NationStates Jolt Archive

"And on the Imperial Expansion Amendment Act, how vote you?” The question was put. The chatter that followed amongst the 300 senators was more relieved then surprised. The Amendment Act has been created, debated, revised, all with one crucial fact under pinning every action of its existence; the act would pass, and their life and work as senators was nothing more then an elaborate political farce designed to make The Water Cooler look more democratic in the eyes of the world.

It was an elaborate farce, but like all farces, could not survive close examination. One only had to look closely at the Imperial Parliament and the cracks, the flaws in the drama, where oh so obvious. Yet, for all its uselessness it also, gradually, had an unintended effect; Coolians slowly acclimatised to the idea of having a parliament as a substitute, or in addition to, the Emperors absolute will. Of course when the Emperor realised this fact the farce would collapse like the house of precariously stacked cards it was. But for now all the players played their parts.

Today was a closed session, which multiplied the usually oppressive conditions. The rows of senators where flanked by crimsoned cloaked Imperial Protectors, silent sentinels against any deviation from the senator’s scripts. The great wooden doors, the entrance to the Hall of Parliament, bore a ceremonial wax seal marking the sanctity of the closed session. The Cooler is in the details, as the expression had it. The public galleries, usually filled with actors employed by the Ministry of the State, where empty today, and the media gallery, usually occupied by Ministry of Foreign Affair propagandists was also empty.

The Emperor, subtly dressed in black robes of state, sat regally on his throne, watching impassively over parliament. Occasional Ibum, the first aide, and one of the few people that had the Emperor’s ear, would bend forward and whisper something into the Emperors ear, usually eliciting a smirk, and once even a small chuckle.

“The question having been put shall now pass to the Emperor for his opinion.” Wilam Ist, the Vice Chair and Speaker of the Imperial Parliament, handed a ceremonial scroll to a page who delivered the text of the bill to the Emperor Urban.

“The question is acceptable and I, Emperor Urban, do consent to it.”

“The question having received the Imperial Consent shall now be put to the Imperial Parliament. On the matter of the Imperial Expansion Amendment Act, how vote ye? Please indicate your vote by saying “aye” or “nay” now.” The resounding ‘aye’ was almost deafening.

“The question has been answered; and is now law. Will the pages please deliver a copy to archives, and would the Sargent at Arms please remove the seal. May the Cooler smite any party who dissents against what has transpired here today.”

A bang of a ceremonial staff ended the session. The senators, their minds now turning to the far more strenuous decision of what to have for lunch, a decision they would actually have a choice in, rose eagerly, a pleasant buzz of conversation filling the room.

‘Acta est fabula, plaudite’ Thought one distinctly unhappy senator. However, he wasn't stupid. He knew to look openly upset at this moment would be tantamount to a declaration of treason. So, he grinned, and shook the hands of his fellow senators. For now he could pretend to be happy. For now.

The Emperor left; now that the first step had been taken things had to be done.

It was raining. The weather here was predictable. Rain, cold, sun, more sun. The pattern of countless years would repeat countless more times. Man had much power; yet against the climate he was a weak child, forever guessing where the next blow would come from.

The water flowed over the streets. When you lived in such predictable weather it ceased to be a concern. You simply accepted that for 3 months a year it would be wet. Not oppressively wet—the last flood occurred over 200 years ago—but wet enough to be truly wet. Farmers, children, works, mothers, lovers and brothers; all adapted and tolerated the weather. What else could they do?

The pitter-patter was almost therapeutic. This often was a thought of Johann. He could just sit and listen, the sound inducing him into something akin to a mediative trance, for hours. The rain as a child had never bothered him. While other children had complained about it, in loud pestering tones, Johann had sat watching the rain; watching the rain drops shattering the still microcosm of a puddle. He learned two things from watching the rain; an individual can make a great impact, yet with time, the impact is forgotten and normalcy returns.

He moved with a quick impatient gait that contrasted with his manner; he wanted to arrive at wherever he was going so he could be still again. His life was marked by this desire to be still; to be still and observe. When he was alone with his thoughts he could relax. When he was with other people he was puzzled, he tried to imagine what was going through their own minds, but invariably he failed. He avoided, then, other people. He liked the rain because others didn’t. He paused when he reached the mid point of his journey, the wide Obstrum Plaza.

