Rio Verde Blues(open)

[North Timistania]

Prologue

It is late when her father returns to the apartment, his grey uniform is stained red and a pocket has been torn, he pays her nanny and then pulls a bottle from the shelf, Principes the faded label reads. He doesn't bother with glasses, he pops the cork and swigs straight from the bottle.

'Papa' she says nervously

He glares at her momentarily, a reflexive gesture, then recognizing her his look softens

'You should be in bed mi flor*' he says gently

She does not answer, she is staring at the darkened patch of red above his badge

'Its nothing' he says picking up on her unease 'some kid with a knife, an attitude and no concept of vital arteries' he says shrugging the whole thing off

He is lying, she can tell, he does not look at her when he says it. It was not a boy, the stabber was likely older and large and it wasn't a miss, it was a near hit that was blocked at the last moment from hitting something fatal. her father lies often now, he fights a losing battle to shield her from the troubles brewing outside the walls of their home.

He does not talk about the violence consuming the poorer neighbourhoods, he keeps the tv on cartoons, music or comedy and only dares turn to the news when he is sure she is sleeping. But the ruse is failing, she sees the tension everywhere, the cracks are visible in the hateful stares the native children at school give her and in the broken windows and angry posters that plaster the streets. One word is uttered in anger, graffitis walls and fills the radios 'Ubasha'*

It wasn't always this bad, when her mother was alive things were different, the city was vibrant and colourful, the apartment did not have a fence and the guard did not carry a machine gun. But those days are long gone with her mother, the world has changed and the city with it. She knows they are not safe, these are dangerous times to be anyone other than a proud Hailakaid. She does not speak of all this however, instead, she goes for the medkit and passes it to her father, it is a ritual she knows off by heart now.

'I have days off coming up Flor, perhaps we can go to the pier on the weekend?' he says with a forced smile

Normalcy, the great modern illusion of a world without violence or late night stabbings, of a place where her father does not walk through the door with fresh wounds and bruises. She knows normalcy is a lie, but what little joy that can distract is a balm to be applied whenever possible. She nods eagerly and tries to drown her fear in thoughts of sunlight, market stalls, and stuffed animals. The fear won't drown though, it has learned to swim long since.

*Verdean term of endearment 'My Flower' in Mercanti
*Unity in Hailesha
​

 

[North Timistania]

Chapter one:

Duarte Tenements, Tizona Ward

It is early morning, the usual cacophony of vendors hawking their wares and music blaring from loudspeakers is eerily absent. The residents of the tenements watch from rooftops and balconies, like a gathering of vultures waiting to peck at a carcass. The carpark of the housing block is sealed off by lines of grey uniformed police holding assault rifles and a sea of yellow tape marks the uncrossable boundary. Tension is high, the police do not usually enter Tizona ward in such numbers, their patrols growing more infrequent with each passing day.

Inside the cordon a tired-looking man lights a cigarette and takes a long smoke, enjoying the burn in his throat as weary lungs choke upon poison. He is a career cop, a survivor who has seen far too much to maintain any delusions of idealism. He turns up to work, lives off a diet of coffee and grease that will one day kill him and he does what he does for no greater reasons than survival.

'Messy' he mutters between inhalations

The body in front of him lies in a pool of blood, the flies have already begun to gather, a crude peacock shape has been spray-painted in red just above the body, a nativist gang sign. It is a telling sign, the nativist gangs are getting more brazen, moving into the wards that arent majority Astragonese.

The body was well dressed, the corpse of someone influential, the jacket was high-quality linen and the shirt underneath was red silk, the pants were soft black cotton and even the socks were silk. the shoes had already been swiped, Salazar tucking them into his kitbag without a second thought.

'Tell me about it' another man says as he rifles through the corpse's pockets

'Hey Salazar?' the tired man asks

'Yeah?' he replies not looking up from his looting

'Find any ID?' the man asked trying to sound professional, it was hard when his colleague was presently more concerned with stripping the corpse of valuables

'Ah Ramon, always the stickler, let me check his wallet' he says pulling a brown leather square from the man's trouser pocket

Salazar opened up the wallet and pulled out several purple notes, he passed half to Salazar and shoved the rest into his breast pocket.

There was a time when Salazar would have been appalled by such blatant corruption, but that time was long ago, the city was collapsing in on itself and the meagre pay he gained for his troubles could barely cover rent. The legation councils grip had withered away long ago, now gangs ruled the lower wards and the corporations all had their private armies to keep the glittering skyscrapers of downtown safe from the rabble. caught between a weak government and countless organizations all claiming to be the law it was little wonder the honest Verdean cop was a near-extinct species, survival was the game now.

