NationStates Jolt Archive

On her arrival in Lutherstadt, Magdelene Capodistria and her husband checked into the luxurious Haar Hotel. The Haar was connected to the even more luxurious Haberfeld across the street by an underground passage. The two hotels shared an indoor pool through which the wealthy aristocrats and businessmen who patronized them could often be seen walking clad only in Haberfeld issued towels or robes. It was an open secret among high society circles in Lutherstadt that powerful men who stayed with their wives at the Haberfeld would often arrange for their mistresses to stay at the Haar. Capodistria herself, while she could not have been ignorant of these arrangements, was unlikely to have been involved. Despite recent reports of arguments between her and her much older husband and manager, Gavino Maculuso, she still leaned on him publically.

Capodistria was still quite convinced that she owed everything to the man. When he'd discovered her, she had been a mediocre soprano in the Aristonople Opera Company. At the time, Capodistria was widely considered to be overweight and unkempt and, while local Aristonople society was content with her as one of their opera singers, she was never invited to associate with them socially.

Over the ten years Maculoso had been her manager, all of that had changed. Capodistria had managed to radically change her image, losing weight and vastly improving her dress, jewelry, and make-up. More importantly, she had managed to improve her voice and mask some of its imperfections almost by training and sheer will. By the time she had married him, five years ago, she was considered to be one of the most beautiful and talented ladies of the Danaan opera, welcomed in the highest echelons of Danaan society. She had even been formally presented at the courts of Nerise and Bilbtoria.

That was why Capodistria was here now, for she was to give a grand concert in Lutherstadt celebrating the formation of the Danaan Commonwealth at negotiations even now being finalized in Victoria by the Sovereigns personally. If things went well, this might be the pinnacle of her career. It was in this context that she received a letter from her old and intimate friend Euprakseia Machtcenko...

Discussions had been going on for days at Allied Central Command in Marlund where the highest ranking Pantocratorian, Excalbian, Marlunder, and Adoki officers in command of the peace keeping forces were stationed. The format for these deliberations was conventional. During the day, the commanding officers of the various expeditionary forces would meet together to assess the situation in various areas of Marlund, consider the recommendations of commanders in the field, assess the relative strength of various friendly and hostile forces, and study the requests issued by the Government of Marlund especially and by the Government's of all allied nations more generally regarding policy in Marlund. Based on this, they would then draft plans for future actions. Meanwhile, staff officers would work diligently to prepare detailed predictions of insurgent behavior and numerous detailed proposals for possible actions.

General Gavriil Zablosky had recently arrived at Allied Central Command from a tour of Danaan military bases in Sahor with a very specific charge. He was to take command of all Danaan forces in Sahor, coordinate his efforts with the allied forces in Marlund itself, make overtures to the Free Axemen for cooperation, and undertake to eliminate the Sons of the Reformation from Ambaran soil once and for all, thus making the new Danaan Commonwealth a safe land.

The Duke of Montmanuel stood staring distantly into the mirror while his body servants put the finishing touches on his dress uniform for his night out to the opera in Lutherstadt. He wasn't really paying attention as his splendid bronze helmet was polished, nor any more attention when it was finally place underneath his right arm.

"Will you lift your arm, monsieur?" asked one of the servants, carrying a burgundy silk sash.

"Hmmm? Oh, yes." Montmanuel nodded without thinking, raising his arm slightly so that the sash could be put into place properly.

The servants went about affixing his medals to his chest, including the Cross of Saint Constantine the Martyr, the highest award bestowed by the Pantocratorian Emperor for military service. On his sash the servants attached two badges of the Order of the Pantocrator (one member's badge, another knight's badge) and then his much larger star of the Order of the Pantocrator, which he had only recently received when he was made a Knight Master. After some final adjustments to his sash and some last finishing touches on the whole ensemble, the servants completed their work. One of them handed Montmanuel his gloves, by way of wordlessly informing him that they were done.

"Thankyou, gentlemen." Montmanuel said, coming out of his day dream and accepting the gloves. "My sword?"

"Is already hanging from your waist, monsieur." the servant answered patiently.

"Hmmm? Oh, quite so. Yes, there it is." Montmanuel said, almost in surprise. "Well... I suppose I'll be off. Is my driver..."

"Already waiting? Yes, monsieur. Have a good evening." the servant replied.

"Splendid." Montmanuel nodded, and walked outside to his car, which took him the Lutherstadt opera house.

Allied Central Command

Major General Albert Karlsson, Commander of the 80th Light Armour Division, had arrived in Marlund only a few weeks ago. His 3rd brigade under Brigadier James Joyner had been the first Excalbian unit to deploy to Marlund with the Allied Forces. When Her Imperial Highness Princess Christiana, now the Imperial Regent, had gone to Beyke to oversee the beginning of the recovery effort, Imperial Marines had been deployed for her safety. As her fund’s efforts had expanded and become somewhat permanent, the 1st brigade had been sent to relieve the Marines.

After that, with the 2nd brigade off-shore with a support fleet serving as a ready reserve, it was decided in the Citadel that Karlsson should move his headquarters to Marlund and serve as the senior Excalbian officer at Allied Central Command.

The general was working late, as was his custom. He knew that that several other senior commanders would be attending the grand concert. However, Karlsson had never been much of socialite. In fact, he detested pompous strutting monkeys like the Duke Montmanuel. While the Imperial Army had its fair share of sunshine warriors and glory hounds, few reached the level of arrogance of the Pantocratorian Duke.

Karlsson let out a sigh. Not have the Duke around was a relief. Now, if things turned out right, he would have a chance to speak with the new Danaan general from Sahor; he was curious to hear how the general planned to finally rout out the Sons of the Reformation.

Lutherstadt

Ambassador Shannon Hunt, the Excalbian Ambassador to Marlund, looked in the mirror and adjusted her red sequined dress. While the ambassador was well into her late forties, she still had a trim figure and she liked having the opportunity to wear such an attractive and flattering dress. She turned to her husband, Craig Hunt, himself a former Excalbian diplomat, and smiled. He was quite handsome in his black tux with his neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard.

“Are you ready, dear?”

“Of course,” Craig said opening the door. “Shall we?”

“Yes. I’m really looking forward to this. I’ve heard that Madame Capodistria is the greatest singer in the Danaan Kingdom…”

“Indeed,” Craig said as he escorted his wife to armoured limousine that awaited them.

Elsewhere, Viki Nystroem, a project manager for the Imperial Fund, and Jean Gourdeman, an engineer for Her Imperial Highness Princess Christiana special project’s division at Peacock Housing and recent immigrant to Excalbia, were making their own way to the opera house. Viki looked out the window of the taxi. “It is a bit of relief to be out of Beyke for a little while, isn’t it, Jean?”

“Yes. It is, Viki. A great relief.” He pulled at the sleeves of his dark suit, feeling a bit awkward about not having a proper tuxedo. “And it will be even better to have the chance to enjoy a little refined entertainment.”

“Umhm,” Viki said. She was far more interested in a night out on the town – a town other than Beyke – than she was in the opera.

Lutherstadt

The opera that night was Antigone with Capodistria in the title role. The audience contained some of the most prominent individuals in Marlund, legislators, nobles, captains of industry, and prominent religious leaders, as well as some prominent Danaan, Adoki, and Marlunder officers, the Danaan ambassador, and a few entertainment industry bigshots.

As Montmanuel, his entourage, and the Excalbians entered, they might notice a rather nervous looking group of four Marlunders, three men and a woman, all four of European descent. A likely guess was that they simply felt out of place. The men's suits and even moreso the lady's dress, seemed to be the sort of formal wear a teenager might rent for the prom and their mannerisms seemed to be a put on, forced sort of formalism. In all likelihood, they were poorer Marlunders who'd managed to get their hands on opera tickets and decided to do something different.

Allied Central Command

General Zablosky did, indeed, find his way into General Karlsson's office. He was an older man but still fit, decorated with medals for his heroism at the battle of Narich which the Danaan Army generally considered its most impressive victory. "Good afternoon, General."

Lutherstadt

Ambassador and Mr. Hunt, accompanied by small, unobtrusive security detail of one Excalbia Diplomatic Security Officer and three locally contracted guards, moved quickly past the four Marlunders on their way to their box seats.

Viki Nystroem and Jean Gourdeman, however, were feeling themselves a bit nervous and out of place. So, it was hardly surprising that they gravitated towards the only others who looked as nervous as they felt.

“Good evening,” Viki said. “This is our first time here…”

Allied Central Command

MAJGEN Karlsson stood and sketched a salute. “General, good afternoon. It is a pleasure.” After waiting for Zablosky to return the salute, Karlsson gestured to a chair. “Please have a seat, General. I must say that I have been looking forward to having some time to speak with you.”

"So we'e not looking at another Neutrality Act?" Ambasador to the Resurgent Dream Aki Chiba settled back in her chair and faced Kira, who was still looking at the stage with some degree of interest with her chin propped on her hands and her elbows resting on the back of the currently vacant seat in front of her.

"Nope," Kira said after a long while, without looking away from the curtains. "Come to think of it, I'd rather find out what this Commonwealth will be before doing anything."

"If I may suggest a private meeting with the High King Owain, milady?"

"If you pull a milady one more time, I'm going to ship you back to Weyr in a box. I swear, what is it with people and nobility. We put our pants on one leg at a time, just like anyone else."

"Yes, ma'am," the ambassador grinned. Without the uniform of an alchemist, or the various regalia traditionally associated with national leaders or royalty, Kira looked just like the tourist she effectively was. Albeit a tourist with more money than Kira actually had; fitting in was important, and aside from ears than nothing short of surgery could fix she and the ambassador were not sticking out among the seated Opera patrons. They were conversing in a Weyrik dialect, but that was not noticeable at a distance. Chiba had wanted to get box seats, but Kira insisted on something ‘closer’ to the stage. "So how does that sound?"

"A meeting?" Kira mulled over the idea, the tinge of sudden anger vanishing from her face. She was not a good diplomat, and it would probably be better if someone with more tact and knowledge conducted any dealings with a nation that was the closest Weyr had to an ally. Her long, tapering ears twitched. "Maybe. I think Gibbs would be better. Or maybe you."

"You're already here, and they'll be offended if you don't at least pay a courtesy visit and leave a message."

"Why?"

"Tradition. You want to show you care about their opinions and remember that they are still in charge. In this case they is Owain and whomever else has power. They already know you're here, but it's not exactly public knowledge, all things considering."

"Okay. Well, if the High King has time, I wouldn't mind getting together to figure out where we stand. A telegram would do the same thing, in all honesty," Kira said.

"Personal contact is very important in diplomacy," ambassador Chiba said.

"Yes, teacher," Kira grumbled, still watching the stage, and wondering when the seats adjacent to them would fill up. "Okay, as far as I'm concerned it's going to be a waste of his time, but if you're going to teach me what to say I'll jump through hoops to keep the same happily friendly relations Weyr had with Agwene. So this Opera thing is supposed to be good, yes?"

"You'll see."

"What happened to the milady?"

"Someone told me she didn't deserve respect."

Lutherstadt

One of the awkward looking young men smiled politely at Viki as she spoke. "Ours too. I've never really been particularly interested in opera but when my friend was offerred these tickets...it was just something we couldn't pass up. This is supposed to be a historical event and...I think a lot will be said here about the future of Marlund."

The man offered his hand to Jean. "I'm Balduin Gaebler. These are my friends Balthasar, Christhard, and Daniela. Is this your first time in Lutherstadt?"

Allied Central Command

Zablosky returned the salute and took the offerred seat. "And I with you. It's about time that we put an end to this whole mess in Sahor. Five modern militaries shouldn't take so long to deal with bands of terrorists."

Lutherstadt

Viki Nystroem smiled and nodded as the young man spoke, “I think it will be a wonderful evening; Jean and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to come. Especially not after the Fund arranged the tickets for us.”

Viki’s her smile cooled when the man offered his hand to Jean, when it was she who was speaking with him.

Jean Gourdeman gave Viki a surreptitious wink, then shook the man’s hand. “Jean Gourdeman,” he said with a slight French accent. “And this is my colleague, Ms. Viki Nystroem.”

Viki nodded again. “No, we were in Lutherstadt once before, when we first flew in from Excalbia…”

Jean gave Viki a sharp look; their security people had cautioned them not to share too much information with strangers. Fortunately, Viki took the hint. “So, Mr. Gaebler, are you from Lutherstadt or are you visiting as well?”

Allied Central Command

“I agree wholeheartedly,” MAJGEN Karlsson said, returning to his seat. “The devil is in the doing, if I might say so, General. The terrorists come and go and hide among civilians where they can and cower behind innocent hostages where they can’t. And the Duke Montmanuel has given us an example of the injudicious use of force that I think done of us are anxious to repeat.”

Karlsson tugged on his sleeve. “So, General, how shall we go about routing out these terrorists?”

Lutherstadt

"It's always an honor to meet Excalbians." Gaebler said. "Despite the rather silly claims of Greater Prussia, I've always considered Excalbia the center of world Protestantism. Still, I must say that we wish your Government would be a little more assertive in that regard."

Balthasar nodded. "It might surprise you to know that people here have been following recent events in Excalbia fairly closely. It's a shame they can't make Princess Rebecca Empress. But, oh, well."

Allied Central Command

"I intend to completely smash their networks in Sahor. They have no civilians to hide among there, just the forest, an advantage which can be negated with strong enough forces. As for Marlund proper, Allied Central Command knows the situation here best. I was hoping you might have some ideas." Zablosky said, declining to make any comment on the Beyke incident.

Lutherstadt

Viki blinked at Gaebler. His greeting and comments took her by surprise. She had prepared herself for almost anything, but not that. “Thank you,” she said somewhat weakly. “I must say that I’ve never heard anyone refer to us in that way before.”

She looked to Jean who smiled smugly and shrugged, as if to say, well, you wanted them to talk to you. But, instead, he added, “Thank you, but I am only a new immigrant to Excalbia; Viki is the true Excalbian.”

The young woman glared at Jean, then turned to Balthasar. “Really? I think you may have been following the details closer than I have been. Still, I have to ask, why would you like to see Princess Rebecca as Empress?”

Allied Central Command

“I wish you good hunting in Sahor, then, General.” MAJGEN Karlsson said with a smile. His smiled faded and he rubbed his chin as Zablosky asked him for his ideas on dealing with terrorists in Marlund.

“Dealing with them in Marlund is a much more difficult proposition.” Karlsson leaned back in his seat. “The problem is we must deal with the terrorists delicately in the cities, to ensure that we do not inflame the passions of those who might harbour some of the same sentiments, but who are content not to act on them. We must also respond to them in a way that will minimize civilian casualties. Our forces, for instance, are equipped with a variety of non-lethal arms. We have also tried to establish a close working relationship with the local authorities in Frederickstadt.

“In the countryside, I think it is a different problem. We need to force them away from the settlements and into the wilderness. Then, we can engage them in the field with superior arms and smash them.”

Karlsson leaned forward. “I guess I’m suggesting a combination of both a “hearts-and-minds” approach in populated areas and ruthless suppression when and where we can force them into the field.”

Lutherstadt

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Christhard said. When it became clear that it wasn't he blurted out "Well, Joseph is letting his daughter be raised a pagan, against your constitution, and Christiana is a dyke."

Gaebler coughed slightly. "What he means to say is that Rebecca seems more attuned to traditional Excalbian values that some of the other imperials."

Allied Central Command

Zablosky nodded. "That certainly sounds like a logical plan. Have you discussed it with any of the other generals here at central command yet? I must admit that I have yet to have gotten a chance to meet many of them. I understand the Duke of Montmanuel is out at the opera at the moment with some of his officers?"

Lutherstadt

Viki’s eyes narrowed, her lips curled and she crossed her arms as she starred at Christhard. She turned a little too quickly towards Gaebler when he spoke.

“Everyone’s entitled to their opinion,” she said to Gaebler, “but your friend should be careful if he talks to other Excalbians; some of my countrymen can be quite emotional about the Imperial Family.” She shook her head and uncrossed her arms, shaking her hands slightly. “A lot of Excalbian may not agree with Princess Christiana’s… lifestyle, but they still respect the good she’s done. In Excalbia, in Pantocratoria and here in Marlund. I also don’t think the Excalbian Church thinks of Catholics as pagans…”

Through it all, Jean stood arms folded casually with an amused look on his face.

Allied Central Command

MAJGEN Karlsson tried unsuccessfully to hide a smirk. “Yes, His Grace is at the opera. And no, I’m afraid we haven’t had much opportunity for strategic planning here at central command. It seems the focus is on reacting to events, managing negative publicity and keeping… certain officers… occupied.”

Karlsson smiled nervously. “I hope, General, that I haven’t been overly frank.” The Excalbian general shrugged. “But, in for a penny in for a pound, as they say. So, let me say that I’ve been hoping your arrival might bring… a fresh perspective to central command.”

Opera house, Lutherstadt

"When does this damned show start, anyway?" Montmanuel frowned as he checked his solid silver pocket watch. "I thought the curtain was supposed to be up already."

"I think they're running a few minutes late, probably waiting for some of the other guests to sit down, Your Grace." speculated Montmanuel's ADC, Colonel Philippe Mercer.

"I've sat down, who cares about the other guests?" spat Montmanuel in a rare bout of unchecked anger.

The Colonel couldn't know, but Montmanuel's thoughts had turned to his much younger wife in New Constantinople with her newly born bastard daughter. His fists clenched as he thought of what he'd like to do to her if he had the chance, but his field assignments had purposefully kept him far, far away from Madame de Montmanuel for over a year now.

"Of course, monsieur." nodded the ADC nervously.

Now that Madame de Montmanuel had had a child to another man, the Duke's succession was in doubt. In the unlikely event that their separation would ever be ended, it was even less likely that the Duchess would suppress her natural infidelity. God, how he hated her! She had already had one child to another man, and if she had more children in the future, their paternity would always be in doubt, even if they were really Henri de Montmanuel's flesh and blood. There was no question of producing a viable heir by her, and unless he could complicate things further, his estates and titles would pass on to the Despot of New Constantinople's bastard daughter. The thought of that final indignity was too much for Montmanuel, and all these thoughts mixed with the recollections of the past few months, the scenes of horror and hope alike which Montmanuel had personally witnessed in Marlund, for some of which he bore personal responsibility, forming one great sort of emotional stew, a caserole of consciousness. He sat in silent contemplation for another five minutes.

"I think I'd like to adopt some noirs." Montmanuel concluded, starring absently into the lowered curtain over the stage. The other occupants of his box were startled.

"I... beg your pardon, monsieur?" asked Colonel Mercer.

"From Beyke. Some orphaned children." Montmanuel continued, the idea beginning to take a firmer shape. He turned slowly to his ADC.

"You want to... adopt, some orphans... from Beyke?" spluttered Mercer.

"Yes."

"Some... black orphans?" Mercer hissed through clenched teeth, practically beside himself.

"Yes. See to it, won't you Mercer?" Montmanuel nodded, looking back down to the curtain.

"But..." Mercer spluttered. "I'm Your Grace's aide-de-camp, not your principal private secretary, I couldn't possibly... not in... this isn't a military matter, monsieur, you see..."

"Oh yes, of course." Montmanuel nodded, still not really paying attention. "Look, go tell them to raise the curtain, or I'll start having members of the orchestra shot, this is taking far too long."

"I'll see what I can do, Your Grace." replied a very adgitated Mercer. He rose from his seat in the Duke's box, but as he did so, the curtain rose.

"That was damned fast, Mercer, good show." Montmanuel said approvingly, without looking to his ADC.

"Uh... thank you, monsieur." Mercer said, sitting back down.

Lutherstadt

On the sound of the second bell Viki turned to a still smirking Jean Gourdeman. “We had better find our seats, Jean,” she said with more than a hint of relief. She turned to Gaebler. “Pardon us, Mr. Gaebler, but we should find our seats. I hope you and your friends enjoy the show.”

With a polite nod, she quickly turned and followed Jean up the steps to the balcony.

Opera house, Lutherstadt

As Viki Nystroem and Jean Gourdeman settled into their seats in the second balcony they found themselves, as any ordinary citizen might do on such an occasion, scanning the crowd trying to spot famous people. Gourdeman nudged Nystroem and gestured with his head to a private box below them. "I believe that is le Duc de Montmanuel…"

"The one in the gaudy uniform?" Viki leaned over slightly looking for the duke.

"Exactly," Jean said, smiling slightly as we unable to hide his appreciate for how his colleague looked in her dress.

"He hardly looks the monster…"

Jean shrugged. "Many monsters are simply arrogant men careless of the rights of others."

Viki nodded.

"Isn't that someone from Weyr?" Viki gestured to a box near Montmanuel's.

"Hmm." Jean said. "It could be their High King, though I think she looks more like a queen. But I cannot be sure; I've only seen a few photos of her."

"Oh," Viki pointed discretely to another box, "there's our ambassador, Shannon Hunt…"

Jean looked down at the box. "A very nice red dress. Surprisingly attractive for an ambassador," he said with a slight smirk.

"Jean!" Viki spoke under her breath as she elbowed her friend. "You're terrible!"

"I can't help it," he said with a smile, "I am Franco-Pantocratorian after all!"

Several levels below and much closer to the stage Ambassador Shannon Hunt sat resting her hand on her husband's arm. She glanced at her watch. "They're a bit behind schedule," she said.

"I'm not surprised with all the people here tonight, especially the VIPs… Oh, there goes the curtain," Craig Hunt sad, reaching for his wife's hand.

Allied Central Command

MAJGEN Karlsson leaned back waiting for GEN Zablosky's reaction to his frank comments.

