NationStates Jolt Archive

This is a repost from my regional forums, so that before I have Episode Three up (shortly), the general population can read Episode Two. Find Episode One, "The Heart Sinks With The Sun", here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=456607).


He floated. Though he didn’t know it, he floated through the cold, dark waters around his country. Gone and forgotten, he seemed, dead and buried. The night enveloped him in its cool grasp, hiding his near-lifeless body from any eye that tried to find him.

In the darkened waters around the Nemyan Straight he floated, unaware and unconscious. Night and day passed and he was oblivious to them, kept calm and sedate as he was by his mind, sealing itself off from all around him,

A floating body, waters lapping around him. Fallen from a ship in the dead of night, shot twice by one of the most loyal men he had, sworn to protect him and all the he stood for. Tiberius Starblayde was his name, and he was dead. Just another lump of debris floating in the seas at night. The world soon moved on its merry way without him, but though the rumours of his demise were greatly exaggerated, the region got along quite well without him, thank you very much. Just a little upheaval for the most famous man in the region: the name by which foreign Presidents would scare their populations into nationalistic fervour.

The bogeyman of Atlantian Oceania, the man whose evil iron fist would soon crush all before it were you not to be prepared. Mass propaganda, of course, nothing of the sort was in Tiberius’ mind, but the truth never got in the way of a grand scheme.

Nevertheless he floated, oblivious to it all as he drifted in the water. He did come to rest on a beach, like many lost souls before him, though yet again he knew nothing of it. Just another piece of flotsam on a sandy beach somewhere. That somewhere was, once again, his own nation – one he had been in total command of just a few short days before. The sun beat down upon his limp body, tossed across the ground like some child’s discarded rag doll. The sea had given him up, and such a fruitful bounty it was.

A fruitful bounty for on Edgar Chavez. Known to all as a loyal citizen, his devotion to the state of Starblaydia knew few bounds. So, when he discovered a body on the beach, his first duty was to report it. A description, such as he could provide one of a bloated sea corpse, would be required, so he and his dog went to investigate the man. Ed, just for a brief moment, could play Inquisitor.

A discarded rag doll was a good description to begin with, limbs splayed out in a random fashion, though not at a grotesque angle. The man – it was obviously a large, well-built man – lay with his back to Edgar’s approach, and before he came within a few feet, his cause of death became apparent. Almost.

A bullet had struck the man in the shoulder, but he was wearing a vest that had lessened the impact quite considerably. Nothing beyond a large purple bruise, visible through the soaking-wet white shirt he wore, was the impact of the projectile. Though Ed had not inspected closer yet, his faithful hound Jack was doing so with his nose, as dogs are inclined to do. What Jack had discovered was a second bullet impact, this time on the man’s hip. There he had worn no protection and the blood smear across his trousers was obvious. The sea had obviously protected the wound somehow, Ed was not a man inclined for the aquatic pursuits, walking his dog on the beach was as close as he liked to get. Ed took a closer look at the wound but it told his unknowing eyes nothing. Finally he rolled the man over.

It couldn’t be.

Edgar looked closer, but it could not be anyone else. The shape of the jaw line, nose and brow were obvious who it pointed to. His image had been on every street for the last twenty years. It couldn’t be, but it was. Even his hair matched, a long ponytail of silver hair, shimmering even in its dank condition, matted with sand and seaweed. It was the dead Lord-Protector, Tiberius Starblayde. Jack licked his face.

“No, boy!” Ed tugged on the lead and pulled his dog away from the dead man. Ed searched through his pockets and quickly cursed himself for not bringing a mobile phone on his morning walk. The news had said that the Lord-Protector had been savagely murdered by the thrice-damned ‘Break the Chain’ movement aboard the Orca. They hadn’t said he’d been tipped overboard, though.

An array of thoughts thundered through his mind like a herd of wild horses all at once. Was this really happening? This wasn’t on the news. Does anybody else know? Could the news have been wrong? Been censored? Is it possible? Had he been lied to? What should he do? What could he do? Ed certainly hadn’t prepared for this on his morning’s walk.