Salazar pulled out a driver's license and examined it disinterestedly.
' Says this is Suresh Guitierrez' he said as he set down the wallet and checked the corpse's wrists and fingers

'The independence party rep?' Ramon asked recognizing the name


'Looks like he finally pissed off the natives once too often' Salazar said nonchalantly

Neither man was particularly surprised, the independence movement had been in a downward spiral for the past decade, it would soon be as dead as the man on the ground. The delicate balance of power between Rio Verde and the mainland had swung overwhelmingly in the latter direction, now the old empire stirred and shook off the last centuries' humiliations. Somewhere countless miles away a new empress was being crowned, Sabhrain Na Kevsha and a resurgent power ascended with her, the peacock had survived the wounds of the 19th century and now it turned its sights to the last bastion of colonialism. Rio Verde's days were numbered, it was just a fact of life, realists like Salazar and Ramon were just ahead of the curb.

'Well you know the drill' Salazar said rising from the body with jewels in hand

'File a murder report, gang violence, recommend corporate be informed, log valuables as stolen and find a good pawn shop' Ramon replied railing off their usual protocol by heart

'too bloody right!' Salazar said clapping him on the back

'say Salazar?' Ramon asked suddenly feeling something was missing

'Yeah?' Salazar replied

'Wheres the head?' Ramon asked nervously

'ah, shit' Salazar said facepalming 'must be getting old and rusty, KOZLOV! WHERES THE HEAD!?' he yelled

A weedy looking Szlav man barely in his twenties emerged running from a nearby alley, he was carrying a large plastic bag in a gloved hand and looked pale, probably from losing his lunch more then once during the morning forensics. He saluted with an ungloved hand and set down the bag in front of the body.

Inside a swollen purple mass could be seen, it barely looked human after the trauma it had sustained, Salazar curled his lip.

'Go put it in the icebox, we don't need to see that crap' he growled

The young man saluted nervously and went off to stow the head. Salazar sighed and passed an ornate looking gold wristwatch to Ramon who took it without a second thought. It was Syrixian gold with inlaid Suchari lettering, probably arrived in the city when the late representatives family had, it would fetch a good price when he pawned it.

'Spending money for the kid' Salazar said with a broad smile

'Messiah knows the council isn't giving us any' Ramon replied stubbing out his second cigarette

'Those idiots will be out of power soon, no point looking to them for anything' Salazar said grimly

That was the truth of it, there was no longer a place for honest cops or idealistic politicians, the floodgates were soon to break and only the rich and the cunning would weather the coming storm.






​

'

 

[North Timistania]

Chapter 2: Roadside Sermon

Alfred Goffman Memorial Bridge, Rio Verde

The Alfred Goffman memorial bridge stretched across the Verdean bay like a vast artery of metal and girders, a steel lifeline connecting downtown to the wards of the outer city.

Named after the first chief Consul of the concession, the city had a storied history, it was across this bridge that the first Verdeans had travelled as they journeyed towards the glitz of the business district. It was over this bridge that the syndicalists had charged during the guest worker uprising of '45 and it was over this bridge that the armies of Sakard had marched when they had liberated the city in '47.

It was fair to say that the bridge had witnessed almost every major event in Verdean history. Now a new struggle was taking place, a struggle to define history. A mural had graced the stone gatehouse next to the main bridge for generations, it depicted the official leasing of Rio Verde to outside powers.

Once it was pure white marble, a scene depicting the rise of a city freely granted by a willing Astragon. Now it had yellowed like old ivory, graffiti marred the surface of the mural despite the councils daily cleaning of the monument

Spray painted slogans in angry red lettering marred the once pristine image. The graffiti read 'Times up colonisers!' and 'Soon we return!' in letters so large they could be seen by every passing car on the bridge.

The council fought a losing battle to prevent the graffiti from spreading, teams of men with water blasters would scrub off one lot of graffiti only to return days later to find the murals defaced yet again.

Ironically the teams of orange jumpsuited technicians were primarily Astragonese citizens, poorly paid and overworked they cleaned the streets and monuments of the very people who considered them little better than enemy combatants living in the same city.

One team was presently spraying off a message that read rather succinctly 'Fuck the Lease!' they moved up and down the sodden pavements pelting the mural with jets of water, they tried to stay absorbed in their work, it made it easier to ignore the heckles from the road.

'That's right keep spraying mainlander! Know your place!'

'Bloody natives stealing our jobs and women!'

'Verde for Verdeans!'


'GO BACK TO ASTRAGON KAIDER*!!!'


Maseko struggled to ignore the constant stream of abuse as he worked to remove the graffiti. he had been in the job barely a week, a lucky break at the employment office, the other candidates had all been too old or crippled.

It was an odd thing to be told to go back to Astragon, weren't they already there? the concession might have been leased land but it was still in Astragon and by extension in Iteria. It was even more jarring to be told to go back to a nation that he had never been to at all.

Maseko had been born in Rio, raised amongst its high rising spires and hardened by its everyday cruelties. His father had helped build the skyscrapers in the downtown area, his grandfather had fought against the syndicalists and now he was being told to leave the only home he had ever known.

