NationStates Jolt Archive

Real Allanean Republican Army Headquarters, New Ngmweni

The building was relatively modest – a simple concrete hemisphere, standing in the deep jungle. If you weren't deliberately looking for it, you would not find it – and even if you did, it was a fairly innocent-looking house. And yet sitting in the living room were some of the most violent, dangerous terrorists in all of Allanea.

“It appears the treason of Agent Park is now full. She and her elf-collaborant scumbags will refuse to execute strikes on anything that's actually a high-value target. She'll talk the talk about removing the monarchy and splitting our country away from Elven control, but we all know full well she doesn't have the spine to really act.”

The leader of the group was Lohengrin Max – or, as he has been known in the various radical circles, The Wolf. He had split his group away from the Republican Army in the wake of the Four-Day War, feeling that its leadership was not doing quite enough for their cause. He, on the other hand, was doing enough.

Soon after the Four-Day war, the Wolf was responsible for a series of bombings in the Elven counties of Liberty-City, and an attempted attack on one of the Royal Orphanages. After that, both the Allanean government and the original Allanean Republican Army had put out rewards for him, but to no avail. And now he was going to execute his biggest strike of them all.

“My friends,” - Lohengrin Max continued, passing his hand through his gray moustache - “This time, we will strike something far more important than some local official or a soldier. We will shake the very throne of Ranisath himself.”

The other members looked shocked. “Ranisath? How on earth...”

The Wolf shook his greying head. “It is not necessary for us to actually succeed, you understand. Even an attempted assassination attempt would ruin the relations between Allanea and the Eternal Empire – and assure our sovereignty.”

“But how would we even go about...”

“I do have a plan.”

Six Days later

Henry Gates was a completely average Allanean – which meant, in his case, that his biological age was frozen the day he turned 17, his left ear was pierced with multiple glowing earrings that flicked on and off like a traffic light, and he was a member of the Allanean Sovereignty League – a peaceful equivalent of the ARA. He participated in protests, was beaten up by police – but he never did anything violent. And of course, his ASL membership was kept secret.

And now he was chosen for a 'special assignment'. He was instructed to request an audience with the overlord of the Eternal Empire on a business reason of some kind – after all, he was the son of an extremely wealthy Allanean businessman – and then, when present, give an impromptu speech against the evils of what the ASL called 'Foreign oppression of the freedom-loving peoples of Allanea'.

And of course, he and his comrades spent three days celebrating this assignment – which is just polite English for getting drunk and high.

So as Henry Gates was making his way towards LCAX, he did not know yet that one of his friends introduced a condition-armed nanoexplosive into his blood stream and that his protest was going to be far from peaceful.

Liberty-City, about the same time

The monastery was a giant spire of reinforced metacrete – a mix between a Gothic church and a fortress. Its outline was a dark, angular silhoette on the reddening sunset of Liberty-City, as if a blade pressed to the throat of the sky. There was no way a man standing below, among the tiny family homes of the city could make out the few tiny windows on the top floors, windows that resembled firing slits in the walls of a medieval fortress.

Few knew that behind one of these windows lay a small, spartan chamber, and in that chamber lived the Prioress of the entire Order of the Sisters of Liberty.

The room was bland – a narrow bed, a closet with the ceremonial outfits of the Order, a rack with the Holy Weapons Of Service, and a low table of the kind that are sometimes favored by the Tiburonese.

Right now, there were two bottles of Dersconi vodka on the table, and a 200-gram glass. One of the bottles was already half-empty as the Prioress refilled her glass precisely to a marking line passing on its middle, and drank it with a single motion. A third bottle was lying on the floor, already empty.

It isn't my fault. I couldn't have known. He said so himself. He didn't blame me.

Yet her face showed no relief – perhaps there was none to be found. Perhaps because the other option seemed more correct. Stupid girl. You know it's not true. Had you not assumed him ill, had you not gone with that ridiculous 'treatment', there would be no coup. Sasha wouldn't end up in some institution in San-Nereiana being tortured day in and day out.

Another glass.

I'm a traitor. There's no way out of this. There's not even anybody to talk to.

She knew that even some of the Sisters of the Order would disagree – many of them still thought everything she did then was right, and those would didn't would try to console her like a small child – and Victoria Sheshet wasn't a small child.

The glass rolled on the floor. It was good that the walls were thick and the door was a heavy armored plate, for none of the Sisters should see their Prioress crumpled on her bunk bed, crying tears of shame and guilt.