He had barely come to terms with finding the body of Tiberius Starblayde on the beach when he heard the roar of an engine coming from over the rise. Away from the sand and rocks, over the damp grass there was a single-track road that ran alongside the water's edge. It was well-kept, as all Starblaydi roads are, and perhaps unfortunately for Edgar, well policed. He ran towards the road, desperate to get away from the body. He made his way hurriedly to the crest of the small rise, up to the side of the road.

For a moment he froze, coming down the road towards him, at speed, was a four-by-four pickup truck. A bright orange truck, no less, of the type driven by the Coast Guard. Edgar swore under his breath, the law was the last thing he needed now. He'd have to play dumb, like he'd just discovered it - but he had just discovered it. Edgar swore again as the truck pulled closer. Jack was happy, though; he just liked running up and down things.

The truck pulled up, the window winding down to reveal a face familiar to Edgar, one of the local boys made good.

"Edgar, dude, you tryin' to outrun that little pup of yours?" A local surf bum who'd turned a love of the beach into a career in serving the sea-side community. Though he couldn't rig a boat to save his life, this handsome young man had proved to be an effective Coast Guard. A year-round tan and those long blonde effortless curls that the surfer chicks loved, the kid was on top of his world. And he was observant, too. "What's that?"

"It's a body," Edgar completely failed to lie, "I just found it, Dom."

Instinctively, Dominic opened his door and stepped out. He didn't even give Jack his usual quick stroke, so focussed was he now on the body. In sandals, black three-quarter length trousers and a Coast Guard white polo shirt, he walked down onto the sand and investigated what was in front of him.

Almost the exact same thoughts went through Dominic's mind as had Edgar's a few moments earlier. "Dude," he frowned, "is this a joke?"

"No." Edgar shook his head emphatically. "I just found it - him - laying there a few minutes ago. What can we do?"

"Call it in, man." Dom made for his truck, Jack went to follow.

"But he's supposed to be dead and buried," Edgar put in quickly, "violently and viciously murdered, that's what they said. He's been buried, but here he is. Something's very wrong here."

Dom was rooted to the spot for a few seconds. Suddenly, he clicked his fingers and went back to the body. He felt at the man's - Tiberius Starblayde's - neck for a pulse.

"Anything?" Edgar asked, the tilt of Jack's head mirrored his question.

For a tentative moment Dominic was unwilling to pronounce the man living or dead.

"He's alive," Dom breathed, "barely. Let's get him to a hospital."

"No!" Edgar froze him in his tracks. "Don't you see? They say he's dead. Viannor's in charge now, what do you think will happen if we turn up and say 'he lives!'. What do you think they'll do to us? We have to forget we've ever been here, and him too."

"I ain't doing that, Eddie," Dom said, he's been as loyal as anyone to the Lord-Protector. Tiberius Starblayde was the reason Dom had gone into the Coast Guard, after all. "I'm getting this man to a doctor, one loyal to Lord Starblayde. Give me a hand."

Dominic and Edgar lifted the large, heavy body of Tiberius Starblayde, still unconscious, onto the back of Dom's pickup truck. Edgar stayed on the back to make sure nothing happened to the man, while Dom jumped in the front. Jack sat in the passenger seat, excited and happy because the two men were agitated.

The journey didn't last particularly long and Dom floored the accelerator and rocketed his truck along the coastline road and into the nearest town. No-one really took notice of a speeding law enforcement vehicle, common as that event was. Not even the man riding in the back, better in Starblaydia to not see things than let your inquisitive eye get the better of you.

The bright orange truck eventually half-skidded to a halt outside an average-looking home with a well tended garden, the outer gate intricately made, a sea of rolling metal vines and surf breaking and wrapping itself around the bars of the gate. It was evidently a Dwarf's home, and just the Dwarf Dom required. The Coast Guard leapt out of his truck and ran to the gate. Thinking about leaping over it, he came quickly to a halt, reaching over to unhook the latch and careful not to slam the swinging gate against the wall. He sprinted again down the gravel path, his sandals kicking up the pebbles behind him.

"Ro-in!" he yelled, annunciating the Dwarf's name with his shout, making it sound like 'Roween', "get out here!" He slammed his fist on the door a few times and sprinted back to Edgar, who was trying to slide Tiberius from the back of the truck.

Presently the door swung open and out came a white-haired Dwarf, wiping his tiny round glasses on his sleeve. "What's be all the racket," he growled. "this be a surgery, not a tavern!"