Opera House, Lutherstadt

The opera was stunning. Capodistria sung at her very best and her near perfect control of her voice amazed most of those were familiar with opera, although the most discerning critics claimed to have noticed a tiny imperfection. The crowd fell silent as the performance went on. At the intermission, the four Marlunders who had left the Excalbians with such a distaste seemed bored as they headed to the small restaurant in the opera house. They were speaking in whispers in German.

Allied Central Command

Zablosky nodded slightly. "My arrival, unfortunately, is not for the long term. I will be returning to my command in Sahor by the end of the week."

Opera House, Lutherstadt

As the curtain fell for the intermission, Ambassador Shannon Hunt turned to her husband. “A wonderful performance…”

Craig Hunt nodded. “Indeed.” He stood and stretched his back, then offered his hand to his wife. “Shall we have a drink and meet some of the other dignitaries?”

“Yes,” the Ambassador said as she took her husband’s hand and stood.

The couple walked out of their box, past the Ambassador’s bodyguards, and headed towards the VIP lounge.

Meanwhile, Viki Nystroem and Jean Gourdeman drifted from their balcony seats to the opera house restaurant.

Allied Central Command

MAJGEN Karlsson nodded with a tightlipped frown. “I understood that was the plan, General, but I was hoping your visit might at least shake things up a bit and perhaps inspire Central Command to take a more proactive approach to controlling the terrorists and insurgents.

“May I suggest, General, that while you are we have a meeting of the full Central Command and develop a coordinated strategy to bring this operation to a conclusion?”

Allied Central Command

"It's not in my authority to call such a meeting." Zablosky noted. "Have you spoke to General Darcy?"

Allied Central Command

MAJGEN Karlsson looked away, a bit embarrassed. “Not yet, General. I was hoping to secure your endorsement for such a meeting first, then present it to General Darcy.”

Opera House, Lutherstadt

At the intermission, Montmanuel nodded approvingly, and clapped a little, although not too much - it was fort mauvais in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator to applaud too long or too loudly. He then turned to his ADC again as he rose to his feet to make his way out into the lounge.

"Mercer, I've decided that this issue I discussed with you earlier, I want this to be your top priority, understand?" Montmanuel began again.

"Which issue, Your Grace?" Mercer asked, rising to his feet himself, pretending that he had forgotten.

"The blacks, of course." Montmanuel frowned. "I want you to get about organising my adoption of some children from Beyke, at once, top priority."

"But monsieur..." Mercer began protesting again.

"Not one more word of protest, Mercer, or I'll have you thrown in the stockade!" Montmanuel warned him as he made some quick adjustments to his uniform and medals.

"Yes, monsieur. Very good, monsieur." Mercer nodded. "How many?"

"I beg your pardon?" Montmanuel asked, not sure what Mercer meant.

"You said some children, monsieur, how many would you like?" Mercer asked, as if he were composing a grocery list.

"Oh. Probably two I should think. Perhaps three." Montmanuel thought. "No, two should be sufficient. Well... maybe part way between..."

"I don't think they'll let you adopt two and a half children, monsieur." Mercer observed wryly.

"That's not what I meant! I meant perhaps two boys and a girl." Montmanuel snapped.

"So three, two boys, one girl..." Mercer nodded.

"Or perhaps one boy and one girl, I definitely want one of each." Montmanuel thought on.

"Well, we'll come back to this question, shall we? What age would you prefer, Your Grace?" Mercer asked.

"Well..." Montmanuel mumbled. "What do they come in? When do children learn how to talk, I'm not sure I want children already stuck with that ugly German language... then again, it might be nice to have one older, one younger... or two younger... hmmm..."

"I see." Mercer sighed. He could see this was going to be a challenging assignment.

"Look Mercer, why don't you just get about making enquiries? I will make up my mind as I become aware what's available." Montmanuel said. "Yes, that sounds easiest. I want you to get back to the office immediately and get to work on this matter. Top priority, you understand."

"Yes, Your Grace." Mercer groaned. He left the box and then walked out of the opera house altogether to return to HQ. Montmanuel, on the other hand, made his way with his other staff to the VIP lounge.

neMercer sighed once again as he picked up the phone and dialed the Beyke Municipal Reconstruction Authority. He already had a few notes on the notepad in front of him, and a pen was poised in his hand to take more as the phone call went on. "Municipal Reconstruction Authority. Ada Bockhold speaking. How may I be of assistance?" a perky voice answered in German on the other end.

"Hello, this is Colonel Mercer from Allied Central Command, Lutherstadt. I'm making some enquiries about children made orphans by the battle with the insurgents there. Could I be directed to the appropriate department, Ada?" Mercer asked politely in his somewhat upper-class sounding German accent. Not being a native German speaker, but being a most proficient student of languages, he had taken on the native accent of the Lavenrunzian teacher from whom he had learnt the language.

"Of course." she said. "Hold on one moment." Mercer soon heard the notes of a rather tame Marlund musical score playing on the phone for the next several minutes.

What a great substitute for the opera... Mercer scowled to himself at the hold tune.

"This is Elisabeth Taegert's office. How may I help you?" another youngish sounding female voice announced.

"Hello, this is Colonel Mercer of Allied Central Command, Lutherstadt. I'm making some enquiries about children made orphans by the communist insurgency. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" Mercer asked.

"Sabine Bittner." she answered. "I'm Frau Taegert's administrative assistant."

"Well, Sabine," Mercer said, making a note of her name and Elisabeth Taegert's name. "I was wondering how many orphans you have there in Beyke now. Would you be able to find that out for me?"

"We have 127 orphans who have not yet been placed with families." she answered.

"And are they all from the battle with the rebels?" Mercer asked. "I mean, were they all made orphans by that battle?"

"61%." she responded, after a brief pause.

"I see..." Mercer answered, jotting down some numbers on the piece of paper. "Seventy seven... erm... and a half... orphans from the battle with the insurgents? That seems rather a lot..."

"Seventy eight." she responded.

"Seventy eight... gracious me, what a tragedy." Mercer lamented.
"That number is dwarfed by the number of children, including infants, who died with their parents in the Pantocratorian leveling of the city." she added.

"How horrible, Sabine." Mercer nodded. "Can we speak generally again? Of your... 127 orphans, are they all black?"

"121." she noted.

"The other six are white?" Mercer asked, making a note of the number.

"Five of them. I don't see why this matters though." she answered.

"All I can tell you is that this is top priority, Sabine." Mercer answered. "Would you be able to send me the files for those five white children, along with photographs? That's to Colonel Philippe Mercer, Allied Central Command, Lutherstadt. I'd like to ask you some questions about the other 121 now if I may, dear."

"Go ahead." she said somewhat coldly.

"Now, of those 121, are there any siblings? Any brothers and sisters?" Mercer asked.

"Yes." she answered.

"Could you be a dear and tell me how many sets of siblings there are, Sabine?" Mercer asked again.

"Seven." she answered with increasing distaste in her voice.

"Thank you so very much." Mercer answered, noting down the number. "Could you talk me through each set of siblings, in whatever order you like?"

"What exactly is Allied Central Command's interest in this?" she asked.

"I'm afraid all I can tell you is that it's top priority, Sabine, unless there's something you need to know in order to legally discuss cases with me. I hate to be so unforthcoming when you've been so very helpful, but you know how the military is. Is there something you need to know in order to be allowed to disclose specific case information to me?" Mercer asked.

"Well, we're under no obligation to disclose any information to the military without a reason." Sabine explained.

"I see, perfectly understandable. What sort of reason do you require, Sabine?" Mercer asked, pen at the ready.

"Why do you want this information?" she inquired again.

"Well, may I ask again, what sort of reasons do you require?" Mercer asked.

"I require the reason." she said again. "I think it's a simple enough word, dear."

"I see." Mercer frowned, clearing his throat slightly at her calling him dear. "May I speak to Frau Taegert, Sabine?"

"One moment." she said. The same music came on the telephone once more, this time for about ten or fifteen minutes. Mercer waited patiently, getting a little angry at Sabine's lack of cooperation and cheek as he did so.

"Elisabeth Taegert." an older, authoritative voice said, after some time. "I understand this is an Allied Military matter?"

"There are two purposes for my call actually, Frau Taegert." Mercer answered. "The military matter is mostly done with now. I am now making enquiries on a personal matter under orders from my commanding officer, and on behalf of the same. I am Colonel Philippe Mercer of Allied Central Command, in case Frauline Bittner neglected to mention it. I must admit, actually, Frau Taegert, that I found Frauline Bittner a little rude, but she was probably rather rushed... I'm sure you'll have a word to her if you think it necessary."

"If I think it necessary." Taegert answered dubiously. "Now what is this personal matter?"

"My commanding officer has expressed an interest in adopting some orphans from Beyke. Siblings preferably, as he thinks it would be terrible to break siblings up..." Mercer answered. "I am making enquiries on his behalf. Would you be able to talk through the seven groups of black siblings you have there?"

"Who is your commanding officer, Colonel Mercer?" Taegert asked.

"For his privacy, I'd rather not disclose his name until he has made a final decision. He is quite senior, as you might be able to tell from the fact that he is my commanding officer, and I am a colonel myself, Frau Taegert." Mercer said. "You can understand, I hope."

"You're going to need to tell me." she repeated calmly.

"Well obviously, at one point I will, but I am only making enquiries at present, Frau Taegert, I shouldn't think it necessary." Colonel Mercer answered.

"Colonel Mercer, your military rank, high as it may be, and well-earned as I'm sure it is, does not give you any special standing with this agency allowing you or your superior officer to forego any part of the normal adoption process. I expect I shall not have to repeat that again. Now, who is the potential parent?" she said.

"Very well, Frau Taegert, but I must ask you a few questions first to ensure my commanding officer's privacy. To whom will the information I am about to disclose be available?" Mercer demanded.

"To myself and to the Board of Directors of the Beyke Municipal Reconstruction Agency." she answered.

"And under no circumstances will it be divulged publicly until after the completion of whatever business we eventually conduct?" Mercer asked.

"Of course." she answered.

"And if it turns out that no adoption takes place, what records will be kept?" Mercer asked

"A record will only be kept once an official request has been made." she replied.

"And this isn't an official request yet, is it?" Mercer checked.

"No." she answered.

"Very well." Mercer sighed. "My commanding officer is His Grace Henri Louis Isaac Constantine Manuel Diogenes de Montmanuel, the ninth Duke of Montmanuel, General of the Imperial Army Legions, and Supreme Commander, Pantocratorian forces, Marlund."

"Then I'm sorry to inform you, Colonel, that you and His Grace have been wasting your time. I am not willing to allow him to adopt any of the children in the care of this agency." Taegert said.

"Frau Taegert!" Mercer gasped. "On what grounds?"

"You can't seriously expect me to allow children to be raised by the man who gave the order to sacrifice their parents lives in battle, do you?" she asked.

"Frau Taegert, really, that's not at all what happened!" Mercer replied. "Besides, you can't simply refuse to allow the Duke to adopt for personal reasons. It is not enough that you do not like His Grace, surely. That would be most unprofessional."

"It has nothing to do with liking." she responded. "You have your answer, Colonel."

"I'm afraid I do not, Frau Taegert. You haven't provided a sufficient reason to refuse to allow His Grace to adopt." Mercer replied. "Until you can invent one, I'll thank you to humour me further by answering my questions."

"I provided a perfectly sufficient reason. It would be very psychologically dangerous for the children. He also has a very negative involvement in their past and is very directly an object of fear rather than comfort for most of the children." she answered.

"That isn't a perfectly sufficient reason. That's simply your opinion. It is quite inadequate." Mercer replied.

"If you are trying to antagonize me, it isn't going to work. Have a nice day, Colonel." she answered.

"I am not trying to antagonise you, I am insisting that you put your personal bias aside and leave the acceptance or rejection of the Duke's application, if in fact any is made, for the formal processing of the official request you discussed earlier." Mercer answered. "All that is being asked of you for the time being, Frau Taegert, is that you answer some simple questions. Now can you please be reasonable about this?"

"His Grace is perfectly welcome to make an official request so soon as he finds two or more residents of Beyke willing to vouch for his character." she answered.

"Very well." Mercer replied. "Then may I resume my enquiry so that His Grace may decide whether he wishes to proceed to an official request or not?"

"Very well." she said resignedly.

"Now, these seven sets of siblings, could you tell me a little about each group?" Mercer asked.

"Are you quite sure, Your Grace? They're orphans too, you know." Mercer argued, holding the files pertaining to the white orphans he had sent to him from Beyke in one hand while he gesticulated with the other.

"Mercer..." Montmanuel growled, not wanting to repeat himself another time. "I am quite determined."

"Very well, monsieur." Mercer sighed. He set aside those files and picked up his notepad. "Then, if it pleases you, I will discuss the sets of black siblings in the orphanage. The first..."

"I've decided that I want two boys and a girl, before you go any further." Montmanuel cut him off.

"Well, that reduces the list considerably..." Mercer muttered, moving down the page until he came across a set which matched the new criteria. "The Miller children, monsieur."

"Tell me about them." Montmanuel said, sitting down and pulling his dress gloves off, settling in.

"Well, monsieur," Mercer began. "The girl is the eldest, at thirteen years of age. Her name is Kallisto... what an odd name..."

"It's from Greek myth." Montmanuel replied. "Kallisto was the name of one of Zeus' lovers, if I recall."

"I see. Unfortunately it doesn't say here if she speaks French." Mercer said. "I can't imagine that she would."

"Nevermind, keep going." Montmanuel nodded, waving one of his removed gloves around as if to hurry Mercer up.

"Very good, monsieur." Mercer nodded, his pace becoming even more leisurely. "The next eldest is one of the brothers, Callimachus, eight years old. Know where that name comes from, monsieur?"

"Haven't the foggiest, actually." Montmanuel confessed.

"Quite." Mercer smirked. "And the youngest is but two years old, Radamanthos. And I shan't ask."

"Tell me about them." Montmanuel nodded.

"I'm afraid, monsieur, that there isn't much more to tell. The woman who administers adoptions wasn't very co-operative." Mercer remarked. "I doubt very much you'll be able to adopt these children, or any other from Beyke. She certainly won't tell us anything more until your enquiry becomes official."

"I see." Montmanuel said thoughtfully. He rubbed his chin and say quietly for a little while. "Well, let's make it official. And see if there is anything we can do to get this woman onside. Arrange a meeting with her. I want her to know I'm serious about this."

"Yes, monsieur." Mercer sighed.

The Duke of Montmanuel arrived outside the Beyke Municipal Reconstruction Authority building in Beyke in a black town car with tinted windows. Although it looked like any other large luxury sedan, it was actually much heavier on account of the fact that it was an armoured car, capable of withstanding light infantry assaults, even those employing explosives and rocket-powered grenades. A trooper disembarked from the front passenger side of the vehicle, rifle in hand, and looked about, securing the area. The Beyke Municipal Reconstruction Authority office was located near the center of town. It was a three story, Neo-Classical building but, as it was located near shorter buildings and several public parks and promenades, it towered over the surrounding area. Two uniformed Marlund soldiers stood near the entrance. Both tensed slightly at the sight of the armed Pantocratorian but took no direct action.

The trooper turned back to the car and nodded. Colonel Mercer disembarked from the far rear passenger side, dressed in his white dress uniform, and walked around the rear of the car to the driver's side rear passenger door. He opened it and the Duke of Montmanuel disembarked, also wearing his dress whites, with his plumed, polished helmet underneath his arm. He looked about, handed his helmet to Mercer to carry, and then walked over to the entrance of the building. The soldiers continued to stand guard without breaking discipline. Neither, however, did they snap to attention. Montmanuel walked straight in, although Mercer turned to address the two Marlunder troopers.

"Two superior allied officers just walked through this door. You should salute." Mercer snapped to them in crisp, Lavenrunzian-accented German. He then spun in his heel and followed Montmanuel in.

The Pantocratorian trooper guarding the armoured car looked over to the Marlunders, produced a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, and offered them each a cigarette.

"No thank you." the first of them said. "I never took up smoking. Never could afford the habit."

The trooper, who didn't speak German, shrugged and nodded. He lit up his own cigarette and resumed looking about the street.

Right inside the doorway, Montmanuel came to a metal detector manned by regular municipal police. One of them offered him a small, white bowl in which to put any metal he might be carrying. The soldiers smiled politely but one shook his head and the other raised a hand. Montmanuel looked at the proffered bowl in faint surprise, and didn't make any move to take it or place anything in it.

"C'est quoi ça, Mercer?" he asked Mercer in French.

"Permettez-moi, monsieur." Mercer replied. He looked at the police officers. "We're Pantocratorian officers from Allied Central Command."

"This isn't a central command building, sir." the officer responded impatiently, but with forced politeness.

"Indeed, but it is quite impractical for us to remove all the things which could set off that metal detector, we're wearing dress uniforms. I have our identification here..." he said, producing a black leather card holder and offering it to the police officer.

The man looked at it, running it through a scanner. "Hmmm...I suppose we could just go over you with the hand scanner, check everywhere it goes off to make sure you aren't armed."

"We're armed." Mercer answered. Each man's service revolver was fairly obvious in its holster, as was Montmanuel's sheathed sabre.

"Well, you won't be going inside that way." the policeman observed.

"Of course we will." Mercer answered impatiently. "We're military officers on active duty here and as such, we are permitted, and required, to go about armed. We've an appointment to see Frau Taegert. Call her up, will you?

"Nous serons en retard!" Montmanuel complained, looking at his watch.

"You're not on active duty. You're not stationed in this building. You have a private appointment. So you really won't. Either lose the guns or miss your appointment." the policeman said with increasing impatience.

"Call her, at once." Mercer repeated.

The men ignored him, although one moved to stand more directly between the Pantocratorians and the main entrance.

"Je ne comprends pas, Mercer, qu'est-ce que se passe?" Montmanuel demanded impatiently.

"Ils ne nous permittent pas pour entrer avec nos armes, monsieur." Mercer replied.

"Et pourquoi pas?" Montmanuel frowned, having had the situation explained to him. He regarded the policemen with confusion.

"The Duke wishes to know why we cannot enter with our weapons." Mercer asked the policemen.

"Pantocratorian officers have no standing authorization to carry arms in this building or to use force in this district and no exemptions from security regulations in this district." the man replied.

"Règlements." Mercer offered to Montmanuel as a condensed explanation.

Montmanuel sighed impatiently, pulled off his gloves, handed them to Mercer, and then undid the leather flap on his holster. He pulled out his silver service revolver, holding it by the barrel, and offered it to the nearest police officer.

"Mais monsieur, nous sommes sur le service actif! Nous devons avoir nos armes..." Mercer protested.

"Nos règlements. Leurs règlements. Je ne me concerne pas avec les règlements. Vite, Mercer!" Montmanuel shrugged his shoulders.

With a sigh, Mercer produced his own service revolver and offered it to the policemen. The officer waited for Montmanuel to hand over his sword as well. Montmanuel waited for Mercer to detach his sword from his belt. Montmanuel, of course, couldn't surrender his sword. Mercer instead removed it and handed it to the policeman.

"Ça suffit, j'espere?" Montmanuel asked.

"Is that sufficient?" Mercer asked the policemen impatiently.

"Yes, it is." he answered.

"Which way to Frau Taegert's office, then?" Mercer demanded.

"It's on the third floor, West wing, room 302." the man answered.

Mercer and Montmanuel left the foyer and proceeded directly to Taegert's office.

As they entered the foyer, Montmanuel and Mercer saw a sight resembling many local government buildings in many nations. The foyer was a large room, decorated here and there with plants and small trees and with a few benches along its walls. To one side, behind the receptionists desk, hung a large portrait of King Hermann. The receptionist herself was an older African-Ambaran woman, dressed in a conservative blue dress. Besides her and a few more police officers, the room seemed to be dominated by two types of people. The first was the lawyers. With the exception of one or two immigrants, they were all European-Ambaran, the result of past rather than present discrimination. Even assuming that full equality in education, still a work in progress in Marlund, had been achieved the moment the the old regime fell, it would still take a people systematically deprived of almost all formal education well over a decade to produce its first fully trained barrister. The group was also dominated by men, although there was a smattering of women present. The women wore suits but not the bold pantsuits that were more often than not seen on Danaan lady lawyers. Instead, they wore more conservative dark suits with skirts down to mid-calf. The other group of people seemed to be ordinary people with official business here. They all seemed to be dressed in their best, although, for many Beyke residents, that was nothing especially fancy. They looked a little nervous and out of place and most were either waiting around or speaking nervously among themselves, in stark contrast to the lawyers who moved about like they owned the place. Montmanuel took off his white gloves carefully as he stood in the centre of the foyer. He held them both in his left hand, which he placed on his left hip in a practised aristocratic stance. He waited there like that while Mercer approached the receptionist.

"We have an appointment with Frau Taegert on level three." Mercer said to the receptionist.

"She's expecting you." the woman said. "Go on up."

"Thank you." Mercer nodded. He turned to Montmanul and nodded, and the two men entered the West wing of the building.

