NationStates Jolt Archive

Palanedhel Hyarmentiriel frowned a little as he entered the small sitting room, a chamber inside the lower levels of the Imperial Palace of Duat, one used for the kind of meetings that couldn’t risk the scrutiny of outsiders. A log fire burned in the grate, and Mephet’ran casually prodded at it with a poker.

The shorthaired elf sat down slowly, watching the orange flames flicker and leap. “I take it this isn’t a social call I’ve been asked to make, then?” he said at last, and the head of state shook his head. As one of the small number of ‘officers of the Elenaran,’ Palanedhel had been recruited to use his prodigious talents in what had been termed ‘the dark places and hearts of men, where angels fear to tread’ a phrase that gave him certain knowledge that this day would come.

“I have a mission for you,” the C’tan said at last, “I need you to accomplish a task that no amount of soldiers can manage. I need you to go into Iesus Christi, and restore the catholic faith there.”

The elf leaned back in his chair, and nodded, “I see… well, actually, I don’t.”

“The time has at last come for us, for you, to do something more about the situation there than watch in silence and let others struggle against the fascism. There is, in the end, only one way that is practical to end the struggle against fascism there – and that is to make the people there rise up against their government.

“And the time has come when we can begin to do something to provoke that, to light a spark to the tinder there.”

“Wasn’t that time many years ago?”

“No. That opportunity was missed, and now we must make one of our own. I need someone to go there, and find proof of the truths we suspect. Then, and only then, will we be able to bring these violations of human dignity, as the Catholics call it, to their people.”

“Okay, so let’s start, how precisely do you plan to get an elf to do this?”

----

Palanedhel grumbled a little on the inside of the Thelasi transport, he’d had to ask that didn’t he? Loosing the points of his ears, surgically, had been a painful blow. Loosing six inches of height, however, though admittedly, this was a magical alteration, and one he could dispel at any time to restore his original build, had been even worse.

He looked forlornly again at the mission gear as he continued changing into his drysuit. The equipment had all been acquired from ‘neutral’ sources, designed to show neither the hallmarks of necrontyr technological development, nor any alignment to the nation’s allies.

This did of course, mean that he was busily cleaning a ‘Zeppelin Manufacturers’ made ‘TIW Mk.3’ underwater rifle, a decent enough weapon, he supposed, and most importantly, not something more advanced than the kind of guns he was likely to have pointed at him. To be honest, they brought back memories, he thought, as he busily loaded bullets into the magazine of one of the devices. He closed his eyes, and thought back to the rest of his assignment.

He’d been given a bunch of paper files as thick as his arm, and told to memorise everything about them, before taking on the mission, and burn each as he read it. They were dusty and old, many of them transcripts of the individual stories of ‘exiles’ from Iesus Christi. There were maps too, satellite photos from the long-standing Menelmacari spy-satellite apparatus, of just about every town and village in the country.

Palanedhel hadn’t been fortunate enough to be born with an eidetic memory, but it was something he’d picked up a close analogue to as a student of Airaheri, the elf who currently served as the ‘magic’ consultant for the Elenaran, and who had been trained by Sirithil herself long ago. The natural talent Palanedhel did have though, was a great sense of location and distance. He’d spent most of his life wandering far from others, in strange lands, which was no doubt why he’d been chosen for this particular mission.

One of the Thelasi officers came into the room, and looked at him distastefully. They didn’t know how or why this ‘human’ had presented credentials from their emperor that said they were to render assistance to his mission. “Sir,” she said, apparently not enjoying that at all, “We are approaching the Iesian coast.”

Palanedhel decided he’d have little opportunity to rub anyone’s nose in his authority for a long time, and decided to make the most of it. “Very good officer,” he said, “carry some of those cylinders,” he gestured over at a stack of oxygen cylinders, “to the disembarkation bay.”

She frowned, and looked like she was about to object, “Yes, sir,” she said, at last. He chuckled softly as the irate elf attempted to lift three of the hefty weights. He lifted one, then folded the other gear into a bag and followed her. The Thelasi had been regularly, dropping supplies on a remote beach for the benefit of the supposed Iesian rebels for years. What they didn’t know, and what Palanedhel and his master only suspected, was that these so called rebels were in fact, government agents, and every weapon that was delivered went straight into the service of the state it was intended to fight.

It had been debated that he should simply go to the same beach as the Thelasi landed on, but eventually Palanedhel had decided against that. Instead, he had a two day journey northwards from there, on the back of a transport, painstakingly modified from a commercial jet-ski to operate underwater, powered by two underwater jet engines, the heated trails of which would also serve to mitigate the effects of freezing seawater.

He sighed a little, and dropped his pack, directing the Thelasi to attach the cylinders, taking mildly spiteful delight in her annoyance. The conveyance had a large ‘seat’ and it was intended to be used lying down, and under this were various compartments for other pieces of equipment.

He had a radio, even though he had no expectation of using it. Rather than the complex ‘quantum-encryption’ devices used in the past, this radio was intended to do nothing more than transmit a single message, from a code-book the operative had memorised before departure. In there too were several changes of clothes, which exile’s transcripts had indicated were appropriate attire, none of which he was particularly looking forwards to donning. A pistol, something he hoped not to need, with numerous clips of ammunition.

He had food, too, of course, but rather than the kind of food he preferred, it was all specially made nutrient slabs, cooked up bilge that was about as appetising as the box it was contained in. Of course, after two days and nights underwater, Palanedhel had the strong feeling that he might come to look at it differently.

----

Sure enough, he did, looking at the small vehicle’s chronometer, and its compass, he estimated that he must be a mere mile from his destination, at last. Rubbing his gloved hand to one of the engines, looking at the fuel gauge, now reading a mere sixty percent, he was indeed looking forwards to eating the tasteless stuff…

I can’t help wondering as I record this, if anyone will ever have the chance to read it. Obviously, it’s not on paper, but something closer to pure memory of my impressions during the mission. I should be able to recall and transcribe them perfectly if I ever have to make a report of some kind.

So, Iesus Christi – What to say about the place? Well, it’s not quite the post-apocalyptic hell that my gut told me it would be. The stars here are the same as they are everywhere, slightly different constellations, but nothing I’ve not seen before. Grass, trees, animals, much the same as they are at home, though it’s significantly colder here, of course.

I pulled up on the shoreline in a rocky little cove, nice and inaccessible, and unloaded most of the useful gear I had brought with me, and then I submerged the thing again. I suppose it’s fairly likely that I’ll never see that little thing again.

I do of course; have no idea how exactly I’m going to get out of this place when the time comes. It’s an alarming thought that my assignment is so open ended that it could take months, years or decades. That’s an alarming thought, to think that I could disappear here for decades. I wonder, already, how my family is getting on without me. I can just about see Mars, where one of my cousins works as the Menelmacari Duma representative – I wonder if I’ve not gotten the safe job…

Iesian clothes, well, I’m not keen on them, but the thing that most peeves me about this particular disguise is the idea that I have to have some sort of barcode to identify me for government agents. It doesn’t of course, work, I’ll have to alter the bloody thing to match someone’s at some point, I suppose, but for now, it’s just a mildly convincing replica, not something that will work with their system. This in itself is something that I’m not supposed to care about, but I do, I find it deeply offensive.

I know that I should sleep now, I have to stay out of the way – it’s been many years since I’ve experienced the dubious joys of sleeping in a ditch – during the night, they have a curfew here, another ridiculous infringement of the people’s liberties, and that I’ve therefore got to keep myself from being noticed at night.

In any case, at least I have a quantity of Iesian money – some of it isn’t even forgeries – with which I should, tomorrow, be able to buy myself into somewhere cheap and nasty, which is of course, what I want. Then, I could use some sort of contact with this nation’s criminal class. Unfortunately, from what I have been told, there isn’t much of one left, which doesn’t help my cause at all. I need resources while I’m here, and they’re going to have to be acquired somehow, and it’s not as if I can make a legal living here.

The Iesians might be paranoid, but at least their paranoid measures have some successful weight behind them. They work rather better than I would like, and I know that any sort of background check while I’m here –and I’m bound to run into a few, will yield a less than satisfactory result.