"Doc!" Dominic yelled. "We got a patient for you here." He and Edgar carried the body up the path, and Roin made way for the two, bringing the man onto the low table that Roin actually used for his breakfast not five minutes earlier - there was no time to take him to a surgery. Roin hurried across the table to find his medical bag and came back to assess his patient.

"Great Caesar's ghost!" Roin exclaimed. "That's Tiberius Starblayde!"

"Don't just stand there, Doctor," Edgar blurted out, the stress of the situation turning him from his normal, polite and mannered self into the type of person who could actually yell at a strange Dwarf Apothecary, "get to work!"

Roin appeared to frown, but as with most Dwarves of his age they always appear to be frowning, and promptly checked his patient's pulse. A look of what Edgar assumed to be relief played across his face as he carried on assessing his patient, checking temperature, inspecting the bullet wounds and so on.

After a moment's pause, Roin retrieved a delicate silver pair of scissors from his back, and with one clean stroke cut off Tiberius' damp ponytail at the base of his skull. Both Dom and Ed looked on in confusion as Roin tucked the long braid of hair into his cabinet, into one of the dozens of tiny, intricate drawers dotted across its side. The next operation was to withdraw the bullet from Tiberius' hip. Though not particularly deep, the wound was messy, and the procedure required both Dom and Ed to hold Tiberius in such a position for Roin to to his work. The bullet, bloodied but still shiny brass, was dropped into a bowl just recently used for cereal and the Apothecary's work was complete.

Roin washed his hands and stood in silence. Uncomfortable moments passed, none of the men in the room could find words for their situation, save Edgar Chavez.

"Cup of tea, anyone?"

"Aye," Roin replied, "that be the canniest thing ye said since ye got here."

The tea was quickly brewed, a strong, full-flavoured brew of the stuff Dwarves love. Erimadal, literally translated as 'the Elder's Golden Drink', was the most expensive Dwarfish tea available, and Roin cold not sanction the brewing any of the other eight, less important, brands in the presence of the Lord-Protector, even an apparently dead, unconscious former-Protector. Dom watched Edgar's movements, noticing he poured four cups.

"It's for Lord Tiberius," Ed explained, "just in case."

Edgar's reasoning was more correct than he could possibly know. Whether the strong-scented tea was, as folklore would tell in later years, the key ingredient that roused Tiberius to consciousness or not is debatable, but the fact of the matter is that the three had barely drank half their cups before Tiberius bolted upright on the kitchen table with a cry, startling everyone in the kitchen, including the dog.

"Where am I?" Tiberius eventually spoke.

"Near Tournet," Dominic said, "On the Nemyan coast."

"Do ye know who ye are?" Roin asked next, not waiting to see if Tiberius comprehended his location." It took a few moments.

"I am Tiberius Starblayde, Lord-Protector of the Protectorate of Starblaydia, ruler of all its lands, territories and dependencies, Head of the Inner Council, Master of the Fam'dai, son of Saevion and Jhanna City's number-one fan. And I think I am dead."

"Dude," Dom chuckled, "if anyone else said that right now you'd call them a nutjob."

Tiberius Starblayde was a good listener and a quick learner, within the space of an afternoon he had absorbed all the information that Edgar, Dom and Roin could give him, backed up with Roin's Library-like collection of newspapers.

Lady Viannor - now Lady Viannor 'Starblayde' - had seized power in a coup d'etat, but not one that required blood in the streets and hordes of military policemen on the streets, Starblaydia had the latter of those enough already, but a simple one with only two shots fired, both in Tiberius' direction by a venator sworn to protect him. Tiberius had pondered this and decided it was not so much a loyalty to him, but a loyalty to his position. When Viannor had usurped him and taken the position of Lor- Lady-Protector, the allegiance of his troops had similarly switched.

Other things troubled him in his dreams, most of them about Viannor. He'd shot her, repeatedly, and she was completely unaffected, she'd thrown him into a wall on the other side of his cabin with no more effort than throwing a ball. She was something supernatural, had it always been so? No, surely not, Viannor had been perfectly normal in all the time he'd known her, up until recently when she'd changed. What had changed her, though?

"All done, dude. Lord." Dominic was lost for words, again. "Erm. Sir, your Highness."