Once they were in the West wing, the crowd seemed to be substantially more diverse. It included more women, more African-Ambarans, and more younger people. The attitude was neither the nervousness of the ordinary people or the confident professionalism of the lawyers. They seemed to a more relaxed group, devoted more to the "soft" aspects of reconstruction. At one end of the hallway was a marked stairwell. Once they were in the West wing, the crowd seemed to be substantially more diverse. It included more women, more African-Ambarans, and more younger people. The attitude was neither the nervousness of the ordinary people or the confident professionalism of the lawyers. They seemed to a more relaxed group, devoted more to the "soft" aspects of reconstruction. At one end of the hallway was a marked stairwell. The stairwell itself was fairly non-descript, although well-kept and rather clean. There was no one else on the stairs when the Pantocratorians walked up. The Pantocratorians walked up the stairs to level three. The third floor might have reminded them of an a Protestant church bake sale from three decades ago if any of them had every had a reason to see such a thing. The people on the West wing third floor seemed primarily to be full-time, unpaid volunteers, which mostly meant that they were either the non-working wives or the college age children of single-income middle-class families. Frau Taegert's office was about halfway down the hall. Mercer and Montmanuel made their way through the group of people towards Frau Taegert's office. Mercer knocked on the door to room 302.

"Come in." she called from inside.

Mercer opened the door for the Duke and waited for him to enter the room before following him in. Taegert was a blond woman in her late forties. She was dressed in a fairly conservative blue suit and looked a little overweight.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen." she said, standing up as they came in.

"Good afternoon, Frau Taegert." said Mercer. "May I present His Grace, the Duke of Montmanuel? I am the Duke's aide-de-camp, Colonel Philippe Mercer."

"Thank you for coming out." she said, sitting back down. "Please have a seat."

Mercer indicated an empty chair for Montmanuel, who sat down in it, before sitting down himself.

"Now, I'm told you're interested in the Miller children..." she said.

"His Grace doesn't speak German, I'm afraid, so I shall have to act as translator." Mercer explained.

Montmanuel smiled and nodded to Taegert.

"My French is a little rusty but I think I can manage." she said in that language.

Mercer looked a little surprised and reclined back in his chair.

"Ah, bon." Montmanuel said approvingly. "No doubt your French is better than my German."

"Now, I'd like to hear exactly how you plan to raise these children in a healthy and nurturing environment?" Taegert asked.

"These are the Miller children?" Montmanuel confirmed, not having picked up her previous reference to them, which was in German.

"Yes, the Miller children." she answered.

"Well, I take it you aren't concerned about my financial capability to see to their well-being, madame?" Montmanuel checked.

"Of course not." she answered.

"Well... what do you mean then, madame?" Montmanuel asked. "I want to provide Kallisto, Callimachus and Radamanthos with a good home... You might handle several of these applications a day but for the person sitting on the other side of your desk, madame, this is the only time they'll do this, I apologise for not knowing exactly what to say."

"Perhaps you could make it clearer for His Grace?" Mercer asked Taegert, his tone intimating all his usual contempt for this scheme of his commanding officer.

"Well to begin with, I noticed that your application isn't co-signed by your spouse. Does Her Grace plan to be involved in the children's lives?" she inquired.

"I doubt that very much." Montmanuel asked, his countenance suddenly becoming melancholic at the mention of his wife. "My wife isn't very much involved in my life, madame. I usually don't like to talk about it, but I suppose you'll want to?"

"I need to." she responded. "Almost all studies on the subject find that it's important to the psychological health of children that they have both a paternal and maternal figure in their lives."

"I understand." Montmanuel nodded. "You're quite right to do so. My wife... it is clear to me now, had a prior relationship with the Despot of New Constantinople, who was the one who first introduced us. I can't imagine that His Highness wanted to share her with me, so I can only imagine that his arranging for her to become a duchess was the price she put on continuing their relationship... like all foolish older men who marry pretty young things, I wanted... I allowed myself to be swept away in it all..."

The Duke stopped, visibly upset, although naturally he didn't shed a tear. He took a moment or two to compose himself. Mercer looked distinctly uncomfortable, and his gaze stayed trained on his polished boots throughout.

"Anyway..." Montmanuel continued after a few moments. "Known to virtually all the world but me, Henriette carried on an affair with the Despot, eventually becoming pregnant by him while I was away in Syskeyia... when I heard my wife was pregnant by another man... I wanted... I don't know what I wanted. The Despot saw to it that instead of returning home to her, I was sent here, to Marlund, and here I have remained. She had the child, a baby girl, some months ago. Marie-Jeanne Andrione, Bastard of New Constantinople. They have an official title for it... odd, isn't it?"

"It is." Taegert conceded. "I am sorry for your misfortune. But how is it you plan to provide these children with a happy home if you don't have one?"

"Well..." Montmanuel started, frowning contemplatively at her question. "I think my wife will remain in New Constantinople. Our troubled marriage won't be something which will be around the children. It is true that they will be without a mother, but they will be just as loved, more loved, even, I have no wife to compete with them for my affection."

"But will they be loved by any maternal figure?" she pressed.

"They'll have nurses..." Montmanuel said. "And there will of course be my mother, who has been waiting for grandchildren since my eighteenth birthday. She'll be very involved in their lives, I'm sure. I certainly want her to be."

"Now...what about their peers?" Taegert moved on.

"How do you mean?" Montmanuel asked, seeking clarification.

"Well...you do understand that African-Ambarans were systematically excluded from all but the most rudimentary kind of education until just over one year ago?" she asked.

"Yes, I am painfully aware of that." Montmanuel replied, remembering the children he had met living around his first headquarters. "The children will receive the very best of education in Pantocratoria. But what do you mean by peers?"

"I mean other children the same age as the children and of the same class as the children will be raised in. The boys won't have as much of a problem because they haven't gotten to an age where other children would have had much education anyway. Kallisto, however, has no French whatsoever, no Greek, and speaks only very rustic German. She currently reads at a level equivalent to that of seven or eight year olds in most developed countries. Even if her peers understand that this is due to circumstances beyond her control, it still seems likely, especially at that age, that they will alternatively mock her or behave in what they consider to be an understanding fashion which would actually be condescending and pitying, almost more damaging than overt ostracism. This is especially true given that, as regrettable as it is, it is a fact that her ethnic and national background will be perceived as a low status marker in Pantocratoria." Taegert explained.

"She will also be the daughter of a duke." the Emperor observed. "Those few of her peers who would dare mock her would be so high-born that they would regard any form of address inferior to Highness as a low status marker. And every effort will be made to bridge the gaps in her education. I have considerably more resources available to the task than virtually any other parent, which isn't to boast, you understand, just to affirm my committment to Kallisto's education."

"Very well. Now we come to the hard part then." Taegert said.

"Oh? Only now?" Montmanuel joked nervously, and quite uncharacteristically.

"Kallisto is already aware, and the boys will inevitably become aware, that, rightly or wrongly, you gave the order to fire the weaponry which killed their parents. I fail to see how this can be anything but severely psychologically disruptive." Taegert continued.

"Now wait a moment!" protested Mercer. "The Duke..."

"Mercer, leave the room." Montmanuel ordered.

"But monsieur!" Mercer responded in surprise.

"Madame Taegert and I are getting along quite fine in French, we don't need your German translating abilities, so please, get out." Montmanuel repeated.

"Yes, monsieur." Mercer sighed, rising to his feet. He nodded to each other person, and left the room.

"Go on." Montmanuel nodded to Taegert.

"They aren't old enough to really understand the idea of military necessity. Even if they were, it would be hard to fully reconcile emotionally, especially involving their new father." she continued.

"Have you any suggestions?" Montmanuel asked. "Is there an answer I can give which will satisfy you? I know it will be hard, but I have to do it. I feel obligated, and I'm the only person in the world who might be able to answer their questions about what happened and why. They might not like the answers, or even understand them at first, but with any other parent they would still have the same questions, and no answers at all."

"Perhaps not. But there also aren't many other parents who they are likely to consider complicit." she said.

"What can I tell you other than I will tell them the truth as best I can, and hope that they can find it in them to love me all the same?" Montmanuel asked. "I'll try and I'll keep trying. I'll leave the army, and when they're comfortable leaving Marlund, I'll go home to Montmanuel with them. Have you ever been to Montmanuel, madame?"

"No, I haven't." she answered.

"It's beautiful, idyllic countryside, at the feet of these mighty mountains. You've never seen grass as lush or green." Montmanuel said fondly, before becoming serious again. "They won't know me as a general, madame. They will know me as a man, and I hope as a father. I don't know what else to say."

She nodded a little. "I appreciate you coming down here. I'll certainly give your application due consideration and let you know when a decision has been made."

"Madame, if I may..." Montmanuel began. "Whether you accept my application or not, I'd like to talk about what I can do to help all the orphans, not just the Miller children. As I have immodestly mentioned several times, I have considerable financial resources at my disposal..."

"The children could certainly use a larger residence...more staff..." she said. "Politically speaking, you'll understand we couldn't name a publically owned building after you in the near future but...we could name it after a person of your choosing outside the Pantocratorian armed forces and your immediate family." she said.

"You can name it however you'd like to name it." Montmanuel answered. "What sort of donation, approximately, I know you'll want to speak to builders and so on to work this all out, but what sort of donation would allow you to build and staff the sort of facility you'd like to run?"

"Around a million Pantocratorian ducats." she said.

"I see." Montmanuel nodded thoughtfully. "And if you had a million ducats to spend on the children's welfare, that would be what you thought was the best way to spend it?"

"It would be the best way to spend it for the orphans. The best thing for them would be families, of course, but money can't buy that." she answered.

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

Brigadier General Tasha Norland was one of the few Trolls who had remained whole and on Earth through the tragic happenings of the Shattering. Few was, of course, a relative term. If they were ever all gathered together, it would be a crowd of thousands at least. Still, out of scores of millions, that was but a handful and out of the billions upon billions of sentient beings in the world, they were the smallest of species. That was why the Brigadier General was quite surprised to see another Troll walking behind her on the way home from work.

Maans (and that was his whole name) was not at all surprised to see Tasha. He had managed to return to Earth, refreshed and greatly increased in power by his time in the Dreaming. He had arranged to travel from the Resurgent Dream to Excalbia just like any private tourist. All with this one goal in mind.

Tasha turned with a polite smile as she saw the other Troll. It was a rare enough event that she felt almost required to make conversation. "Excuse me, my good..."

Maans didn't even give a warning. He hit her as hard as he could, knocking her backwards with a strength greater than that of any mortal man, completely disregarding any danger such a fight might pose to ordinary Excalbian civilians. "We lost the world! We lost the world because of traitors like you!" He hit her again, while she was down, and again and again...

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

Vice Admiral Tucker Norland’s appointment as the Commander of Naval Training Command had come as surprise. And as quite a disruption, as he and his wife, Marine Brigadier General Tasha Norland were forced to relocate to the capital. There had been no problem finding a position for Tasha a position at the Ministry of Defence. Finding suitable housing, however, had been more of a challenge.

With the help of a diligent real estate agent the two flag officers had found a nice 19th century townhouse on the north end of the island. While it was not too far from the Ministry, most people would have commuted by Metro or car. Neither, though, was an ideal solution for a Troll.

So, while Tucker, who tended to be at the office earlier and to leave a bit earlier, took the Metro, while Tasha would walk from the Ministry’s massive neoclassical building past the Ecumenical Cathedral, the Old North Gate and St. Mary’s to the neighbourhood surrounding Excalbia University.

Today, however, she had been waylaid by Maans in the very shadow of the beautifully eccentric Ecumenical Cathedral.

Patrolman Esther Ciuenle was strolling leisurely down the street beside the Ecumenical Cathedral. Her sunglasses were firmly in place and her peaked cap was securely pinned to her brownish-blonde hair. Her beat was the north end of the governmental heart of Citadel Island. As such, most of her days were spent writing parking citations and giving directions to tourists.

As she rounded the corner her blood froze. A large bluish… man, she supposed, was beating a… bluish woman nearly as large as himself. Despite their appearances, it was clear who was the aggressor. The woman, dressed – Esther noted – in an Imperial Marine uniform, lay on the ground as the man relentlessly pounded her.

Esther unsnapped her holster and drew her automatic pistol – not that she thought it would do much good – and ran towards the two Trolls. As she did, she activated her throat mic. “Unit two-forty-seven,” she shouted louder than strictly necessary, “Code thirty-three! Code thirty-three! Two forty in process; east gate of the Ecumenical Cathedral. Involves two, repeat two, nine-ninety ems. Ten-seventy-eight!”

By the time she had finished her message, Esther was within range of the two Trolls – metahumans or ems in local police parlance. She raised her weapon and gripped it with both hands. “Police!” She shouted as loud as she could. “Drop to ground right now – hands spread apart!” She felt the sweat pouring down the back of her neck and silently offered a quick prayer.

In the distance, sirens could be heard approaching from several parts of the city.

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

Tasha Norland could, on a good day, lift 650 lbs. It was an astounding amount, more than a normal human being could acheive. However, it was not superhuman in the strict sense. It was within the range of the best competitive weightlifters. Maans, however, was another story entirely. No Troll on Earth had exhibited strength of the kind he was exhibiting now in living memory. Tasha was barely conscious by the time the policewoman arrived on the scene. He paused and raised his eyes to look at the woman coldly. "She doesn't deserve to live. Your world doesn't deserve to live.I doubt your little toy will hurt me."

Beyke, Marlund

Kallisto fidgeted uncomfortably in the unpleasantly formal dress she had been made to wear. She stood for a moment, starting to pace, before sitting back down again. "I don't want to meet him!" she shouted again. "Not now! Not ever!"

Her two younger brothers shied away from her yelling. They turned and looked nervously towards the door. The three were here to meet the Duke de Montmanuel in person as part of the application process. They weren't exactly enthusiastic.

Bekye, Marlund

The Duke of Montmanuel and Colonel Mercer both wore smart casual clothes to the orphanage to meet the Miller children. The Duke had thought that military uniforms might put the children ill at ease, and expected that they would be nervous already, meeting a prospective adoptive parent. To say that Mercer was rather unimpressed with the idea was a massive understatement - he shared the general enthusiasm of upper class Pantocratorian men for impressive dress uniforms, but then, Mercer had hardly been enthusiastic at any point in the process anyway. He and Montmanuel waited on the other side of the door from the children to be admitted. Taegert opened the door, showing the Pantocratorians in. Kallisto immediately got up and went to stand facing the opposite wall.

"Are you coming with us, madame?" Montmanuel asked Taegert in French, almost nervously.

Taegert moved in after him and sat quietly in one of the chairs. Her two younger brothers remained standing on the floor, looking blankly up at the Pantocratorians. Montmanuel smiled warmly at the two boys. He looked over to Kallisto, standing by the wall, and then looked back to the boys. He crouched down so that he was about on the same level as Callimachus, the eight year old.

"Hallo! Ich bin Heinrich!" Montmanuel began, reciting a practised German greeting. "Du mußt sein Callimachus und Radamanthos. Ich bin glücklich dich treffen. Ich spreche nicht Deutsches. Dieses ist mein übersetzer, Herr Mercer."

"Hello." Callimachus said in German.

"Do you know why I am here?" Montmanuel asked in French, with Mercer translating for him.

"Sort of." Callimachus said.

"Why do you think I am here, Callimachus?" Montmanuel asked via Mercer.

"To make us come stay with you." he answered.

"In a way, yes, but I'm hoping you will want to come with me." Montmanuel said hopefully, although Mercer didn't really convey Montmanuel's tone. "I want to adopt you children."

Montmanuel looked over to Kallisto standing again the reverse wall with her back turned. He looked back down to Callimachus.

"Is that pretty young lady over there your sister Kallisto, Callimachus?" Montmanuel asked.

"Yeah." Callimachus said. "She said you were a...Frau Taegert said not to re...say it again and she said Kalli shouldn't have said it."

"I'm going to say hello to her, OK Callimachus?" Montmanuel smiled at the boy.

"I don't think she wants you to." he answered.

"Ja..." Montmanuel sighed as he stood up straight again. He smiled down at Callimachus and then delicately made his way across the room towards Kallisto, treading lightly on the floor. "Hello, Kallisto."

She didn't say anything.

"I know you don't want to talk to me." Montmanuel conceded, looking disappointed. "I really want to talk to you, and I hope that one day you'll want to talk to me."

Kallisto turned around and swung her fist at him as hard as she could. Montmanuel wasn't standing closer enough for her to hit him, not wanting to intrude on her personal space, but he took a step back in surprise anyway.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"Doing what?" he asked. Mercer translated, sounding positively shocked at Kallisto's violent outburst.

"Trying to take us." she clarified.

"I'm trying to give you a home." Montmanuel answered.

"I'd rather be an orphan than be in your home!" she yelled.

"I know you feel that way now." Montmanuel answered quietly, looking shaken. "But if you gave it a chance, you might change your mind."

"I don't want to give it a chance." she said.

Montmanuel swallowed and turned back to look at the boys. He smiled at them, although he was clearly unnerved by Kallisto's hostility. He reached into the pocket of his trousers and produced a bundle of photographs.

"I have some photos of my home... your home if you come to live with me... would you like to see them?" Montmanuel asked them all hopefully.

"Okie dokie." Callimachus said, walking over to peer at the pictures.

Montmanuel smiled and crouched down next to him again. He offered the boy some of the pictures. He looked back to Kallisto.

"Would you like to see, Kallisto?" he asked, offering her some photographs.

"Go to hell!" she yelled.

Callimachus looked at the pictures curiously. "Why is the sky so ugly all the time? Is it at the North Pole?"

"Oh... no, it's in the North Atlantic though. Here, here are some ones during summer." Montmanuel said, sorting through the bundle to some pictures of the idyllic, gorgeous green countryside with blue skies with only small white fluffy clouds about. There were some horses wandering about the field. "This is just a few minutes back from the residence."

"Ewww... horses! Horses are stinky!" Callimachus exclaimed. Like most boys who grew up doing hard labour on a farm, he didn't romanticize such things.

"Not these horses!" Montmanuel protested. "Well... maybe a little bit. What do you like, then?"

"I like playing water sticks!" he exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Water sticks?" Montmanuel asked, not sure if Mercer had translated it properly. "How do you play that?"

"Everybody picks a stick and then goes to a bridge. You drop the sticks off one side and then go look over the other. Whoever's stick comes out first wins." Callimachus explained.

"Oh." Montmanuel nodded. "Well, there's a river just behind those trees there, with a little wooden bridge. I don't have a photo of it, but you might be able to see a little bit of the water down... here, see?"

"Oh." Callimachus said. "Do Pantopians play water sticks?"

"Uhh... Pantocratorians... and I'm not sure. Maybe. It has been a long time since I was young enough to play water sticks." Montmanuel smiled. "If they don't, you could teach them."

"He's just a baby." Kallisto said. "He doesn't understand. When he's a man, he'll kill you in a duel."

"He's not a baby, he's eight years old." Montmanuel answered Kallisto. "What do you like, Kallisto?"

"My mama and papa." she answered.

"I'm sorry, Kallisto." Montmanuel said. He gave Callimachus some more photographs, some of the nearby mountains in winter, covered in snow, some of the outside of the impressive, almost palatial ducal residence, and others of the inside of the chateau. He then stood up and turned to face Kallisto. "I can't bring them back, I wish I could. I can adopt you, and give you a home, and look after you, and do my best to help you grow up, but I can't bring them back, and I can't replace them."

"And you won't admit you did anything wrong when you killed them." she added.

"I didn't..." Montmanuel started. He glanced at Taegert - she was right. He looked back to Kallisto. "I didn't mean to hurt anybody, I was trying to protect them... and a lot of people died, who shouldn't have died, and I wish they hadn't, and I'm so sorry they did."

"You didn't do a very good job." Kallisto said coldly.

"I know." Montmanuel replied, with Mercer looking a little incredulous.

"You didn't do a very good job because you didn't really care who got hurt in the fighting as long as they weren't stick-up-the-bum Pantocrarian aristomats." she continued.

Mercer snorted derisively as he translated Kallisto's remarks, and pointed out Kallisto's mispronounciations to Montmanuel after he had finished translating as if they were a point of amusement. Montmanuel glared at him and looked back to Kallisto.

"I did a bad job, I should have done better, much better." he told her. "I know that. I'm sorry. I can't bring them back, though, Kallisto, nobody can."

"Then you can't ever make me like you either." she said. "God might forgive you though. Maybe. If you ask real nice in a real church."

"I can't make you like me, Kallisto." Montmanuel answered. "I promise I'll try my hardest to earn you liking me though. I'll quit the army..."

At this, Mercer's eyes went wide and he looked at Montmanuel in complete surprise. He started to rave in French at Montmanuel, angrily, but Montmanuel silenced him with a glare and a hand motion. Mercer swallowed his pride and resumed translating.

"...I'll quit the army and I'll look after you full time." he promised. "And it won't just be me, there will be lots of people. I have more photographs. Won't you have a look at them, Kallisto? It's OK to look at them, it doesn't mean that you like me."

"I want you to say you're sorry." she said.

"I'm sorry." Montmanuel told her. He had said it several times already, but figured that she just needed to hear him say it in response to her demanding that he say it.

"It's not really sorry if you don't admit you did anything wrong." she explained.

"I do admit that I did things wrong, lots of things. At the time I thought they were the right thing to do, but they weren't. And I'm sorry." Montmanuel told her.

"I guess I'll look." she conceded, walking over to take a peak at the pictures.

The rooms of the chateau were beautiful. The style was baroque and rococo, with almost none of the sharply contrasting pantobyzantine seen in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator and in New Rome generally. The decoration was ornate, delicate, often very pretty, other times very impressive. The rooms and the halls were vast. There were also pictures of various members of the staff looking smart in their serving uniforms, and several of Montmanuel's mother, Jacqueline Phocas, who looked like a cheerful and energetic woman in her sixties, with only the slightest touch of imperiousness about her.

"You have a lot of servants." she noted.

"Well, it's a big house." Montmanuel answered. "This is my mother... she's looking forward to meeting you so much..."

"So it's like a plantation?" Kallisto asked.