I suppose the best course of action on that front would be to find a dead man and take his place, but I’m not sure how likely that’s going to be, and I certainly have no plans to make any corpses unless I am forced to.

Anyway, sleep. Tomorrow I have to try and find myself a cheap boarding house that isn’t too paranoid with identity checks. That should be fun…

The next day Palanedhel managed to arrive in the seedier part of a small Iesian town close to dusk, and of course, the curfew, and finally managed to find somewhere that looked lax enough not to make inquiries that were a little too pointed into his background. Stopping to pay in cash, he resisted the urge to go out seeking contacts immediately, instead relaxing on the laughably uncomfortable bed, and worked instead on refining his cover story. If he wanted information, and to be sure, he did, it would need to give him some suitably patriotic and perhaps even Christian, reason for that.

So, I am Andrew Miller in the local cant. Surely an ultimately unobjectionable name. I shall have to acquire myself an Iesian bible, too, check that they actually have an Andrew. One moment…

Okay, nothing in the side boards. I should have known this place was far too cheap. Either that or too many thieves have stayed here before me. I know it sounds like the old cliché, but I shall have to investigate the cheap watering holes nearby, the kind of place the law isn’t welcome, too, presuming they’ve not banned that.

I wonder what else, you can often find information from people by paying them. Perhaps a trip to whatever equivalent of a market they have here might be in order. I’d kill for a nice tea-house culture at the moment where one can pick up all the rumours, but I guess there’ll be more legwork involved in finding information.

I imagine that everyone’ll know rumours about dissenters disappearing and things, and be able to infer what goes on after that, so what I’m really after is what people know or suspect about worse things going on. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to find somewhere the ‘forces’ hang around. Perhaps I can find a job as a barman or something that lets me pick up on rumours.

So, my plan for tomorrow is to hunt for useful places to pick up gossip on the affairs of the government here. Remember, children, never become a spy when you grow up. It involves being really cold, uncomfortable and doing a lot of irritating legwork. Oh well, perhaps I can lighten my day up by finding a copy of Dei Verbum, I've heard that it's a scream.

At 6:25am the Church bells rang out, calling the faithful to the holy Eucharist. For many others it was simply a morning waking call….like a town roster…
Faustina was generally seedier than the average Iesus town, run down and under tight ‘luxury restrictions’ due to ‘emergency necessity’, but even so the average citizen nodded ‘good morning to ‘Andrew Miller’ as he ventured from his lodgings to purchase a paper and scout the town out.
For twenty five cents Miller received a copy of Dei Verbum and a smile from the elderly street vender. Other Newspapers stood out on the newspaper stand with titles such as “The Nationalist” and “The Morning Patriot”. Several colour magazines caught the eye with titles of “Die Elf! The Iesus youth Weekly” and “Heroes in action! Military news”.

The headlines of Dei Verbum were a odd mix…
Metahuman alliance plans invasion of Iesus Christi! read the main headline. The story itself outlined a ‘intelligence breakthrough’ that had revealed the invasion plans of a foreign alliance. Nations like Knootoss featured prominently, but so did nations like Pantocratoria….the article seemed to imply a vast foreign metahuman lead alliance/conspiracy.

Seventeen spies and traitors hung The second story detailed the deaths of seventeen ‘traitors’ who had been executed for various crimes including ‘sabotage, treason, blasphemy and perversion of the youth’. For whatever reason it appeared these people had actually faced trial and public execution rather than simply being liquidated silently.

The third article in a way was more confusing and worrying Local Government officials relent. Reconciliation delights crowd. Telling the story of a dispute between a church official and the government over a public display, the story at face value appeared to be anti government …Portraying the Government officials involved as unfeeling and the Priest as the plucky underdog.
At the bidding of the General Smith from the Ministry of Social Order, the affair had been reconciled and the march had gone ahead. (Photos even showed happy children waving flags and marching behind portraits of Matthew and Bridgette Iesus)

Several open air cafes dotted the streets, offering cheap and simple food. Already children in school uniform marched off to their waiting school buses, pushing and teasing each other as children everywhere do. Many stopped and talked with passing patrolling soldiers who strolled the streets. The soldiers acted warmly towards the children, gladly talking to them and play fighting with them.
Soldiers who clearly were supposed to be on patrol even stopped at the some of the cafes…Standing and talking with the patrons, sharing stories and toast before they headed on their security patrols. It appeared the regular military forces who carried out security work were far more relaxed than the Ministry of Social order Brownshirts, or the regular law enforcement who reported to the Inquisition.

The elf sighed, leaning back and considering his mission in the early morning light. Most-everyone rising at six twenty five was bizarre, though he was quite familiar with the concept of public calls to prayer, for he’d been, in his long life, around quite a few places that had such things. Of course, he was more used to hearing such things in Arabic, in his experience, Catholicism was something of a ‘lighter’ religion, designed to appeal to more people, though in places it changed with time, and of course, he remembered the faith as something more temporally demanding in times gone by.

‘Andrew Miller’ was at least pleased that his costume managed to blend in with the drab and decayed surroundings. He’d never been much, despite his present employment, of a military type. He’d found that he was far too compassionate and empathic – in the sense of being prone to empathy, rather than being able to mystically read emotions – for that sort of thing. It was that same empathy that came to the fore as he explored the run down streets and buildings. He wondered just how much resources really went to the military and how many disappeared into wealth for the ruling elite.

The friendly reaction of the locals was something he’d actually expected. While most of his kind would be prone to seeing the likes of the Reich, Palanedhel was expecting the vast majority of the citizenry there to be well mannered and well meaning. Ultimately he was counting on it, and to his mind, working for their interests.

It didn’t take him long at all to adjust his accent and manner perfectly to that of the locals, with the slightest change to make himself sound as if he’d come from out of town, though still from nearby. He, like all the members of his ‘organisation,’ had been trained in mimicry by his country’s greatest expert in such things, the phenomenally rich Marchioness Asaid Virenus, one of the ‘Elenaran’s’ oldest associates, and it would be difficult indeed to detect flaws in ‘Andrew’s’ mannerisms or accent.

The newcomer was careful to nod appropriately in response to all those who greeted him as he went about his business, taking the time to attend the early morning mass at the first church he came across, for although he wasn’t in truth, a catholic, he had every intention of appearing to be a moderately, though of course, not excessively, faithful catholic. He knew enough of the Catholicism to impersonate a lay follower, though admittedly, perhaps not the Iesian perversion.

Sitting in one of the cafés of the town, indoors, and reading Dei Verbum, he was thankful that he’d chosen not to bother buying any other papers. He was, he found, having enough difficulty not breaking his cover by laughing at the absurdity of the conspiracy theory presented. He only wished that his people really were as cunning and devious as Dei Verbum’s journalists thought they were – they’d have made world peace and unity a reality long ago if they were.

Watching the soldiers interact with normal people Palanedhel was pleased and hopeful for the first time since his arrival. He had heard of, and even been to, some nations where the soldiery were stunningly indoctrinated to be everything propaganda made them out to be, but the Iesus Christi soldiery seemed much less fanatical than he’d feared. He had no doubt, however, that the fascist fanatics he feared were lurking somewhere.

Resolving that it was time to begin his work, Andrew folded the paper, and rose to seek employment, deciding that he would also have to, when the opportunity came up, learn more about the strange, third story.

The security service apparatus have their eyes and ears imbedded throughout the country, soldiers, police, cameras and spies monitoring ever aspect of Iesus life…

But it is not these physical controls that give the regime its power over the population. The regime in Iesus Christi derives the vast majority of its influence over the minds and hearts of the people through its absolute control and manipulation of all information made available to the local population….While Andrew Miller’ was able to see through the colourful Iesus media stories, the average citizen didn’t have “Andrew's’ knowledge of the outside world… By controlling what ever person hears, reads, and sees, the government pretty much controlled what everyone thinks and believes. Even the church found itself under greater censorship and control by the Officials of the Ministry of Social order.
All around him, ‘Andrew’ could see all the media being controlled completely by the government, in particular the ministry of Social order. Newspaper, radio, and television all centrally manage and convey only the messages that the Ministry condones. The radio in the café (like most in the country) was built to receive only State approved stations…with modifying them being an criminal offense. Even travel between provinces by individuals is severely restricted to prevent the transfer of information between different groups in the country.