“Hallo Johann. Schreckliches Wetter,” the man’s voice was deep and intrusive, shattering Johann’s silent contemplation.

“Why are you here? This goes against protocol,” Johann looked out at the wet plaza, his umbrella covering him. He pondered the implications of this egregious breech of his cover. His hand unconsciously went to the small high-powered taser in his jacket pocket. It was a devious life he lived. Lying to his friends, lying to his handlers. His life was a constant lie, he had forgotten what it was like just to tell the truth.

He had been approached when he graduated university. They asked if he wanted to serve his county. They asked if he wanted to make a better world. He was young, and naive. He accepted, and after a few months of intensive training begun his work. His first posting was a desert hell-hole. He wasn't sure, to this day, how he had survived. Oh how he had longed for the rain then. After a few years he was promoted, and he received a posting to the neutral Publik. He enjoyed his time here. Yet gradually under the freedom of a deep-cover operation he drifted—he became disillusioned. He was approached again. They asked, ironically, did he want to make a better world.

So he begun the path that would lead, he was sure, to his death. He was a double-agent working against a country renowned for its fanaticism of security. Yet, by some stroke of luck, he had avoided detection. He knew that any day now the net which he constantly slipped through would be tightened, and he would be ensnared. He would be tortured, and then publicly executed. His family would also be executed; the blood of treason would be eliminated.

The potential foolishness of what his new masters—he wasn’t sure of even who they where—angered him, yet he knew his life was in their hands. It would only take a leaked transmission to a Water Coolian counter-espionage unit and the net would suddenly envelope around him. He sighed, and waited for the man to continue.

“We have a problem. The amendment has passed already. You shall have to return to Sohi City. The arrangements have been made.” On cue a black car pulled up to the corner. “Oh. And it’s summer in the Water Cooler. Pack light.” The man’s voice was mocking.

Again Johann sighed. The rain started to clear up.

The Ministry of Defence building was an iceberg. The structure above ground, a squat was way oversized by the structure below ground; a massive network of bunkers, buildings, labs, factories, warehouse all connected via high-speed magnetic rail system. It was an impressive accomplishment, and mirrored the secrecy the Coolians strived for. Underground, hidden by tonnes of dirt, concrete and shielding, some of the darker secrets where hidden away, from light and public eye. And that was a good thing.

At the centre of the underground network was the ‘Hub’. The Hub, simply put, was the hub of all HEWC military operations. All military operation where, at some stage, controlled from the Hub. Here defence and offence where coordinated, attacks where planned while strategic withdrawals planned. It served as a focus point for the wide-reaching network of military intelligence and communication. For years it had been one of the busiest locations in the empire.

That was before the ABLE super computer system became fully functional. Slowly ABLE had matured till a point where the Hub was largely redundant. Human hard work had been replaced by the artificial logic of a machine. This was a mixed blessing, although in some case this was a excellent advantage, and had resulted in impressive victories, recently the ABLE system had been making strange—mistakes. At first they where small scale errors, like small quantities of supplies being redirected, but recently they grew in scale, culminating in the fateful day where a shipment of two Laser-Hawk Attack Helicopters where routed to Okina District Pre-school. Technical Services was puzzled, countless diagnostics had turned up no problem. ABLE itself justified all the mistakes by showing the items had been rerouted under the command of an 'anonymous user'.

At any rate, ABLE was still preforming with a 97.7676346929% mission success rate, radically out preforming the previous success rate of human operators. Yet as with all new technologies they where some that resistant to the change it had brought. Some that, for a variety of reasons, opposed the new, and favoured the old, time tested methods. Such was the case here; several Sub-Ministers had blocked a committee vote that would have given ABLE complete operational control. So, for now, the Hub was still busy, still serving a role that was close to its original mandate.

Following the passing of the Amendment Act yesterday the Hub and ABLE, by extension, had been particularly busy. Any military action, especially now that the HEWC military had fully embraced high-technology solutions and equipment, required massive amounts of logistical, political, diplomatic and tactical planning. This planning was now being undertaken. Carefully, ever so carefully.

In that case it was hoped the best laid plans of man where sufficient.

