NationStates Jolt Archive

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“Well, this is interesting.” Tarakh continued flipping through the letters. Three of them, actually – resignation letters for Finance, Culture, and…Holy hell, State Security?! Yuri Golovko had served since Tsar Rekjyavich Ivan Andropov II, and was the oldest known man in Derscon, topping out at two hundred and thirty three years. Many thought Golovko would work until his death. He looked at the calendar. Yesterday was the one year anniversary of the Siege of Friedensburg, which was enough time for Gerhardt Volckner to unite Reichskamphen into a single nation again. Public outcry against the Tsar’s policy overwhelmed the public relations office, and Xavier’s approval rating failed to rise about 40% in every poll – the lowest for ant Tsar in recorded history. Most were calling for Tarakh to step in, but there were rising groups calling for the abolishment of the monarchy entirely, spelling the end of the Fifth Empire.

Veliky Kynaz Tarakh Alexitovich Andropov remained clueless as to Xavier’s whereabouts. The Tsar took off in a private shuttle with a few escorts and guards approximately a month previous, heading towards one of the Dersconi colonies in the neighbouring galaxies. The last transmission was from Kolyarvish, the top secret Dersconi “research and development” moon. Xavier made it clear that he was deliberately destroying all the transponders, so nothing would be able to pick up the small entourage. That was two weeks ago. Xavier’s disappearance was a tightly held secret in the upper echelons of the Imperial government, but if it lasted much longer, something would have to be done. Kosar Beria, Minister of Justice, asked Tarakh to step up immediately. He said he’d wait another week. Seven days. Tarakh tossed the letters back on the desk and sighed, walking back to his room.

If Xavier doesn’t return, he thought. That might be the end of the monarchy.

Well, shit. The newspaper headline was not pretty, nor something he particularly wanted to see.

“JUSTICE MINISTER FOUND DEAD IN SUMMER HOME”

It didn’t help that Foreign Minister Zheleztsolupp Kabanov fled the mainland, and was probably on the Redemption Isles. SciTech Minister Sarrilai Valsharov went with Xavier. So at this point, there was literally no one left in the executive. No one.

It’s not like he didn’t want to do it, really. But a grand prince negotiating with rebels? Derscon must be saved. So he did.

“Sablinov? This is Tarakh…Yeah…Come to the Kremlin…No, I’ve rescinded the shoot-on-sight order…yes, it’s fine…No, I don’t think any of us are safe at this point…yes, right now.” And that was the extent of his conversation with the leader of the Coalition. Not that it meant anything – after all, they’ve been sitting at Friedensburg doing fuck all for the past year or so. Tarakh already issued demobilization orders for all military personnel at the castle. Pride be damned, he thought. It was pride that got us here.

=================================================================

The flight touched down at RAMC airport in the dead of night, with no pomp or circumstance to speak of. A Kremlin staff member met Sablinov at the gate and took him down the road to the Kremlin, but turned off in another direction, away from the fortress city. Instead, he found himself in front of a nondescript bunker hidden well by the forests surrounding RAMC.

The door was opened for him, and he walked in carefully, taking everything in. Not that there was much – it was a bunker, after all. Going down the spiral stairs and walking through the open blast door, he found Tarakh looking at a map of Derscon on the oak table inside the conference room.

“Rögnvaldr Sablinov, thank you for coming.”

“What is this place?” Tarakh smiled.

“There are tons of these types of places hidden about. They’re nothing more than rendezvous points for when we don’t want anyone realizing people are coming to-and-fro important buildings. There are several of these around RAMC, all connected to the palace itself.”

“I see.” Rögnvaldr grabbed the bottle and poured himself a drink, taking a seat. “So, let’s get down to business. Why am I here?”

“To stop this stupid shit that’s been going on for a year.” Tarakh sat down and shot back some vodka.

“Now?”

“Now.”

“Why?”

“Why? Derscon no longer has an Imperial Government.” Sablinov froze mid-drink.

“What?!”

“Right. Xavier’s disappeared – two months, now. One minister went with Xavier, three resigned, one fucked off, and one is dead.”

“Oh…” … “So now what?”

“The troops are gone. You demobilize, rejoin Derscon. We figure it out from there.” Sablinov thought for what seemed like forever.

“Done, under one condition.”

“It being?”

“We hold a referendum, and ask the people what they want.”

“Fair enough. Now go.” Rögnvaldr stood up, thanked him for the drink, and shot back to Friedensburg to deliver the news.