As 'Miller' rose to leave, the quiet air of the morning was shattered by a scream of pain…then by the sound of breaking glass…the patrons in the café crowded onto the street to watch the unfolding events..
The youth clung to his spray can even as the soldiers kicked, and bludgeoned him with their rifle. Another solider continued smashing the front window of the local health clinic….using his rifle butt to remove the graffiti in the quickest way possible, sending shards of spraypainted glass into the street…forever destroying the words that had been sprayed so hastily on the glass -Patrick Iesus lives!
A savage kick to the boys face sent out a sickening crunching sound, the teen went limp…
The soldiers picked up the limp body of the youth…dragging him down the street past the onlookers who moments before they had been joking with…none of the onlookers from the café said a word, but simply returned to their breakfast as the boy disappeared down the street…

The ugly face of fascism revealed itself as Andrew Miller had foreseen, once again, he sighed quietly, and contemplated his mission. If this was the standard of the Iesian Resistance (if such a thing still existed, as he intelligence community believed it did) then he was in much more trouble than he had previously realised. Never the less, there had at least been some reaction, and even though it only took the form of quieting the people as the violence was perpetrated outside.

Miller strode outside, treading in slick blood on the street, folding his paper and striding (better to be conspicuous by confidence than by skulking) off down the road after the troops. Even if he didn’t feel exactly certain it was wise, he strode along after the soldiers, watching as they dragged their victim back to whatever horrific hole they lurked in, or more likely, their vehicle. It was unfortunate, and contrary to his instincts, that he had little chance to mount any kind of rescue, but gathering information was essential.

The depressing nature of the assignment became obvious once more as he watched this small display of human misery play out. The way the population was inured to such displays was also another cause for pervasive misery…

Andrew’s hunch had been correct, the soldier literally flung the youth into the back of their truck. Ominously, the youth didn’t even twitch as he was man-handled….he’d hung limp like a rag doll, blood oozing from his head wound.

This was what passed as normality under the fascist region in Iesus Christi, and no one was stupid enough to resist it openly. In the recent past, the Iesus military had demonstrated its willingness to crush those who raised their head sin disobedience…Protestors noble intentions provided little protection against bullets…

Still, the boy had dared to spray paint the window. Whatever that meant. Assuming the boy was still alive, both he and most likely his family too would pay enormously for the act.

As Andrew walked unopposed down the street, he saw the signs that Iesus was closing on holy week (the largest and most important week in Christendom). The passion and resurrection of Christ was about to be commemorated in Iesus Christi…
Iesus was known for being a ultra conservative land, and during the current Lenten season people took the lent fasting and piety seriously...Purple banners even hung from many lampposts, the liturgical colour of lent displayed by the government to draw people into the mystery of Christ’s suffering…the Iesus people were highly conditioned to suffering…

Yet this externally perceived Lenten dourness didn’t stop the friendliness, nor would the fasting last forever…Miller could easily overhear the preparations for Easter Sunday, the highest feast within the Church and the Iesus social calendar. Posters and flyers dotted walls and shop windows…Parades and street events would grind Iesus Christi to a virtual stop the entire week following Easter Sunday…the 7days were even the Ministry couldn’t stop the Iesus people from celebrating…

It’s the custom among many moderate Christians to give-up-something for Lent. The more extreme tend towards fasting, in Muslim style. Anyway, I consider what I’ve given up recently with a leery eye. Aside from freedoms (practically all) and resources (also practically all) I’ve given up contact with most – all really – of my friends, for a chance, dubious as it is, to help others.

I suppose that’s the spirit of the dubiously logical holiday of Easter, summed up.

Anyway, I’ve gotten up to very little since I’ve arrived, but then again, that’s what one expects. I have at last proof of subversive impulses still being strong in Iesus Christi – strong enough to give up life for. If nothing else, that poor foolish boy had given a useful contribution towards my mission. I now have reason to work that much harder – I owe it to him at least, in an odd way.

Good (or Long, which made much more sense) Friday tomorrow. It’s time for that mirthless festival, which of course, being a good Iesian, I shall have to celebrate (heh heh heh) the holy day. And after this time of celebration, I think that perhaps I shall set about making discrete inquiries into the existence of an organised Iesian resistance.

There should be one, by rights, but it’s probably beyond embittered by now. I still suspect the people that the Thelasi are feeding equipment to. I shouldn’t, I suppose, but the information I’ve gotten on them suggests that they’re either ineffective, or no kind of resistance at all – that wouldn’t surprise me in the least. I can just imagine them throwing fascist salutes and shouting ‘Hiel Victory’ and some dozy Thelasi not figuring it out.

Anyway… it’s off to Maundy Thursday services. At least they start getting cheerful on Sunday.

Easter Saturday. It was a vaguely depressing time, in the chruches of Easter at least. In Iesus Christi, it was quite the opposite, not just because of the positive message of the Harrowing of Hell; the release of souls from bondage in Hades by the grace of the exterminated Messiah, but because the Ministry’s staff were mostly too busy to persecute anyone At least, that was the assumption.

The place that Palanedhel had arranged to meet with the representatives of the ‘underground’ was quite close to a church, in fact, but with all the typical seediness of a fascist dystopia intact.

The necrontyr agent was once again in a different disguise, not Miller, but some other human of a similar build, though he made it look smaller due to his relaxed posture and gait. He wore different clothes, not exactly pilfered out of dustbins, but nearly that run down, and had even managed to produce decent looking stubble around his chin.

He waited, leaning against a wall, for the ‘rebels’ to arrive.

OOC: ARGH, mega sucktastic post!

The thesai rebel contacts were more than a little surprised by the news that they had a agent to meet that hadn’t been infiltrated into the nation via them. In the past, they had been notoriously fixated with controlling the how’s and when’s of contact, still they confirmed that they’d met this new operative.

The two men arrived, dressed in the brown business suits common to the Iesus middles class. With their hats pushed forward and umbrellas tucked under their arms, they both looked like something out of the 1950’s.

Nothing distinctive could be said of the two men’s features. Plain stoic looking Iesus faces and bodies..Wearing humourless expressions as they walked down the alley…
They didn’t talk to each other as far as Miller could see…rather they carried themselves with the confidant persona of people who’d done this sort of thing countless times…
Both men watched Miller closely as they approached him. The larger of the two 'rebels' extended his hand in greeting..
"I understand we have mutual friends?"

Palanedhel was, like most of his kind, observant, and there was one thing in particular about the men who greeted him that was off-putting to his trained eyes. Their bearing was not that of furtive resistance fighters, those who truly feared apprehension and torment. Instead it was more that of confident men who had no reason to fear. And yet, it was mere suspicion. Yet Palanedhel was a suspicious elf, and for good reason, given his location. One did not last long as a “missionary” without a goodly dose of suspision.

He stood up straight and reached out and in a custom that was not his own, held the other man’s arm about a hand’s breadth up from the wrist, not because he was particularly fond of that style of hand-shake, but because it was far easier to jerk one’s arm loose from the other’s hand that way than it was otherwise.

“Heil brothers,” he said, a little sarcastically, and followed up with an answer, “Indeed,” he said, affecting a fine impression of a Knootian accent, “I’m just here to check that your group is ready,” he said, smiling as though his lie was the most obvious truth. If they feigned knowledge of the incident, as his expression and tone implied that they must, then he would know of their dishonesty, “for the Easter Rising,” he whispered conspiratorially.

The hand shakes were firm, and the men grunted the usual response…after all every citizen tended to use the term… “heil Comrade”. Neither napped of a fascist salutes or ‘a heil victory’.

“Of course Operations are on schedule…” The smaller of the two men spoke with a soft lilt in his voice, and had something of a puzzled look on his face. “You’re knootian? A meta perhaps?”
The larger man shot an evil look at his comrade, a rumbling cough coming from his throat. “This isn’t the place to talk about such things. It isn’t safe for you to be here alone…you should come with us…we have a safe house ready for you.”