"No, we don't grow anything." Montmanuel answered. "Montmanuel is a cattle region, mainly. There is a very small dairy farm on this property, if you keep wandering across that bridge behind those trees I showed Callimachus just before, over that hill, there's a dairy, and some paddocks."

"So you're a dairyman in peace time?" she asked.

"No, not really." Montmanuel answered, wondering how to explain it. "I'm the Duke of this place, as my father was before me, and as... well, I probably shouldn't say. There's a family of farmers who run the dairy for me. When I'm home, I used to ride or drive about my estates, or about the whole duchy... talk to people, see what's going on, help plan things with the local mayors and councils, do things with the local churches and schools... and I spend a lot of time in New Rome, too, and so would you, if you'd like to, that is."

"Are they Romanatholick Churches?" she asked.

"Roman Catholic, yes." Montmanuel said.

"Weird." Kallisto commented.

"From time to time, we would go to New Rome, if you'd like." Montmanuel resumed. "Most of the dukes and duchesses and their families go to New Rome to visit the Emperor. A lot of them stay in the palace, but because that is sometimes a little cramped, I have a house in New Rome too. I've only got one photograph of it..."

He pulled out a photo from the bottom of the pile, of an attractive, smaller mansion in the Old Quarter, whose facade was built in a synthesis gothic-pantobyzantine style.

"The Emperor of Adoki goes to New Rome?" she asked.

"No, I mean the Emperor of Pantocratoria." Montmanuel said. "He's my cousin. He has a daughter about your age, and other children too, but they're all older."

"Oh." she said disappointed. "The Emperor of Adoki is supposed to be a god or something."

"Oh... I didn't know that." Montmanuel said, a little disappointed that there wasn't much enthusiasm for New Rome. "Well... those are the photos. What do you think, Kallisto? Callimachus?"

Montmanuel bent down a little further to the toddler.

"What do you think, Radamanthos?" he asked with a grin.

"Kalli's mad." Radamanthos said.

"I know she is." Montmanuel said gently, looking up at Kallisto.

"Oh." Radamanthos replied.

Montmanuel tentatively patted Radamonthos on the head while he awaited the reply of the other two. Kallisto picked Radamanthos up and put him behind her protectively. Montmanuel looked up at her again, and rose from his position on the ground, waiting quietly for either of the elder children to say something. When they didn't, Montmanuel spoke again.

"Wouldn't it be nice to live there?" he asked, hopefully.

"Where would you live then?" Callimachus asked.

"I'd live there, with you." Montmanuel told him.

"Oh, right." Callimachus answered.

"Kallisto?" Montmanuel asked.

"You should say you're sorry to everybody, not just us." she said.

"I will, when I tender my resignation to the Emperor." Montmanuel said quietly. Mercer almost spat out the words, he was so visibly angry.

"Even if I still don't like you?" Kallisto asked.

"Ja." Montmanuel nodded.

"Will you make your friend stop spitting and staring and acting like a craphead?" she asked.

"If you tell me too, I will have him hop about the room and cluck like a chicken." Montmanuel said, glaring at Mercer, who translated the offer in blank surprise.

"Do that!" Callimachus said eagerly.

"Le Marquis-Élire de Montmanuel vous commande, Mercer!" Montmanuel told Mercer with a grin.

"But monsieur!" Mercer protested. "This is absurd!"

"I am giving you a direct order, now hop about the room and cluck like a chicken!" Montmanuel told him.

Relunctantly, Mercer started to hop about the room and cluck like a chicken, with his arms flapping like fake wings and his usually dour face bright red. Taegert brought a hand up to her mouth and suppressed a delicate laugh. The children...didn't surpress their laughs. Montmanuel was so happy to see Kallisto laugh and smile that he couldn't help but join in the jubilation himself.

"Now, children, you know what I told you about having fun at other people's expense." Taegert said reluctantly.

"Mercer!" Montmanuel said, clapping his hands once, and bringing his ADC to a stop.

"I am going to file a complaint!" Mercer swore in French to his commander.

"I'm sure it will receive the same attention as complaints filed against you, Colonel." Taegert said. "Back to the matter at hand..."

"Yes, back to the matter at hand." Montmanuel nodded.

"I think I've seen all I need to. The children should get some rest." she continued.

"Oh..." Montmanuel said, looking disappointed. He turned to the children. "Goodbye, Radamanthos... Goodbye Callimachus. Goodbye Kallisto. It was wonderful to meet you all."

"You'll hear from us soon." Taegert said, showing them out.

Beyke, Marlund

Kallisto was pouting as she waited with her brothers. All three children were standing near their filled suitcases waiting for the Duke de Montmanuel to come pick them up. Upon consideration, the Agency had approved the adoption with some reservations. The news had not yet been broken to the local community, many of whom would doubtless be rather incensed.

Ajuki, Adoki

Sarah Sacker represented a lot of firsts for the Resurgent Dream. She was the first Prime Minister elected under the new Constitution, the first African-Danaan to hold the office, the first unmarried woman to do so, the youngest Prime Minister to date, and now this was a first to her, her diplomatic trip abroad since her appointment. It was hard not to be a little nervous as the plane landed at Ajuki airport for the meeting between the Chiefs of Government of the Resurgent Dream, Adoki, Pantocratoria, and Marlund to decide upon a political exit strategy for the conflict in Marlund.

Sacker was driven in a state procession from the airport to the Kantei, the official residence and offices of the Naikaku sōri daijin (literally Prime Minister of the Cabinet but normally given as Prime Minister of Adoki in English translations). She was greeted shortly by the current holder of that office, a Hoshu Shinto (New Conservative) leader named Jakuchu Kada, an elderly man dressed in traditional Adoki garb. Kada welcomed the Prime Minister with a bow, which she returned politely. "Thank you for agreeing to host this, Mr. Kada. I think this setting will provide for the most equitable conference setting."

Not waiting for the translation, Kada replied in English "I think you might well be right. You and the others will be received by the Emperor tomorrow and then we may begin the conference in earnest."

Colonel Baiko Saioji waited at stiff attention at the airport. He was accompanied by a number of other Adoki officers in full dress uniform, all with the same intent, dutiful look. It was a look largely unique to career military men in one of the most martial and chauvinist cultures in the world and it was one which, for some reason, they loved showing the foreigners. And so thus they waited for Chancellor Drapeur of Pantocratoria and his Pantocratorian Ambaran counterpart.

Thibault Drapeur and Cecile Bucelli descended the steps from the exit hatch on the side of the passenger jet in which both had flown to Adoki from Andrium, down onto the tarmac. They each wore business suits, Drapeur with a fairly unglamorous, heavy overcoat over his - it was winter in Ambara. Bucelli was either more resilient to the cold than Drapeur or more determine to make a good impression, wearing no overcoat over her smart light grey skirt suit. Colonel Saioji approached the Pantocratorians as they disembarked, bowing politely to Drapeur and almost as deeply to Bucelli.

"Greetings and welcome to Adoki." he said in perfect French.

"Thank you." Drapeur replied, not knowing how to address the man.

"We appreciate your welcome, Monsieur le Colonel." Bucelli said, being more familiar with Adoki uniforms. "It's an honour to be here."

"Of course." he answered. "I will escort you to the Kantei now."

"Please do." nodded Drapeur with a polite smile.

The rest of the delegation from Pantocratoria and Pantocratorian Ambara followed down behind them.

The colonel walked to a series of limousines marked with small Pantocratorian and Pantocratorian Ambaran flags. He held the door for the two chiefs of government. Drapeur stepped to one side to allow Bucelli to enter the car before he did. She did so, slid across the leather seat inside, and quickly rubbed her calves to warm them up, which were almost frozen by the cold wind at the airport, while the two men couldn't see her. Drapeur then followed her in and sat down next to her. The colonel shut the door when it became apparent no other Pantocratorians would be sharing that car. The other members of the delegation were shown into other limousines. It was not long before the cars began to move.

The ride lasted about ten minutes. The cars pulled up in front of a palatial building in traditional Japanese style and the Colonel again opened the door for the Pantocratorians. This time Drapeur got out first, since he was closest to the door, and he helped Bucelli out in turn. Next to the Premier of Pantocratorian Ambara, Drapeur looked positively ancient, with his grey, thinning hair, and his heavy overcoat. The reverse was also true - next to the Imperial Chancellor, Bucelli looked like she was fresh out of university, her natural blonde hair still full of colour and her modern business suit and knee-length skirt contrasting sharply to Drapeur's unimpressive clothing.

"Thank you again, Monsieur le Colonel." Bucelli said.

The colonel nodded and showed them inside the residence. They were swiftly led into a sitting room where Kada and Sacker were already sitting. Kada, still dressed in his traditional clothing, rose and bowed to both guests. He spoke in English. "Welcome to Adoki."

"Thank you kindly, Prime Minister, it's a privilege to be here." Drapeur said to Kada, returning the bow. "May I present the Premier of Pantocratorian Amabra, Cecile Bucelli."

"An honour, Prime Minister." Bucelli said, bowing and curtseying slightly.

"Of course." he answered.

Sacker, dressed in a dark blue pantsuit, approached next, offering her hand first to Drapeur. "It's good to finally meet you, Chancellor."

Drapeur accepted her hand, not squeezing or shaking it but holding it lightly as he nodded to her politely.

"A pleasure to meet you at last as well, Prime Minister." Drapeur answered.

Sacker smiled before turning next to Bucelli, offering her her hand as well. "It is an honour, Premier."

"Likewise, Prime Minister. And may I congratulate you on taking office." Bucelli replied, accepting Sacker's hand.

"Thank you. And allow me to congratulate you as well." Sacker said. "You are the first to hold your position."

Bucelli conveyed her gratitude for the congratulations with her toothy, warm smile.

"I hope you had a nice flight." Sacker said, clearly better at small talk than her Adoki counterpart.

"Mine was a good deal shorter than the Chancellor's." said Bucelli, nodding, before looking to Drapeur. The admiration she had for the man was quite evident in her eyes to Sacker.

"Mine was rather longer, but pleasant enough." Drapeur said with a half-smile. "How was yours?"

"It went well enough. I arranged a speaking arrangement in Zwingli yesterday since I would be in Ambara anyway. So mine wasn't as long as it might have been." Sacker answered.

"Oh good." Drapeur nodded. He looked about the room.

"Pardon my ignorance, what was the speaking arrangement?" asked Bucelli.

"The University of Zutern at Zwingli." she answered. "At the invitation of the Young Progressives."

"I see. Was it a good event?" Bucelli enquired.

"We had a good turn-out. Although there was a small protest against the war. I do not know the situation in Pantocratoria but public sentiment in the Resurgent Dream has been turning slowly but steadily against our involvement since Beyke." Sacker answered.

"I can understand that." Bucelli nodded.

"It's similar in Pantocratoria. I don't think it was ever quite as strong to begin with." Drapeur said.

"Please, be seated." Kada said, returning to his own chair.

"Thank you, Prime Minister." Bucelli said. She and Drapeur both sat down in the indicated chairs.

Sacker returned to hers as well. "We're just waiting for Chancellor Tagaarth and Chancellor Sachs, I believe, and then they have dinner for us. Talks don't officially begin until tomorrow. Still...I was thinking..."

Drapeur arched his eyebrows and watched Sacker attentively.

"...that since all the foreign participants in the conflict have similar, if not identical, interests, it might be wisest to have a very brief discussion among ourselves about what we hope to get from this conference before he arrives." Kada finished the sentence for her.

"Well, I'd be most interested to hear your positions." Drapeur nodded.

"We'd like to return Marlund's internal security to being a solely Marlunder responsibility as soon as it can be arranged responsibly." Sacker said. "We're willing to step up military actions in the short term to advance the turn-over date."

"What about you, Prime Minister?" Drapeur asked, turning to Kada.

"Our position is largely the same, although, as a secondary goal, we want to get our forces moved from policing civilian areas to actively fighting organized guerrillas in the countryside to the extent that is possible." Kada said.

"May I, Chancellor?" Bucelli asked Drapeur, seeking his permission to voice her opinion. Drapeur nodded. "The Colonial Government has serious concerns about Marlund's ability to see to its own security in the short or medium term. We'd frankly be very concerned about any cutting and running from Marlund."

"We're not talking about cutting and running..." Drapeur interrupted. "We're talking about getting Marlund to a point where it doesn't need us there any more."

"With all due respect, I think that it's naïve of us to think that it will be possible for us to get Marlund to that point for years." Bucelli persisted.

"The longer we stay there, the harder it is for the Marlunders to bring about responsible self-government. The longer we remain there, the more more the Marlund Government seems to be foreign in origin. Its reliance on foreign military help undermines its credibilitiy with its own people and increases the credibility of the fundamentalists and the communists." Sacker said.

"The Marlund Government is foreign in origin." Bucelli replied. "If the foreign military presence pulls out too soon, Marlund could degenerate into a failed state and that would have all sorts of consequences for the Danaan principalities in Ambara, Adoki, Pantocratorian Ambara, and most of all, for the Marlunders themselves."

"The Commonwealth of Peoples Treaty would continue to bind us to render aid in the event of any serious military rebellion. There is not, currently, such a military threat in Marlund" Kada said. "There is a network of terrorists and rebels of a size and threat level manageable by the local government if it would only exert the political will to bring its military and police forces up to current need."

"Respectfully, a state can become a failed state without a serious military rebellion." Bucelli replied. "And it's not realistic to expect that Marlunders will suddenly be capable of a responsible, democratic government, when democracy itself is a new and alien concept. Even without significant security threats, poor administration, a lack of local expertise, and that same lack of political will could lead to massive problems with corruption and organised crime, problems which could make life just as unlivable for Marlunders."

"Those are challenges Marlunders have to face at some pint." Sacker said. "We're not looking for a colony here."

"I think you overestimate the danger." Kada said. "Also, I might point out that allied forces and aid currently have nothing whatsoever to do with the prevention of political corruption."

"Because it's not a problem right now. All the vital infrastructure which could be compromised by widescale massive corruption has been built for them by foreign experts, many of whom are also maintaining them." Bucelli answered. "Besides which, allied forces do dissuade such corruption. Organised crime won't take real root while there are such well-armed and equipped forces policing civilian areas as yours, Prime Minister."

"I think it's safe to say that the position of Pantocratorian Ambara is different from Pantocratoria's own position." Drapeur started. "Like the Resurgent Dream and Adoki, we're eager to make sure that Marlund is capable of dealing with these problems itself, and then letting Marlund do so on its own."

"Marlunders desperate for a better life won't be swimming to the Pantocratorian Archipelago." Bucelli said quietly. "They'll be pouring across the border into Amalad, Zutern, Thorlund, and Pantocratorian Ambara."

"We welcome immigration from Marlund." Sacker said. "We do not have the same zeal for our... demographic stability as Pantocratorian Ambara often displays." Sacker said tentatively.

"I resent that remark." Bucelli protested. "And I suspect the ordinary citizens of Thorlund might feel differently."

"How do you feel about immigration from Allanea, and would Kagerlund like another island?" Drapeur joked, trying to steer the conversation away from the dangerous path he felt it was treading.

"The individual citizens of Thorlund would likely resent that remark." Sacker said almost as confidently as if she believed it.

Kada interjected. "We certainly understand your concerns. Our people are made uncomfortable by the weaken... changes... in our demographic make-up as fallout from the war as well. However, with or without allied help, Marlund's condition is bound to be such as to create an outward population pressure for years if not decades to come. This holds more, not less, true if they associate foreign powers with the source of security and prosperity." Of course, the demographic changes Kada spoke of were miniscule compared to those of any other country present. Adoki was still over 99% ethnic Japanese in composition.

"The Prime Minister makes a good point." Drapeur said, more for Bucelli's benefit than anybody else's. Bucelli shifted in her seat a little, and quietly nodded.

"It is quite possible that we could negotiate more cooperation in the enforcement of immigration law on the Marlund side of the border as a condition of withdrawal." Kada suggested.

"Yes, that's a good idea." Bucelli nodded, glancing at Drapeur, hoping that he'd consider adopting it.

"Let's see what Chancellor Sachs thinks about it." Drapeur said tentatively.

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

Officer Esther Ciuenle drew in a quick breath between her teeth as he struggled to keep her pistol leveled at the menacing male Troll. She was afraid he would prove right about the effectiveness of her weapon. Still, she had her duty.

“Sir,” she said loudly and sharply, “step away from the woman and lay down on the ground, with your arms and legs spread apart. You are under arrest. I will fire, if necessary.”

As she finished speaking, the first squad car screeched to a stop and two officers stepped out. The first – the driver – drew his own automatic pistol and steadied it against the roof of the cruiser. The second officer hefted a bulky weapon that looked something like a small satellite dish on the end of a shotgun stock.

In the distance, more sirens could be heard coming closer to the cathedral.

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

Maans growled deeply at Ciuenle. He kicked General Norland in the face one last time and began charging the Excalbian police officer, his fists at the ready, braced inwardly to take the gunshots.

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

Despite her years of training, Officer Esther Ciuenle let out a single sharp, surprised scream and the huge male rushed towards her. Nevertheless, thanks to her training, she stood her ground and began firing. As she had been trained, she fired at the assailant's chest – trying to hit people in the arms or legs was the stuff of movies and far too difficult for real life. Also, as she had been trained, as long the assailant stayed on his feet she would keep firing. Either he was going down, or she would empty her clip of 20 9mm rounds.

Seeing Maans charging the woman officer, Corporal John Payne raised his bulky, odd-looking weapon and fired. The small dish at the end of the stock fired no projectile and emitted no visible beam. Yet, it was working, transmitting a focused microwave beam, which when it struck Maans would have made him feel as if skin was on fire. A normal man would drop under just a few seconds of contact with the beam.

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

Maans grunted sharply as the bullets slammed into his chest one after the other. Blood began to pour down his torso, soaking his white tunic. He was still coming for the policewoman. Then he was hit with something he'd never encountered before. His flesh felt like it was burning. Maans jerked aside with a sharp groan of pain before falling to his knees, clutching his belly. "What the hell was that thing, meatbag?"

Tasha got to her feet only a few seconds after Maans was off her. Her eyes widened as soon as she put weight on her body. She was sure she had several broken ribs, severe bruising on her legs and arms, a black eye, and possibly a broken wrist. The soldier and the officer could both see blood pouring from her mouth and nose. She staggered slightly before she started towards Maans, her still good hand resting lightly on her service revolver.

The Duke of Montmanuel, wearing civilian clothes and a pair of dark sunglasses, and Mercer, dressed similarly, disembarked the Duke's car outside the orphanage and quickly entered the building, not wanting to draw too much attention to themselves. Once inside, Montmanuel took off his sunglasses and smiled at the sight of the children waiting for him with their suitcases. He waved to them as they passed through the security gate. The boys waved back tentatively. Kallisto gave him the middle finger.

"Not very ladylike." Mercer muttered disapprovingly in French to Montmanuel.

"Frau Taegert," Montmanuel said as he approached the group, nodding politely to the woman. "I'd like to thank you again for all your help. I can't thank you enough."

"I was just doing my job." she said, still a little reserved about all of this.

"Well thank you for doing a great job." Montmanuel continued. He looked at the kids again and switched to rehearsed German. "Hallo!"

"Hi!" Callimachus exclaimed in return.

"Are you ready to go?" Montmanuel asked, kneeling down by their suitcases.

"No." Kallisto answered. The boys just frowned and looked at her.

Montmanuel sighed and asked Mercer to translate what he was about to say for Kallisto's benefit, since he had fast reached the end of his German vocabulary.

"What do you have left to do before you're ready, Kallisto?" Montmanuel asked through Mercer.

"Nothing in particular." Kallisto answered.

"So you're ready then?" Montmanuel enquired via his unenthusiastic translator.

"No." she repeated.

"Why not, sweetheart?" Montmanuel enquired.

"I don't want to go." she answered.

"Won't you give it a chance? Your brothers are ready." Montmanuel asked hopefully, although the hope was lost in Mercer's translation.

Kallisto sighed and picked up her bags. She started for the car without another word. The boys followed, Callimachus carrying his own bag as well. Montmanuel picked up Radamanthos' bag and offered the little boy his hand. The boy shied away from the hand, moving to take his sister's instead.

"Thank you so much again, Frau Taegert." Montmanuel said happily in French to the woman as he followed the children out.

Taegert nodded somewhat. "Good luck."

The children climbed into the waiting car. Kallisto looked out the window sullenly. The boys got down on the floor, exploring the inside of the car with wide eyes. The car was a large, luxury model with black leather seats facing each other in the passenger cabin, so that four adult men could more than comfortably sit in the back, two sitting facing backwards, two sitting facing forwards. There was a small refrigerator on one side, and a television in the ceiling with a small LCD screen facing both sets of passenger seats. The windows were tinted so that the people inside couldn't be observed, although they had a clear view outside. The driver was wearing a Pantocratorian military uniform, although he didn't look like he was a real soldier. Mercer loaded the luggage in the boot, and then he and the Duke got in the back with the children, with Montmanuel sitting down next to Kallisto and Mercer sitting across from him. There was plenty of space for the boys to sit wherever they liked when they were done exploring.

Callimachus moved over to the television, examining it carefully. "How's this work?"

"The controls are in this console between the seats." Mercer answered, indicating to an array of buttons.

"What did he ask?" Montmanuel asked in French, unable to follow the conversation.

"Just how to work the television, monsieur." replied Mercer with a shrug.

"Translate everything, if you please Mercer." Montmanuel frowned.

Callimachus moved over to the console and began pressing buttons at random. The television turned on and started to flicker through stations at random. Montmanuel leaned closer to Callimachus and indicated to the numbers.