Customs Inspection in the Necrontyr Empire was a curious process, in that most things were not searched, indeed, only firearms and energy weapons were even counted as weapons, though non-native (or Menelmacari, or Kajali) citizens were very definitely not permitted to bring such things into the country. Of course, this was very much publicized in any Allanean guide to travelling there, and so he didn’t make that mistake. The most curious part, however, was that rather than being searched, individuals had to make a brief declaration stating that they did not intend to do any physical harm to C’tani citizens, guests or possessions.

Of course, for this to have any impact, some means of determining the truth was required, and while that system was adequate (and in some respects, quite secret) it did not affect this particular guest.

The hotel he Henry Gates ended up staying in was an expensive place, a sprawling campus on the fringe of Tephet Sheta the size of a small town, with hundreds of kitchens, tens of thousands of suites, and innumerable bars, lounges, gardens, pools, and other facilities. However ,that was the easy part, if not the least expensive. Getting an audience with Ranisath was easy enough, if you knew how to go about it, but for the most part, he did not directly bother with business meetings, despite having many such financial interests.

One curious feature of the C’tan themselves was an ability to perceive time at a rate of their choosing, much like most Ais. Consequently, Ranisath generally replied to all mail he received in person (his wife did something similar, by a radically different means) despite that being a vast amount.

So, on his first morning there, Henry Gates received a prompt reply from his target, in the form of a message headed by an elf-style heraldic symbol that depicted a complex shape surrounding a star, on a field of other stars.


Dear Henry Gates,

Unfortunately, due to the large amount of requests for my time every day, and the duties of my office I am frequently unable to give appointments to all those who wish them. As such, while of course, any proposal is most welcome, I am not able to personally attend to every business proposal. Consequently, I must ask you either submit a proposal in a written or other multimedia form, including recorded presentations, or similar, or, if you are unable to do so, to contact one of my business consultants. These people may be contacted at the same address, by directing your mail to ‘Department of Personal Affairs’

Yours sincerely,
Ranisath Cuilahîr Cuilévaher, Elenaran of the C’tan

And so Henry Gates set himself to work. He was determined on seeing the ruler of the Necrontyr in person, and for that to work, he needed to study Ranisath's schedule. Soon enough, he found out that the leader of the Eternal Empire made several public appearances every week, at various events like the opening of hospitals, schools, bridges and other, more ominous edifices. Now, it remained to find such a place that he could visit, see the C'tan and be seen by him –and preferably one that would be covered by the Allanean media as well.

He soon found such an event – and a few rapid websearches found him the opening of an extension the Tephet starport. It transpired that the Liberty Times Eternal Empire office would send a man there, too – so his effort would be noticed by men both in the Eternal Empire and in Allanea itself.

Perfect. – thought Henry Gates, and began preparing for his protest.
His gear included a small megaphone – a device no larger than a button – a banner with the words HANDS OFF ALLANEA that fit in to his shirt pocket and would unfold to grow to Henry's own size and glow in the daylight or in the dark. He contemplated bringing eggs to throw at the Elenaran, but decided this would be too rude and too childish.

The star-port was a vast structure. Miles upon miles of boxes were stacked over vast rail systems – those seemed a little primitive perhaps but you couldn’t beat the idea for efficient movement of goods. The lifting carriages in use had gravitic engines built into them, for at times, they were required to transport super-dense goods that would otherwise crush the ground beneath them. A similar system existed for passengers, and Henry found himself drifting onto a crowded train that slid soundlessly along a recessed gap that looked out onto a continuous platform that looked onto thousands of open sided spaces filled with closed containers. Curiously, however, there was very little stillness in this spectacle, every few feet, something was being moved by machines, with very little wait-time in the whole affair. On the other side of the train, was a vast valley stacked high with various landing pads, over which vast tenders and other craft lurked, surrounding even larger vessels of every form, from saucers, to oblong functional designs, to rockets. Here and there, enormous black pylons loomed, whickering with inner green light, or with shimmering curtains of harsh green light flickering between them. Patrolling scarabs not unlike the military forms crawled over every surface, like some kind of metallic, flying rats.

There were more hospitable parts of the star-port, where passenger vessels landed, but this was beyond them. The vehicle stopped by a dull grey pyramid, admitting a trio of men in counter-stereotypical functional uniforms, though even they had elements of decoration; the hard armored surfaces of radiation resistant metals were intricately lacquered in almost-identical shades of blue. At last, it stopped at his destination, where almost everyone present got off.

The new area was hard to identify, at first. It followed the same pattern as before, though the train passed over a cylindrical chasm half a mile wide, filled, beneath, with ominous projecting needles. Then, at last, there was a crowd of interested looking people. Far more children than anywhere else Henry had seen on Duat, and here and there, tall figures, their garb not unlike the practical dress of the spacers who circulated in the port, though it was in a shining gold engraved on every surface with necrontyr inscriptions. Each wore long purple cloaks, and instead of ubiquitous pistols (the spacers seemed not to bother with swords that elsewhere seemed a fashion statement) they carried lofty, crackling warscythes.