Palanedhel smiled as the other man said ‘of course’ but for a different reason than he might have expected. “Humm, safehouse, yes,” he said, stepping to the side a little to put the closer man between him and the other, before jerking his hand forwards and to the side in a manoeuvre intended to break his balance before snapping his knee forwards to the groin, and reaching to twist him from his feet, in a manner broadly reminiscent of judo, or similar sports, but rather less polished, an improvisation.

Some rebels these were turning out to be…

The knee connected with a sickening thud. A deep guttural cry his only reply to the assault as he slumped to the ground.

The other ‘rebel’ froze for a second…Seeing his comrade fall the ground was more than a little shock to the system. Without further thinking he turned and fled, leaving his larger downed colleague without a care for his safety. Whoever these people were, loyalty didn’t seem a high agenda article.

Palanedhel chose this moment to run. It was obvious at least that the second ‘so called’ rebel was no such thing. One wouldn’t survive too long as a rebel organisation by exhibiting such lack of espirit de corps. Nevertheless, there wasn’t much he could do for or to the wounded “rebel,” and so the priority was to escape this trap.

And escape he did, or at least, run he did, pelting down the alleyway he’d been in, a spot that at least had a surprisingly large number of routes one could take in escape.

As Palanedhel ran though the bleak and grim alleys, he could hear a cry go up….someone shouting an alarm or warning. Perhaps it was the fleeing ‘rebel’?
Moments later a siren sounded out. Soon followed by the screech of vehicles converging on the scene… the alleys soon echoed with the sound of jackboots.

Yet the warren of back alleys did indeed provide with an easy escape path…he could slip from the alleys into the streets without much concern to himself.

Others were concerned…harassed…by the troopers who had descended upon the scene…citizens who simply happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time were taken into custody without question…. Snatched away, and dragged into the newly arrived police wagons.

Well, my as yet unknown reader, you may be wondering at the moment about how I can live with myself having caused the Iesus Christian state to take such measures against its subjects. Ultimately, while I am no doubt the cause of the action; as I may be more action, I am not responsible for it. One much has faith that one is only responsible for the actions one does or commands, not those of others. I wish, of course, that they’d not done it, but then I wish that they’d never undertake such crimes.

It’s possible, in a worst case, that such rebels that do exist will be arrested today due to my claim of an ‘Easter Rising’ but again, I am not responsible for that, and even so, if the fascist ‘ministry’ arrests those it knows of, then we will at least have something of a blank slate to work from.

And I have found out information that will prove to be of benefit to all those struggling for Iesus to be free. The Thelasi rebels are, as my superior suspected, either dead, or possibly fraudulent from the very beginning of their operations. It will be ‘difficult’ to get a message out, but when I do I can at least arrange for future shipments of weapons and ammunition to that group to be sabotaged. Nothing drastic, I should hope, maybe light burns to the user, whatever can be arranged…

“Citizen. Have you seen these men?”
The loudspeakers words repeated over and over...
Three images rotated on the large view screen outside the police station, the faces accurately created with 3d modelling. One was clearly the persona ‘Miller’ had been using during the meeting, and the other two were the ‘rebels’ he had contacted. Beneath the images flashed the crimes they were wanted for: ‘Molestation’ and ‘Sexual assault on minors’.

Such charges guaranteed even greater public support and vigilance than something like ‘treason’.

Apart from this (and the random arrests) things remained relatively unchanged…Iesus on Holy Saturday was a nation holdings its breath, waiting to exhale in an ecstasy of exuberation come Easter Sunday. Supposedly the whole infrastructure of the nation came to something of a standstill during the Easter festival…the whole nation letting its ‘hair down’ to celebrate the feast of feasts…

The time had come for Palanedhel to move on. And so, over the Easter week, using the gap created by the calcification of the Iesian authorities during this time of revelry, he made the slow move to the capital.

And so, Andrew Miller arrived in the capital of Iesus Christi, the infamous Saint Augustine. Like practically everything else in Iesus Christi, it was an expression of immense and deeply held faith.

That said, Miller was not impressed by the necessity to move around during a festival. He wrote the entire incident off as ‘just part of the domineering horror of fascism that permeates all its victims lives with the meddling and fanaticism of the state’ as he hunted around for somewhere to stay on a semi-permanent basis. Of course, he’d felt much the same about the charges that had been levelled against his third alter ego. He wondered if the government even did prosecute (or treat) such deviants, or if all those convicted of such crimes were in fact merely political deviants, and true paedophiles were allowed to run loose as the government squandered its resources in the futility of oppression.

The capital was crowded with revellers and pilgrims…The bells of the cathedral of Saint Fenris continued almost non-stop during the daylight hours but they were barely audible above the crowds. The capital was chaos…the city was uncontrollable. Even so Miller found lodgings easily enough, vast lists of accommodation were listed to help accommodate the over-flow...clearly the chaos had supporters.

While “Miller” might feel the festival had deep political tones, the people themselves showed no sense of it….
Some areas were thick with prayer…the Brothers of the sacred suffering of Christ marched in their black hooded robes chanting ‘alleluia’. Pilgrims struggled to make it to the cathedral to kiss the stones were Fenris saw the pierced Christ and to receive a blessing from the Cardinal.
Elsewhere carnival floats paraded down streets more accustomed to military march-pasts. Floats depicted everything from Xenocide, anti slavery messages to Sports.
And everywhere seemed to be awash with alcohol, dancing and singing. Only the Ministry troopers in their brown and tan uniforms seemed unimpressed.


“BANG BANG! Smile! Its not that bad!”
A young of about six years with blonde haired and dressed in an Iesus youth uniform had sidled up next to Miller. She looked up at him, pointing at him with a pink plastic water-pistol.
“You look sad. But its Easter…you should be happy….” She looked up at him with an earnest and concerned look….then without warning squirted him and ran off giggling.

There are some sights in the universe that are truly depressing. I have seen them. Starvation, disease, and other things. I’ve stood on the shores of truly backwards states that have been crushed by tsunamis and I have seen villages that have disappeared under pyroclastic flows from volcanoes, and a hundred other sights of human suffering besides. But few manage to be as depressing as the sight of revelry in Saint Augustine.

It’s not that people suffer there, at least, not in the same way. But rather, that they are so misled. I found myself, there, wondering perhaps if they might not be entirely wrong; for there are alien – that is to say, non-human – life forms out there inimical to all that they hold dear. I have seen them, fought them and killed them, so it would be remiss of me to pretend that they do not exist.

Nevertheless, they have it wrong still. There are as many ‘aliens’ that are just like humans in their minds, or worse, exploited by humans in the same merciless way that the Iesians think we are out to exploit them.

The depressing sight in question is the deep and complete wrongness of the sight of a float depicting “slavery chain done broke at last” (I paraphrase the intent of course, but the similarity of message is more accurate than a great eagle spotter…) followed by another urging the murder of billions, renders the first a loathsome mockery of the people all around it. I wonder whether the very highest echelons of Iesian society are believers too, yet I pray they are not, for if they are, then the hope of this abhorrent abortion of an ideology being defeated, and brought to a reunion with genuine catholic teachings is a vain one indeed.

As I was watching this sight, I was sprayed by a young child with a water pistol, the sight of which was a potent reminder in its way, she chastised me to remain mirthful, and that I shall do gladly, for despite this horror, so profound that it freezes the soul, I must remember the same innocence of children, and although I seek an end to those that exploit such innocence, I work for its protection.

Of course, if only she knew who I was! She’d be the envy of all her friends! She shot her first elf at five or six! It’s a mirthful thought, and it occurred to me almost immediately. I laughed at the surrealist nature of it, and no doubt she went on about her day happy that she’d managed to cheer my dowdy mood – and that small thing pleases me greatly.

I cannot help but wonder how this situation arose in its current form. I think a trip to the nearest library; provided such things exist, might provide me with much needed, though no doubt outrageously biased, answers.

The libraries of Iesus Christi are amongst some of the oldest institutions within the nation. Born in an age of enlightenment, they largely untouched by the rise of the fascist tide.