'Come on Dahbayin*, time for a break!' Tambo said in a thick mainland accent

Tambo was the oldest man on crew 13, he was in his late 50's and walked with a constant limp, something about the Skandan war. he was shaven-headed like most Astragonese men and his beard was white as snow. despite his age, Tambo always seemed to have energy, that and the glow of mischief in green eyes that seemed oddly youthful.

The older man switched off the hoses and led him to the van where the other workers were presently sat in deck chairs eating and drinking. Tambo passed a bottle of beer to Maseko and motioned to a chair.

'Our admirers are loud today!' Kuda said with an amused grin

Kuda was another mainlander who had left his village to seek work in the city. His hair was braided tightly and he had a well-trimmed moustache. his accent and the ceremonial scars on his cheeks marked him as a Toruba.

'Do some work you lazy Kaiders!!!' an older man's voice shrieked as a car rushed past on the main road

Maseko was amazed at how disinterested the crew seemed, here they were being abused daily and they simply treated the yelling as though it was background noise. Maseko privately wondered if the 'audience' had always been so aggressive.

'Let them shout! they won't be able to soon' Tambo said in an ominous tone

'Why?' Maseko asked without thinking

Several men frowned or facepalmed, evidently Tambo's speeches were not an isolated event and Maseko had just instigated another to begin.

'Oh for the love Shaddai don't get him started Mas!' Kuda pleaded with an audible groan

'This land is Astragonese, our fathers discovered it...' Tambo began in a reverent tone

'Too late he's off, well-done mas!' Another worker chimed in with an annoyed tone

'It was stolen from us' Tambo continued

'I thought Kaskaran II leased it?' Maseko asked in confusion

The Verdean textbooks all laid out the lease as a benign event which ensured trade and unity between the Verdeans and the mainland. That was obviously not entirely true but to claim the concession was a theft seemed extreme to Maseko

'Ha! his 'lease' was a coercive treaty signed thanks to the poor advice of greedy industrialists and corrupt advisors who were in league with the colonisers! this land was taken from us!' Tambo replied spitting in disgust as he uttered the word lease

'So why won't the hecklers be doing so soon?' Maseko asked

'Because the lease is ending! 113 years has passed and no renewal will be given, Astragon is strong now! and the Verdeans are weak! Empress Sabhrain sees how these swine treat us and one day soon Maseko she will bring her armies and free us from the chains of the foreign scum!' Tambo said raising his beer in a toast to the empress

The men all followed suit, a few even muttered praises to the Exalt under their breath. Then everyone drank deep.

'Hey! get back to work you lazy Kaiders! Council isn't paying you to sit on your asses! get that graffiti down before the manager blows a gasket!' A red-faced verdean supervisor yelled angrily

'Yes of course sir! very sorry sir! we will fix that mural up, good sir!' Tambo said in a practised tone

It was the way of things in Rio, the Verdeans yelled their abuse and the Astragonese man threw them off with a tone that was mockingly deferential, the Verdean's never seemed to understand that they were being mocked, they actually believed that all Astragonese ended their sentences with 'Sir'

'Just get it done!' the supervisor replied in exasperation

'Come Dahbayin, breaks over, liberation comes soon, but first, we fix this damned mural!' Tambo said with a mischievous wink

The heckles would continue throughout the rest of the day, but Maseko did not notice, he was too focused on Tambo's words 'Liberation' repeating in his head over and over.

*Kaider is a highly offensive term for Astragonese

*Dahbayin translates to 'Brother' in Mercanti​

 

[Pikabo]

---

Imbakan-Bau, Ganatrastadt

Rio Verde Außenpolitischesgesetzesvorlage (2020)











A

BILL

TO SET FORTH THE POLICY OF LAWSTON ON RIO VERDE










Ein Vorschlag von Asad Omar Alwablah, MP für den Wahlkreis Hararouz-Nord​

---

Lawstoner Republic

Arvin thought he would never catch a break today. Stoyanovich has been up with his antics again and Alwablah wasn't happy about the turn of events. But that doesn't concern him anymore, especially since the living Szlavic potato has disappeared. Out of sight, out of mind, and Arvin is going to let out some steam.

With only a shirt and a tie on, Arvin shivered. The Bahay-ng-Batas is an old building, but Arvin isn't sure if that has anything to do with the cold. Probably the air conditioning is tuned to the wrong season, and there are only two seasons in this part of Iteria. Rubbing his arms up and down, gritting his teeth, he shook his head and grumbled out, "If they set it any higher, this place will turn into the world's largest refrigeration warehouse. Probably the most expensive too."

Near the vicinity of his desired location, Arvin took care not to get too excited. At least now the cold will be useful. First, he had to check if the coast is clear. He looked at both ends, the clean corners, and the closed doors that spread across the empty hallway. Satisfied, he walked to the door he's been wanting to enter all day. He looked at the plaque to make sure. It reads Außenminister.

Alright. He took a deep breath. He turned the knob and opened the door.

"Jejo?" Arvin said out loud. The door creaked as he held onto the knob, wary before he took another step inside.