On a low podium at the front of the crowd, a tall, white clad, almost radiant figure was speaking, accompanied by two of the guards, with some kind of canine creature curled up at his feet.

The pattern of action for Henry has been simple. He found himself a spot from which he could get a clear view of the proceedings (and, hopefully, be seen by both the media and the C'tan himself), waited for a lull or a pause in the ceremony, and then started talking. His speech has been rehearse, and his voice sounded almost completely calm, although that changed as Henry found himself becoming more and more excited by the circumstances, and by the high-spirited content of his speech.


Elenaran!

Hear me!

Hear me, people of the Eternal Empire!

Hear me, Freemen in Allanea!

Oppression is afoot! Even though Allanea stands strong, her economy booming, her allies plentiful, she is now endangered! And it is those around me – the Elenaran and his elven minions – who oppress my beautiful motherland!

The necrontyr and elves have bound the Allanean culture to their by inextricable ties. You send teachers and agents to inculcate our young in your ways. Your cults are spread troughout our wonderful lands.You have taken our very President's office under your control, taking him under your eldritch webs of treachery and deceit!

There are many rumors about the necrontyr system. Conspiracy theories, most unbelievable – docility drugs in municipal voting slips, kidnapping of orphans for the Sisters of Liberty convents, this sort of thing. Yet their persistence is evidence itself – of the simple fact that many in Allanea view you and your presence in our culture as a vile poison, an insidious horror that is poisoning our free land.

What you are doing – whether you plan it or not – is a strike against the very national character of our nation. The pro-forma monarchy that you introduced, the reforms that you sponsored, the betrayal of our President by your minion, Victoria Sheshet, all point to your contempt towards everything that makes Allanea – Allanea.

He pulls out his banner and unwraps it. It floats in mid-air, a gigantic, self-suspended, written in giant glowing letters.

Get out of our country! Set us free! Don't you have a life of your own to manage, you pompoous know-it-alls?

He does not know there is a nanotechnological explosive in his bloodstream.

He does not know that the more excited he gets, the more keywords he utters, the closer it is to going off.

Ranisath didn’t actually respond to the Allanean, though he drew a little disinterested regard from the people around him. He was of no relevance to them, and his rantings, no matter how loud, were easily tuned out. However, one of the guards’ attention was indeed drawn to the protestor, his golden form stepping up with a direct, brutal efficiency, as he brought his bladed weapon down on Henry’s neck. The blade was selectively intangible, deriving what it was to do from its user’s thoughts. It passed through skin, tissue, bone and blood vessels without actually harming any of them, transecting the young Allanean’s face and mouth. What it did do, was cut the nerves controlling voluntary muscular functions below the neck, vocal cords and all. A golden gauntleted hand grabbed him by the shoulder as he fell, paralysed, and dragged him backwards a little way.

This was noticed, indeed, but the reaction was quite unusual. Almost everyone present shrugged and ignored him, or at most, asked questions of their neighbors.

With an ear-splitting pop, both Henry and his captor were teleported, to a dark green chamber, where, precisely, it was difficult to tell, as the guard simply dropped his paralytic prisoner to the floor, face down, and left him there.

Godfucking damn it! The fucking elfofascists! – Henry growled inwardly. He was not capable of doing nything, or even turning his face away from the cold floor.

Slowly, however, the anger began to give way to fear. What if, after all, all those conspiracy theories were true?

Eventually, after what seemed like the best part of an hour, Henry was lifted from his rather uncomfortable position. He could not feel, though his sensory nerves were untouched, the injection of counter-agents to his particular condition, nor the removal of pre-treatment blood samples. The chair he was placed in was much better, an elaborate throne, not just conforming and comforting, but exuding subtle fragrance and adapting in other subtle ways to its occupant. The machine which lifted him, a massive, eight limbed tomb spyder, hovered off back to whence it came, and left him, slumped back, barely able to view a vast window looking out on the planet of Duat from orbit.

“Someone’s been very very stupid, don’t you think, Henry?” Ranisath said, having entered from somewhere outside his line of sight. Stepping into view, he was much as before, dressed in an elaborate set of white robes with golden trim, now accompanied by a white-clad woman (who would be rather aged looking to the prisoner, as she appeared early in her thirties). She was of a rather ordinary height, barely making it up to Ranisath’s shoulder, and dressed in a far plainer white robe.