Tarakh sighed. Four days.

Dersconi diplomacy was truly a wonderful thing, especially when merely dealing with other Dersconi. No embellishment, no pointed attacks – just get down to business over a bit of alcohol and solve it in five to ten minutes. Then, have another drink, or dinner, depending. Unfortunately, in foreign relations, it was a tad more difficult, but not everyone can be as skilled as the Dersconi. (Of course, Derscon gets a poor reputation due to its rather harsh treatment of emissaries when they refuse to negotiate – such as Xavier disembowelling a TPF major on the conference table for refusing to negotiate. But that’s what you get for wasting the Tsar’s – and everyone else’s – time.)

Which is why it only took six days to solve a year and a half long quasi civil war, which really was nothing more than two sides staring at each other for a year and a half going “oh…what? Stop it…oh, sorry. I’ll be over…no, you…BANG!...oh, what? So sorry, I’ll just go over here and wait with my gun.”

Sablinov and Andropov solidified the agreement, and the statement was made at the end of the sixth day. A poor move. Many of the nobles that rose to prominence under Xavier’s reign fled the moment the announcement was made. Fled, or they were lynched and their estates burned. Nobles who lost their titles and positions – but never the peoples’ support – under Xavier led riots, protests, and revolts to reclaim their estates. Kynaz Tarakh expected something along those lines – after all, when a five thousand year old empire suddenly loses the entire Imperial Government, someone is bound to snap.

The Kremlin could still function, of course, as Tarakh held the reigns, but due to the sensitive nature of the whole situation, he refused to dispatch the military – or the SS – to quell the revolts. It didn’t last long, though – Dersconi are very nationalistic, so that sort of uncivilized savagery tends to dissipate quickly. By the tenth day, it was all over and done with, and the mess was being cleaned.

Thanks to the general efficiency of Derscon, a referendum will be held in ten days; a referendum that will inevitably spell the end of the Empire. After all, the Dragon Sword is gone, and the wielder is the Tsar, and only the Tsar may wield it. The fuckage ensues.

Prince Tarakh, naturally, was spastic in the Star Office. It was his responsibility to organize everything. He wasn’t too worried, though, since unlike in most countries undergoing such a change, there was no risk of regicide – the Andropov family was too respected (and powerful) for that. Really, though, it was a matter of closing down the Palace. The Imperial Palace would be shut off, as would the Rachakan Temple. In fact, all of the Grand Kremlin Palace would be closed off, too – only the Chancellery would remain open for business. Damn, the Cathedral and the Tower will have to be shut down, too. Actually, fuck it. I can use the old palaces in RekAnd proper, and just close off the Kremlin entirely. Once the orders were written and sealed, he went down to his room to crash. It was going to be a long ten days.

It was arguably even more aesthetically impressive than the Palace. And the Cathedral would not open its doors again – or at least until the rightful heir to the throne could be found. Tarakh shut the solid gold doors, hearing the loud WHAM of the massive bolts jamming themselves into place, and the energy field activated immediately after. He wasn’t out of it yet, though. When the Chancellery was built onto the Kremlin under Tsar Rekjyavich Ivan Andropov III, the Cathedral also underwent renovation, and the original small antechamber built two thousand years ago to protect the doors was torn down, and a new small front wing was built on, with some office space. From the outside, it blended in perfectly, thanks to the genius of Dersconi architects, but on the inside, it was far more modern. A robed figure came down from the east wing, the spiked tail just peeking out of the back from under the robe. We’re finished.

It was a member of the Order of the Heavenly Dragon, a monastic-type order of Kæsþiöndhrí that migrated from the Tundra before the First Empire. They were based in the Cathedral, which was, in fact, an enormous monastery (although much of it was underground) for the Order. The Order maintained the cathedral as well as the Palace, the Andropov Tower, and the Imperial Gardens. Also, all of the Honour Guards were from the Order. The Kremlin, in actuality, before being made into the capital of the Dersconi nation (during the Third Empire), used to be a monastery for the Order, before it was turned into the capital – now the monastery is limited to the Cathedral.