Silver green and blue. Those three colours—the imperial holy colours—dominated every surface. Banners made from the finest silk hung from the high ceilings, and ceremonious bunting—in silver green and blue of course—covered the rose coloured marble walls.

The ball was one of the most exclusive events of the Coolian social calendar. Only the elite of the elite could gain attendance. Invitations, unofficial traded for staggering sums of money, where desperate sought after. Being seen tonight at the ball would propel those already on the top of the social lists into a new realm of social success.

The food was divine, the drink was heavenly, the music sublime. Rich peals of laughter set the tone; it was a festive night. For those that had battled so hard to be here they could rest, and for those that an invitation was always assured could simply enjoy another magical night.

The guest of honour, of course, was the one of the twin seals of gesamtkuntswerk, the honourable Schmerzhaftersturmbote, who had been touring the country, as a personal guest of the Empire. No expense or effort had been spared to give the monarch a favourable impression of the HEWC. And so far everything had gone well. The Emperor enjoyed his time with the intellectually stunning leader, and found he had a new level of respect for the gesamtkuntswerk people.

Of course, there was a purpose behind Schmerzhaftersturmbote’s visit. The Emperor needed the support, or at least commitment not to interfere in what the Emperor had planned, from the gesamtkuntswerk leadership. That question would be asked shortly, but for now the Emperor was content to enjoy the evening.

The Emperor sat and watched. Unlike the previous Emperor, Sohi, who had enjoyed the ‘tedious social game’ Emperor Urban preferred to observe. He liked watching; finding patterns, trends even. This little hobby of his had gotten better with practise; even to the point where some had called the ability of the Emperor’s to read emotion, and extrapolate behaviour and thought of them, as preternatural.

Of course, as is often the case, the watcher, by the very nature of watching, leaves himself open to watching. Ibum, dressed, as always, in pure white robes, contrasting with the Emperors black dress, stood a metre behind, and to the right, silently watching the Emperor.

Urban raised his hand, almost imperceptibly, signalling Ibum.

“You are dismissed for the night.” Urban said softly. He had noticed Ibum’s staring some time ago, and was unnerved by it. The level of impudence that was being displayed was almost scandalous, especially considering the normally impeccable behaviour the man demonstrated. The Emperor considered this briefly.

Elsewhere, away from the Emperor, people danced, various heads of state from the Sunbelt, diplomatic guests, all mingled peacefully, revelling in the gracious hospitality of the HEWC. Beneath the splendour of the ball itself, there was the flipside; the countless servants, almost slaves in status, that worked tirelessly to make the evening such a success. Of course, considering the importance of the ball, the price for their failure would be high.

The Emperor, rose, slightly tired of sitting. He signalled awaiting Imperial-Lady, and taking her hand, walked to the dance floor. He danced, rather well. The music, a light waltz by the inimitable Jōrg the Elder, was played to match the Emperors dancing style. It caused some confusion among the other dancers, but that was intended. So much was designed to make the Emperor seem better then others.

While the Emperor danced Schmerzhaftersturmbote found himself the figurative belle of the wall, with high ranked social courtiers providing suitable company and entertainment and insuring all his needs and wants where fulfilled. It would be a night that, if all went to plan, he would remember fondly for a long time, and make him more amiable to what the Emperor was going to discuss with him the next day.

At 6:15 His Excellency, Lord-Ambassador Milkum, High Ambassador to the Allied States of Publik, was gently awoken by Volern, his most trusted factotum. Reclining on the silken pillows, the Ambassador yawned, an interminable function the night before had dragged on till the early hours of the morning, leaving him precious little time for sleep.

The morning ritual, something as well established and practised as the rituals that develop between long married couples, had already begun. Before entering the bed-chambers Volern had instructed the servants to layout the Ambassador's breakfast and morning papers. That satisfactorily arranged he checked his watch, and calmly waited until 6:15. These few moments of calm would be the last Volern had during the day; such was the fast paced life style the Ambassador lived, and by extension the even faster paced life he lived.

“Good morning m’lord,” he begun gaily while holding out the Ambassadors dressing gown. “The weather is slightly wet, as always, so I’ve laid out the new wool suit you bought in West America—the grey one.”

The ambassador grumbled slightly. He wasn’t a morning person. He pushed his arms through the holes of the gown, and stumbled into the next room, holding his hand out for coffee.