The ‘Holy Cross’ Library remains the finest in the city of Saint Augustine, nothing can compare with the massive gothic and concrete buildings that make up the single largest deposit of knowledge in the nation.

Emblazed in gold over the medieval front doors are the words ‘In Cruce Salus’, a gentle reminder to all who enter that knowledge alone cannot save.

Inside advanced terminals offer visitors access to the vast databanks, anyone being allowed to access the data within. Vast knowledge at the fingertip….but knowledge controlled and perhaps even changed by the government….

Yet the endless halls and rooms crammed with books offered hardcopy history….of course the modern classics by the fascist intellectuals were on these shelves too, but also were hundreds of years of pre-fascist history. Of course some books were on the banned list and had been shuffled from the shelves over the year but it seemed that largely native written texts and documents remained unharmed…..Iesus nationalism preventing them from meeting the bonfires that the books by Tolstoy and Adams had.

Finding a standard history of the rise of the fascists wasn’t hard…the mainframe was populated with the stories and hardcopy books written by retired fascist Generals littered the shelves.
The fascist story ran the same way….

Iesus Christi had been betrayed.
Iesus Christi had been on the verge of civil war brought about by the corruption of metahumans and leftists. The Royalist and their leftist allies were stooges of foreign agents who had allowed the nation to sink into poverty and starvation….Christian faith was attacked and metahumans polluted the very fibre of the nation….. The nation had been cracking under the weight of the horror of poverty, oppression and metahumanism.

Then, like a knights of old, Diligent Generals backed by brilliant young officers had swept away the corrupt royalist government. Within short time, a young Colonel called Matthew Iesus (beloved father of Matthew and Bridgette Iesus!) had risen to the top and soon had liberated the nation from the cancer within. With bold plans and decisive action he had cleansed the nation and returned her to prosperity! He had ousted the vicious metahumans and returned the nation to its Christian roots!
Metahumanism, Leftist politics and the royalists had been at fault….
They had been ousted….
Iesus was now free….
and now fifty years on, the nation is wonderful thanks to the fascist revolution!

Or so the fascist story went…

A deeper reading into the texts and documents of the time showed a much more confused tale….

Indeed, a nation was betrayed. But from without and from within…
Iesus Christi, by the beginning of the twentieth century, was a society of extreme wealth for the landowners, the Church and the army. It was also a society of abject poverty for the vast majority, many of whom still worked in agriculture. With the crushing depression and starvation post the Great war, matters only became worse…..many Citizens were starving....real grim filthy poverty embrace the country and even those who traditional had wealth and security found themselves also on the brink. Yet no help came from the former allies of Iesus Christi, and the Economic reforms proposed by the Royalists and the parliament did little….resentment grew as people blamed ‘that foreign war’ and those who were different from the traditional norms…people wanted action….

And action they got.

The first coup was quick... A popular response to the terrible conditions. Lead by Great War heroes like General Jerome the army moved to save the nation. The first coup was bloodless.
The second wasn’t….
Lead by Officers nicknamed ‘the young jackals’ a river of blood washed over the nation. An orgy of violence gripped every section of society…the king was butchered by a crowd in front of the place…known leftists hung in the streets…protestants declared anathmea and metahumans denounced as animals....even many of the Generals behind the first coup felt the executioners wrath. This tide of violence wouldn’t end for years….(and many would claim it still hasn’t)

One of the brightest of these ‘Young Jackals’ was Matthew Iesus. He soon rose to the top as one of the most ruthless and ambitious Officers…..Even as the economy gradually was repaired, Matthew Iesus used ruthlessly radicalization as a tool to gain personal power.
Over the subsequent years with calls of hegemony and Christ, he led some of the most fanatical purges of the nation. Metahuman blood flowed thick as his death squads cut across the nation…he encouraged nationalists to preach spreading the Christian revolution to neighbouring countries…the secret police continued the old vendettas against ‘enemies of Iesus culture’ and soon anyone who defied Matthew Iesus was a ‘traitor to God and country’. The people were dazzled and cowed at the same time….

The Elderly and popular General Jerome soon found himself unable to curb the popularity of the Religious cult around Matthew Iesus….While General Jerome had been a brilliant field officer he was woeful at politics…soon he found himself a unwilling witness to the ascendance of the Iesus hegemony.

General Jerome was murdered by metahuman radicals or so the military reported. Thus with the use of terror, racism, radicalization and war Matthew Iesus was left as lone heir to the Military throne of Iesus Christi.

I can’t say that I learnt anything particularly new in my research into the fascist ‘history’ of Iesus Christi. At least, nothing helpful, although I suppose this rumination did confirm my suspicions on a number of matters. Nevertheless, this has done nothing to immediately further my goals, and I am forced to consider my situation once more.

My objectives are fairly open ended, and essentially boil down to finding some way to counteract fascist propaganda, or at least an accurate source of information to rely on. I suppose that necessitates at some point coming into contact with what remains of the Iesian Resistance. Well, that at least won’t come easily.

Another avenue I’ve considered is the clergy. What there is of an honest clergy here doesn’t seem to wield much influence, which isn’t really a surprise of any kind. Nevertheless, they at least tend to be easy to find, in a way. I shall consider how to get time with the Ieseian cardinal - Patrick McCallum, at least, according to my information. It should come as no surprise to any reader if I ever get the chance to publicise this, that the man frequently suffers from ‘ill health’ and short of getting myself the job of his personal Ministry poisoner (an option I’m holding in reserve) nothing yet seems to present itself. Of course, normal channels are mostly out of the question but I’ll look into it regardless.

I suspect that my most successful course of action in the short term however is to see if it is possible to contact the underground operation which smuggles people out of Iesus Christi, and report a message on the confirmation of my suspicions regarding the group the Thelasi have been funding…

Outside the library a group of soldiers joked and discussed regional politics….

“St Dominics going to blow…I read in Dei verbum they are not only removing the Blood and Honour laws but outlawing Catholicism! “
“Bastards!”
“Yeah…I hear the 17th Legion is…..Murphy…what the fuck…Stop it!”
The massive Iesus hound that had been sitting patiently next to the soldiers had stood up and now had his wet nose in the crotch of a passing citizen. The dog pawed at the man and whined.
“I said stop it Murphy!” The soldier yanked the chain, trying to pull the massive animal away….to little effect…
“Shit Mate…I’m sorry..We’re training him up as a Meta sniffing dog but he hasn’t quite got the hang of it yet. We dont have this trouble with the dogs imported from Veggy...”
The dog barked excitably and wagged his tail…he stuffed his cold nose again into the man’s crotch.
“Get off it Murphy! Jeeez. I don’t suppose you have cats at home do ya? Elves smell so much like cat piss ya know… “ The solider finally pulled the whining dog off the man and wrapped his arms around the dogs neck “Good boy…Who’s a good boy then!”
With a vague wave the soldier dismissed the citizen….
and thus Miller had meet the ‘famed’ sniffer dogs for the first time…..

You may be wondering why I’ve not entered any of these log entries of the psyche for many months. The answer seems to be, the perils of deep cover. With nothing to relate about my experiences aside from the ‘dog’ incident, I simply concentrated on blending in. The Reich, it seems, went to war with someone, somewhere, some barbarian toads, according to the reports from the front, I didn’t catch who – no doubt it was all made up and all the information was false, after all, this is fascism.

And so I continued working to establish my ‘identity’ but eventually, I decided that it was time to investigate further once more. And for that, I felt there were two ways to go. Clerical both of them, one, in the current sense, investigating paperwork for information, finding some form of employment, the other, finding something that would allow me to interact with the clergy in Iesus. A plan was beginning to form in my mind, but as yet, it was incomplete.

But first, some more research. This time, the current status of the CLA. The Christian Liberation Army, a ‘terror’ group largely based in Iesus that was previously listed as one of the most dangerous groups of religious fanatics in the world.

Bookstores were common in Iesus Christ and generally busy places. Noticeboards in them were crowded with news about the latest shows, movies and plays...and of course government 'news' statments.