Strange... The lights in the room were turned off. But it could have been completely dark if the curtains weren't drawn, so it's fine. The tall windows let in the red light from the setting sun. Arvin quickly spotted Jejo in his chair behind his desk. Though he could only see the top of his hair peeking above the chair headrest.

To think of it...the afternoon sun is setting the mood. Arvin smirked. 'Nice one, Jejo. Machst mich so geil!' Slowly, Arvin closed the door behind him and pushed the button in the knob, clicking the mechanism to lock the door. He then took each step forward as lightly as possible. Careful as he sneaked up behind Jejo.

Seeing there isn't much on top of the desk, he took off his shoes and easily climbed up the desk quietly with his light body. He arranged some papers and pens aside to make sure he doesn't ruin his surprise. But he's tempted to do rash things... He is so close all he had to do is Jejo. Crawling to the end, Arvin slipped his hands onto Jejo's shoulders, tracing downward to Jejo's chest and wrapped them around him. Arvin gently pecked his lips on Jejo's head.

Arvin lowered his head to Jejo's ear. He whispers, "How are you...mahal?"

"Pagod. Very tired. Dealing with a proactive parliamentarian for Außenminister everyday is consuming."

That voice... That doesn't sound like...

Arvin froze on the spot. He couldn't think, he couldn't speak, he couldn't move at all. He couldn't believe it. This shock spread to his now twitching hands that struggled to break from this unpleasant surprise. As much as he didn't want to, he had to make sure. He peered down. He saw the last person he wanted to see eye-to-eye...much less in THIS situation.

"Gat U-Untalan..." Arvin squeaked, stumbling on his words, "H-Herr ständiger Vize-Außenminister..."

Untalan smiled at Arvin before he broke their stare. He stood up from the chair, letting Arvin's hands drop limply on the armrests, still in great disbelief.

With his disbelief came great shame. Arvin snapped out of it. He gasped, didn't care if it was a late reaction, and scrambled to his knees to get back on his feet, on his shoes, on the floor, and out of here. But Arvin was still on the desk. Untalan grabbed his limbs. Arvin pushed his palms against the desktop, against Untalan.

It was futile.

Arvin didn't have that kind of strength. Untalan dragged Arvin towards him. To make sure, Untalan pinned Arvin's legs with his own at the edge on the desk. This is bad... Even though his arms are free, noodle arms aren't going to make any difference under any developed adult. Arvin might as well consider himself completely at Untalan's mercy. Ready to submit in case anything else happens, Arvin shrunk in his shoulders and watched, in a mix of confusion and curiosity, as Untalan took a folder from the desk and opened it.

"Ah. Right." Untalan whipped out his reading glasses from his breast pocket and put it on. He reads, "Garao Pataliputra... Bonton Court, Sampratiputra... Mambabatas Pambansa for Sampratiputra-Ost, parlamentarischer Protokollberater to DLOTTO... Uses the nickname 'Arvin'... Single."

Arvin felt his face went pale. This wasn't supposed- No. This was NEVER supposed to happen. Why is Untalan here?

The look on Untalan's brown eyes. What is it? What's behind those deceptively common eyes? What's he looking for?

"...Hmm?" Untalan leaned down, looming over Arvin. "Isn't there something you're supposed to give?"

Ah. That... Shit.

Arvin stared at Untalan. Totally unprepared and utterly lost of what he is supposed to say now. Now that Untalan discovered what Arvin and Jejo have been doing.

"...How did you-?"

"I didn't. Well, let's officially," Untalan finger quoted, "say I didn't."

Arvin fixed Untalan with a careful gaze. This could be many things, but Arvin could only think of two possibilities. Either Jejo is trying to be playful and asked the Permanent Vice Minister to do a prank on the Parliamentary Protocol Adviser to the Deputy Leader of the Opposition, or Untalan is really on to him. Of course he wished it was the former. The latter has become too apparent. The man went as far as to pin Arvin's legs between his and the desk in this position. It won't look good to Jejo or to anyone, prank or not.

"Now, Herr Pataliputra. Or can I call you Arvin?" Untalan grinned, widening to a full crescent, "Or maybe I can call you 'mahal' too."

"Ugh." Arvin furrowed his eyebrows, looking away.

Arvin couldn't see Untalan, but he could tell he was frowning with the disappointed snort he gave. There was no way in hell would he ever think about it, even at the cost of his... No... No, no, not that. He can't do that. He's come so far and he can't let all his efforts go to waste. Even if it means he has to...

His heart dropped. His face heated up. Arvin felt tears prickle his red cheeks as he gritted his teeth. He tried to keep it in, never to show weakness in this vulnerable state... But he couldn't. He couldn't at the thought of what this might ultimately result, and he couldn't even try to imagine it without feeling anything at all. But it all comes down to the question... Does Untalan know more?

Tensing at a sudden sensation of somebody's touch on his face, Arvin looked at Untalan. Untalan was...wiping his tears away?