Tarakh sighed. It was nice to know he didn’t have to work at this crap any more – it was tedious work – but it was also very depressing. He grew up with services in the one chapel every Sunday, always mesmerized at the magnificence of the cultural accomplishments of the Empire. Even now, the memories of the Christmas and funeral services inside the main chamber of the Cathedral put him at peace. And it was more than that. The government – save a few minor incidences here and there – had lasted for five thousand years under the direction of the Andropov family. And now…nothing. Xavier’s legacy would not be an admired one. Well, fun, Tarakh thought. The last Tsar of the Andropov Family is going to be remembered as a brutal tyrant who ran away when the nation needed a Tsar most. There was little solace in the fact that Xavier never was legally Tsar – he never wielded the Dragon Sword, and he was never coroneted.

The Order member touched the wall of the Cathedral proper and disappeared through it, while the Grand Prince walked out the doors of the antechamber out into the Andropov Square. He could hear the blast doors close behind him, and the energy field activate as he walked across the square, past the tower, to the Palace to check up on the various servants and Order members cleaning and preparing the place for hibernation. It wasn’t as if he had nowhere to go – the summer and winter palaces weren’t undergoing such treatment – but it was the fact the Kremlin was a holy site that such ritualistic preparations had to be taken.

Making his way up to the Kaiserhaus (the upper palace – literally sitting on top of the other three palaces – that housed the Imperial Family and the various Tsarist offices and libraries), and passing through the Hall of Heroes, Tarakh found the servants zooming back and forth with the personal items of the Imperial Family. Xavier’s stuff was going into one of the vaulthouses in the Imperial Catacombs, while Tarakh was having his effects go to the Tsarhof. Kandajar Kazankrov, Deputy Foreign Minister and a friend of Tarakh, supervised the moving.

“We’re just about done.” Tarakh nodded.

“Good, and thanks. I want to close all of this down before the referendum.”

“That’s tomorrow.”

“Right. Tonight the Order will take over and do their ritual, whatever it is. I need everybody and everything out about an hour before sundown.”

“We’ll be done in about a half-hour. That’ll give you a bit of room.”

“About two hours, yeah. Thanks again, Kanda.”

“No problem.” Kazankrov went back into the “private wing” of the Kaiserhaus while Tarakh went around checking on the rest of the palace. Most of the wings should be closed by now.

CLASSIFIED
INTELLIGENCE REPORT xx-xx-xxxxxx-xx-xxxx063
THIRD CHIEF DIRECTORATE

FOR THE GRAND PRINCE
SUBJ: POLITICAL ORGANIZATIONS

Sir,

With the rising political upheaval, political organization was, of course inevitable. At the moment, five parties have risen. I have taken the liberty of listing them here, with a brief description, in order of largest and prominence.

Christian Libertarian Party
This party is chaired by members of the former GICAPFAH. Rumour has it that Blazhei Voikinov returned after ten years of MIA status and is running the party behind the scenes. After the hard regime of Tsar Xavier II, they advocate a small national government with Christian principles in mind.

National Socialist Union
Headed by former SS General Gerhard von Manteuffel, and made up mostly former Xavier supporters disillusioned by the institution of the crown. They advocate a strong imperial government without the “inefficient trappings” of the monarchy.

Monarchist Party
The most “conservative” of the parties, they advocate the continuation of the monarchy under the principles of reform put forth by Tsar Alexei. Chaired by Kynaz Sanin Alexeitovich Andropov.

Social Democrat Party
There is a rising trend in certain areas of the nation calling for more economic regulation, blaming the market and “corporate corruption” of the crown for the troubles.

Dersconi Populist Union
The smallest organization worth mentioning, the DPU is a small fringe of the CLP, calling for what amounts to a theocracy in all but name.

I submit this before the referendum as to give you an idea of what will likely occur come the final tally. It is best that the current government is fully prepared for the radical changes of state and, if I may be so bold, the fall of the Empire.

Bozhe Tsarja Khrani

The sun was sitting on the horizon, waiting for its chance to sleep. There was not a single building open in the Kremlin, and all but the North Gate had been closed down. Tarakh issued an Imperial Decree mandating the complete evacuation of Rekjyavich-Andropov Military City to be completed one hour before the ceremony. The Praesillei Dei closed the entire city down, blockading every road through the forests surrounding RAMC, and putting the suburbs under martial law.

By now, everything was in position. The Order placed the runic inscriptions at their proper place on the altars in front of the North Gate. There were no spectators, it was entirely forbidden. The Order members were all dressed in the exact same black cloak, and assembled in a half-circle around the main altar in front of the North gate.