Half an hour, caffeine flowing through his blood, he had awoken, and studied the day’s schedule, and any over-night messages from home. Today their had been only one, and it had arrived in the most high-security message pouch, signalling it as a most important or secret document, so secret that the risk that it may be detected and decrypted if transmitted electronically, prevented a more expedient delivery. Instead it was couriered under armed guard, in a complex pouch that served to ensure that its contents remained private.

After opening the case, deactivating all its elaborate security mechanisms, he pulled out the light sensitive paper, that would decompose in under a minutes upon contact with lights that where made using Water Coolian technology.

He gasped when he read the message, and not needing to read it a second time he handed it to Volern for the document to be immediately destroyed.

“Cancel my schedule, and arrange a meeting with the Publikian Council of Twelve.” The Ambassador, who had previous had a rather jovial expression, quickly turned serious, the gravity of what was happening fully apparent.

He informed another servant to ready his motorcade; there was one thing he had to do before the meeting with the Council of Twelve.

The sun heated the vast tarmacs of Sohi City International Airport. The tarmacs, essential turned into giant hot-plates, heated the air, creating immense thermal updrafts. The updrafts shimmered through the air, seemingly defying physics as it bended space. It was a hot day; one of the hottest of the season. Across the country, for the wealthy at least, air conditioning units attempt to continue mans futile struggle against weather.

Luckily for Johann the cabin of the plane was air-conditioned. Unluckily for him this wasn’t enough; on his shirt sweat marks had formed already. Absently he mopped a strand of sweat of his forehead with a handkerchief, as he looked out the window of the plane in discomfort, watching the shimmering air.

The sweat was not only caused by the heat, and the anticipation of much more heat, but rather a certain amount of anxiety on his part. He had no idea what would happen when he arrived, no doubt his real Coolian handlers had been informed that he was on a plane, making an unscheduled return.

With a small ‘blink’ sound the ‘fasten seat belts’ light lit up. Johann nervously jammed his handkerchief in his pocket, and pulled his seat belt into its correct position, securing it with an ominous. He doubted that we would ever see the rain again.

“Why so glum? We’re returning to The Water Cooler!” A passenger next to Johan asked cheerfully, while buckling up herself.

“I’m not use to this weather, tad too hot,” he replied with a forced cheer in his voice. Knowing his luck he was properly siting next to an agent of one of the many secret police forces; and he would be arrested for “disloyalty to the Water Cooler”. Still, she seemed to buy his false cheer, and went back to her book, ‘Problems with the Enemy; a study of foreigners.’

The airplane landed, and was taxied to a busy terminal. After the plane had docked, streams of passengers exited, excited, on the most part, to be home again. Johann, walking as slowly as possible, also made the trek down the corridor, waiting for what he judged as the inevitable. Would they grab him right here, in yet another display of force and security, or would they grab him when he was alone. Yet unlike most prisoners of the over jealous Coolian security forces, he would actually be guilty.

He walked in a blur; details passed by, temporality meaningless. He passed a security check-point. He passed a second security check-point, waving the ID-chip embedded in his wrist over the scanner, and was waiting in line to go through customs when it happened. A man in a dark suit approached him.

“I’m sorry to bother you sir, but do you have the time? I spilt some sauce over my watch, and now the time just flies by.”

This was indeed unexpected. Johann was momentarily speechless.

“My watch too is sauced; perhaps we can ask a third party?” He responded. The man winked at him, and walked down the line to ask someone else. He had just been approached by someone who knew a code phrase that his new handlers had given him in Publik. The code effectively meant everything was fine, and he should proceed as planned.

He completed going through customs, and made his way to a phone, where he dialled his Water Coolian handlers, as per protocol. Instead of feeling relieved, his unease and apprehension only increased. What was going on here?

The two figures walked quickly through a seemingly never-ending corridor. Just by looking at the two it was obvious one was senior, both in rank and power, but also age, and the other was his junior. The men had known each other for countless years, they where friends, for want of a better word. They held similar views on many topics, but on others they where bitterly opposed to each others ideals. The older favoured a traditional concept of the army; large standing forces, that used their superior numbers and training to capture any objective, and while he appreciate technological progress, he appreciated manpower better. The younger favoured a more modern approach, consisting of highly trained technological elite small strike teams taking objectives, the younger felt that technology was his man weapon. Recently the split in the ethos had been highlighted by the ABLE system, and its impact on army management.