"Hey. I was only teasing." Untalan said, using his thumb to dry Arvin's moist cheeks. "Sorry if I bothered you too much."

Somehow, but Arvin wasn't going to cave in just like that, Untalan's smile somehow became...less foreboding.

When Untalan offered his hands, Arvin didn't see it for what it was. He had to look at it and look at Untalan, his smile unwavering. It made Arvin feel some more... if there is anything else to say other than confidence in Untalan, but it is.

Untalan pulled Arvin up and back on his feet, albeit shoeless. They were on the other side of the desk. This time, Untalan acknowledged personal space and walked away. He moved towards the middle of the room where the typical office set of couches and a coffee table usually sat. He took a seat there and watched Arvin. Arvin took a moment to gather himself and his things, especially his footwear. The floor was freezing, even with socks.

Arvin eventually composed himself. Now...

Now what? This is surreal. How the heck is he not compelled to call the police on Untalan? The man committed what effectively constitutes as the particular harassment any man like him should avoid at all costs. He's definitely finished once he reached emergency dispatch and Untalan won't make it fast enough from where he is. The phone is right there on the desk at arm's reach. So...what is Arvin waiting for?

"Do you have a copy of the draft?"

"Ah..."

The course is clear. There was no question. He made up his mind.

"Um, well..."

And yet.

"Here..."

Arvin walked over to Untalan, hopping with grimace on the cold floor, and took out the document from under his jacket... While Arvin didn't know what came over him, it just...happened.

Untalan took it. He reads the title aloud, "'A bill to set forth the policy of Lawston on Rio Verde.' Written by the Oppositionsführer himself."

Arvin looked at Untalan. Untalan flipped the pages, nodding at a page or two, and when he was done, Untalan looked at Arvin. His smile didn't even curl for its prolonged appearance.

"Let's cut to the chase." Untalan closed the folder and said, "I know Jejomar Adlawan. Hiyas Square, Ganatrastadt. MP for Marikipatnam-Süd. Außenminister, Vizekanzler. Married."

Arvin looked down on the floor. He folded his arms in front of his chest, his hands rubbing and caressing his elbows sought.

"-with a wife and two children." Untalan nodded, continuing, "But that's not the problem. Our society also accepts polygamy. It's tradition. It's a status symbol for the upper and middle classes. And there's polyamory for the lower classes if they can't afford the poly licenses."

Arvin lifted his head, just enough to peek at Untalan. He knew, Arvin wished it was a guess, but he surely knew. Arvin knew where Untalan was going with this.

"It's that Herr Adlawan, being Courantist, isn't supposed to believe in any of that. Especially homosexuality. On top of that, his belief makes up the second largest religious group in his constituency." Untalan tsked, shaking his head. Arvin felt the blood rushing all over his head. Shame and fear chased him to anywhere they wanted him to feel. He felt nauseous and heavy, Arvin knew he wasn't going to hear the end of this either.

"So...schmutzig reden! Let's make a deal!"

Arvin and Untalan locked in each other's gaze. One surprised and trying to figure out what the other wanted and eager to solve this at once. One trying to see if they could get what they needed.

Untalan crossed his legs. "Unofficially, of course. Ja?"

 

[North Timistania]

Chapter 3: The Spider Weaves​

The Thabeki grand was an oasis of Astragonese culture surrounded by the Verdean sprawl. The décor reflected the old glories of the exalted empire, an imposing statue of Sakard I in the lobby made the hotel’s allegiances very clear. Everything was delicate and pristine, silk curtains of deepest gold and carpets of darkest crimson.

Jewelled peacocks and other imperial sigils seemed to adorn every free space in the vast halls of the 30-floor building. The Kevsha manticore flag had been hung from the ceiling of the hotel ballroom, which had played host to a lavish coronation party barely a week ago. The Thabeki was a haven for Astragonese visitors and a reminder to the locals that they were indeed still in Astragon.

Fashal Na Hazrah felt utterly out of place, the opulence of his new post was disconcerting, to say the least. Truth be told the Shavashkaid agent suffered from the incurable flaw of being quite simply too good at his job. His promotion to lead officer of the Rio cell was a just reward, but he missed the field nonetheless.

He had remained hidden in Tyrooz for months during the coup, carefully gathering evidence and sowing dissent. He could have been discovered and killed at any time, but he felt pangs of nostalgia for those days all the same. He missed the run-down safe houses with their simple comforts of a shower and a grimy mattress, he missed the adrenaline of a life of constant danger and he missed actually using his sidearm.
From putting down tyrants to sitting in a fancy hotel giving orders to distant voices on the radio, his promotion felt like a cruel form of exile. He felt the sudden urge to light a cigarette, more from boredom then any inbuilt desire for nicotine. His hand's slow journey towards his coat pocket was interrupted when the green phone in his office began to ring.

He reached for it and picked it up slowly, cigarettes could wait, one simply did not ignore the green phone. It was reserved for only two types of caller, senior officials and the empress herself, it was unwise to keep either waiting.

