to look Kazansky in the eye, eyes still glowing the blood red. The shadows of the room decended on Alexei's left side, which was facing away from the window. His left half of his face and body could not be seen, but a glowing orb that was his left eye stood out in the darkness that eveloped the study.

The Czar of Derscon and Arch-Chancellor of the Greater Prussian Empire turned back to the window, deep in thought. And there is another force he thought to himself. Fighting its way along the path to power, using Napoleon's centralization as a tool. He did not voice this, though, not yet. He wanted to hear what Kazansky had to say about Napoleon.

Kazansky nodded. “You are right. To a degree.” On the boyish face, one could see an expression of unbelievable sadness. “I knew Napoleon de Sanglant as a different man. After the Federation occupied Allanea, Napoleon was declared King. He ruled Allanea for a decade, justly and fairly. And then, when eventually the inefficient mockery that my people call Congress decided that he should leave, keeping only the noble title of King of Allanea as the only measure of thanks from those he saved from eternal slavery under Federal heel….” For a moment, Alexander Kazansky fell silent.

“Then, he left. He did not order Imperial Guards to rip the Congress building apart brick by brick and shoot the officials there like dogs, he did not order them to suppress the opposition with fire and blood. He simply… left. Then, at least, power wasn’t in his heart.” The man that used to be President of the Confederate States sighed. “Of course, things change. They say power corrupts. It is not always, my dear Alexei, that power corrupts you overtly. Sometimes, you just think you’re better than all of them. The responsibility, the burden is all on your shoulders. You must rule them all for their own good. You are the God-chosen ruler – a member of the educated elite – a sensitive, compassionate person who simply cares more about the plight of the common man. One of those lies people tell themselves. Or maybe it’s even the truth, for some.”

“And then, you stop considering others. Their desires, their freedom, their rightful position in society – it doesn’t matter. They are the unwashed crowds. The backwards, selfish suburbanites. The evil cultists. Then, before you have noticed it, there is your corruption. You have met the enemy, and he is you.”

“But of course, with Napoleon, it’s more complex. With him, it’s a two-way street if you will.”

Kazansky smiled suddenly, waiting for Alexei to ask what he mean with that phrase – or to decipher the riddle for himself.

Alexei nodded in response to Kazansky's "riddle."

"I will not deny it," the Czar started. "None of the Imperial leadership do their jobs that well.

"However, when I realized I wasn't devoting a lot of time to Greater Prussia, I tried to pick up the slack I left, only to find Napoleon picked it up, and won't let it go." He started slowly pacing about the darkened room.

"I agree with your assessment, Alex," he continued after a few minutes. "I'm sure Napoleon had every good intention picking up the slack -- after all, someone has to do it. But when I step back up to the plate, he won't throw the pitch, and it's worrying me."

Kazansky nodded: ‘And this indeed is a cause for worry. I do believe, though, that the first step for the de-centralisation of power in the Empire – and this is really the big cause of worry here, now isn’t it? – is our own participation. We need to start projects – of whatever sort you wish, as long as they improve the lot of the Empire and it’s citizens – that would involve directly the various Imperial authorities – rather than just the pure raw decisionmaking power of the Emperor. Once the Imperial authorities ressume the responsibility and the duties that are theirs, they will also reassume their power and their rights.”

“Mind you, Alexei, responsibility is conserved – when one person takes responsibility for a function, somebody else is relieved of it.”

Kazansky smiled. “But I am assuming you want more than that…. Perhaps we even need… new Imperial officials… someone to replace Yamamoto, for example…”

Alexei nodded. "Indeed. Centralization mu--" he was cut off by a ring of his phone.

"Hello?" Alexei listened for a moment.

"What? Okay, I'll be there immediately." He hung up and turned to Kazansky.

"Emperor Napoleon has suffered a massive head injury and is in a coma. I must return to Rekjyavich-Andropov Military City immediately, sorry."

And with that, he departed. Looking down from the window, Alexei's black trenchcoat danced in the wind, and when he was out of sight, the storm let up, showing a bright, starlit night, and peace was upon Reichsburg once more.