The Kaiser in Syrixia (1972)

The man found himself lost in the clouds, miles above an endless sea. The ocean below was an infinite carpet of deep blue-green, upon which a giant as tall as the clouds could walk his way beyond the golden, sunlit horizon and into the darkening azure sky, all the way to the pearly gates of heaven where stars and angels slept. He once heard a story -- probably from his superstitious Han nanny -- that heaven and earth were once joined together within one giant cosmic egg, that angels once lived among mortal men and mortals could climb their way to God's heavenly throne. But then God saw that men were wicked and monstrous, and saw it fit to crack the cosmos in twain, forever separating the heaven from the --

"Earth to Franz! Is the Emperor of Kannex still with us?"

Franz blinked. He found himself back in the air-pressurized cabin of the imperial airplane, his head resting on an open palm on a seat near the window. Ten kilometers above the West Sea, en route to Pataliputra. "Yes, yes, I'm quite awake." Kaiser Franz was nearing fifty years old, the lush black hair of his youth beginning to gray. Wrinkles formed around sunken, almond-brown eyes. Like most members of the Niemza dynasty, the Kaiser was of mixed Han and white descent, serving as a living emblem of the multi-ethnic Empire.

He beheld his wife of thirty years, Linda. She was sitting across from him, a hardcover copy of War and Peace in her lap and a tender but teasing smile on her face. She was three years older than her husband, but managed to hide her age well with makeup and a cheerful expression. "Tell me what's on your mind, Franz." You know very well you can't tell anyone else were the words that came implicitly. She was his closest adviser, his confidante, his lover.

Franz sighed, then gazed out the thick glass window of the airplane. A blanket of clouds hung above the open blue ocean. "It's been eighteen years, hasn't it? It's been eighteen years since I flew over this very ocean, only I was headed the other direction. I was nothing more than an exile. They called me a usurper back then, a foreigner to his own country who couldn't even speak proper Mandarin." His dark, tired eyes sparked to life as he turned to his empress. "Now they call me Emperor."

As the imperial airplane descended, Emperor Franz checked himself in the mirror. A host of silver medals hung from the breast of his navy-blue military uniform. Golden epaulettes adorned his shoulders; a peaked cap with a red band and the imperial eagle insignia attached in front sat squarely on his combed hair; a sword in a sheath decorated by a golden, Han-style serpent-dragon hung at his belt. An assistant tapped the sides of his face with a brush, applying cosmetics that would subtract ten years from his appearance. Franz looked to his wife, who was dressed in a simple white mandarin gown, with a thick bun of hair tied in the back of her head and jade earrings.

Without so much as a thud, the wheels of the plane made contact with the ground, slowing on the Pataliputra International Airport runway. Two painted red stripes stripes ran across the length of the fuselage to represent the Kannexan flag; a gold-yellow star marked the rudder of the aircraft. In addition, above the red stripes and line of windows on the fuselage stood the large bold-letter markings, "KAISERREICH KANNEX ?????".

"Are you ready to meet our benefactor?" Franz asked his empress, half-smirking. Empress Linda leaned forward to give him a quick kiss, as if to remind him to put on a camera-ready smile. Then the hatch door burst open, bathing the Kannexan emperor and the inside of the plane cabin in white, bright sunlight. Emperor Franz took a step onto the hatch staircase, breathing the fresh Syrixian air.

The Emperor was 72 years old. In 28 years, at exactly one hundred years of age, he would die, and the throne would pass to his son. Of course, he had no way of knowing that. But for him, the life of an all-powerful monarch was just second nature to him, even though his autocracy was an outlier in a changing world, a world of liberal democracy. Of course, to the Imperial culture, the idea sounded absurd. To think that the holder of a near-two-thousand-year-old crown could possibly submit to allowing the people to decide the fate of the State? It sounded romantic, of course- the people taking the land for themselves and instituting rights for all, yadda yadda yadda.

But for a Syrixian, it was absurd. By all means, one could criticize the Emperor. It was a law as old as half the emperors laying to rest within the imperial tombs under the Black Fort. But the notion of removing the Imperial state? Absurd! If one wanted freedom, one could just look to the economy. The government heartily encouraged free-market capitalism. One could make something of themselves. Make money. Have fun with life. The Emperor should be the one to worry about matters of state. He was born and raised to do it, after all.

And indeed, Rahul knew this very well. He wasn't sure his son knew it. Crazy boy, he called Rajesh. He'll become emperor when I die and then the truth will hit him hard. Even though Rajesh would go on to become a great Emperor, what could Rahul know? It was the past. Rajesh wouldn't even be able to hold the Jade Throne until after he was already dead. But those concerns, as well as other matters of state and of the family, were not what concerned Emperor Rahul II today.