‘Olmer shipping, do you have an order?’ Fashal asked using the antiquated code

‘Business is good, I am lamentably busy, will you take a large one?’ an elderly man's voice replied in correct code

‘Your code checks out; the line is secure’ Fashal said calmly before seating himself

The voice on the other end of the call chuckled slightly, it was an old man's laugh, it sounded grandfatherly. It was the sort of laugh the old gave when their children amused them with their youthful acts.

‘Ever the stickler for protocol Fashal’ the man said warmly

There was little reason for the code's truth be told, the encryption on the phone lines was almost excessive, the empress’s secret service ensured that no one was listening. Still Fashal kept to the old ways, his training always urging caution and protocol.

‘Some things do not change ‘Ibis’’ Fashal replied with a weary laugh

Ibis, the famous codename of Fazakh Na Korba, Astragon’s greatest spy. The old man had been invaluable during the civil war, coming out of retirement to nail Murza had made him the stuff of legend.

‘How are things in the capital? Hows the promotion treating you?’ Fashal asked suddenly feeling oddly homesick

He had left a month before the coronation, his empress had need of a man in Rio and Fashal was her best agent. Fazakh had been granted a post far closer to home and arguably of far greater importance. The seventy-year-old had been raised by imperial decree to the position of minister of intelligence. If Fashal found being office-bound hard, Fazakh must have found it insufferable.

‘Eh what is there to say, rebuilding, executing traitors and above all else mountains of paperwork’ Fazakh replied, Fashal could almost see his mirthless grin

‘Minister of Intelligence has a nice ring to it’ Fashal replied in a conciliatory tone

‘The title is nice but the workload is frankly putting me into an early grave’ Fazakh replied less enthused

‘I heard internal security got scrapped?’ Fashal asked

He had heard the rumours down the intelligence grapevine, the empire's once all-powerful secret police were to be punished for their complicity in Murza's coup, some might have argued that the shelling of their headquarters was punishment enough. But evidently Sabhrain had a different opinion, one to the tune of liquidation.

‘Indeed, a victim of the purges sweeping all state ministry’s, Internal security has been folded into foreign intelligence, meaning I now have twice the workload’ Fazakh said in an amused voice

The purges had begun shortly after Sabhrain’s victory in the civil war, corruption has become endemic across almost every sector of government. Sabhrain had shown no mercy as she had rooted out anyone guilty of weakening the state from within. If internal security had been dissolved into the Shavashkaid that could only mean one thing, Sabhrain intended to hold all the strings of government firmly in her grip.

‘But anyway, that isn’t why I called you, I need a status report on the Rio situation’ Fazakh said his tone becoming businesslike

‘A potential train wreck with a side order of societal collapse’ Fashal thought grimly

‘Situation is complicated, the city has lost all semblance of unity, currently, it's just a big arena for squabbling factions’ Fashal said trying to keep the mess that was local politics simple

Rich against poor, gang against gang, Verdean against Astragonese, division was so natural in Rio Fashal was amazed the city wasn’t already in flames. In time that could be beneficial, letting the city burn might cause the locals to beg Astragon to restore order. But Sabhrain wanted the city intact and that complicated things.

‘Can't say I'm surprised, to be honest, okay let me ask you then, how do you see us assuming control of Rio?’ Fazakh replied quizzically

‘Honestly? People here want order; we can definitely provide that but we need to be seen as liberators’ Fashal answered cautiously

It was true enough that people were tired of the unrest, fed up of the endless gang violence and exhausted from the constant inter-ethnic clashes. Rio wanted to work again and while some would definitely resist the idea of Astragonese rule, the simple truth was that most people simply wanted the things to become normal again.

‘Easier said than done, I heard the Verdeans think we are going to drive them into the sea’ Fazakh replied his tone pessimistic

Large numbers of Verdeans had long feared the return of native rule, racist stories of savage reprisals by spear-wielding mainlanders had been ingrained in the local population. The fact that it was Astragon that had liberated them during the fascist war and that over half their population was native didn’t seem to factor into the worldview of many.

‘That's exactly the problem, we come rolling in with tanks and flags and they will panic and do something very stupid’ Fashal replied in an unenthusiastic tone
Stupid things were becoming a common sight in the wards, graffiti and drivebys were just the tip of the ignorance iceberg. If Astragon marched in like Shaddan’s second coming they would gain a city that would never stop tearing itself apart.

‘Soft touch then?’ Fazakh asked rhetorically

It wasn’t even really a question; the soft touch was the only way Astragon could gain a functioning city. It was time to use the Shavashkaid’s time-honoured skillset, manipulation and social misdirection. They would handle the factions without ever being seen to do so. By the time the Shavashkaid were finished the locals would beg for Astragon’s control, and they would be convinced it was their idea.