"Just call me Ty, Dominic. Dude." Tiberius replied with a smile, which seemed to relax the Coast Guard.

"Ok Ty, dude." Dom nodded. "Just wash that colouring out of your hair and you'll have a brand new 'do."

Tiberius looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and frowned. He wasn't even used to having short hair, yet, so dyeing it a dark brown meant he wouldn't even be able to recognise himself in the reflective glass.

"Ye should culture a decent beard, too," Roin's bedside manner did leave something to be desired, but for a Dwarf he was positively friendly.

"Now that I can do," Tiberius said, "but it will turn out silver, too."

"Ye'll have to purchase more dye then." Ever the spendthrift, Roin was.

"I... I don't think I have any money," Tiberius said, somewhat shyly.

"Ye be in luck then, me invisible patient!" Roin's face approached a smile. "I got plenty o'jobs the need doing around the place. I cannae claim on ye Medical Insurance, now can I?"

Tiberius groaned.

"Only if you three can show me the real Starblaydia that I have built, my inimitable Apothecary."

"Aye."

The idea was to be inconspicuous. By that definition, a Dwarf's motor vehicle was not required. The notorious underground styling - not so much designed to travel in tunnels as drawn up in total darkness - the noise levels, the steam engine - all these factors and so many more discounted the Rukh Industries-built contraption. This also dismissed Dominic's Coast Guard truck. Although technically part of the giant law enforcement umbrella, a bright orange four wheel drive pick-up truck with a surfer, a Dwarf, two private citizens and a dog squeezed into a space designed for three seats would surely not go unnoticed.

As Tiberius had no immediate transport of his own, this left Mister E. Chavez. Unaccustomed to chauffeuring arguably the most famous name in the entire Atlantian Oceania region, Edgar drove cautiously and considerately, stopped immediately whenever an amber traffic light became visible, and generally aggravated pretty much ever other driver on the road that day. Tiberius, in particular, found the pace very slow, but this allowed him to take in his surroundings much more than ever before.

So used was he to being in an bullet-proof armoured car, surrounded by police cars and bikes, Venators, helicopters, news crew, army units and the rest of his usual cavalcade that he found this journey the longest and most scenic of his life.

Edgar babbled as he drove, as he was prone to do when nervous, he babbled about the war with the Lowland Clans, he stuttered over Lady Viannor's latest statements to the country, rambled about the new K.E.R.E.S. agency and wondered out loud about Hecia's chances of getting into the top-half of the upcoming Liga Starblaydia season. He was about to mention their prospects of a decent Tiberius Cup run - not considering the fact the man who the cup was named after was riding in the back of his very own car. Tiberius interrupted him.

"Are these posters everywhere?"

From his position in the middle of the back seat he gestured to a stark poster on the wall at the side of the road. Be alert! Clanner spies can be anyone! As a propaganda tool it was a master-class in design, simplicity and message, a creation from one of Viannor's best, no doubt. It sat directly next to a black, purple and white concoction telling Starblaydi folk Vigilance at all times!, and there was the ubiquitous Starblaydia will prosper through you!.

"They are nowadays," Edgar said, continuing his previous flow, "we're in practically a constant state of alert, every day we're on the highest or highest-but-one on the terrorist alert, general alert, war alert and alert-alert scales. It's incredulous."

"Everyone's alert, everyone's vigilant: Starblaydia prospers." Tiberius frowned. "Viannor had been saying those very words to me for months on end. Now she has got her own way."

"There be informants on every street, these days," Roin said glumly, "informal informants, too. Everyone kens their presence, never their names, an' if ye require someone to tell ye observations to, they be always around."

"It's the KERES, man," Dominic said from the front seat, "evil bitches, I had one in my station last month. They're all tight lips and harsh frowns, most heinous."

"Something should be done about this," Tiberius said, in a tone that all in the car knew to be a serious and long-considered one. It would have consequences for them all.

It had taken months to get this one meeting together. Autumn had turned to snowy winter, winter into spring and even spring made way for summer before the assembly had been arranged.

Starblaydia's war with The Lowland Clans, in fact the entire Strategic Alliance's war with the SDL, had now been going on for ten whole months. Viannor had, much to the dismay of the entire nation, had even withdrawn Starblaydia's national football team from the international scene. This move, more than any other, had set the nation on edge. The prolonged war was, at the very least, certainly not helping matters.