“I want you to guess who it was,” he said, waving a hand in a casual, prompting manner, as he reached into the other, deftly manipulating every single atom within the affected region, in a way that would seem to shoot holes through the uncertainty principle, to repair the damage instantly, “any guesses?”

“Fuck you.” - Henry spat. - “I was a fucking moron to believe your propaganda. I thought you really respect freedom of speech. I say a word against you and you come and send a minion to slice me up with a phase sword. Real class act.”

"I'd rather you didn't, thank you," Ranisath said, "and for the record, it was a warscythe. They're the ones that shoot beams of death, too..."

"Oh, that's even classier. You're going for the 'I could have killed you' line, are you not? Tell me, what is the difference between you, and, say, a Doomani Inquisitor? Apart from how Doomani have better outfits and live in Haven."

"Not really. I saved you, so I suppose that qualifies as 'could have killed you.' Though I did consider letting you go off..."

"You... saved me?" - Henry blinks - "Oh do tell. I didn't think I was in any danger - until that fellow with that warscythe that shoots beams of death jumped me, that is."

"You should stop playing with him. It's cruel..." Ranisath's companion said, and he sighed melodramatically.

"Very well... You are a bomb. Or rather, your blood is. Quite imaginative, I suppose, but we've seen similar things before many times. Harlequins have a gun that shoots something similar. When you reached a certain level of, shall we say, passionate invective, you were going to explode. Not too dangerous, mind, but highly unpleasant for whoever was standing next to you..."


Henry raisef an eyebrow. "Amusing. Wouldn't I *know* about it if I were a king-sized hand-grenade?"

"Not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, is he?" Ranisath said, "that's the point. Remember all that 'I intend no harm' rigmarole on your entry?"

For a second, Henry stared at Ranisath as the meaning began to dawn on him. "So you say that someone equipped me with this explosive without my knowledge, just so I could get into a country and blow up?" Obviously, he thought, the Star God is lying. But... just what if it's true?

"Yes," the woman said, "if it's any consolation, we were aware of you quite early on. You could have been dealt with long before you could detonate."

Henry remained still for a moment, contemplating him. Perhaps the Star God was lying - but that made no sense. There's nothing the entity could gain.


"So," she continued, "we would like to know if you've any idea who did it..."

He pondered his response, and then spoke, as calmly as he could. "So. You're saying someone in Allanea turned me into an explosive to have me blow up on Duat. But why? You're immortal. I can't kill you.”

"I rather doubt they thought it through that much. I supposed they wanted me to retaliate... which of course, I will, after a fashion."

"I don't... are you certain that this is all true? I'm not with any violent group. I have never meant for anybody to be killed." - Henry answered.

"I know that, that's why you're here. And yes. I can show you if you wish..."

"Show me? There's no need. I'm not that stupid. You're a deity. You can fake anything you want. I either trust your word, or I don't, right?"

"After a fashion," Ranisath said, "but it's so much more dramatic to demonstrate. Anyway, did you tell anyone why you were coming here?"

"Well, of course. My family knows, and of course, the whole thing was co-ordinated with my organization. That's Students for National Dignity, by the way."

"And would any of those have an agenda to make... trouble... that you know of?"

Henry paused for a moment. "Well... the organization itself is peaceful in its means and agenda. In fact part of our platform is reducing the prpensity of our own nations to... adventurism, shall we say. But you know student activism - there's always people who know people. There's always guys who're a touch too radical."

"In that case, you may be on your way. Try not to go near any naked flames..."


Henry blinked. Suddenly it all fell together. "Patrick!"


"Indeed?" Ranisath said, sounding a little less interested now.

"Henry. He's my roommate. He studies biochemistry. Point be, he's a bit... too radical if you get my drift. He always takes time off to go to trips to places like the Hash when there are riots there. A lot of people are talking about him - and at any rate, it was his idea to have the party, and he got the drinks. Perhaps he put the... blood bomb stuff into my drinks or something? He had plenty opportunity, especially after I had my fifth."

The view outside the window changed smoothly, to a view of the Haven region from space, "I think that's enough now, anyway... where do you live- ah, never mind. We had that on record anyway. I shall have your effects sent on."

"You're not going to... detain me?"

“Of course not."

Henry blinked. "Well, thank you. I guess the conspiracy theories weren't true after all. I apologize for what I said at first. You must understand I was a bit... upset."

"For the record, I already have as little to do with your government as inhumanly possible..."
Henry Gates shrugged. "It would be beyond impolite for me to argue with you about your policies when I owe you my life, would it not?"

“"Please stand..." - Henry Gates struggled upright. With another slight ear-popping sound, he was deposited outside his apartment, a sudden end to a surreal episode, no doubt.