‘We are going to need a figurehead government at first, and we will need to keep some of their laws intact, cushion the blow so to speak’ Fashal said cautiously

Soft-touch, keep the perceptible change to a minimum, make them think they were still autonomous. The rich would be assured they could keep their fancy mansions and offshore accounts; the corps would be informed that their tax breaks were safe. When the Verdeans woke up after handover, they would struggle to notice difference save for the change of flag, the real change would occur out of sight.

‘And the gangs?’ Fazakh asked

The gangs, Rio Verde’s greatest sin, the various street groups would have to be dealt with one way or another. Some might be integrated into the legitimate power structures; most would have to be dealt with more harshly.

‘The Astragonese ones might actually stand down once we arrive’ Fashal replied with slight optimism

A stand-down could happen, but would they be so willing to cease their profitable operations? Or give up the power they had held over their communities? Integrating the native gangs would likely be harder than it seemed.

‘What about the Verdean ones?’ Fazakh asked moving the conversation to the tricky part

The Verdean gangs would be a tougher job, they had no love for the empire and many were racist, nationalistic or a mix of both. Negotiations might work for some of the more business-savvy gangs but Fashal was pretty confident most communications would be lead mediated.

‘Either they follow suit or we wipe them off the face of Eras’ Fashal replied in a cold tone

‘Alright I think our course is clear, diplomatic services can begin outreach to the upper class and the corps, we can run a propaganda campaign on local tv to placate the locals and as for the local gangs, well they have no place in our new order’ Fazakh said drawing up a plan

‘I’ll issue an order for their elimination immediately’ Fashal replied almost failing to hide the excitement in his voice

‘No, just have your agents track them, we need to keep the chaos factor in play until the handover is concluded, the Legation council are weak and mismanaging the city, we need to keep them that way’ Fazakh said an emphasis on the word ‘no’

Wiping out gangs may have sounded fun, but ultimately at this stage it was counterproductive. They needed the local government to remain weak and visibly so. The sudden removal of the most obvious security failure in the city might actually throw the council a lifeline.

‘Okay, tag and list’ Fashal said barely managing to hide his crestfallen tone

‘One more thing Fashal’ Fazakh said in an authoritarian voice

‘Sir?’ Fashal replied

‘There's some diplomat from Lawston arriving soon, evidently the opposition think they have some right to dictate how we reclaim Rio’ Fazakh said the contempt in his voice evident

Lawston, a nation bordering Astragon, it was a country whose colonial past had left it with deep-seated identity issues. You could politely call Lawston cosmopolitan, a more telling assessment would claim the country was something of an ethnic powderkeg. Syrixian bases kept nominal order in the coastal region and the current government was friendly towards Astragon.

But Fashal had read the briefs, Lawston was considered friendly only so long as they kept out of imperial affairs, the second they began to interfere in domestic Astragon they would be considered little more than a puppet dancing on Syrixian string, probably gold string knowing the Rixies.

‘They are aware the territory is ours by law? That the lease has expired?’ Fashal asked genuinely surprised by the audacity of the opposition party

It was one thing to have opinions about a foreign power, but to actively meddle in their domestic affairs was quite another. Whoever was running the opposition was either foolish or belligerent.

‘You know Lawston, half of them are Rixie loving scum and the other half can’t figure out which side of Iteria they are from’ Fazakh replied his tone utter disgust, he spoke as though he had a bad taste in his mouth

Prejudice against Lawstonian’s was not uncommon among Astragonese, especially the older generation. While the powers that be kept things cordial with the nation, the average man was more divided in opinion. Some people pitied the nation for its explosive history, others despised them for their hosting of Syrixian bases and some people just wanted to make money from their lucrative market. If Lawston intended to interfere it would almost certainly risk inflaming tensions.

‘Hmmm diplomatic corps might not like that assessment chief, but what do you want me to do about this visitor’ Fashal asked amused by his master's bluntness

‘Nothing drastic, observe and make sure he isn’t a plant, the Rixies love to interfere in foreign affairs, wouldn’t be surprised if they had moles in Lawston's opposition’ Fazakh replied matter-factly

A large section of the cities movers and shakers had just been marked for target, for some that would mean a visit from diplomatic officers, for others it meant a bullet. Fashal might not have been given the green light to pull a trigger, but his master had just given him the go-ahead to sentence countless souls to unseen death when the handover arrived.

 

[North Timistania]

Chapter 4: EL SEGADOR

Limpasha Ward, Rio Verde​

A cigarette burned brightly in the evening air, Soloman Tambo relished the burn in his throat and lungs as he inhaled the toxic smoke. A cool breeze flowed across the back of his neck as he stamped out his cigarette, the night was balmy without being overpowering, it was Solomon's favourite time to work. In front of him, a row of crowded shops glittered in the light-polluted orange haze, Rio never slept.

Limpasha was native central, callbacks to the mainland were on display everywhere, an image of empress Sabhrain adorned a large sidewall, the words ‘soon we return’ were painted below in ominous red letters. Soloman didn’t much care for the politics of Rio, as a man of mixed parentage he always felt like an outsider, Astragonese or Verdean, everyone was kin and everyone was a stranger.