The small team of conspirators had quietly set themselves a task - rather Tiberius had set himself a task, one which Dominic, Roin and Edgar felt bound to join in with. Whether from senses of loyalty, honour, respect, debt or adventure, the four men, unwilling to openly dub themselves insurgents, began the long, secret and highly dangerous process of forming a group to try and topple Viannor.

The utmost care and attention to detail had been taken at every minute step along the way, and still everyone was nervous about being found out. Even the merest hint of wrongdoing could easily be investigated by any inquiring law enforcement official, and they'd all be shot in short order should that happen.

Edgar was contemplating all this and more as he drove to the rendezvous. This was their big night, where they could either become a real force for change or be shattered and destroyed. And killed. Edgar didn't like the though of that. As ever, his faithful dog Jack sat in the boot of his car - always ready to be used as a cover story should something go awry. 'I was just taking my dog for a walk, officer,' seems genuine when coming from a nervous yet upstanding member of middle Starblaydi society like Edgar Chavez.

"Bloody hell!" Edgar yelled, slamming on his brakes in the middle of a left-hand turn, underneath a highway flyover. A blonde cyclist had cut across him from the oncoming lane and dived down the path he was about to drive down, taking her life in her hands and leaving Edgar more nervous than ever. He had singularly failed to sound his horn, just in case it drew attention to them. No sense in giving away this secret meeting point before he even got there. Edgar completed his left-hand turn and pulled into the underground car park, his designated spot for tonight.

He got out and, bringing Jack on a lead, made his way to the surf shop underneath the flyover. A secret knock later and he was granted entry, wordlessly going to the back of the shop and into the stock area. Surrounded by surfboards and gaudy clothing, he found his co-conspirators were about to start.

"Dude," Dom said, in as friendly a manner as he could manage under the circumstances, "we were waiting for you."

"I nearly collected some idiot blonde on a cycling joyride just before I got here," he replied with middle-class disgust, "young people like that don't care about anything."

"Ahem," came a female voice in the shadows. Edgar looked up to see a raven-haired young woman holding a blonde mass of hair in her hand, "old people don't look where they're going, either."

The woman's - perhaps even girl's - insolent tone hushed Edgar before he could think of anything else to say.

"Alright," this was Tiberius' voice, deep and rich as he stepped forward, "the gang's all here. Now to business."

"We all know why we're here," Tiberius continued, assuming this was a true statement.

"Um," Edgar's voice was audible for a fraction of a second before he quickly silenced himself.

"Edgar?" Tiberius said, "you have something to say?"

For all the revolutionaries that dismissed Edgar Chavez as a simple bumbling middle class fool who was way out of his depth, Tiberius Starblayde held a respect for the man who had discovered him in his near-dead state on that deserted beach. Were it not for Edgar's bravery, Tiberius would surely still be a dead body on that beach.

"Well," Edgar found his voice again, "I don't know, actually. I'm never told anything," he found another reserve of courage, "except to come to this meeting."

Tiberius frowned at the man who he knew should have informed Edgar of their next step. There was no room for pettiness in his operations; there never had been. A stern few words would be said between them after the meeting. Edgar was the most respectable member of their little revolutionary guard, he was the one able to get away with walking his dog around secure installations at all hours of the night, in all weathers.

"We're here, Edgar," Tiberius explained, "because we have a window. A window to get rid of Vi- the regime we have at the moment. Viannor and her councillors will be in a lightly defended building - one that you've scouted for us, no less. With Army and Security eyes turned to the outside, they're more stretched than ever. This is our time."

"What are we going to do," Edgar asked, forgetting he and Tiberius were surrounded by other people for a moment, "walk up to the front door, regardless of police, KERES, Venators and whatnot and ask her to resign?"

"Basically, yes." Tiberius smiled.

Jack looked up at Edgar, the type of look that a dog-owner would interpret as 'Why on earth are you walking me around this bit of grass again? We've done this for the last twenty minutes already.' Edgar, however, was waiting for Nyah, their KERES double-agent. Finding her had been the key to this operation, but no-one was truly sure if she wasn't actually playing them all for fools. Edgar didn't like the fact he was her contact for this evening, she made him... uncomfortable, clumsy with his words as much as his actions.