"These are the channel buttons." Montmanuel explained, Mercer translating. "These buttons here control volume, up and down... mute... this button turns off the screen facing us but leaves the one facing Mercer on... unless he presses the same button on his console."

Callimachus nodded a little, beginning to systematically move through the channels.

"Hey! They talk funny. Like you." Callimachus exclaimed as he left the television on Constantine Street.

"You'll learn to talk funny like them too." Montmanuel smiled. He looked to Kallisto. "And you too, Kallisto."

"Change the channel, Call." Kallisto instructed her little brother.

The car's engine started and it began to move off from the orphanage. Montmanuel picked Radamanthos off from the floor.

"Seatbelts, everybody!" Montmanuel instructed.

He produced a child seat from underneath his own seat and soon secured Radamanthos in it, since he was too small for the seat belts to have any effect without the child seat. The other two put their seatbelts on as well. Callimachus changed the channel as his sister asked, eventually settling on a show called Globe Street where children from the various ethnic and religious groups of Ambara, accompanied by animal and monster puppets, learned about one another's culture and beliefs.

"Herr Markgraf von Montmanuel." Montmanuel said to Callimachus. He then continued in French. "That's your title, in German, Callimachus. You're now the Marquis de Montmanuel."

"What's Kalli?" he asked.

"Mademoiselle de Montmanuel." Montmanuel said, looking to Kallisto. "You're a noble lady now, Kallisto. Can I call you Kalli, like Callimachus does?"

"No." she said. "And I don't want to be a noble lady."

"Oh... I... well, let's see how it goes, shall we?" Montmanuel replied, a little surprised. "What do you want to be?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, you don't want people to call you Mademoiselle de Montmanuel and treat you like a noble lady, correct?" Montmanuel enquired. "What would you prefer them to do?"

"Ummm...they could call me Frauline Miller." she suggested.

"So I'm like him?" Callimachus interrupted, pointing to the Marquis of Make Believe, an aristocratic looking orange puppet on the show.

"Ummm... what's he?" Montmanuel asked, squinting a little at the television.

"He's the Marquis of Make Believe." Callimachus stated.

"And what does he do?" Montmanuel enquired.

"He talks to Mr. Caron." Callimachus said.

"Oh. And what does Mr Caron do?" Montmanuel asked.

"He talks to the Marquis." Callimachus said. "He has a flower shop too. The Marquis of Make Believe is in the back room."

"Oh. Well, you'd be a marquis. But you'd be a real one, not a make believe one. And you wouldn't be quite so... orange." Montmanuel grinned.

"Can I stay in the back of a flower store?" Callimachus asked. "I like flowers."

"No... you'll have to live in a home with the rest of us, I'm afraid." Montmanuel said, finding it a bit odd.

Kallisto was still staring out the window.

"What are you looking at, Kallisto?" Montmanuel asked, letting Callimachus watch in peace for a little bit.

"Nothing." she answered.

"I've organised a French immersion course for you and Callimachus..." Montmanuel began gently.

"Do I have to become Catholic?" she asked.

"Only if you want to, don't worry about that for now..." Montmanuel told her. "The French immersion course will be starting soon, that's why I'm bringing it up..."

"Oh." she said. "Ok, I guess."

"I know things are going to happen quickly, and there will be big changes, and they'll be hard... but I'm going to try to make it as easy as I can..." Montmanuel said. "I sent the Emperor a letter this morning asking him to recall me from Marlund. Then I'll be able to retire and make that public apology."

"What else is going to happen?" she asked.

"Well, in a few weeks, when the Emperor does recall me, we'll be leaving Marlund for Pantocratoria. We'll go to Montmanuel for a little while." the Duke explained. "The Emperor will want me to visit New Rome, and I want you to be ready for that, so there might be a lot to learn in not very much time while we're in Montmanuel. After that visit, though, things will settle down and we'll be able to move at whatever pace you're comfortable with, you and the boys."

"Wait...we're supposed to meet the Emperor?" Kallisto said, blinking once.

"Yes, but don't worry!" Montmanuel told her. "You'll be fine, I'll tell you everything you need to know."

"Don't worry, Kalli!" Callimachus said. "It isn't the Emperor of Adoki or anything!"

"Yes, he's my cousin, he's very civilised, if a little grumpy, nothing to be worried about." Montmanuel nodded.

"Our old preacher said the Emperor of Adoki was a demon from Hell." Callimachus said. "Frau Taegert said that wasn't true though. She said Emperors were men, just very important men."

"She's right, and the Emperor of Pantocratoria isn't a demon either." Montmanuel nodded. He gauged Kallisto's feelings. "Don't worry, Kallisto..."

Kallisto continued to look out the window, stonily silent for the moment.

"Is the Pope really a demon?" Callimachus asked.

"Well, I've never met him, but no, I don't think he is." Montmanuel told the little boy. "Did your old preacher say that too?"

"Yeah." he said.

"Forget everything that old preacher said. He was trying to scare you..." Montmanuel told the boy, putting his hand on his.

Kallisto suddenly burst out into tears, burying her face in her hands. Montmanuel turned in alarm and tentatively put his arm around Kallisto's shoulders, although he was prepared to withdraw it at a moment's notice if she didn't want to be touched.

"Oh Kallisto! I'm sorry, I know this is hard... what's wrong, honey?" Montmanuel asked.

Kallisto buried her head in his chest, sobbing and pressing deeply into her new father. She lightly pounded him with a small dark fist as she muttered "I hate you. I hate you."

"I'm sorry Kallisto!" Montmanuel told her apologetically, now hugging her more supportively and letting her flail at his chest ineffectually with her fist. "It's OK... let it all out..."

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

When the male troll dropped to his knees Officer Ciuenle ceased firing, but kept her gun trained on him. She quickly tried to count the shots she had fired and calculated that she might have only ten or twelve rounds left.

Corporal Payne took a cautious step towards Maans; a normal human would have been unconscious by now and it disturbed him that the troll was still conscious and talking.

“On the ground, hands and feet spread apart,” Payne shouted in reply to Maans, “or I’ll hit you with it again!”

Meanwhile, the third officer on the scene, Patrolman Tim Ingram, circled around behind Maans towards the female troll in the Imperial Marine uniform. Though she was obviously injured and in pain, she was advancing towards the male troll.

“Ma’am,” Ingram said, “let me get you to safety and get you some medical attention.”

As Ingram spoke, a second police cruiser arrived. The sergeant inside took in the scene through the window and picked up his transmitter. “Supervisor two-five to dispatch. We’re going to need special containment and medical assistance,” he turned and glanced down the street to massive bulk of the Ministry of Defence, “you’d better call the Army.”

Kallisto was lying on her bed in the penthouse where she and the others were staying, waiting to move to Pantocratoria. She was flipping through one of her readers. She was dressed casually, in a pair of jeans and a Diantha Palamas t-shirt. There was a knock on Kallisto's door.

"Come in!" she called.

Montmanuel entered.

"You have to try to speak in French, even out of class, Kallisto." Montmanuel told her gently, in French. Kallisto and Callimachus had been doing French immersion classes during the day for the past few weeks. By the time they moved to Pantocratoria, they would each have reasonable conversational French, and a few months after that they'd be speaking nearly natively.

"It's such an ugly language though." she said in French, as casually as she could, even though she was consciously trying to hurt his feelings.

"You just need to get used to it." Montmanuel replied. He sat down next to her on the bed. "How are you finding class?"

"I hate it. I never know what's going on." she said.

"But you're learning to speak French very quickly." Montmanuel said. "Just a few days ago I still couldn't talk to you without Mercer."

"Mercer is a jerk." Kallisto pointed out matter-of-factly, still looking at her reader.

"It's good that you're reading French, too." Montmanuel said, nodding at the book.

"This book is written for little kids." Kallisto said.

"You'll be able to read more complicated things soon." Montmanuel told her. "It won't be long before we go to Pantocratoria."

"Can I wear this shirt there?" Kallisto asked.

"Yes." Montmanuel answered.

"I think it's a cool shirt." she said, turning so he could see. The shirt was white with a picture of Diantha Palamas out on the ice at her 2006 Olympic performance on the front. Montmanuel smiled and nodded although he didn't really see the appeal.

"We'll have to get you fitted for some dresses to wear at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator as well." Montmanuel said.

"Dresses?" she asked.

"Yes. Dresses. Kleider." Montmanuel clarified.

Kallisto sat up now, putting the reader aside and pulling her feet up under her. She wrapped her arms around her knees. "I always wanted to have a bunch of dresses. Purple and pink and red dresses."

"Well, now you can." Montmanuel smiled. "I think you'd look very pretty in a pink court dress. You can't have any purple ones though, it is the law."

"They have a law about dress colors?" Kallisto asked.

"Just purple. Purple is the Emperor's colour. He and his children can wear it, but nobody else can. It's an old law, you know, a tradition." Montmanuel explained. "You could have a light violet dress, though. We could get some pictures of court dresses and you could pick some of the ones you liked the best, and we'll tell the dressmaker to make you them."

Kallisto giggled slightly. "It's kind of a silly law, though. Are there any other laws like that?"

"There are some, yes." Montmanuel nodded. "Well, there are lots of silly rules at court, not too many silly laws."

"Tell me about them." she probed curiously.

"As you wish." Montmanuel smiled, obviously happy that Kallisto seemed to be cheering up and getting more enthusiastic about this whole process. "If the Emperor is standing, nobody else can be sitting down. Almost nobody can sit down in the Emperor's presence except at dinner, in fact. One cannot engage in conversation with one's staff in the presence of another person of quality, one can merely issue instructions. What else..."

"What about at the...cinema?" Kallisto asked.

"Oh, at theatres and opera houses, and I suppose cinemas as well, it is permissable to remain seated during the performance, and afterwards, although one must stand up before the performance when the Emperor first enters his box." Montmanuel answered. "Here's somethng odd... for the first time somebody addresses Callimachus in a conversation, he will have to call him Monseigneur le Marquis. Afterwards, they must not call him monseigneur again, to do so would be most impolite, they must call him monsieur. But to call him monsieur the first time would be insufferably impolite as well."

"I don't think Callimachus will know he's supposed to get mad about being called mansignal or not." Kallisto stated.

"Monseigneur." Montmanuel corrected gently.

"Monseigneur." she said. "I don't think he'll know to get mad about it."

"Good, because it is impolite to raise one's voice in anger at court." the Duke said. "There are lots of silly rules. There are whole books about them."

"Are there duels?" Kallisto asked.

"No, duels are against the law." Montmanuel told her.

"Does the Emperor have a sword?" she asked.

"Lots, I imagine, but he doesn't use them. If you see him with one, it is just for decoration." Montmanuel told her. "Even my sword is for decoration."

"So you don't know how to use it?" she asked.

"I know how to use it, but I don't use it." Montmanuel answered.

"Can I have a sword?" she asked.

"Why do you want a sword?" Montmanuel asked.

"You have one." she pointed out.

"Yes, but that's just part of the uniform." Montmanuel told her. "Maybe you can have a sword when you're older, though, if you still want one."

"Do a lot of girls have swords?" she asked.

"I don't think so, no." Montmanuel answered.

Kallisto nodded. "Oh."

"But not a lot of boys have pink and red and violet dresses, so it evens out." Montmanuel smiled. He looked at his watch. "Dinner will be ready soon. Let's go downstairs and get the boys."

"Ok." she said, hopping up off the bed.

"I'm glad you seem happier, Kallisto." Montmanuel said gently on their way out of the room, not wanting to make too big a deal of it in case she reacted to it by acting miserable again.

"I...I'm..." She frowned, looking down at the floor. Her entire manner indicated that she seemed to feel she'd been caught doing something wrong. And hadn't she? This was her father's murderer! It was her duty to hate him and to be miserable!

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." Montmanuel cringed, knowing that he had been stupid saying anything, even though he really was glad she seemed happier. He told himself not to say something like that again, knowing it would only prove to be a set back. "Let's go check on the boys."

"Alright." she said sullenly, moving to follow him still.

Sarah ni Beaumayn, the oldest daughter of the Prince and Princess of Selinia and the Danaan Ambassador to Pantocratoria, sat quietly as she waited to be admitted to the Emperor's presence. Her face was somewhat downcast but her demeanor was calm. Her milky hands were folded gently in her lap.

"His Majesty will see you now." she was advised by the same page who admitted her last time she went to see the Emperor. The page opened the door into the Sun King Room for Sarah.

Sarah rose and stepped inside, making due courtesy to the Emperor. "Your Majesty, thank you for seeing me."

"Not at all, Your Highness." the Emperor replied, rising from behind his desk and strolling around and in front of it to the lounge suite. He motioned for Sarah to be seated across from him.

Sarah sat when invited, smiling slightly. "I hope you've been well, Your Majesty."

"I have been. I trust you have enjoyed good health as well, mademoiselle?" the Emperor asked as he sat down.

"I cannot complain." Sarah replied.

"Good." the Emperor nodded. "Now, what is that you wished to speak to me about?"

"Well..." Sarah began tentatively. "..I've received word from my Government that I'm being withdrawn without prejudice from my current position here."

"Oh?" the Emperor frowned, surprised. "That's very unexpected, and most unfortunate. Was there any explanation?"

"Well... there were a variety given, Your Majesty. Among other things, I am at an age where it would be normal for me to begin searching for a husband." Sarah answered. "And Your Majesty will understand that Pantocratoria is a difficult place for me to find someone who would be... compatible."

The Emperor snorted his displeasure by a way of a response, his brow remaining distinctly furrowed.

Sarah arched one brow prominently. "Your Majesty?"

"Well," he began, his tone gradually transitioning from being grumpy to fondness. "I can understand that... although we shall all miss you very much. I imagine Dr Drapeur will want to see you before you leave, I can't imagine he doesn't feel the same way."

"Well, there is nothing preventing me from visiting the Court here from time to time, Your Majesty." Sarah said with a small smile. "It is a rather short trip, all things considered."

"Well, make sure you do." the Emperor nodded, almost approximating a smile successfully. "We shall miss you very much, and wish you every luck in your future life."

The Emperor rose and held out his hand. Sarah took it with a somewhat gushy smile. She held her hand palm down, very lightly. The Emperor kissed her hand, his lips stopping a fraction of an inch above her skin, in the Danaan fashion.

"Aurevoir, Your Highness." he said.

Aboard Excalbia Two, En Route to Ajuki, Adoki

Lord Yornis Halton closed the folder on his lap and rubbed his eyes. With a heavy sigh he turned and looked out the window. He frowned at the reflection in the window – that of an old man looking uncomfortable in a dark suit and red “power” tie. The new Imperial Chancellor of Excalbia shook his head. He had worn a uniform for decades and had never found it uncomfortable – whether it was a stiff drop-and-fall collar, a modern collar and tie or open-necked fatigues. Yet, he could not stand the suit. He fingered the tie. He especially despised the bright red tie that his advisors had picked out. “It’ll make you look authoritative and take-charge,” they had said. As if, he thought harshly, they knew anything about authority.

“My Lord,” a high male voice said from the across the compartment.

Lord Yornis looked over at Sterling Wentworth, the new Liberal Party Minister of Defence, and nodded. The chancellor thought to himself that the bespectacled man seemed too small, too unassuming and too skittish to be Minister of Defence. Yet, Lord Yornis thought, political necessity had thrust Wentworth into that position, just as it had him chancellor.

Wentworth tried to read the chancellor’s face. He could tell Lord Yornis was not happy, but whether it had anything to do with him or was simply general grumpiness, he could not say. He had never spent much time with Lord Yornis and this trip had had more than its share of uncomfortable moments.

Making it worse for Wentworth was the overwhelming sense that he did not belong here. He had never aspired to leadership, but with the death of Davis Robb, Lady Jessica’s resignation and Jamie Yoth’s sudden withdrawal from the party’s leadership had left him the senior member of the Liberal Party. With the Progressive Conservatives holding the chancellorship in the new national unity government and the Christian Union keeping the Ministry of State, the Liberals had to take the Ministry of Defence to maintain their position. So, Wentworth, the former school teacher, union leader and Minister of Education had found himself heading the Ministry of Defence.

“Yes, Wentworth, out with it,” Lord Yornis said impatiently.

“Sorry, my Lord,” Wentworth muttered, “but I was just reviewing the troop deployments in Marlund and the projects for rotations out of Upper Virginia…”

Lord Yornis shook his head. “This isn’t a quiz, Wentworth; it’s a political negotiation and strategy session… don’t lose sight of the big picture by focusing on details.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Just then, a young crewman entered the compartment. “My Lord, Excellency, we are on final approach to Ajuki.”

“Thank you,” the chancellor said.

Ajuki, Adoki

Colonel Daisetsu Baba waited at rigid attention with his men. When the Excalbians landed, he approached and bowed, first to the Chancellor and then to each of the other Excalbians in turn. "Welcome to Adoki, honorable sirs. If you'll come with me..."

Baba walked the Excalbians stiffly to several waiting limousines. His bearing was martial and yet different somehow than that of most modern officers might have been, as though it were from a different age. Even though Baba was merely walking across the tarmac, something about him seemed to cry out that he was not the sort of man who believed in retreat or surrender or...for that matter...mercy.

The car ride was not too long and the Excalbians were escorted in to meet the others. Kada was the first to approach Halton, bowing in the local manner. "It is an honor to meet you, Chancellor. Congratulations on your recent appointment."

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

"Yes, officer. I think I might. Would you mind if I called my husband first?" Tasha said, slowly collecting her wits after the rather drastic recent events.

Maans meanwhile was complying with the police officer's instructions. He lowered himself to the ground and spread his hands and feet apart. He gritted his teeth at the humilitiation of being treated like a criminal by these...creatures...

Ajuki, Adoki

Lord Yornis Halton greeted the colonel with crisp nod. “Thank you, Colonel,” the Chancellor said as he fell into step behind the colonel. Lord Yornis, a career military man himself, could tell that the colonel was a front-line officer and one who still conceived of himself as warrior.

Sterling Wentworth, who followed a step or two behind the Chancellor, simply took Colonel Baba as arrogant in the way many career military officers seemed to think themselves aloof and superior from mere civilians. However, since becoming Minister of Defence Wentworth had started to appreciate that a measure of aloofness and arrogance was necessary to maintain the chain of command and discipline. At least that was how Lord Admiral Kunle had explained to him and the Lord Admiral’s explanation had made sense.

Following behind the Minister were Major General Albert Karlsson, commander of the 80th Light Armour Division, and Ambassador Shannon Hunt, both of whom had joined them during a quick stop in Lutherstadt. The entire delegation took their places in the motorcade and settled in for the trip to meet the Prime Minster.

After arriving at the Prime Minister’s residence, Lord Yornis and the other Excalbians followed the Colonel into the sitting room where the others were waiting.

The Chancellor recognized Dr. Drapuer from Pantocratoria and gave a slight nod in his direction. He turned as the elder Adoki Prime Minister approached. His briefing papers had included file photos of Jakuchu Kada, as well as Sarah Sacker and Cecile Bucelli, so he could identify them as well.

He returned Kada’s greeting in kind, bowing somewhat more deeply than would be common in Excalbia, but no more deeply that Kada had bowed. Ambassador Hunt, MAJGEN Karlsson and Minister Wentworth all bowed, as the Ambassador had advised, a bit more deeply than the Chancellor had.

“Thank you, your Excellency,” Lord Yornis said. “And thank you for your invitation. It is and honour to be here.” The Chancellor turned slightly to his advisors. “May I present Sterling Wentworth, His Imperial Majesty’s Minister of Defence, Ambassador Shannon Hunt, His Imperial Majesty’s Ambassador to Marlund, and Major General Albert Karlsson, our commander in Marlund.”

Lord Yornis noticed that none of the other leaders seemed to have advisors in the room. “They have come to offer their advice; of course, they may be excused from… executive meetings.”

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

Patrolman Tim Ingram nodded. “Of course, Ma’am; as soon as we get back to my vehicle you can call. Then I’d like to get you in ambulance.” The officer took Tasha arm gently and began trying to steer her towards his car. “I see you are Marine general, Ma’am; would you prefer going to the Army Hospital, rather than a civilian hospital?”

Corporal John Payne, still holding the portable microwave beam, and Officer Esther Ciuenle, clicking a fresh clip into her automatic pistol, cautiously advanced towards Maans. Neither had any idea of how they could secure the male troll. “Stay down and stay still,” Payne managed to say, sound more in control than he felt.

Fortunately, within a few minutes a large green military truck rumbled around the corner and jolted to a stop beside the police cars. The sergeant on the scene stepped out of his car and approached the truck. “Sergeant Dave Meers,” he said to the military officer exiting the truck.

“Lieutenant Stan Biffle,” the soldier said with a nod. “We hear you have a metahuman to detain…”

The sergeant nodded. He looked over his shoulder towards Tasha, then to Maans. “He seems to be the same species as the Marine officer…”

Lieutenant Biffle followed policeman’s gaze. “Brigadier Tasha Norland,” he said to the sergeant in a low voice, “she’s a troll; an immigrant from the Resurgent Dream. Rumours are that she’s on her way straight up.” Biffle rubbed his chin. “This could be political; we’ll have to inform CID and MilIntel…”

Meers nodded. “That’s fine; I’m happy to turn this over to you, Lieutenant.”

Biffle nodded slightly and turned towards the truck. “We’ll need the Cocoon…”

Carefully a team of soldier removed something that looked like a rolled up volleyball net. They approached Maans and dropped it at his feet. Then with several soldiers on each side – out of reach of his arms – they pulled the net, which was made of the same carbon alloy used in Excalbia’s naval ships and military aircraft, over Maans. When it was in place, they ordered him to roll to his right. Several more soldiers stood ready with carbon alloy bands, ready to secure the net in place.