It started with a low hum, the two abbots kneeling on the ground, bodies bobbing back and forth as if in a comatose trance. They chanted in an undecipherable language, a language older than the Earth itself. The moon watched over the proceedings with disinterest, as if it knew its view would soon be obscured. The abbots' chant curiously resonated deeply in the open air, their low bass register almost impossible for a human to reach.

Three more joined in at a slightly higher register, and four slightly above that. It almost sounded like something alternating between a diminished, minor seventh, and augmented chord, only filtered through some sort of alien distorter.

As the resonating chant grew in volume, the runes became phosphorescent, though their glow was scattered across the spectrum. Eventually, beams of energy shot out from all of the runes, connecting each rune with every other one. Soon, almost the entire city was lit up with the mystic glow of the ethereal energy. Where all of the beams crossed in the centre, a large ball began to form, the synthesized collection of all of the Runes. While all of the other members of the Order continued to chant louder and louder, the two abbots walked forward and laid their hands on the large energy orb, causing it to glow so bright that all had to avert their gaze.

The orb rose up into the air, and shot forth into the strange inscription above the North Gate Tunnel. When that happened, the orb's energy dispersed through the walls of the Kremlin, causing the entire fortress to emit an eerie phosphorescence, glowing ever brighter until a sudden flash erupted, and the entire city fell silent.

When all could see once more, the ceremony was complete. All of the altars and the runes were gone, and instead of seeing the Kremlin walls, there was nothing but a black, lightless dome. To test it, one of the abbots smashes his staff into it. The orb did not move, and the staff was not broken. It was as if nothing ever happened. Tarakh gave a deep sigh. Tomorrow was going to be a big day – the referendum.

Tarakh slept poorly, and ordered the aides the previous night to keep him up to date with any important information. They never did, but the anxiousness denied him rest all the same. Throwing on a robe, the grand prince dashed down to the comm hub to check the news networks. There were a few protests here and there, but for the most part, the day started off well, people going about their daily lives, while fitting voting into their schedule. It's not as if self-determination was a completely foreign concept to the Dersconi. After all, most of the local and state level governments had some sort of democratic process involved.

Tarakh sighed in relief, refusing to let his pessimism – or his optimism – blind him. It was fine now, but the day did just start. However, the Dersconi, while militaristic, were not savagely violent. But even the militarism was taking a slump. Had Xavier come around about a hundred years ago, after Tsar Rekjyavich Ivan Andropov II, then he would have been praised as one of the most adored and successful Tsars of the Empire. However, the Dersconi were undergoing a major cultural revolution, where individualism and self-determination came to the forefront of political decisions, and people demanded a more non-interventionist stance in international politics – excluding, of course, the Greater Prussian Empire. After all, Prussia was in all forms controlled by the Dersconi crown.

Not that it mattered. Since the death of Napoleon IV, Prussia has pretty much kept to itself, and the nations of the Empire minded its own business. Domestically, the nations of the Empire couldn't be better. Internationally, though, Prussia may as well not exist. Those nations of the Empire not on the continent have long since stopped receiving directives from New Geneva – mostly because none were ever given.

Reichskamphen still underwent major troubles, of course, due to Xavier's tyrannical military hold on the nation, as well as the constant in-fighting between factions. That was another issue on the referendum, actually; the solution to the Reichskamphen situation. Really, though, just talking with people on the streets could tell you what would happen – Derscon would pull out entirely and take care of itself, and once it was back in full force, lend a peaceful helping hand, rather than exploit them for imperial gains.

But even so, that would all depend on what the people chose in this referendum. The choices were to establish a constitutional monarchy, a constitutional democratic republic, a common law democratic republic, or “other.” The National Socialist Union was pushing for all of their members to write in a “fascist military empire,” but even they had dissenters.

Tarakh shrugged. “Oh well,” he said to no one in particular. “I guess we'll just see what happens.”

It was just a few days ago that Tarakh issued the Imperial Decree banning all minute-by-minute coverage of the referendum, threatening to shut down the news outlet and arrest the broadcasters and the corporate leaders if it happened. While part of it was that he just didn't want to have to be bombarded with such trivial information, it was also to prevent the news outlets from interfering or influencing the referendum.

However, since the referendum was entirely electronic and centrally controlled from an independent server network, Tarakh could bring up the data showing the results. As expected, “constitutional monarchy” and “democratic republic” were almost neck-and-neck, with all of the other results performing quite poorly. For the moment, “constitutional monarchy” was leading by a few points, but that could always change.

The prince shrugged, and sighed. Now, he thought. What to do about the nobility...