"That's a nice dog," Nyah said with a smile, appearing silently behind him, making him jump slightly.

"Oh," Edgar stammered, "he, th-thank-you, Officer."

"You look to be a good boy, don't you?" She said, squatting down to rub Jack behind the ears. Jack wagged his tail, he liked Nyah well enough. The wispy blond hair sticking out from underneath her uniform beret was just a wig, Edgar knew, but whether blonde or brunette, he couldn't stop thinking about those green eyes she so often hid beneath her sunglasses. Kind, friendly eyes, they wouldn't be traitorous to him, would they?

"Carry on, citizen," she said, striding off into the night.

Edgar hung around for a few minutes, completing a final lap of the grassy area before going home. He would wait until he got back to check the message she had planted under his dog's collar. He thought a little bit more about Nyah, a lot more in fact. He and his dog were both thoroughly exercised and refreshed by the time they got back, and Edgar removed the shred of paper that had been expertly tucked into the little slot on the underside of Jack's collar - Edgar hadn't even see it, in fact, and he'd been looking closely.

He read the note and picked up the phone, dialing a number from the pad in front of him.

<Ahoy-hoy, Apothecary here.>

"Ah Doctor Roin," Edgar said, "I'm just calling to confirm the time of my appointment tomorrow?"

<Aye, ah have ye down for...> The Dwarf was an excellent actor, it seemed <nine o'clock in t'morn. Was that what ye had?>

"Oh yes, exactly right," Edgar said, using the code words, "I won't have to change my day. Thank-you very much, Doctor."

<Nay bother, good-bye.>

It was on.

Everything was in place. The first act was simple: a diversion.

For this they recruited a bunch of kids - the type that in any other nation would be seen as simple loiterers, hanging around on street corners with nothing to do but skate or talk or play their music. In Starblaydia, groups of youths like this were usually asked - fairly firmly - to move on by any police in the area. These were local kids, ones who lived within the cordon that the Starblaydi Army had thrown around this Council meeting. Viannor and her Council would occasionally venture out of their hugely-protected government compound in uptown Jhanna, and this small building was one of them, used seemingly for tradition's sake. Tiberius' insurgents knew it was their only possible target, the only thing they could get near to, to finally get access to Viannor and topple her.

It was a quiet part of town, more lush green parks and wide boulevards than anything else. Due to all the open space, the Army had been forced to throw their usual protective line much further away; crucially, out of earshot. A yell or a gunshot outside the building which now held the Lady-Protector and her inner council would not be heard, even by the keenest of Army ears. They relied on radio from the KERES and police units guarding the building itself. The few police - the KERES, after all, did not trust them in the slightest - were the first act.

Children loitering. Youths, worse teenagers. Doing nothing, seemingly, like teenagers seemed to do nowadays. But were a normal person would see a dozen or so young people hanging out, chilling out or whatever the 'in' word for it was, a member of the Jhannan Police Department saw loiterers, potential rabble rousers and a simple nuisance to be moved on. The two officers had a car, after all, and a few other units were in the area - they would just be tidying up the place for the Lady, they thought. Perhaps a good word from their captain would come of this. How wrong they would be.

As the two officers strode over to the youths in that languid style police officers across the world trying to look tough do, the two men closed to easy talking range.

"Evening, boys and girls," the stockier one said, "what are you doing hanging around here?"

"Nothing." The usual response.

"Well go do something elsewhere," the officer replied.

"Get lost, copper." That wasn't particularly unusual either, but the boy deserved a talking to.

"Oh, I see," the stocky one said, "don't think I can tell you what to do, eh? You know what?"

He never had time to answer his own question as a glass bottle was flung in his direction from the corner of a nearby building. It landed a metre or so away from him and shattered on the ground. As he looked up another one came sailing towards him, forcing him to duck and raise his arms above his head. The taller of the two policemen immediately took out his nightstick and made for the building. Chaos broke out as the kids pushed over the stocky one and broke for cover. The officers then did what separated teams do: called for backup.

No KERES was going to answer the call from two policemen dealing with teenagers, so it was down to a couple of the other units stationed around Viannor's council building to put on their car's blue lights and seek out the youths. One protection down, one to go.