This bookstore was well stocked with government published books and catholic religious works. It even appeared Iesus had a thriving literary community, with many shelves stock with modern Iesus works. Also Cardinal McCullums new book promised to be interesting.

In the ‘Political truth’ section was a book that caught Millers eye. On the cover were the CLA emblem and the title “The kingdom come!”
The book was the political manifesto of the CLA written by their current leader Max Amon,
A quick flick through the book gave the outline of his radical ideals;
Destruction of ALL non-Christian faiths
Eradication of the metahumans totally
A unified Christian world government
Uplifting of Christian culture to its ‘rightful place’.
A check of the inside cover showed the book was published by the Ministry of social order. It was somewhat of a paradox that the ministry of social order should produce the book considering the hard-line teachings of Max Amon didn’t meet up with the Iesus propaganda machine. The Iesus government constantly displayed the message that Iesus was defending itself against the godless hordes, rather than portraying itself as a crusader for world Christian cultural hegemony.

A soft voice spoke to Miller
“I wouldn’t waste my time on that book. It’s….”
The teenage clerk who had been stacking books stopped, dropped his eyes, then quickly raising them again, he gave an embarrassed smile and smoothed his hair, then continued “a little weird”
He gave another embarrassed smile, shrugged his shoulders, looked nervously around and whispered “I mean we know the world needs the CLA but if you ask me what they want isn’t the gospel...”

“Well, I’m sure they want the gospel,” Miller grinned, “among other things,” he didn’t mention, of course, that whatever gospel they might happen to preach would probably bear only a passing resemblance to the real deal. He gave a slight smile at his joke, and curiously made a little note of the youth’s body language. Was he just shy, embarrassed for some other reason (one best not pried into perhaps) or something outlandish. Miller guessed he’d never know.

“But I think their views are quite interesting. Maybe a little extreme,” he said, flipping to a page where Amon – it struck him as entertaining that the CLA’s leader shared a name with a pagan deity – had written about a world Christian hegemony. “in some aspects. After all, spreading the good news by gunpoint isn’t exactly what the Lord had in mind, or at least, so I’d imagine. But they seem to do some sterling work, after all, their work as a resistance movement is necessary, they keep lots of people from metahuman slavery and genocide, after all,” he said, nodding righteously as though he fervently believed in the veracity of the nonsense he was spouting.

The teenage boy nodded his head “Of course resistance is the duty of every Christian. As long as Christians are oppressed we must resist with whatever force is needed. I’m not denying that….the oppressive tyrants must be resisted. It’s just the other stuff…I want the world to embrace Christ as its saviour, but you can’t force people to convert. You can’t convert the world by the sword Sir….I don’t blame Amon..He’s a child of foreign tyranny” The teen shrugged his shoulders again “I received my military call up last week. Next month I’ll be serving with the Iesus infantry and I’ll do my duty Sir. I’ll fight and if need be die for Christ, our people and our way of life…..I’ll gladly die for the gospel but I want kill for oppression. If I was you I’d spend your money on some other book. The blood of the martyrs by Archbishop King is very good and so is Gift and Mystery by Cardinal McCullum. Or you could go see that new play Golgotha ” he handed ‘Miller’ a pamphlet from the rack behind them “It’s very good. It will make you think. Anyway. It’s your choice….”

The Shepherds theater company pamphlet outlines the new series of plays coming out this season. The company was well patronized, including receiving large donations from the church. Theater reviled cinema in popularity in Iesus apparently.
The plays broke down thus..
The Swans
The story of some of the first Iesus martyrs in the year 999. Grounded on medieval accounts of their martyrdom at the hands of a particularly barbaric pagan king, the play seemed to concentrate on their mindset as they approached their martyrdom. Based on the popular book ‘Love He said”.

There is a green Hill far away
A play based on the current events in Finara. Focusing primarily on the struggle of a catholic family in the face of protestant terrorism and hatred. Extra performances have already been scheduled due to the popularity of the play.

Golgotha
A very simple play based around three actors. Based entirely in a World War one trench, three officers discuss what they want Iesus Christi to become after the war. Everything from faith to democracy is discussed by these officers as they envision a better world.

Palanedhel took the leaflet from the young man, and was momentarily taken elsewhere. Not normally given to visions, this was more of a vivid flight of fancy, he supposed, than anything mystical. But he could, nonetheless, see this man, in some future time and place, dying on a battlefield fighting savages for a cause that was corrupt and a government that deserved nothing better than hearty contempt at best.

He took the leaflet, and leafed through it, “Sure,” he said, he’d seen enough on the CLA, for now, at any rate. He briefly considered the idea that perhaps this bookseller was there to test his mettle, a recruiter of sorts. But that seemed entirely out of place. And he didn’t want to leave the place empty handed, anyway. Hunting on the shelf for a moment, Miller took a copy of Gift and Mystery, curious, but not overly so, and took it to the counter, “I think I will go and see Golgotha, too,” he added, “Thank you, I hope you do well in the army,” he said, with feeling as he left, book in a brown paper bag.

Miller gave a cheery wave and then frowned once he was out of sight. Such was the way of things here, that they could be at once both inspiring and depressing. He had every intention of both reading the book – he didn’t much like fascist television or radio, anyway – and going to see the play, and possibly the others, too, at the first opportunity.

The clerk smiled and thanked Miller. “Take care Sir! Hope you enjoy your read.” The clerk stuffed some extra pamplets in Millers plastic bag - One pamplet asked the reader to pray for vocations to the Iesus' own foriegn legion the "Legio crux spes unica " and another pamplet urged Miller to keep an eye out for foriegn Spies.
Outside the bookstore the viewscreen flashed with the words “Code Green”…
Curfew laws presented a constant variable tribulation faced by the citizens of Iesus Christi. The constantly changing ‘Curfew code’ caused citizens to be constantly on guard…..to be caught outside after dark during a Code Red or after 10:30pm during a Code Yellow was to be destined to disappear into the abyss of the Iesus institution. Code green status also held risks for anyone stupid enough to venture out during the early hour…but in reality that curfew status was rarely enabled.

Still no-one Miller had meet talked about it openly…it was considered a necessity of life, an imposition forced upon the people of Iesus because of foreign evil. The disappearances of those caught during the constant curfew sweeps was filled away and not talked about. Like the midnight raids and constant security arrests it was not a matter fact that people chose to think about….people ignored it with the hope that it would pass them by.

Of course it didn’t pass people by and Cardinal McCullum’s book hinted at the price of a culture that chose to ignore its sins. The Cardinal spoke poetically in Faith and mystery about the cost of ignorance…about the price of ignoring the suffering of humanity. There was no direct attack on the regime in the book, but there was a staunch proclamation about dignity of human life and the mystery of the faith. The cardinal talked of the Christian martyrs who suffered for truth and it read like an allegory for modern Iesus.

Protest was naturally forbidden in Iesus Christi, yet in the poorer areas a form of dissenter art was common…Wall murals doted walls all over the poorest areas. They addressed mostly historic issues or attacked foreign nations, yet some had a tone that suggested(albeit subtly) that they were a protest against the current way of things.
The tradition Dated back to the protests against the Monarchy and today was generally ignored by government except the most militant of those inside the Ministry of Social order who considered it some form of sedition to have unauthorized propaganda(even if 99% of it supported the status quo)

‘Miller’ noted the more traditional murals - massive depictions of famous events in Iesus history. Images of Crusaders, Saints and soldiers stood side by side under slogans exulting their commitment to the cause. Murals of the acts of Saint Finbarr and Saint Fenris marked many corners, with the Saints crushing paganism beneath the Cross of Christ being a favorite motif. General Matthew Iesus also featured strongly, his ‘glorious’ routing of Royalist camp in the 1950’s having earned him the respect of the working classes. Testimony murals to him and his leadership through the numerous ‘wars of national survival’ portrayed him as the triumphant classical hero crushing all who opposed Iesus Christi.
Miller passed what looked like a normal mural depicting some dark age battle between knights and some generic horde of darkness – underneath the words “1033: Blood washed away the sin” ran in gothic writing as some odd cryptic clue to the viewer. Yet as Miller looked a little closer he noticed something slightly odd …. While the knights all wore traditional armour emblazed with the cross of Iesus, some of the knights themselves had a distinctly un-Iesus attribute - pointed ears.