Ajuki, Adoki

Kada smiled slightly and then gave smaller bows to Karlsson and Wentworth. "It is good that you were all able to come. After the Chancellor of Marlund arrives, we shall be able to partake of our evening meal and then retire so as to begin official meetings in the morning."

Sacker approached Halton next, extending her hand. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lord Halton. Excalbia was in all of our prayers during the course of recent events."

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

"The military hospital." Tasha answered the man. "I require a specialist for my medical attention here." With a somewhat reluctant glance at Maans, she started to follow Patrolman Ingram to his vehicle.

Maans remained still until given instructions. He complied with the soldier's request that he roll over and allowed them to restrain him in the special containment mechanism. He made some sort of mumbled complaint that couldn't be heard clearly through the alloy.

Ajuki, Adoki

“Very good, your Excellency,” Lord Yornis said. “I think it will help the meetings go more smoothly if we have the chance to get to know each other over a meal.”

The Chancellor turned as Sarah Sacker approached. He bowed slightly, in the Excalbian fashion, and nodded. “Your Excellency,” he said, “thank you. It is a pleasure to meet you as well. I trust that all is well in the High Kingdom.”

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

Patrolman Ingram nodded to Tasha and escorted her to his cruiser. He retrieved a mobile phone from inside and offered it to her. “I know you wanted to call your husband, Ma’am.” As he handed the phone to her, he turned his head towards the sound of another siren. This one had a different tone than the others, more of a high-low sound than the wail of the police cars. “The ambulance will be here soon; I’ll let them know they should take you to the Imperial Army Hospital.”

The officer turned aside to give her a moment of privacy on the phone.

A few moments later, a large ambulance – one typically used for multiple casualties and urban rescue – pulled into view. With a glance and a nod towards Tasha Ingram excused himself and walked towards the large red and white vehicle. He returned in short order with two paramedics and their equipment.

“Ma’am?” The senior paramedic interrupted. “Are you able to walk?”

Meanwhile, the soldiers had finished securing Maans and the entire squad positioned themselves and hoisted him onto their shoulders. Slowly and cautiously they carried him to their truck and loaded him into the back.

Once he was in the truck, LT Biffle approached Sergeant Meers. “We’ll take him to the high-security stockade at the Naval Airstation; we’ll notify the magistrates, but I suspect you’ll want to note it in your own report.”

Meers nodded. “I hope they don’t try to bring him in for a hearing; it’d be better for the magistrate to go out there…”

Biffle glanced towards the truck. “I’d agree with that. But they’ll decide that above our paygrades.”

“True.” Meers offered his hand. “Thanks for the assist, Lieutenant.”

“Anytime, Sergeant.”

Ajuki, Adoki

It was actually something of an awkward half-second for Sacker. She lowered her hand as non-chalantly as possible, clasped her hands behind her back, and returned the Excalbian's small bow. It was only a half-second. "Things are well. It is still a difficult time for us. I believe that we're only now realizing the full impact of the Shattering and what it means for our nation and our people."

Sacker then greeted the other members of the Excalbian delegation in turn. She said a few words to each of them and gave the same small Excalbian bow. She smiled slightly and somewhat reassuringly at Ambassador Hunt whom Kada had not even acknowledged. In Adoki, at least, diplomacy seemed to depend in large part upon an ability to put ignore small indignaties, even if the Adoki themselves were severely offended by even smaller ones. Sacker tried to suppress a smirk as she remembered a few months back, when, to the amusement of the Danaan press, the Adoki had gotten worked up over the fact that Prince Andreus of Pantocratoria had directly kissed the skin of the hand of their princess.

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

Tasha dialed home immediately, hoping Tucker would be there and pick up. She closed her eyes slightly. Even though she was trying not to show it, her entire body ached. Maans had given her a beating like she'd never had before. She hadn't hurt this bad since the Shattering.

Ajuki, Adoki

Too late Lord Yornis noticed the flicker of discomfort on Prime Minister Sacker’s face. At that moment he realized she had meant to shake hands or, perhaps, offer her hand for a kiss – he recalled reading something about the Danaans practicing that custom similar to the Pantocratorians. Of course, neither the Excalbian aristocracy nor the military did either in formal settings – bows with the feet placed stiffly together were generally accepted in cases where a military salute was not appropriate. The Chancellor felt bad for his mistake, but realized there was no way to recover without further embarrassing the Prime Minister, so he simply folded his hands behind his back and listened intently as she spoke.

He nodded. “While I don’t think we have ever had to endure anything quite as traumatic as the Shattering, your Excellency, but I do agree the long-term impact of significant events can take years or decades to manifest themselves. It is quite a task that is before you, but I must say that all of us in the Holy Empire admire the way the High Kingdom has responded to the Shattering.”

Lord Yornis turned to the side to let Sacker greet the rest of the delegation. Ambassador Hunt, in particular, responded with a warm smile to the Prime Minister’s greeting. “A pleasure to meet you, your Excellency,” she said. “And congratulations on your appointment as Prime Minister.”

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

VADM Tucker Norland was in the kitchen preparing dinner – a Mediterranean-style chicken and couscous dishes – when the phone rang. He picked it up on the third ring, wiping his hands on a dishtowel as he squeezed the phone between his ear and his shoulder.

“Hello?”

Ajuki, Adoki

"Thank you, Your Excellency." Sacker answered. "It is a pleasure to meet you as well. I'm glad you could get away from Lutherstadt to attend. Adoki is a lovely country."

There are generally two stereotypes of Germanic peoples: The blond warrior out to conquer the world for good or ill and the fat and jolly lover of beer and sausages seen in shorts and knee socks every October. To all external appearances, Terenz Sachs looked more like the second stereotype than the first. He was overweight man with a round, boyish face, spectacles, and dirty blond hair that was just going gray. He looked like a very soft man, although everyone present likely knew that he had been tortured and imprisoned by the old regime and had not broken, that he had been the leader of an outnumbered and outgunned underground organization for years. Still...looking at him, it was hard to believe.

When Sachs arrived, he brought with him his wife, Andrea. She was a blond woman with an average build and a girlish face who must have been a few years younger than Sachs himself. Kada approached the Marlund Chancellor and bowed to him in the Adoki fashion. "It's an honor you could make it, Herr Kanzler."

"Thank you, Prime Minister." he answered with a broad smile, bowing slightly although in an unabashedly Western fashion. "May I present my wife, Andrea Sachs?"

Kada looked slightly flustered for a moment before looking to the woman in acknowledgment. "Frau Sachs."

Andrea made due courtesy, smiling politely. "It's lovely to be a guest in your home, Prime Minister."

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

"Tucker, it is I." Tasha said. "I am going to the hospital for injuries. There was an incident on the way home from work." Although her phrasing was still strangely formal and her voice rarely showed what others would recognize as emotion, long familiarity let Tucker hear his wife's worry and love.

Ajuki, Adoki

“Yes, your Excellency,” Ambassador Hunt said to Prime Minister Sacker with a smile, “I’m sure Adoki is quite lovely; hopefully we’ll have an opportunity to see some of it.”

Lord Yornis and other Excalbians quietly stepped out of the entry way, moving further into the room, as the Marlund delegation arrived. As Prime Minister Kada greeted the Marlund chancellor, Ambassador Hunt leaned over to Lord Yornis and whispered, “Chancellor Sachs is not nearly as soft as he looks, my Lord.”

The Excalbian Chancellor nodded, then approached Chancellor Sachs. “Your Excellency,” he said with a slight bow, “a pleasure to meet you.”

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

“Tasha,” Tucker said starting to smile, “where…” His voice trailed off and his smile faded as he noticed his wife’s laboured breathing and the slight tremble in her voice. As she told him she was going to the hospital, he could hear the worry in her voice and his heart sank.

“How badly are you hurt? Are they taking you to the Army Hospital? I’ll call Dr. Schlamme and meet you there. I love you, Tasha.” As he listened to Tasha’s response, he quickly tossed the dishtowel on the counter and pulled the number for the Army’s leading expert on Fae physiology off the bulletin board next to the phone.

As soon as Tasha finished, Tucker said, as reassuringly as he could, “It’ll be alright; I’ll be there soon.” He ended the call and immediately began dialing Dr. Schlamme with his right hand as he turned off the stove with his left.

Ajuki, Adoki

Sachs returned the bow. "The honor is mine, Chancellor. Ambara really is amazing, isn't it? Just looking at all the paper houses and garden shrines, it'd be hard to believe this is on the same continent as Lutherstadt or Andrium."

"I think it's lovely!" Andrea exclaimed. "Everything is so carefully arranged."

Sachs smiled in faint bemusement at his wife's words. "This is my wife, Andrea. Andrea, Lord Yornis, the Chancellor of Excalbia."

"Charmed." Andrea said, extending her hand to Yornis, palm down, much more flamboyant than the manner in which Sacker had offerred her hand.

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

"I am not that badly hurt." Tasha insisted. "The doctors are insisting I receive medical attention, however." She paused a moment, just listening to him. "You know you are my whole world, Tucker. I will see you soon."

Ajuki, Adoki

Drapeur exchanged the appropriate greetings with each new dignatory, although he wished things would move along, he was already very tired after the plane trip and increasingly found these days that standing (or sitting) on ceremony irritated him. His daughter had teased him that it was probably a sign of old age the last time she had visited for dinner. His colonial colleague from Pantocratorian Ambara was a good deal more enthusiastic, seeming to enjoy her first real diplomatic engagement.

"What a relief that we're all here at last!" Drapeur observed, managing to conceal his agitation, hoping that somebody would take his hint and move things along.

Ajuki, Adoki

Lord Yornis bowed to Andrea Sachs as her husband introduced him. When she extended her hand, remembering his earlier mistake, he made sure to take it in his hand and lean forward to kiss it. A sudden cough from Ambassador Hunt reminded him to kiss the air above the offered hand, rather than the hand itself. “A pleasure,” he said in something between a mutter and a conversational tone.

He straightened as Dr. Drapeur approached. The Excalbian Chancellor bowed slightly and nodded to his Pantocratorian counterpart. He sensed Drapeur’s impatience and flashed him a sympathetic look. As a military man, Lord Yornis had never had much patience for political niceties; he had always been far more interested in results than protocol. Perhaps, he hoped Drapeur, at least, would take a similar view during these talks.

As the principals introduced themselves, General Karlsson and Minister Wentworth stood in the background, trying to make themselves inconspicuous as they suddenly seemed to somewhat out of place. Ambassador Hunt, however, was clearly in her element, smiling and greeting the heads of government and making suitable small talk.

"What a relief that we're all here at last!" Drapeur said.

“Indeed,” Lord Yornis said a tad too quickly, “if we are all here, perhaps we should get started,” he turned to Prime Minister Kada, “your Excellency…”

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

After Tasha hung up, Patrolmen Ingram took the phone and returned it to the car. He looked up at Tasha. “These paramedics will take to the ambulance and on to the hospital, Ma’am.”

The senior paramedic took Tasha by the arm and escorted her to the waiting ambulance. Inside, the ambulance, while not spacious, was larger than usual. The paramedics lashed the two stretchers in the ambulance bay together in an effort to give her a comfortable place to lay down.

As the driver climbed into the cab and eased the vehicle forward, the senior paramedic, riding in the back with Tasha, began trying to take her vital signs. “Where does it hurt, Ma’am,” he asked.

Meanwhile, the Army vehicle with Maans was on its way towards the Imperial Naval Air Station with a police escort.

Ajuki, Adoki

"Yes, of course. Dinner has been prepared in the American Dining Room which was set up for the comfort of foreign diplomats centuries ago." He rose and escorted his guests to a large, 19th century, Western style dining room with a finely carved wooden table and high-backed wooden chairs. Once everyone was seated, Kada rang a small, silver bell and a number of Adoki women in their early twenties began to serve the meal itself. Drinks were first, followed by the soup, which was tonjiro.

Sacker smiled slightly as the food was served. "Thank you for your hospitality, Prime Minister."

Sachs nodded, although he seemed somewhat hesitant to begin in on his soup and Andrea Sachs looked downright scared of it. Finally, the Marlund Chancellor gave his wife a meaningful look and then began to dine himself.

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

Tasha's vital signs were normal. The two stretchers lashed together were hardly comfortable. She had a metal bar jabbing sharply into her back the whole way. She wanted to just sit up but resisted the urge to do so. They were trying to be as considerate of her special needs as they could. "It aches some all over." she answered.

Ajuki, Adoki

Lord Yornis Halton led the Excalbian delegation into the dining room. He took his seat and quietly absorbed the actions and reactions of Prime Minister Kada and his guests. It had long been his habit to talk little and observe much. A meaningful look from Ambassador Hunt, however, reminded him that, as Chancellor, he no longer had the privilege of being a silent observer. “Thank you, your Excellency,” he said to Kada, “for hosting this meeting; I think that it is essential that we develop a successful… um… exit strategy…”

The Chancellor looked down at his soup after it had been served to him. It was unfamiliar to him. Nevertheless, he quickly took a spoonful. “Delicious,” he said, even before he had really tasted it.

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

The paramedic tended Tasha as best he could as the ambulance screamed through the streets of the capital and across the bridge to the Left Bank. Once across the river, it turned north and raced towards the military hospital.

At the hospital, the ambulance was met by a special team that was designated to handle metahuman and alien patients. An oversized hospital bed was ready and Tasha was helped from the ambulance onto the bed and taken directly to the x-ray lab.

Shortly after her arrival, Tucker Norland arrived and made his way to the Emergency Room. “Where is my wife? Brigadier General Tasha Norland?” He asked of the young enlisted woman at the desk.

“Just a moment, sir,” she said, typing into a computer on the desk. She looked up. “She’s been taken to x-ray, sir.” She gestured to the waiting room. “Have a seat, sir; she’ll be back shortly. I’ll let you know as soon as she’s here…”

Ajuki, Adoki

"This is actually my first visit to Ajuki." Sacker said. "I must say that I find some of the architecture rather fascinating. There is a unique...blend...of modernity and tradition which you don't find many places."

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

The x-rays showed that Tasha had a few ribs broken but no other fractures. She was basically just bruised all over. It was likely that she'd be fine with a brace, some bedrest, and some painkillers.

Bachert, Marlund

Their Majesties, the King and Queen of Marlund, were visiting one of the most troubled cities in the north. Bachert had been unstable since the end of the old regime but not because of insurgents. Corruption, organized crime, and poverty had driven the people of Bachert to desperation. The royal visit was designed to give them hope and security was all but impenetrable for the royal couple.

However, far from the parade route, at the city's chemical treatment plant, security was lighter than usual because of the many police called away to guard Their Majesties. The men who were on duty, or at least one of them, was not above taking a bribe. And so a suicide squad of nameless, unknown men entered the plant and began to pump a certain chemical directly into the sewage system, bypassing the normal treatment. The men continued their work for over an hour, silent and stonefaced. They knew they would soon be martyred for the glory of God, or so they thought.

Ajuki, Adoki

Drapeur moved the spoon from the bowl to his mouth almost painfully slowly as he very slowly consumed the soup. He wasn't particularly hungry, just tired. He glanced across at Mr and Mrs Sachs and in a melancholy moment wished that he had brought Marie-Louise with him. Next to him, Bucelli ate her soup somewhat more quickly, but consciously slowed down when she realised how slowly the Chancellor was eating, trying to make him appear less odd for eating so slowly.

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

After she was finished with her x-rays, Tasha was returned to the special bay in the emergency room that had been designated to handle metahumans. She was helped to a suitably large bed and told that her husband was waiting for her. Moments later, Tucker Norland burst through the curtains and rushed to Tasha’s side. He gently stroked the side of her face.

“Tasha,” he whispered, “O, Tasha… what happened? Are you ok?”

Minutes later, a heavy-set but healthy-looking woman pulled the curtain aside. “Brigadier,” LCOL Mavis Howard said in a slightly husky voice, “I have looked at your x-rays…” The doctor seemed to just then notice Tucker. She nodded towards him. “Admiral.” Then, turning back to Tasha, she continued, “You a few fractured rips and multiple contusions, but nothing too serious. We’ll set the ribs and wrap them. I could keep you overnight for observation, but I think you’ll do just as well at home. Just stay in bed. And I’ll write you a script for some painkillers.”

Meanwhile, in a specially designed stockade at the Naval Air Station Maans had been shackled hand and foot with carbon nanotube restraints and locked behind a plate of rolled transparent carbon. Stronger than steel, the “glass” plate was nearly as unbreakable as Maans’ restraints.

Outside the glass a naval commander in a khaki uniform stood casually regarding the prisoner. “I object to my client being treated in this fashion,” said the civilian beside him.

“He isn’t your client, yet, Mr. Simpson,” the commander said. “He hasn’t asked for an attorney; you’re just here so nothing he says can be thrown out of court.”

The officer stepped towards the “glass” and flicked on an intercom. “My name is Commander Daniel Erkhart. I’m the chief investigator from the Naval Investigative Service’s Special Crimes Division.” Erkhart pocked his thumb towards the blue-suited civilian. “This is Howard Simpson from the Public Defender’s Office. You are entitled to legal representation. If you don’t have your own attorney, Mr. Simpson here will represent you. We’ve also called the Danaan Embassy; you’ll be allowed to speak with their consul, if you’d like.”

Erkhart walked away from the clear plate and grabbed a chair. He pulled it close to the barrier and sat down facing Maans. “Now, Mr. Maans, would you mind telling me why you assaulted an Imperial Marine brigadier general and resisted arrest today?”

Villeduc, Montmanuel, Pantocratoria

Montmanuel was indeed as charming a place as the Duke had told his adopted children it would be. Villeduc in particular was a charming looking town, and the children could see the townsfolk out on the streets cheering and waving flags through the car windows as the large black car carrying them and the Duke passed through the town on its way to Montmanuel's ducal residence. The chateau itself now loomed on the horizon on a gently sloping, lush green hill, and the Duke pointed it out to Kallisto, Callimachus and Radamanthos.

"Look! That's your new home." he told them.

The boys peeked curiously out to look at the house while Kallisto pointedly shrugged. "I saw the picture."

"Kallisto..." Montmanuel looked to her. He had been making such great progress with her, but shortly before the flight to Pantocratoria she had started to clam back up. "Look here, some of our dairy cows, aren't they cute?"

"We had cows in Marlund." she said.

"Of course..." Montmanuel sighed, sinking back into his seat.

"These cows are Pantocratopian." Callimachus said.

"Pantocratorian." Montmanuel correctly gently, patting the boy on his head with a smile. "My mother is looking forward to meeting you all. She's so happy to finally be a grandmother."

"My grandmother is dead." Kallisto said.

"You'll like her, Kallisto." Montmanuel promised her.

"It's not her I don't like." she answered dryly.

"Kallisto..." Montmanuel sighed. "I'm trying, please let me."

"Alright." she said resignedly.

The car pulled up outside the chateau, where there was a line of people, mostly in serving uniforms, waiting to greet the occupants of the vehicle. A woman of about seventy dressed in a dark green formal gown (although it was quite informal compared to New Rome court fashion, as Kallisto would soon find out) looked particularly happy as a servant opened the car door for the Duke and his new children. The boys were dressed in nice looking casual clothes. Kallisto, for the sole purpose of upsetting her new father, had decided to wear blue jeans, sneakers, and a t-shirt with a rock bands picture on it instead of her presentation to the ducal estate.

"Maman!" called Montmanuel as he got out of the car, carrying Radamanthos with him and holding Callimachus' hand.

"Henri! And these are the children?" replied the Duchess Dowager of Montmanuel, Jacqueline Phocas. "The boys? Radamanthos and Callimachus? And is that young lady Kallisto?"

"That's us!" Callimachus exclaimed.

"Hello!" Jacqueline began. She moved forward and knelt down on the level of the boys. "I suppose I'm your adopted grandmother!"

"Oh. Hi." Callimachus said.

"And I have someone here who'd like to meet you..." she said. She looked to a butler, who handed her a paper bag. From inside she retrieved a teddy bear for each of the boys. With an enthusiastic smile she handed a bear to each boy.

Radamanthos took his eagerly. Callimachus took his and looked at it curiously. "What's this for?"

"He's a teddy bear." the septuagenarian told Callimachus. "For you."

"His name is Teddy?" Callimachus asked.

"You can name him whatever you like." she smiled. "He's yours."

"So why is he called Teddy?" he probed with childlike curiosity.

"You know... I don't know." Jacqueline replied with a delighted smile. She looked up at her son, evidently very pleased, before looking back at the little boy. "I think it's short for Theodore. Like the saint. Do you like him?"

"St. Theodora? I never heard of him before." Callimachus said. "Isn't everybody a saint just about though?"

"Theodore, not Theodora. Theodora's a girl's name." she smiled. "I'm sure Teddy wouldn't mind if you named him something else though, if you wanted to."

"Kallisto," Montmanuel began, turning to the girl. "This is my mother, would you like to say hello?"

"Hello, Your Grace." Kallisto said.

"Oh, my dear, you don't need to call me that." Jacqueline said, patting Callimachus on the head as she straightened back up to talk to the eldest child. "What a polite girl she is, Henri! And pretty, too. It's a pleasure to meet you at last, my dear."

"Thank you." she said.

"I thought you'd be too old for a teddy bear, Kallisto, but I have something for you to wear in New Rome." she smiled. "It's inside."

"Why would I have to dress different in New Rome? It's a big, modern city." she answered.