The old Emperor was getting a visit. A visit from a good friend. Under Rahul's direction, the Imperial state had sent assistance to Kaiser Franz and his camp during the final years of the Kannexan Civil War. Franz had also stayed in the Empire at times, going back and forth between it and Ceretis. The two were very close- in the years to come, Emperor Rajesh III would liken the friendship his father had with Franz to his own friendship with the Goyanean Grand Emperor, Anthony the First.

Rahul woke up that morning the same way he woke up most mornings. He woke at 8 AM, ate a short breakfast of koki with fresh butter, and got himself dressed. Unlike the Western-style outfit of his Kannexan counterpart, his was an outfit that had no epaulettes, nor did it have medals. Why would an Emperor need medals if he was their source, after all? His outfit, instead, was a traditional Syrixian outfit. It was colored with imperial green, and had golden designs all across it in an elegant, regal fashion- very much appropriate for a Syrixian Emperor. He knew the Empress of Kannex- Linda- was coming as well, and so, after getting dressed, he called for his beloved wife, Empress Kasturba. Naturally, she had gotten ready beforehand. After all, it took her considerably more time.

After gathering the necessary group of Sentinels, the Emperor called for a series of chariots to be brought to the Golden Palace for transport to Pataliputra International Airport. This was common in Rahul's day- chariots were an ancient cultural vehicle utilized in the Syrixian culture. Imperial golden chariots of the day, however, were bulletproofed, so there was no threat to the Emperor's person or those of his wife and the Imperial Sentinels. As the Syrixian entourage, led by the Imperial chariot, arrived at the airport, they could see the Kannexan plane landing on the airport runway.

Two painted red stripes stripes ran across the length of the fuselage could be seen- these represented the Kannexan flag; a gold-yellow star was also present. The marking "KAISERREICH KANNEX ?????" could also be clearly seen on the plane. Make no mistake, this was the plane of the Kannexans. The Emperor then exited his chariot, as did his wife and the Sentinels. The Sentinels had formed up as the plane was landing, and they now stood on either side of the walkway that had been placed for the Kannexans.

They were at the ready, with their rakshathos on. The Kannexans and the Gotics called these hats pickelhaubes, for some reason- this had become somewhat of a joke between Rahul and Franz in private. As Rahul remembered the joke, he looked forward to a good experience to come, and good talks as a result. He proceeded to stand at the far end of the walkway in the center. Finally, the hatch door opened, and the Kannexans stepped into the fresh air of the Empire. As the Kannexans exited the plane, Rahul and Kasturba walked down the walkway to meet them.

"Your Majesty! My friend! Good Franz!" Rahul called to the Kannexan Emperor. "Welcome to the Empire!"

The Kaiser turned to his Kaiserin, his eyes glistening with genuine warmth as he looked at her. He offered an open, upward-facing palm. Without a word, Empress Linda placed her hand in her husband's. She let Franz guide her down the staircase, always a step behind her husband but following him with a head held high, yet not too high. Somewhere behind the black-gold columns of Syrixian guardsmen, she knew, were rolling news cameras and at least a dozen government-approved reporters from Kannex, but she kept her gaze straight. Two decades of ruling had taught her enough about public appearances -- the imperial couple couldn't be seen looking confused or distracted. She needed to be the Cinderella to her chivalrous prince, the virtuous empress to her Confucian emperor. And so Emperor Franz, in his dashing military suit, helped Empress Linda down the steps.

The imperial couple planted their feet firmly on Syrixian ground, her white high-heels and his black boots. Kaiser Franz stepped forward from his wife and gave the Syrixian Emperor's hand a hearty shake. Franz added a few quick words in Syrixian that Linda couldn't catch over the sound of the plane engines winding down. But the smiles seemed genuine enough.

Franz switched to German, "... Und sicher kennen Sie meine Frau, die Kaiserin Linda...." Franz turned to his wife. "Linda, hier ist der Kaiser von Syrixien, Rahul der Zweite."

The old couple wore a rich, exotic mesh of colors in what Linda could only assume was the Syrixian style. The woman in particular was wrapped in several layers of blankets, not too unlike a Han-style robe. The Syrixian pair looked ancient as the Syrixian Empire was ancient, wrinkles and all, but held themselves in a dignified manner, even while sporting jolly grins of welcome. Linda shook hands with the Syrixian Emperor and turned expectantly to the old Empress.

From the ranks of the Sentinels arose the Kannexan anthem, slow but heartfelt. How many times had Linda heard this... eighteen years and more, since the Niemza Dynasty was restored to power. She remembered the first time they played the old Niemza anthem in Manhatt City, how the tens of thousands of Kannexans -- young and old, all races and all colors -- packed the city square and sang to its tune, waving little Kannexan flags and holding back tears in their eyes as they hailed their restored Emperor, returned from exile. She could hear the emotion in their voices; she felt the hope, the longing they had for peace after so many years of war. She felt so happy then, not just for Kannex, but for her husband. Linda dared a glance at Franz and saw that he stood with a stoic reverence as the tune played. No doubt the same thoughts fired about in his mind.