The mural of deceased bishop Drew with the very much alive Cardinal McCullum glared down on Miller as he walked past. Both men were in their vestments in the lovingly painted detailed mural, their hands raised in the traditional gesture of blessing. The words “ ‘truth’ he said, and ‘love’ he said But his purest word was ‘mercy’” below them had been freshly repainted, most likely testimony to a recent vandals activities.

Andrew Miller walked under the mural with the knights emblazoned onto it, and he knew quite well what it depicted. One of the aspects of Iesian history that the Menelmacari had great information on, for some of them had been there. It was a past time, and one when such ‘intervention’ was greatly easier. Though a little more complex than turn up and put your sword in the enemy, it was still easy to work with.

Indeed, some of the shields used there should in fact have been emblazoned with another symbol, the dagger-star, which fitted perfectly on the tapering ‘norman’ shields of the time, as opposed to the previous Fëanorian star, still used in places, which fitted better upon the round shields that were in use at the same time. Another symbol that ought to have been on some of the knights, as well as the crusader cross, was that of the Randir command. Palanedhel knew for he’d seen some of the armour used by those same knights, long chain shirts and breastplates – and their tabards and mantles of silk and their ribbed helms with deep cheek guards and great longbows and tapering swords and sharp lances and heavy axes – in the floating museum dedicated to the same in the straits of Vinyatírion. He’d been there when the length of time between the events depicted there had been half what it was now.

Within his head, for he wouldn’t say it aloud, he blessed whoever had put this mural up so accurately, and seemed to visibly take genuine inspiration, which he did. Whatever evil might have ultimately happened in those days was merely a dark imagining now. Some day, one could only hope, he would be able to recollect and see that the same would be true of the Iesian fascism, a memory of dark times and inspiring deeds and heroes who overthrew such things.

He didn’t think of himself as a hero, of course, for he wasn’t egotstical enough to do so, and thinking of one's self as special wasn't likely to be a mindset that would produce the results he wanted. The Christian virtue of humility had many uses in his situation. Besides, he had lived a comfortable life in luxurious surroundings and had access to the best education and resources, even though he had often left that home for centuries at a time; he’d fought unsuccessfully against a ‘crusade’ in what was now Pantocratoria, and spent a long time in windswept sandy regions of Arabic cultures, but he always had the luxury of returning, or walking away; even now, he was confident that he could find a way to leave if he really wanted to. But to his mind, it was those under such tyranny who were heroic; living under the shadow of fear and then deciding to work against it was much nobler than simply deciding to leave one’s home and go and bring light to the savages – not that he thought that way, but he had known many who did, often those who thought in that manner were either tremendous hypocrites or cravens who readily trumpeted their own cultures but never considered the fate of the ‘savages’ beyond idyllic and foolish dreams.

It was easier to be a hero when one dreamed from safety, than when one was painfully aware of the horrors of being ripped apart or tormented in countless vile ways from childhood.

He’d taken heart from that, and from the next mural he took inspiration. He crossed himself suddenly, looked up reflexively and whispered something inaudible, before turning from the mural and walking off back on his original route.

He had theatre tickets to get, even though his thought was now turned elsewhere –

I think I’ll have to try it, eventually, that just leaves the question of how and when…

Tickets to Plays in Iesus Christi were cheap by any standards. The Iesus Theatre Company (Titular owner of all theatres in Iesus) was supported from a range of groups including the Church and the Ministry of Social Order, money was pumped into what the Ministry called the “Supreme display of pure Iesus culture”.

The Saint Pious the 10th theatre was without a doubt one of the heinous looking buildings in a country noted for its Stalinist architecture Grey, solid and low..the building looked more like a desalination plant than a theatre. Inside was somewhat little better, with the theatre itself being spacious and well air conditioned.
The SPX Theatre was currently showing a play called Golgotha - A three man show that wasn’t doing terribly well ..The Dei Verbum reviewer had been critical of the Play , saying it was “Elitist ! Distorted! And perhaps even Foreign”

The ticket office girl gave ‘Miller’ the full list of acts being played at the various theatres, tapping at her keyboard in boredom as she waited for Miller to make his choice.
She tried to hurry him by give her uninvited opinion “See There is a green Hill far away..its very popular….I’d avoid Golgotha…I sold some tickets to a Churchie type this morning…seems either Bishop King or Cardinal McCullum will be coming to see it…I hope its King... McCullum is a slouch compared to King…Hey.. if you have kiddies how about Three Blind Metahumans... that’s a good laugh…give the kids of good scare and laugh for sure…” She giggled and an unmistakable nasty tone crept into her voice “Hell it made me laugh enough too. The guys who played the Mutts were hilarious..”

Palanedhel had the image of Dickens’ ‘Ignorance’ from A Chirstmas Carol hanging on to the woman’s hair like a miniature, even more loathsome goblin and parroting her words. It brought a smile and a little chuckle to his face at her comments about the ‘guys they’ve got to play the metas’ for reasons the woman probably didn’t imagine and probably couldn’t imagine.

Palanedhel wasn’t stupid enough to think that the foot soldiers and collaborators of Fascism were necessarily to blame for the perversion of the ideology – to his mind, there was little difference between the kind of ignorant fascist he spoke to now, and the ignorant fanatic that murdered janitors and building-superintendents in occupied communist countries (save that she had an excuse, they did not). Save that, to his knowledge, this girl had never been in the kind of situation where she could do such grievous harm. Fear, ignorance (or worse, conditioning), the Milgram-effect, and simple indifference carried things far further than any realistic degree of informed complicity ever could.

Smiling. It was the only polite way to bare your teeth. Or to grit them, in ‘Miller’s’ case.

I can’t believe I’m thinking this… Argh. I’m almost wishing the Ministry got me before… The things I’ll do for information. And I thought that the guys in ‘The Prisoner’ were going over the top for it… he thought inside his head. It wasn’t a sincere wish at all, of course, for he was quite aware that the discomfort of what he was about to do was less than a sliver of nothing, a grain of sand compared to a titanic boulder, compared to what others endured.

His distaste was strong, but it was completely unimportant.

“Okay, one for the Finaran thing,” he said, sliding his money over the counter, “And no kids – or wife – I’m afraid,” he said. This was true, of course, he had no children, and he would certainly not be there if he had any at the right age, or indeed, any that were not yet adults in their own right.

“And besides, a pretty girl like you should be scared of the metas, I mean, a mutt would be infinitely worse than what I want to do to you, and that’s pretty risqué!” he laughed, “Say, what time do you knock off tonight?”

Lord¹ I hope she's as cheap as she seems... I will never be clean again. I will never be clean again…

---

¹Well, actually, more like 'The One' (Eru) but Lord works better in translation...

“Oh my…you’re a naughty boy aren’t you….” She sniggered and fluttered her eyes at ‘Miller’ as she stroked his hand across the counter. “My name is Tracy...I’ve got a Iesus youth meeting tonight….I’m a section leader and Political Orthodoxy Officer for the whole local legion...I love working with the youth, we're pledging in thirty eagle troopers tonight…but maybe you could sweep me off my feet afterwards…oh hang on…”
She turned up the volume of the view screen behind her as a news article flashed onto the screen, she watched intently as the article detailed the trial of a ‘Notorious race traitor’
She whispered to Miller “I hope they find him guilty on the witchcraft charges, not just the espionage and race defilement…I haven’t been to a public scorching for years"
As the story ended she turned her full attention back to Miller “Damn, the Finara one is full tonight...How about I give you these tickets for Golgotha. Very good seats and if you’re lucky…you’ll be next to Archbishop King!” she giggled “and if its McCullum at least you’ll have the best seats and can trip him up in the aisle…”
Tracy wrote her number on the back of the ticket "Give me a call after..." She gave Miller a flirty wink, staring him over like a piece of meat.