Yet despite this split, the two had managed to maintain their friendship, the younger knew it was advantageous to his position, but like the senior genuinely enjoy the friendship that was provided. Although he knew we would be a likely replacement for the senior when he retired, he couldn’t help feel a tinge of sadness—the army would loss a valuable asset when he did retire.

Yet such a day was far from today, and now the impending deployment of the Water Coolian Imperial Army occupied both of their minds. Unlike other deployments of the HEWC armed forces, the upcoming engagement would showcase the army in all its power. For weeks they had been planning, with the help of ABLE, every minute detail. At military bases around the country the alert status had been raised, informing troops that they would be once again called on, to serve their country.

“The main question, I think,” The younger begun while waving the ID-chip in his wrist over a scanner, before pulling open a heavy glass door. “Is wether or not we can win over the local population? If we can then things will go smoothly, but if not we might have to combat a ten year long local insurgent campaign. It would be a haemorrhage on the army until it was finally solved.”

The older saluted to a machine gun wielding guard while he considering the younger’s comment. “I think your right; PsyOps will have their work cut out for them.” The two men passed through a terahertz wave scanner, and once again saluted to the guard.

The two continue down the corridor, deep in thought. “When do we start?” The younger asked.

“Our assists are almost in position, and the ambassador is on route to deliver the declaration. Thankfully the naval exercises near Trotsgrad have created the perfect distraction, while the world is enraptured with smoke and mirrors, we sneak behind them with a knife.” The man paused and chuckled. “I’m starting to sound like you, Eiko.”

The man enjoyed a last moment of peace, before going to address a meeting of the Executive Military Leadership Committee.

The Ambassador sat within the plush darkness of the limousine. In his hand was a scroll, sealed with a blood-red Imperial Seal. Symbolically, the Ambassador thought darkly, of what was to come. He turned it over slowly, distractedly wondering what the reaction of the Publikian Council of Twelve would be; would the act fearful, realising their impending doom, or would they rise and express their righteous anger. It was almost a pity; his assignment to Publik has been peaceable, if not slightly dull, and he wondered where he would be assigned after this.

The motorcade stopped at its first destination; an out of the way run-downed apartment complex. Putting on his leather gloves, he stepped out of the car, and moving quickly climbed the stairs to the 5th level. He knocked on the door, eager to be away. After a few moments the door opened, revealing a shabby room, and an even shabbier man. He blinked a few times, somewhat dazed, as his eyes adapted to the streaming light highlighting the Ambassador.

He quickly entered, and pushed the door shut behind him. “It’s time.” The man suddenly, like someone waking up from his sleep, was no longer dazed. He quickly went over to a wall of the apartment, and after applying pressure in a certain place, removed the false wall, revealing a rack of servers, humming quietly. Moving quickly the man shut-down the machines, bringing a deathly silence to the apartment. The machines shutdown, he pulled out a hard drive, and handed it to the ambassador, who pocketed it away in his trench coat.

The Ambassador nodded, “You’ll EMP-deactivate the machines?” The man who had removed another wall panel and was deactivating more machines nodded. “You might want to, when you’re done, leave the country.” The Ambassador smiled sadly as he walked down the stairs, passing a tall Security Agent wearing a black suit, and a sinister expression. “Don’t forget to finish destroying the machines. Don’t worry about hiding the body.” The Ambassador said quietly, before getting back in the Limousine.

He arrived at the ‘Bundesgebäude für Zivil- und ökonomische Hauptverwaltung’ just as it started raining. With a purpose to his step he walked to the Central Meeting Chamber, where the 12 members of the Publikian council sat, their faces oddly neutral. “We gather you are not here to discuss pleasantries” Jährliches Haupt-Ausschußmitglied Jager said darkly.

“The Jährliches Haupt-Ausschußmitglied is preceptive; I’m here to deliver a proclamation on behalf of the Most Holy and Omnipotent Emperor Urban. As stipulated by the Imperial Expansion Amendment Act, The Federal Republic of Publik is now hereby a Water Coolian Colony, and as such I am hereby appointing my self Viceroy pro tem, until the Emperor can appoint the position to some one more permeant.” Outraged, the Council members voice their objections, but the Ambassador continued, “as such you are ordered to renounce your leadership, and transfer full control off the country to me, within 24 hours. If not you shall be considered to be trespassing, and appropriate measures to be taken,” the Ambassador paused for dramatic effect, “Thank you for your cooperation in this matter.” He placed the scroll on the table.