"Fools," Kyra said through a stern mouth, "no wonder they're still stuck as street cops if they have to chase children around."

"Heh," Moira replied, pressing her ear-piece tight against her inner ear, "sounds like they're having trouble. Idiots."

Nyah simply pulled out her sidearm and checked its action, taking the safety off, cocking and then again making safe her Heckler and Koch Expert pistol with attached silencer. The quiet blonde did this multiple times every evening, and it made Moira a little uneasy.

"Who do you think you are, Nyah?" Moira asked, "Little Miss Gunslinger?"

Nyah only replied with a grunt. For all their grim and deathly reputation, the KERES assigned to guard Lady Viannor tended not to be the stone-cold killers and torturers. They ended up behind the battle lines of the Legal Republic and The Lowland Clans, slaughtering villagers and burning oil fields. The ones who guarded the Lady-Protector, like Nyah, Moria and Kyra, were simple bodyguards - good at spotting threats in crowds, good at defending their brief, well-drilled at exit procedures and strategy. Some kids throwing bottles were beneath their notice - let the beat-pounders deal with them.

"Why the Lady persists on coming here, I have no idea," Krya said, "I've warned her against it, particularly with the military so far away."

"Tiberius used to come here a lot," Moira put in, "I think it had something to do with his father, who was Lord-Protector before him. It's tradition, I guess."

Good old tradition. In insurrections there is traditionally betrayal, and the second act would take place here. Pulling out her gun and cocking it, Nyah quickly took aim at the back of Kyra's head and pulled the trigger. Before Moira could react, she had received two quick shots to the side of the face. One more round in Krya's body was all it took to make sure. It was as quick and as simple as that. No police, no KERES on this side of the building. They had their way in.

Dangermouse. That was his code-name, and he felt little more than a mouse now. He had been summoned, dress uniform and all, to give his thoughts on the 'next great operation' within Operation Galactica. Not to a Colonel, not to a General, but to the Lady-bloody-Protector, of all people. Those were the 'benefits' of being made a Major: people actually asked for your opinion. Why, though, did it have to be the first person to find him after he'd shot Tiberius Starblayde back on the Orca? Why did it have to be the woman who looked at him with such hate in her eyes that night, who's orders her had followed and immediately regretted, shooting the man he had been so loyal to just because he was told to?

Such was life, he thought. Major Jaehaerys Fyreskar, who had managed to kill off two national leaders in his time, fought in innumerable wars, battles and conflicts. He was a Venator a member of the Starblaydi Special Forces and proud of it, but the more decorations that came on his shoulder-boards, the less fighting he actually did. No more creeping around behind enemy lines in the dark with nothing but a knife. His missions now were to plan, to scheme, to lead. The side-arm buckled to his belt hadn't even been used on the range, so new it was.

He waited to be called, to show his face in the Inner Council, surely to be the target of one of Viannor's cruel verbal barbs. He hated the woman. Everyone hated the woman. Being ruled over by a single person was one thing, but when it was this 'Lady' Viannor, that was quite enough. Best not to think such thoughts, though, so as not to poison his words later.

As he stood in the corridor, a door opened. Immediately he turned his head but realised it was not the door leading to the Council, but outside. A KERES agent came towards him, blonde hair poking out from under here beret. There followed a group of people behind her, including one man who's face he recognised. The hair was not the same, short and un-styled, not the long pony-tail he had known before. Surely it couldn't be. Jay had killed him over a year ago, shot him twice and watched him fall into the cold Nemyan waters - a vision he had seen many times in his dreams since. None of the other people striding towards him were picked up by his brain, just this man. Tiberius Starblayde.

Involuntarily, Jay drew his sidearm and half-raised it. His action was greeted by the pointing of half a dozen guns at him.

"Hold," Tiberius said, quietly, but firmly, "Jay? Is that you?"

"I..." The ghost of Tiberius Starblayde was before him. His brain screamed at him that he was mad, delusional or worse, but different words came out. "I killed you. You were a traitor, that's why I killed you: Order Sigma-Two," Jay simply spilled out the words in the order his brain came up with them, "detain Starblayde for his crimes, you're Tiberius Starblayde. "

"I am him, but he is not me." Tiberius said. "Put the gun down, Jay. We're here for her."