"At court, I mean." Jacqueline clarified. "Shall we go inside, Henri?"

"I don't want to go to court." Kallisto said.

"She hasn't done anything wrong." Callimachus said.

"Not that kind of court." Kallisto informed him.

"She's right, I meant the palace, with the Emperor and the princes and princesses and lords and ladies." Jacqueline nodded to Callisto.

"Let's go inside." Montmanuel interjected. "I'll show the boys their rooms, why don't you give Kallisto her present?"

"What an excellent idea!" Jacqueline nodded, and held out her hand to Kallisto to hold as Montmanuel took the boys inside. Kallisto walked alongside Jacqueline as the boys trotted after Henri.

Jacqueline had been warned by her son that Kallisto could be difficult, but still looked disappointed as she dejectedly brought her hand down to her side. They entered a large entrance hall decorated with paintings of the previous Dukes of Montmanuel, suits of armour, models of tanks (the current Duke's touch), and so on. When Montmanuel disappeared upstairs with the boys, Jacqueline led Kallisto into lavish lounge room.

"Please, sit down, I'll just get it and be right back." Jacqueline said, grinning with anticipation.

Kallisto sat down, smiling slightly despite herself. Jacqueline disappeared into the next room and reappeared with a black box. She excitedly sat down next to Kallisto, holding the box on her lap.

"I never had any daughters, and until now I've never had any grand daughters either, and I've been holding onto this for a long time, hoping that I'd get the chance to give this to somebody..." the spritely old woman gushed.

"Doesn't Henri have a daughter with his wife?" she asked.

"No..." Jacqueline said gently, looking slightly despondent as Kallisto took the wind out of her sails.

"Oh." Kallisto said, taking the box and starting to open it.

Jacqueline was a little surprised, she had thought to open it herself, but she let Kallisto open it instead. Inside, on a black velvet cushion, was a delicate and ornate diamond tiara, glittering brightly and reflecting and refracting light in all different angles. Kallisto gasped and took it hurriedly out of the box, jumping off her seat and putting it on.

"Wow! Where's a mirror?" She was grinning ear to ear.

"Careful dear! Right over here!" Jacqueline said, rising to her feet, grinning from ear to ear. She guided Kallisto over to the far side of the room to a wall mirror to let her see the full effect.

Kallisto struck a number of poses in front of the mirror, grinning and giggling. "It's so beautiful! It's like ... it's like what a princess would wear and ... I mean, I've never ... How am I allowed ... It's beautiful."

"It's yours." Jacqueline reassured her, delighted by the reaction. "You should save it for special occasions, it's quite delicate, but it looks beautiful on you. I'm glad you like it."

"Thank you!" Kallisto said, running over and giving her a hug.

Jacqueline hugged her back. She finally had a grand daughter.

Villeduc, Montmanuel, Pantocratoria

Kallisto eventually broke away from the elderly woman's embrace and took the tiara off, placing it gently on a chair. She then walked over to the wall and leaned against it, sliding down to sit on the floor. "God dammit, I'm such a whore..." she muttered despondently to herself.

Callimachus and Radamanthos meanwhile were following Henri de Montmanuel up to their rooms. "You mean Rad and I get our own room? That's really neat! I love my sister and all but who wants to share with a girl, you know?" Callimachus commented happily.

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

"I will be fine." Tasha assured her husband, giving his hand a light squeeze.

Tasha nodded to the doctor's words. "Thank you, doctor. You have helped me greatly."

On the way home, Tasha tried to make little of her situation, assuring her husband that there was no reason to worry. However, once she got home, she obeyed the doctor's orders and went straight to bed with some papers. "I think that my assailant is part of something larger. I am going to try and get to the bottom of this." she informed Tucker as she began to address a letter to someone at the Despotic Court of New Constantinople itself.

Maans answer was short and to the point. "I have my own attorney. I would prefer not to answer any further questions until I have spoken to him and to someone from the Danaan embassy. I understand that this is my right under Excalbian law, correct?"

Ajuki, Adoki

The rest of dinner went pleasantly enough. The Sachs did seem frequently uncomfortable both with the exotic food and the close contact with Sacker and Kada. Even the most passionate embrace of egalitarian ideals did not easily cast aside a lifetime's social conditioning. This seemed much truer of Andrea than of her husband, who had had at least some experience with all sorts of people in the underground.

The next day, the first formal meeting was convened. After the opening formalities, Kada suggested "As this is just a friendly meeting and we are all fluent in the English tongue, perhaps we might forgo the inconvenience of translators. If no one objects...?"

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

CDR Erkhart turned to the public defender. “Well, Mr. Simpson, it seems you’ve been fired.” The naval officer stood and stepped towards the cell. “You are correct about Excalbian law, Mr. Maans; we are a civilized nation and respect the rights all sentients. Even savages who fall upon law abiding citizens and assault them without warning."

The investigator seemed to study the trollish prisoner for several minutes before grabbing his chair and noisily dragging away from the cell. “Come on, Mr. Simpson,” he said, ushering the public defender out through the door of the observation room.

In the doorway, Erkhart turned back to Maans. “If you give me the name and number of your attorney, we will summon him. Or her. And I will contact the Danaan Embassy and let them know you have requested a consular visit.”

Meanwhile, in the Norland home, Tucker was setting on the edge of the bed sorting through some magazines, looking for something to read.

"I think that my assailant is part of something larger. I am going to try and get to the bottom of this," Tasha said as she addressed a letter.

“Now, Tasha,” Tucker said as he turned to face his wife, “remember what the doctor said – you need to take it easy. Leave the investigation to the NIS.” He cocked his head to one and regarded her with warm, soft eyes. She was strong. Determined. And a bit stubborn. And he knew that if she wanted to look into the attack herself, there was little he could do to stop her.

“That said,” Tucker said with just a hint of resignation, “I am curious – do you think this is part of some plot?” He looked over and down and the letter. He had always had a knack for reading upside down. “And what does it have to do with New Constantinople?”

Ajuki, Adoki

Lord Yornis had enjoyed dinner. Or rather, he had enjoyed the food. He was still feeling his way around diplomatic niceties and most of his counterparts ha struck him as being a little too polite and a little too diplomatic. Even the Sachses, whose discomfort was obvious, were just so… pleasant. The new Excalbian chancellor took at as clear sign of a world turned upside down that the most direct man at the table, other than himself, had been the Pantocratorian Chancellor, Dr. Drapeur.

Ambassador Shannon Hunt had been far more at ease during dinner, being familiar with more of the principals and being more accustomed to diplomacy. Defence Minister Sterling Wentworth, however, had been completely miserable. He felt out of place diplomatically, being new to dealing with matters of state at this level, and out of his depth on the details.

The next morning, however, found the Excalbian delegation seated for the formal meetings looking fresh and anxious to begin. Halton nodded at Kada’s sensible suggestion and he looked towards the Pantocratorians and Marlunders to see if there was any objection to dispensing with translations.

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

"The name of my attorney is Emiko Honda. She has a practice in Saraben. It should not be too hard to get the number." Maans answered before going silent once more.

"I am writing to Countess Marian ni Eiluned. She had a rather unique experience during the Shattering as well as being one of the most prominent Fae, or, perhaps in her case, former Fae to remain on Earth. My assailant was far stronger than he should have been. He was not simply stronger than me. He was stronger than should be possible even for a Troll, more like something out of the Powerman morning cartoons children watch in the Resurgent Dream than like anything I would expect to encounter in reality. The Shattering is still very poorly understood and I think the strength of this Maans might herald some important, and dangerous, new development of great relevance to all Fae." Tasha said, leaning up to kiss her husband lightly. "If nothing else, we face the danger of being unjustly reflected in the dark mirror of psychopaths like this Maans and like Sebben ap Balor."

Ajuki, Adoki

Sacker didn't say anything to the suggestion. She had no objections but didn't intent to appear self-interesting by arguing for conducting the discussions in her first tongue. Sachs, however, paused in thought for only a minute before saying "That seems quite reasonable to us."

Ajuki, Adoki

"I've no objections." said Bucelli after waiting a more than polite period to allow Drapeur to answer first. With all eyes to him, Drapeur nodded.

"I can manage in English." Drapeur said.

"I suppose we should start with a basic idea." Sacker said. "I think that our plans should be based on the principle of gradual replacement of alliance forces with native Marlunder forces."

Sachs frowned slightly. "A one-to-one correspondence wouldn't be possible. We might be able to work something out if we decide that's what we'd like to do. However, I'm not at all sure it is the wisest course."

"You aren't?" Drapeur asked, as if surprised. "Surely you don't mean that you believe that foreign troops should be deployed in Marlund on a permanent basis, so what is your preferred solution, monsieur?"

Ajuki, Adoki

"It would hardly be unprecedented." Sachs said. "Marlund remains a vulnerable state in the Ambaran community. Preventing the reemergence of Bolshevism or fascism is a security priority for the entire region."

"The Resurgent Dream cannot afford to provide indefinitely for our own security and Marlund's." Sacker said firmly. "Our armed forces are under increasing pressure in other areas of the world. Military dangers exist not only in Ambara but in the Pantocratorian Archipelago, in space, in the Excalbian Isles, and even in Garmar. We have extensive trade routes and the ever present threat of the Reich to consider. Marlund is going to have to move towards providing for its own security."

"That's not..." Sachs started. "We can't just begin replacements immediately. We need help training our people and we need better equipment before we're in a position to thoroughly maintain our own sovereignty against all internal and external threats."

A fierce storm was raging over Villeduc. The rain seemed to be pouring down in a veritable sheet of water, pattering endlessly against every window in the Duke's villa. It was late at night and most of the household was asleep. That was when the still of the house was broken by the door being opened and shut as one of its newest members stole out into the stormy night, perhaps unnoticed at first.

As Kallisto ran away from the house and across the grounds, the rain got even heavier, so heavy that it was almost like a physical weight coming down on. Her feet were more than calf deep in the mud. She ran for what seemed like hours, although it was really only a few minutes. Finally, she came to a large tree on the edge of the grounds, scampering up it and nestling in between some branches. Lightning struck in the distance.

From her vantage point in the tree, Kallisto could see the lights turn on through the Duke's bedroom windows. More lights came on about the building as the occupants realised she had disappeared.

"Moo!" Kallisto heard an urgent animal noise from below. Beneath her, a young cow, not quite a calf anymore but still too young to truly be called a cow, nestled up against the tree trunk, desperate to get out of the beating rain. It had obviously been left out of the stable tonight, where the rest of the cattle had been safely secured from the storm. Kallisto looked down with a small frown, climbing down from her tree and taking hold of the cow. She tried to guide it back towards the stable.

"Moo!" the cow protested being dragged out of the comparative safety of the tree back into the mud. Still, it knew it was in trouble and trusted humans. So it let her lead it a few steps, and then pulled a step or two back, then let her lead it a few steps, then pulled a step or two back. "Moo!"

Kallisto kept working the cow, trying to get it to safety. She patted it on the head reassuringly and muttered soothing words to it to calm it down. The cow trembled in the storm, but allowed Kallisto to lead it onwards, past the chateau, towards the stable. The porch lights came on over the side entrance to the chateau as they walked passed, and the Duke emerged in his nightgown, accompanied by a maid and his butler.

"Kallisto!" he called out to her, spotting her in the darkness with the cow.

The Duke started out of the cover of the porch into the rain after her, soon followed by the maid and the butler. In the distance another clap of thunder reverberated, making the windows of the chateau tremble.

"Moo!" the cow complained, nuzzling Kallisto. Kallisto stroked the cow gently on the head and started back towards the barn. The frightened cow licked her arm as she guided it to safety.

"Kallisto! Wait!" the Duke called after her. It was easy enough to catch up with her, since Montmanuel wasn't dragging a frightened cow in tow. "Kallisto, what are you doing out here?"

"I'm helping this cow." Kallisto explained.

"Get the stablehand..." the Duke told the butler, who nodded and raced off in the direction of the barn. The Duke and the maid both stayed with Kallisto and the cow as the sorry pair inched their way more slowly through the mud and rain. The Duke reached his hand to try help Kallisto guide the cow. Kallisto didn't argue with him, allowing him to help her guide the cow. She didn't say anything more.

The stablehand lived in the barn, in a set of quarters built in an extension in the 1950s, not much bigger than a little flat, but with all the necessities of life, including a cramped but serviceable bathroom, a small kitchen, and a bedroom. When they reached the barn, the stablehand was waiting for them, and a hot shower could be heard running in the bathroom.

"Your Grace, there's a hot fire in the fireplace, and I've blankets and towels." he began. "I'm afraid there's no clean clothes... I've got a hot shower running."

"Look after this lost cow, will you?" Montmanuel told him. He looked to the maid and Kallisto. "You shower first, get out of those wet clothes, and then come sit in front of the fire. Don't be too long, Maison and I will freeze to death!"

"I want to stay with the cow. What's her name?" Kallisto said.

"She doesn't have a name, mademoiselle." the stablehand said. "Don't you worry, 'demoiselle, I'll look after her, I'll go wipe her down and dry her off. She'll be waiting by the fireplace when you get out of the shower. Don't want her to catch chill neither."

"Moo!" the cow shivered, licking Kallisto again. Kallisto smiled and headed to the shower with the maid.

"We thought you were lost, my love!" the stablehand said to the cow as he calmed it with gentle strokes and pats and led it off towards the fireplace. The rest of the cows watched him dry it from their pen, just by the large fireplace.

Kallisto came out of the shower wrapped in a towel a few minutes later. She smiled and then frowned worriedly. "These are just dairy cows, right?"

"Yes." the Duke answered as he wrapped a heavy blanket around her and guided her over to the fireplace, where the cow was waiting with the stablehand as promised, draped in a blanket itself. The stablehand hurriedly grabbed one of the creaky old chairs from the table near the entrance to his quarters, and set it by the fireplace for Kallisto. The maid soon followed Kallisto out of the shower, wrapped in her own towel. The stablehand helped her to a blanket, but let her get her own chair. The Duke then disappeared into the bathroom.

Kallisto shivered a little as she sat in her chair, reaching over to stroke the cow gently. "She's really pretty."

"Poor little thing's scared out of her wits, mademoiselle." the stablehand observed.

Kallisto leaned up and kissed the cow on the forehead. The cow licked her face. The maid giggled quietly, but fell quiet and looked back down at the floor when Kallisto turned to her.

"Do you want to pet her?" Kallisto asked the maid curiously.

"No thankyou, mademoiselle." the maid answered. She didn't look that much older than Kallisto herself, and looked rather pale from the rain.

"I'm Kalli." Kallisto said.

"I know who you are, mademoiselle." the maid replied.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Oh, you wanted to know my name..." the maid blushed. "I'm sorry, mademoiselle... my name's Caitlin, mademoiselle."

"You can call me Kalli." she said.

"Respectfully, mademoiselle, I can't." the maid replied.

"Oh..." Kallisto said dejectedly.

"I'm sorry, mademoiselle, but I'm just a maid." Caitlin apologised.

"My dad was a miller." Kallisto said. "I'll probably be something else though because that isn't really a girl's job."

"Yes, mademoiselle." Caitlin answered, although she knew that Kallisto would never need to work a day in her life.

"Please stop calling me that..." Kallisto pleaded desperately.

"I'm sorry, mademoiselle, I... I have to call you mademoiselle, mademoiselle." Caitlin answered, extremely nervously.

The Duke emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, although he soon wrapped a blanket around his shoulders as well and joined the girls by the fire.

"How's the cow?" the Duke asked Kallisto.

"I don't want to be a lady!" Kallisto screamed at him and burst into tears.

"Kallisto..." the Duke sighed, sitting down next to her. He tentatively reached an arm around her shoulders.

"Tell people they can call me by my name..." she said tearfully, her whole body wracked with violent sobs.

"What do you mean, Kalli?" the Duke asked, hugging her.

"Moo!"

"Caitlin says you won't let her call me Kalli because you're the master." Kallisto said, reaching out to pet the cow again.

Caitlin's eyes went wide at Kallisto's words, which she naturally felt were inaccurate and feared would get her into trouble. She fixed her eyes on the floor.

"What's this about?" the Duke asked. "You want her to call you by your Christian name instead of mademoiselle?"

"I want everyone to." Kallisto said.

"They say mademoiselle to be polite." the Duke reassured her. He looked to the maid. "Caitlin, what do the girls in the store call you when you buy dresses?"

"Uhh... mademoiselle, monsieur." Caitlin answered.

"See, Kallisto?" the Duke told Kallisto. "It's just being polite."

"Tell her she can call me Kalli if she wants to." Kallisto said.

"OK." the Duke said. "Caitlin, you can call mademoiselle Kalli if you want to."

"Yes, monsieur. Thankyou, monsieur." the maid replied.

"Thank you." Kallisto said, calming down a little. She looked over at Caitlin and smiled weakly. "I'm ... I didn't mean to embarrass you. I just...."

"I didn't mind, mademoiselle." Caitlin answered.

"You were very brave looking after that cow." the Duke told Kallisto.

Kallisto frowned at still being addressed that way and hugged the cow tightly again. "It's just ... when I was a little girl, I used to play with the planter's daughter. We would laugh and hug and kiss and play all sorts of little girl games. I called her Lilibet. Her name was Elizabeth. Then, when she turned about ten, that's when you get too old for those things, when she turned ten I talked to her on her birthday just like on the day before and she pulled away and said her father's talked to her about that and I shouldn't call her that and wouldn't say anything else. I felt kind of lonely all day and that evening, the farm manager came out and got me and he tied a rope around my wrists and through it over a tree and hoisted me up in the air for about half an hour. He pulled my shirt off and gave me a dozen lashes. I was about eight. I was a little younger than her. And that's what it makes me think of when everyone calls me mademoiselle."

Montmanuel hugged Kallisto quietly, reflecting sadly on what her life used to be like. Caitlin blanched, feeling guilty.

"I'm sorry... uhh... Kalli..." Caitlin said.

She hugged him back, before tentatively giving a nervous hug to Caitlin, who she seemed rather shy around now, and then hugging the cow again. "It's alright."

"I have an idea." Montmanuel suggested.

"Oh?" Kallisto asked.

"I could tell the staff to call you Mademoiselle Kallisto." Montmanuel suggested. "That way, they wouldn't feel awkward, and they'd still be calling you by your name. What do you think, Kalli?"

"Only if I can call them the same kinds of things." Kallisto said.

Andrium, Pantocratorian Ambara

The foreigner walked into the crowded coffee bar in the student union building at the University of Andrium. He was a tall man, muscular, with golden blond hair and sparkling blue eyes, the kind of man you'd expect in many a romance or erotic novel. The television in the background was on the news coverage of Rainer Fabel's on-going trial. Currently, evidence was being presented charging Fabel with enabling the first degree murder of minors, meaning, mostly but not entirely, Fabel's actions in creating conditions where young black males including legal minors could be lynched by mobs of private citizens. It was hardly a pleasant program but no one really seemed to be paying attention.

The television was now on the testimony of the Hon. Macar Parsons whose childhood friend, Echëeus, had been a victim of lynching. The stranger snorted slightly. "Fishing for votes, lying son of a bitch. That boy was probably trying to rape someone or something."

"What's that?" asked the girl behind the coffee machine, surprised by the strange man's remark.

"I said that boy, Echëeus, was probably a would be rapist anyway. Most of them were." the stranger repeated.

"Quite real." the man answered.

"Are you sure you're in the right place? You don't look like a student." she said as she loaded the filter with coffee again and locked it back into place.

"I'm was supposed to meet someone. She's a student here." he answered.

"I feel sorry for her." the girl answered. "So do you want a coffee or what?"

"Yeah. I'll have a tall French vanilla cappuccino please." he answered.

"Right." she said, writing down the order and sticking it on the queue, and then finished the coffee she was currently making. "Tall flat white, take-away!" she called out.

A lanky young man got up from the table where had been reading the campus newspaper to retrieve his coffee.

"Thanks." he said, and then wandered out of the shop.

"You really feel sorry for her?" he asked.

"Yes." the girl answered as she emptied a filter and then moved over to the cash register. She pressed a few buttons. "A tall French vanilla cappuccino take-away is one ducat eighty."

"It isn't take-away. I told you I was waiting for someone. It's too bad that you feel sorry for her. Care to explain?" he pressed.

"You said a tall cappuccino." she protested. "Tall. That's take-away. If you want to have it here, you have it in a cup or a mug."

"Well, I'll just drink the take away cup here." he argued.

"Fine." she replied, and returned to making the next coffee.

"So why do you feel sorry for her?" he asked.

"Because she's going out with a racist pig." she answered with a shrug.

"You're a lippy one, aren't you?" he answered in a tone which could best be described as extremely creepy and vaguely threatening.

"You asked for my opinion. Nobody asked you what you thought of the trial." she replied.

He didn't say anything else until he got his coffee. As he got it, he stood to leave. "I'll just have to meet my friend later. She's probably at work right now, feeling sorry for herself."

"You haven't paid yet. One ducat eighty." the girl said.

He paid and turned for the door. As he was leaving, another foreigner came in. This one was a woman in her early thirties, with short red hair and a body seemingly used to physical exertion. She started for the bar, asking in halting French "Has a young woman named Matilda been in here today. I'm her..."

"I don't know, madame, I don't ask for people's names. I just make coffee." the girl behind the coffee machine answered.

The woman didn't respond to her. She was staring at the man now. The man paused, frowned in worry, and started to move faster towards the door. Without any warning, the woman ran at him, trying to trip him with a kick. Within a few moments, the two strangers were having a full blow fight in the coffee bar. The students in the coffee bar reacted with surprise, and the girl behind the bar ran over to her phone and dialed campus security. As she spoke to security, several students pulled the combatants apart.