The Council members displayed a full range of emotions—anger, shock, fear in a short period of time. Then the famous Publikian calm settled.
“I move the motion that Ambassador Milkum be stripped of his diplomatic status, the Water Coolian mission be expelled, and all Water Coolian civilians and diplomatic personal be granted the status of Persona Non Grata. Giving the circumstances I ask that debate be suspended. Jährliches Haupt-Ausschußmitglied, may we vote on this matter, and then on my motion.” A councilmember next to the Jährliches Haupt-Ausschußmitglied, and favourite for the position of Jährliches Haupt-Ausschußmitglied next year, said.

“Those councilmen that agree that debate on the motion be suspended, owing to the extraordinary circumstances, indicate so by saying ‘aye’.”

The chorus of ayes was unanimous.

“Those councilmen that agree on the motion indicate so by saying ‘aye’.”

Again the chorus was unanimous.

“Very well, Lord Milkum, pursuant to Resolution 46357, passed at,” he checked his watch, “11:34 am today, your diplomatic status, and all responsibilities and rights associated with that status are hereby nullified, furthermore you are declared to be a persona non grata, and as such you are demanded to exit Publik within 24 hours. If you can not afford this, the state shall supply transport; if you remain hair you shall be arrested without trial for Suspicion to commit Treason against the Federal Publik of Publik. Furthermore the Water Coolian embassy is to be disbanded, and all personal required to exit Publik within a similar time frame. Additionally all Water Coolian visas, travel permits, and such, are suspended immediately.”

The Ambassador looked nonplussed. As he was leaving he turned, his face smug, and said “By the end of the week a Coolian will be sitting where you sit Jährliches Haupt-Ausschußmitglied. And your people shall learn the price for their disobedience.” Then remembering his training, bowed slightly, and walked out of the room.

The Ambassador drove straight to the airport, where his plane was waiting. He had no desire to remain in Publik anymore; as benign as the Council pretended they where, he knew an assassination wasn’t below them.

HALO stood for High-Altitude Low-Opening. It was a type of parachute jump that was used for the insertion of covert forces into a region, with minimal chances of enemy detection. It was the perfect way for installing special forces, in this case Thanatos 11, into a hostile region; especially if it was advantageous that those forces remained undetected for as long as possible.

The moment before a jump was always tense; it was the last chance to abort the mission. After they left the cabin, they would maintain radio silence until their objective had been achieved. They silently checked their equipment, passing time until the light started to blink green. This action would also mark the point of no return; once committed like this it would be difficult for the Emperor to extricate the Empire from invasion, both physically and politically. Although it served little practical purpose all the men where without identification establishing them as Coolian subjects; even the transport plane was blank.

The light changed green; the men knew what to do.

Elsewhere, in a small apartment room, Johann sat holding a gun. He traced his hands over its form, memorised by its deadly power. It had one purpose; to end life. It appeared; Johann reflected as he poured another whisky, he had one purpose as well. He laughed bleakly. It was almost as if the gun was his brother. Johann downed the drink, and got up, not bothering to lock the door behind him. The gun sat in a jacket, next to his heart.

Within the same city, the Capital of the thousand year old Empire, The Emperor sat alone in his office, watching a large pendulum swing. It was enchantingly simple. It swung through the air with such elegance that the Emperor was momentarily spellbound. A light flashed on his desk, indicating an aide wanted to tell him something. He looked back at the pendulum but the spell was broken. Annoyed he pressed a button, and the door unlocked with a nearly inaudible hiss. The aide was delivering a report that the HALO drop had been successful, and the men where proceeding with the objective.

By morning 100 of the most prominent Publikian leaders, including 6 members of the Publikian Council of 12, would be dead. A wave of death was preparing Publik for invasion. When the Coolian infantry arrived, they would find the streets already red.

((For the sake of convenience I've continued the story here (http://s4.invisionfree.com/The_Sunbelt/index.php?showtopic=330).))