Palanedhel smiled, and with a knowing grin, nodded, “I’ll be seeing you, Tracy!” he said, and doubtless he would. Unfortunately, the ongoing possibility of surveillance meant that he had to avoid being in any was suspicious. If only it proved to be worthwhile, it wouldn’t be a major problem, if it didn’t, he’d simply have another inconvenience to work around. Unfortunately, it was the most dangerous possible inconvenience; attachment with the wrong sorts.

It would be interesting to see Iesus Youth anyway.

He gave her a flirtatious wink, and walked away in a manner designed to show off his body – which was still in the exceptional form one would expect, if one were to know of his true origins.


…and so I doubt she’s ever seen a proper witch in her life, save yours truly of course. If only she knew, it’d be amusing. So now, one look-up of the location of the local Iesus Youth legion (am I to take it that they meet in groups of six to ten thousand? Wouldn’t surprise me, you get schools that big after all) and part of an afternoon killing time later, and I find myself here again. I can’t seem to see my belle at the minute, though I’ve had a fair look around, so I suppose I should get to my seat and hope for the best.

If nothing else, this ‘liberal’ play might be consolation for having to sit with King…

“Legion…ATTTTTTttttention!”
Five thousand black clad children aged from 8 through to 18 snapped to attention in tight disciplined lines on the rugby field. Uniformed adults walked between the lines of children, inspecting them closely for irregularities.
“GLORY AND PRAISE TO GOD!”
“Millers” girl stood at the front of the legion screaming the words, smiling smugly as the children replied in a deafening roar “HEIL IESUS! HEIL IESUS”
strutted in front of the legion, she seemed calmer and more in control than she had when Miller had meet her earlier, her docile averageness was vanishing as she breathed in the fascist atmosphere.
“Soldiers of Christ, what is our duty!”
The Children roar in reply “TO DEFEND MY NATION AND THE CHURCH”
“What price are you willing to pay?!”
“OUR BLOOD! OUR BLOOD FOR THE KINGDOM OF GOD”
Tracy smiled. “Comrades! We must be ever on guard against the invader, those who wish our nation to fall…we must surrender our will to God, God knows our needs…”
From the side of the field, a twelve year old was goosestep before the legion by older boys. Tracey Looked in disgust at the dark browned haired youth, as if she personally wanted to see him die.
“This one betrayed us all comrades. He was heard to have spoken against his lawful authorities…What Price treason Comrades?”
Without flinching the legion roared in reply “DEATH DEATH DEATH DEATH DEATH DEATH DEATH!”
Tracy smiled and waved her hands to calm the children “True enough Comrades! Yet by the merciful orders of our beloved commanders, this sinners punishment has been commuted. How wonderful the mercy of the Ministry of Social Order!” With a nod the now crying boy was stripped of his shirt and tied to the near by rugby post, as one of the larger boys approached him with a whip.
“fifteen lashes! One….”
As the flogging started, the children began chanting “HEIL IESUS! HEIL IESUS!”


That evening...

Dressed in their black clericals, Cardinal McCullum and his assistant walked into the theater, his weasel eyed assistant priest eyeing the patrons nervously. McCullum greeted the Manager warmly.
“yes I’m sorry to say Bishop King wasn’t able to make it tonight, so he sent me the tickets. Very considerate man…”

Later:

‘Miller’ watched the disgusting, orgiastic spectacle without comment; he expected no better, and by the low standards of Iesus Christi, it wasn’t that bad; as the Iesus Youth said, the more likely punishment for the probably fictitious crime for which the youth had (falsely?) been accused, (possibly?) tried and (doubtlessly falsely) found guilty of was death. So a bloody and ridiculous lashing wasn’t so bad.

Of course, this didn’t change the grim set of his jaw and the squeeze of his fists as he watched. He kept his gaze artfully rooted upon the victim of this punishment, to give the impression, should he be seen or noticed, that his wroth was turned upon the boy, rather than his tormentor.

Who could approve of this? The question seemed to shriek at him, but he knew the answer, a bitter and pointless answer it was, but it was an answer nonetheless.

Anyone, in the same circumstances as these children, looking on, variously fearful and rapt in patriotic hate of the victim or enviously regarding the lucky boy chosen to mete out the unjust justice. He should have been beating, if anyone, the opposition on this rugby field, and learning the right kind of messages.

Still, Miller said nothing.

---

Later Still:

The weasel-priest that accompanied McCallum got the majority of ‘Miller’s’ attention right from the first innings, for he seemed immensely suspicious, all told. This was the land of the Ministry, after all, and it seemed likely that McCallum would have someone with him at all times, not a bodyguard – surely unnecessary within Iesus itself – but a spy to look over his shoulder and see to it that the right things happened.

Palanedhel wished he had the chance to get rid of the other man, but he couldn’t be sure, and he couldn’t think of any means on hand – he didn’t have the kind of chemical ‘persuaders’ he might like to have, with him, that would be, if not suspicious, embarrassing – that he could use in good conscience to get rid of a priest who might after all be innocent.

He took his seat, and waited.

"We'll these are our seats it seems Ian. Do smile...its not the end of the world...the play wont be that bad..."
McCullum smiled as he sat next to 'Miller', the weasel priest sitting on the other side of the Cardinal.
The Cardinal turned and smiled at Palanedhel, extending his hand to him and introduced himself "I'm Cardinal Patrick McCullum...how are you?" The Cardinal pulled a white paper bag out of his pocket "Would you like a Acid drop? heard good things about this play?"

The Play started with the lights fading, leaving the audience in total darkness as a voice doomed out..
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God...
In this beginning there was killing, and the Killing was ordered by God and done in the name of God..."

'And the killing was ordered by God'

I could see how one might believe such things, here, in this land of true faith, perverted in so many thousands of ways by sinful men. But there is in truth, no such order, at least, not that affects them, in the way they mean; for killing may be necessary. God, did, after all, give Man a capacity for violence for a reason. But for the time being, the simplified answer would do…


“If only…” ‘Miller’ said, (having already thanked the clergyman and taken one of his sweets; bitter, sharp, but with something to commend them, perhaps like Iesus itself) quietly, at that line, quietly, quietly enough not to interrupt, but loudly enough to be heard, “if it were, it would be just…”

And so, he waited, and he watched, making a careful and detailed search for those around him whose interest was not on the play, but on the cardinal. Doubtless there would be some; probably from at least three different agencies; and perhaps, some of them might not even mean him harm, interested only because, well, he was a Prince of the Church…

“Our devotion…our valour..our sacrifice…will live in the hearts of our grateful countrymen! We may die but we haven’t abandoned our honour.”

The play was a somber reflection of Iesus Christian involvement in the Great War as seen through the eyes of three officers. The play concentrated on their devotion to duty in the face of appalling conditions and their hope that their sacrifice would create a better world.

One patron of the theater did seem to be more interested in the Cardinal than the play…a stocky man with deep set eyes….and an odd habit of whispering inaudibly into his collar every 15 minutes on the dot.

The Cardinal heard the comment from 'Miller' and snuck a glance at the gentleman sitting next to him. After nearly forty years of priesthood he had developed a pretty good sense at being able to read people….this stranger seemed like he had a story to tell. ..Or maybe he was just another ‘minder’ from one of the intelligence agencies.

“Your eminence,” Miller said quietly, indeed, he seemed to manage to do so without “if I may be so bold, I have something that I think I have a need to confess. I think it might be more than mere fortune that resulted in your being here,” it was, of course, both in the way it would have sounded, for Palanedhel had no reason to doubt that there was such a thing as destiny, and in a more sordid way, due to Andrew Miller’s own actions. And I don’t think it would be one that it would be wise to discuss in public… It would reflect very poorly on me…” he said, with an appropriately contrite tone…

"Well.....its isnt ...errrr..its...well it is irregular..."

And that was an understatement. The Cardinal wasnt sure if Miller was a government agent, a lunatic....or perhaps....a sincere penitent.
The Cardinal thought it over in his head for a moment and then nodded - He couldnt in good conscience refuse the sacrament....even if this guy turned out to be a nutty agent of the Ministry.

"Feel free to come see me right after the play. I'll make myself available at the confessional of the side chapel of the Cathedral...its only 15 minutes walk...would that be alright with you? or is it more urgent than that?"