"Don't let that man leave the premises." the woman said. "He was attempting to get away before the police could be called."

"I'm on the phone to campus security right now, nobody's going anywhere!" the girl behind the bar shouted. The students kept a grip on both foreigners. The man kept struggling wildly. The woman allowed herself to relax, although she seemed rather indignant about being held. Despite the girl's protestations as the urgency of the situation, it took twelve minutes for a pair of savvy, motivated and excessively overweight campus security guards to show up. They looked quite surprised when they arrived by the students restraining the foreign pair.

"What's going on here?" asked one of them.

"That man is wanted for rape, kidnapping, and related offenses in at least three countries with whom Pantocratorian Ambara has extradition arrangements." the woman informed them.

"They were fighting." the girl behind the bar said. The students nodded.

"Who are you then?" one of the campus security guards asked the woman.

"I'm here to visit my niece." the woman answered.

"That wasn't what I asked you." the security guard replied.

"Olivia Bacha." she answered.

"How do you know this man?" the security guard asked.

"I work for the Danaan Justice Ministry." she answered.

"We'd better call the police..." the security guard concluded and began to call it in over his walkie-talkie.

New Rome, Pantocratoria

Princess Morgan groggily came to on the bed she shared with her husband at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator. She was actually alone at the moment. A mixture of exhaustion and her desire to seem reclusive after her recent argument with the Emperor (having no real power to do more) had driven her to abandon her early morning activities for more sleep while her husband went to Parliament. As she sat up, Morgan shook her head a little as though trying to remember something. Lighting up, she leaped out of bed and began to rapidly throw on her riding clothes, almost unable to keep still. As soon as one of her maids entered, Morgan excitedly asked her to have her private secretary waiting in the outer chamber and to gather some of Morgan's ladies for a ride. Morgan's ladies in waiting were summoned from whatever else they happened to be doing at the time to go ride with her. By the time Morgan finished dressing and passed into the outer chamber of the rooms she shared with Constantine, her private secretary was waiting. As she passed through the room, she spoke rapidly "I'm going riding for the morning. Talk to His Highness's secretary and make sure I can get some private time to speak with my husband as soon as he gets back from Parliament. Also, try and arrange an audience with His Majesty. Say ... say it's very important to me that I tell him personally but I promise he will be pleased with what I have to say."

"Yes, madame, I'll see right to it." her private secretary, a young lady of the gentry named Cecile de Subeite-sur-Romaine, replied.

"Thank you, Cecile." Morgan said and she was out the door just like that. Within a few moments, she was riding with her ladies. It wasn't the relaxed riding Morgan sometimes did with the ladies of the court. Nor was it even the tomboyish, energetic riding she undertook sometimes with her husband or with more relaxed friends. The ladies could all tell that their princess was really burning with energy that she just couldn't release. They rode at a frantic pace for hours. By the time Constantine got home and had time to have spoken to his secretary, Morgan had just showered and was only then being helped back into court garb. Constantine entered their apartments and made his way over to the wardrobe to change from the suit he wore to parliament into court garb himself.

"Morgan?" he called to her from the huge walk-in wardrobe.

"Did they tell you I needed to talk to you?" Morgan asked.

"Yes, they did." Constantine replied, picking out his outfit for the evening.

"Are you decent yet?" Morgan asked, herself in the last staged of getting dressed and not displaying any more of her charms than would be visible once she was done.

"I'm still wearing what I wore to Parliament..." Constantine replied, emerging from the wardrobe holding the outfit into which he intended to change, still dressed in his business suit.

Morgan walked over and gave him a quick peck. "I've decided to do it."

"Do what, Morgan?" Constantine asked, a bit confused.

"Join the Church." Morgan said.

"What?" Constantine asked, still confused.

"I've been thinking a lot about it and I have been talking to a priest for weeks now." Morgan pointed out. "I've decided."

"You want to convert to Catholicism?" Constantine asked.

"Yes." Morgan answered.

"Really?" Constantine asked, still apparently surprised.

"Yes." she repeated.

"Morgan, this isn't something you should do because of social pressure..." Constantine told her.

"Because I tend to give into that so often..." Morgan said sarcastically, if playfully.

"Maybe you're tired of fighting?" Constantine answered, apparently sincere.

"Constantine, I'm not doing this for political or social reasons. I'm serious." Morgan answered.

"You're not doing this for me, are you? Because you know I would never want you to go against your conscience because you think I would be happier if you did, or if you think it would be better for my political career..."

"Connie, I'm telling you that I'm serious." Morgan repeated again.

"Well..." Constantine said. "That's umm... surprising."

"You aren't happy?" Morgan asked.

"I don't really know what to say, Morgan..." Constantine told her.

"I have been considering it for awhile, you know. We've talked about it." she answered.

"I knew you were reading books about Catholicism but I never really expected you to convert, Morgan." Constantine told her.

"Constantine, I know you think this is political but I really do mean it. And I wanted to share it with you first." Morgan said with a somewhat shy smile.
"I believe you..." Constantine told her again. "Umm... congratulations I guess."

She kissed him again. "I'm going to tell His Majesty shortly. I already had an audience arranged."

"Well, I... he'll be pleased I'm sure. Probably surprised too." Constantine answered.

"You should come with me, I think." Morgan said.

"Sure... do I have time to change?" Constantine asked.

"Yes." she answered.

"Well, then I'll be right with you..." Constantine said. Morgan nodded. Constantine went off and changed, and re-emerged in twenty minutes in his court wear. Morgan took his arm and headed for her audience with the Emperor. The Emperor had taken a break from his work in the Sun King Room and awaited Morgan in the Philippe Augustus Room of the French Suite, a room whose medieval décor wasn't particularly comfortable, but was at the very least visually exciting, with suits of armour, weapons, heraldic emblems, and paintings of scenes of the Crusades. Morgan entered and made all due courtesy to the Emperor. Constantine bowed appropriately.

"I wasn't expecting to see the both of you." the Emperor said, rising to his feet.

"That's not all you won't have been expecting..." Constantine murmured.

"He's right. I doubt you'll find it the source of any consternation though." Morgan said.

"Oh? News with such disclaimers is rarely very good." the Emperor observed.

Morgan started to just blurt it out but stopped, blushing slightly and starting slowly. "Remember how Your Majesty arranged for me to speak with a priest over the last few weeks?"

"You've decided to become a nun?" the Emperor asked, apparently making a joke, although the delivery was in his usual deadpan serious tone with his usual severe expression.

"No. I am quite happy with the state of married life." Morgan answered nervously.

"I remember making those arrangements." the Emperor confirmed.

"I have decided ... I've decided to become a Catholic." Morgan continued.

"Oh." the Emperor replied. "I must say, madame, that this is quite unexpected."

"So my husband has been telling me." Morgan answered.

"Still..." the Emperor said. "You've considered this carefully?"

"Very carefully. I have thought and prayed on it." she answered.

"Then I extend my congratulations to you, madame." the Emperor told her.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Morgan answered.

"When should we make a public announcement?" the Emperor asked.

"I will follow the advice of Your Majesty and my husband on the matter." Morgan said. "I didn't do it for the public."

"What are the other arrangements which need to be seen to?" the Emperor asked.

"I need to inform my immediate family in Marlund and the Resurgent Dream. I need to arrange for a catechist. Those are the only two things." Morgan answered.

"And when are you going to do that?" the Emperor asked.

"As soon as I leave here." Morgan answered. "I wanted to tell my husband first and thought Your Majesty would wish to know nearly as quickly."

"We won't make any public announcements then until you've told your family." the Emperor replied.

Morgan nodded. "I hope they will be supportive ... or at least understanding... " she said, betraying slight worry.

"I'm sure they will, for the most part, madame." the Emperor nodded.

"They will." Constantine said, more reassuringly.

Morgan nodded a little. "I think so. We do already have a number of Catholics in the family."

"Hopefully your mother will be understanding." the Emperor replied.

"She will be." Morgan answered confidently.

"If I may, madame..." the Emperor began "What made you change your mind?"

"The miracle of Pentecost." Morgan said at first, unhelpfully.

"Would you care to elaborate?" the Emperor asked.

"It's personal, Sire, surely." Constantine protested.

"The Holy Spirit is a person of the Trinity, as much God as Christ of the Heavenly Father. And if the Holy Spirit entered the Church when it was the Apostles and stayed there ... if I couldn't point to any place where that continuity was decisively broken ... It became harder and harder to see the problems I had with this or that doctrine, and I still have a lot, as much more than intellectual vanity instead of some alternate faith. I felt ... that's a little more abstract and intellectual than exactly what I felt." Morgan went on.

"I see." the Emperor said. "You needn't go further if you'd rather not. If only there were more people in the world ready to set aside intellectual vanity."

"It is perhaps the hardest sort of vanity to set aside. Beauty, fame, even rank, can all be viewed objectively at times. But when something other than the doctrine one wishes to accept on faith seems clearly true to a limited human mind..." Morgan continued.

The Emperor smiled for a moment, and then said. "Go tell your family. And congratulations again."

New Rome, Pantocratoria

Morgan spent about three hours talking to her family. When she was done, she returned to her husband and put her hand gently on his shoulder. "That went much better than I thought it would. I don't think His Majesty especially understands the situation with my mother. Shall we tell Monsieur and Madame now?"

Villeduc, Montmanuel

The Duchess Dowager inspected Kallisto's court dress as the family prepared to leave for New Rome. She frowned in dissatisfaction at the job which the maids had done in dressing the girl when she discovered that her frilly sleeves were crooked, and a few other small problems.

"Let me help you with those sleeves, Kalli." the old woman said, and started to adjust the frilly white lace.

Kallisto fidgeted quietly as the duchess worked on her outfit. She had been complaining to the duke and begging not to go all morning but she had become much more docile in the hands of her adopted grandmother, no longer actively making trouble, even if she had all the ability to sit still and let people dress her of any thirteen year old girl. Jacqueline finished straightening Kallisto's sleeves and then walked behind her.

"Oh dear, the laces are all crooked on your corset, Kalli." she observed.

"Can't I just put it on when we get to New Rome?" Kallisto asked.

"We won't have time, my dear, when we arrive we will be presented at once." Jacqueline answered. "We'll only have a few moments to fix our hair and anything else which might have moved... but we have to go soon anyway, we don't have time to relace your corset, so I suppose it will just have to do."

"I don't like corsets." Kallisto added needlessly. "Henri doesn't have to wear one."

"Of course not, men don't wear corsets, Kalli." Jacqueline smiled as she walked back around in front of her.

"They do too! I saw it in a magazine once." Kallisto shared. "There were these really skinny looking men in make-up and corsets and stockings and high heels dancing together."

"Sounds like ballet." Jacqueline replied. "Callimachus and Radamanthos have their own court outfits to wear though, and Henri will be wearing a uniform. You won't be uncomfortable alone."

"Oh, ok." Kallisto said grudgingly.

"There, you look lovely." Jacqueline told Kallisto. She offered the girl her hand. "Let's go downstairs and see the boys."

Kallisto took her hand, unlike the first time. "Alright. But they better be as uncomfortable as us."

Kallisto and Jacqueline went downstairs hand in hand to find the boys dressed in New Rome court jackets, trousers and boots, with big puffy shirts and lace collars. Callimachus' jacket was light blue and Radamanthos was wearing a light yellow jacket and both were delicately embroidered with silver thread. Servants were piling up what seemed like a vast quantity of luggage in the hallway to follow the family along. Callimachus had taken to following the servants about, obnoxiously inquiring as to what each individual piece of luggage contained. Radamanthos was just sort of looking around. He ran over to Kallisto when she came downstairs, giving her a tight hug. She laughed slightly.

"Are you boys ready for the trip to New Rome?" Jacqueline asked.

"What's this?" Callimachus asked a servant, not seeming to notice his adopted grandmother.

"Madame's luggage, monsieur." replied the servant.

"Oh." he answered. Appeased for the moment, he finally wandered over to join the rest of the family.

"Is there a lake there?" Radamanthos asked, seemingly out of the blue.

"There's a river, and there's a system of canals at the palace." answered Jacqueline.

"Are we allowed in them?" he asked.

"If the weather's warm enough." Jacqueline answered. "They have boats you can play in too."

"Oh boy!" Radamanthos exclaimed.

"We used to play pirates, when I was a little girl." Jacqueline told Radamanthos, patting him.

"Pretty ladies can't be pirates though." Radamanthos explained.

"I was a damosel in distress." Jacqueline grinned. "The goodies would rescue me."

"Can I rescue you?" Callimachus asked.

"I'm too old to play in boats now, Callimachus." Jacqueline said, turning to the other little boy.

The Duke entered the room, coming downstairs dressed in his white dress uniform, decorated with a huge number of medals and badges and ribbons. Kallisto scowled at the medals on the Duke's chest, walking up and looking at them carefully.

"Even for me?" Callimachus asked in his best cute little boy voice.

"You can rescue me in some other game, just not on the boats in the canals. I'll fall out!" Jacqueline told the little boy.

"Oh, ok." Callimachus conceded.

"You look beautiful, Kalli." the Duke told Kallisto.

The Duke's medals included a large badge which indicated that he was a Knight Master of the Order of the Pantocrator, an honour he received after his wife gave birth to the Despot's child. There were a large number of crosses and stars of various types as well.

"What's this one for?" Kallisto asked, pointing to a star at random.

"A battle against North Star in Syskeyia." the Duke answered. "How's the corset? Is it too tight?"

"Yes." Kallisto answered.

"That's no good... Mother, Kalli's only thirteen, she could get away with not wearing a corset, surely." Montmanuel said to Jacqueline.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Henri, all the other girls her age will be wearing one..." Jacqueline cautioned.

"What do you think, Kalli?" the Duke asked her.

"I don't want to wear it." Kallisto said.

"We'll be late!" Jacqueline said. "If she changes out of the corset she'll have to change dresses..."

"We can make up the time on the road." the Duke answered. "You can go and get changed if you like, Kallisto."

Kallisto scurried upstairs to get dressed.

"I wish you hadn't done that, Henri, she'll stand out like a sore thumb, the other girls might pick on her!" Jacqueline scowled as she started off to the stairs to follow Kallisto.

"She'll stand out anyway, Mother. They won't pick on her." the Duke told her, turning to the boys. "You two look very smart."

"Oh. We've barely started our schooling though." Callimachus said.

"That was a very clever answer." the Duke winked at Callimachus.

Callimachus grinned. "Thank you. Kalli looks really pretty."

"She does. Her dress is a little uncomfortable though so she's going to change into another one." the Duke told the boy.

"What if she throws a big fit at court?" Callimachus asked.

"She's not going to do that..." the Duke said. "You don't think she will, do you?"

"She does it like every five minutes." Callimachus pointed out with slight exaggeration.

"Well... I'm sure she'll behave at court, anyway." the Duke said hopefully, although he sounded anything but sure. "Are you looking forward to going to New Rome?"

"Not really. I'm not a very good fighter." Callimachus said. "I don't think I could fight a scary Cardinal."

"Uhh...." Montmanuel said, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I saw this movie about a court once." Callimachus said. "This evil guy called a Cardinal had taken over and there was a lot of swordfighting. He tried to kill the king's girlfriend."

"The Three Musketeers?" Montmanuel guessed.

"Yeah. I figure New Rome will be kind of like that and I don't even really know how to use a sword." Callimachus said.

"I can teach you when you're older." Montmanuel told him. "But it's not really like that. There are hardly any sword fights."

"Are there Cardinals?" Callimachus asked.

"Yes, but not bad ones." Montmanuel promised.

"Oh, ok." Callimachus said.

"You won't need to fight anybody, I promise." Montmanuel smiled and patted the boy on the head.

Kallisto came back downstairs. "Alright. I'm ready. Let's go."

Ajuki, Adoki

Lord Yornis followed the exchange between Sachs, Sacker and Drapeur with narrowed eyes and a neutral expression. He glanced briefly at Ambassador Hunt.

His Imperial Majesty’s ambassador to Marlund shrugged slightly and inconspicuously scribbled a note, which she passed to the Chancellor.

Lord Yornis looked at the note; it said simply, “Sachs is right; Marlund simply isn’t ready.” He quietly folded the note and slipped passed it Defence Minister Wentworth.

The Imperial Chancellor folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “I am sympathetic to Chancellor Sachs’ desire to ensure the stability of Marlund and I fully understand Prime Minister Sacker’s concern that Allied forces are being stretched a bit thinly.”

Lord Yornis leaned back slightly. “In the hope of addressing both concerns, the Holy Empire is prepared to increase it commitment to the security of Marlund. While we are not in a position to make significant increases in our troop commitments, we are prepared to offer a significant package of equipment – including our non-lethal weaponry, which is well-suited for dealing with urban insurgency – and a commitment to provide extensive training – both on the field in Marlund and at our facilities in Excalbia.”

The Chancellor looked around and dropped his voice slightly. “In addition, I would like to suggest that the Allied Command consider extending a request to the Dominion of Upper Virginia to join our peace keeping operations.” Lord Yornis raised his hand as if to fend off anticipated objections. “I know that Excalbian and Pantocratorian troops remain in Upper Virginia in a peace keeping capacity. However, Upper Virginia has just completed its first democratic election in nearly a century without any significant violence or irregularities and has returned to civilian governance. And the new government has undertaken drastic reforms in the military. That said, Upper Virginia is still in the position of having a large paramilitary police force that is being transitioned into a civilian force and a surplus of military equipment and personnel suitable for counter-insurgency operations. Allowing some of these forces to take part in a limited but worthwhile mission in Marlund would greatly help the Upper Virginian government in the realignment of its armed forces, while exposing them to operations under civilian control. It would also help Marlund and Allied Command by supplying us with needed reinforcements while we gradually replace Allied forces with native Marlunder forces.”

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

CDR Ekhart nodded towards Maans as he closed the door to the viewing area. “I will have someone call Ms. Honda.”

Shortly thereafter, both the Danaan Embassy and Emiko Honda were notified that Maans had asked to meet with a Danaan Consul and with Ms. Honda as his attorney.

Meanwhile, Tucker Norland had returned his wife’s kiss but stood regarding her with a worried expression. “Do you think this has anything to do with Sebben? Do you think this Countess Marian will have any special insights? Perhaps we should seek out someone in the Resurgent Dream? Surely there are some there who have studied the Shattering and may have some greater insight…”

Ajuki, Adoki

"I certainly feel that that is a wise idea." Sachs said. "We would welcome greater Excalbian participation."

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

"Her Excellency went into the heart of the Shattering and came out changed in her very nature." Tasha said. "I do not see how a scholar would have deeper insight."

Constantine and Morgan sat in the most unique car in the Prince's collection, a Zagreb People's Car. Presented to his sister Anna by the Fiefdom of Uncle Noel some years ago, it was at that very moment parked on the side of the carriageway which stretched from the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator's lower gardens into the hunting forest beyond, with Prince Constantine in the passenger's seat and his wife Princess Morgan in the driver's seat.

"Right, so, like I told you, hold the clutch down and turn the key." Constantine said.

Morgan pressed her foot down on the accelerator and turned the key. The engine came to life, sputtered and stalled.

"No, that's the accelerator. The clutch is the one on the left." Constantine told her.

Morgan pressed down on the clutch this time, turning the key again. The engine roared to life. "Like that, Your Highness?"

"Yes, like that." Constantine nodded. "Now, keep your foot on the clutch, and put it into..."

He glanced down at the car's gearstick. Well, he knew where first should be.

"Into... U." he guessed.

Morgan pulled the gearshift into U. "Now what do I do?"

"OK, as you take your foot off the clutch, slowly put it down on the accelerator. At the same time or you'll stall." Constantine told her. "And we'll start moving forward."

Morgan tried to apply pressure to the accelerator even as she took her foot off the clutch. "Where are we driving too?"

"Down this road, into the forest." Constantine said. "Easy... Now, when you hear the engine struggling... actually, when you see that arrow on the dashboard pass... is that an omega? Whatever that squiggly symbol is next to the red bar, when you see it approaching that, put your foot down on the clutch, and change gears to second... which is... erm... Z."

"For Zagred." Morgan said incorrectly. In a few moments, she shifted gears. "Now what about the wheel?"

"Hold it steady, it's a straight road." Constantine told her. "But you can turn it a little to get a feel for how much you need to turn it to steer the car, I don't think it has power steering so it should be heavy."

Morgan turned the wheel a tiny bit. It was barely enough to shift the car's direction. "It's like pumping water." she noted.

"What do you know about pumping water?" Constantine asked. "Easy on the accelerator, I want us to stay in second for a while."

"I did it sometimes when I was little, during the war. My mother turned the whole manor into a hospital." Morgan shared, easing up a little. "Gwendolyn and I helped out with some of the little tasks."

"Just keep it about this speed until you get the hang of it, then we'll speed up and go into third." Constantine said.

"Have you ever operated a pump?" Morgan asked even as she followed his instructions.

"Not a hand pump, no." Constantine told her. "Turn it a little more, get a feel, we can swerve a little."

Morgan jerked the wheel hard to the left, spinning the car. "Constantine, it's swerving too much!" she said in alarm.

Constantine quickly reached over and straightened the wheel out, his hand hovering over the handbrake just in case.

"Not so sudden!" Constantine said urgently, calming down as the car straightened up. "Everything you do in a car you do it smoothly, OK?"

"Alright..." Morgan said, colouring slightly.

"If you keep it smooth, you'll keep in control." he told her.

Morgan moved around unsteadily, trying to redirect the car towards the woods once more. "I got it. Smooth."