Jay lowered his weapon and turned.

"Through here." He said.

And they followed him: the army Major, the former dictator, the intelligence agent, the coast guard, the dwarven Doctor, the middle-class man, all the rest - they walked through the door towards their destiny.

Around the table sat the entire Inner Council, listening intently to Lady Viannor as she paced along the far wall. There sat her pawn, his 'Holiness' Philippou Tsalikassis, serene and bored as usual. The ever-nervous Minister for Sport Rikaard Van Honjiik, wishing his Ministry could return to the international stage to regain him the influence he had become used to. Minister for Defence, now War, Carlito Orfosi, the tough, hard man who had the responsibility of losing the war, thrust upon him after Viannor had no more victories to take the credit for. The ever-smiling Isaac Chisoko, who's brilliant white teeth hid a multitude of sins and doubts. The two men ever-opposed to Viannor's decisions, but only in private, Juan Bruntos and Howard Jiminez, sitting in stony silence wondering how they could lessen Viannor's latest ramblings. Finally the smaller figure of Ricardo Gomez, Communications Minister, jotting down notes for his next speech to the nation or the region.

Viannor was in full flow.

"...must be re-taken. We had their capital within our grasp but couldn't defend it, for some unknown reason. The Army is at fault for failing to hold the ground they had made. Take and hold will be the new strategy, the ground under our soldiers' feet is to be ours for all time, there will be no retreat, no prisoners, no..." She stopped, mid-sentence, and turned her head to the door. A moment later it opened, and Viannor spoke in a breathless voice. "No!"

A Starblaydi Venator Major in full dress uniform entered, his weapon was in his hand.

"Major Fyreskar," Lord Orfosi began, "you've not yet been called-"

"Be quiet, Carlo," came a voice from the corridor, a voice they all knew like that of their father, "now is my turn to speak."

Tiberius stepped through the door, flanked by twenty other figures. Viannor was rooted to the spot. She simply did not know what to do, this was the one thing she had not prepared for.

"I was not murdered, gentlemen," Tiberius said, "not by fictitious terrorists or anyone else. I was overthrown, by her. And now it is time to put the situation right, for the sake of Starblaydia and the entire region."

Viannor snarled, having no weapon to hand she did all that her newy-gained supernatural instincts had taught her - she rushed at Tiberius, but even for all her speed she wasn't quicker than Jaehaerys Fyreskar's trigger finger. Two shots and she was floored, with everyone in the room at least flinching, if not leaping out of their skin at the sound of an un-silenced 9mm pistol being fired indoors. Of all present, only Tiberius knew that this was not the end; he had shot Viannor before and it had only slowed her down. Major Fyreskar had become the first person to shoot two successive Lord Protectors of Starblaydia, a dubious honour that he and Tiberius certainly did not wish to make public.

No-one said a word. Though dramatically engaging, there were simply no words to speak when faced with a long-thought dead autocrat and a newly shot-dead tyrant who had replaced him. Viannor, however, was clearly not dead, her chest heaving and the sound of blood bubbling through heaving lungs. Slowly, painfully, before the shocked and horrified onlookers, the Lady-Protector stood, bloody hands covering the two wounds in her chest. She met Tiberius' gaze with a stern look that seemed to last an eternity, each reading the other and knowing what lay behind their eyes.

Suddenly and silently, Viannor bolted for the window. Faster than most of them could follow, she leaped into the air and through the closed window, shattering it completely. As the glass fell to the floor outside, Viannor was gone, away and into the dark night. She always knew when it was time to cut and run.

"My Lords," Tiberius said, ending any thoughts of explanations, "you have unmade me Lord-Protector before, now you must make me that again. Starblaydia has been led down a dark path of hate and violence, and it is one we must withdraw from. Let me undo Viannor's work, and Starblaydia can be at peace again - the answers are here, now, in this very room. You know what you must do."

"Welcome back, my Lord," Ricardo Gomez said, "now let's get you to a TV camera. The people must be told."

"I am what you never want to say, but I've never had a doubt,
It's like no matter what I do I can't convince you for once just to hear me out,
So I let go, watching you, turn your back like you always do,
Face away and pretend that I'm not,
But I'll be here 'cos you're all that I've got."
- Linkin Park, 'Faint'


- END -