Being mixed lent itself to his line of work, people took less notice when you could pass for either ethnicity. Tonight, that work had brought him to the Tawny leopard, a nativist café with a reputation for strong coffee and hosting some of the most violent men the city had ever seen. The bloods and royals* dined here all the time, practically lived out of the café, but that familiarity was about to become lethal.

A big man in a dark linen suit stood at the door chatting into his earpiece, he noticed Soloman immediately.

‘Soloman! You err working tonight?’ the man asked in a friendly but nervous voice

‘afraid so abeo’ Soloman replied with a resigned smile

‘Go right in’ Abeo said throwing aside his earpiece and walking away

Having a reputation occasionally proved useful, no bouncer wanted to die for a door and Soloman knew almost every one of them. The mere possibility that El Segador* was coming to your establishment was usually enough to deter any heroics, a paycheck as meagre as a bouncer was seldom worth a bullet to the brain.

The inside of the café would put most Astragonese embassies to shame, a red peacock flag hung from the ceiling and portraits of Kaskaran, Sakard and Sabhrain competed for space with mounted spears and shields on the walls. A loud Ubgandi-beats* track was blaring out of the speakers, all bombastic guitar riffs and wailing saxophones. It was an Abel Na Teshar* track, the sort of thing Solomon's father used to keep in vinyl. The track was about unrest and Teshar began to sing up a storm as Soloman took a seat.

‘Run and hide abeg

Trouble come down na

Soldier in the street

Murder in he zombie eye

Fall in boys! We go slay!

Go Kill!

Go march!

Go Slay!

No brain

No sense

No balls!

Attention boys!’



Men tapped their feet and drummed enthusiastically on the tables as Teshar began to hit his stride. The table across from Soloman shook as several men in red suits slammed their hands on the heaving table and sang and laughed loudly. A waitress quickly arrived to wipe up spilt glasses and deposit more coffee for the men, these were Soloman’s targets no doubt.

‘Can I get you something Paleshi?*’ A young woman in an apron with braided hair asked

‘Coffee senora, no milk’ Soloman replied trying to make his accent as noticeable as possible

The waitress wandered off to collect Soloman’s order, someone at the table shouted something in Soloman’s direction, they had taken the bait. He sat forward as a suited short man with a peacock tattooed across the side of his face stumbled drunkenly towards him. The man leaned over the table menacingly, the smell of honey wine reeking sickly sweet from his mouth.

‘You’re a long way from Peleshi town ese, you finally decide to fix your parents disgrace?’ the man snarled in a low voice, the men on the table watched in anticipating silence

‘Maybe, what's it to you?’ Soloman asked his face expressionless

The man was surprised by this, clearly more used to people being intimidated when he threw his weight about. He smiled; it was more like a leopard baring its teeth then a gesture of amusement. Soloman noted he had several knives hidden in his coat pocket, their heavy forms visibly bulging from the red linen that concealed them.

‘Ah its nothing...just err...wanted to know something?’ the man replied already reaching for the inside of his coat

‘Yeah?’ Soloman replied nonchalantly

‘Was it your mama who opened her legs and betrayed the Hailakaid race? Or did your papa walk down the wrong alley?’ the man snarled, his hand was inside his coat now, primed to start stabbing

Soloman leaned forward slightly arms under the table, he reached for something strapped to the inside of his sleeve, the metal was cold in his hand. The tattooed man opened his mouth about to say something else, Soloman squeezed the trigger and the table exploded in a spray of splinters. The bullet ripped through the man's jaw sending a cloud of brain and bone shards exploding out the back of his head.

Soloman was already standing as the screams started, the men at the table were frantically reaching for their guns. They were too slow, addled by the drink and the narcotics, Soloman raised his snub pistol and fired rapidly. One by one men fell back or crashed face down into the table as Soloman cut through them with disciplined single shots to the head. Soon only one man was left, he was screaming and his suit was now actually red, slick with the gore from his felled comrades.

Soloman approached and placed the burning barrel against the sobbing man's forehead, the man began begging his face a mess of snot and tears. In the end Babanje Na Korsha, the most feared enforcer for the bloods and royals wept like a girl when he got on the wrong side of gun.

‘Los Hermanos* sends their regards’ Soloman whispered in an icy voice, then pulled the trigger

Babanje slumped back a look of dumb shock on his dead face, the massive hole where his forehead had been revealing the limited contents of the man’s head for the whole world to see. Soloman pocketed his gun and lit a cigarette as he walked out of the café, screams echoed behind him. Outside he strolled leisurely to his car a blue midland motors Gamurr, he opened the door and slid into the driver's seat with a relaxed pace.

There was no reason to rush, the police never came into Limpasha unless it was in platoons, this was just another gangland shooting, the sort of event that occurred so often that the city had become numb to it long ago. He switched on the radio and put the volume to low, classical music flowed gently from the speakers, Savimbi’s Opus of strings and singing women filled the car. Soloman let the engine warm and reached for his phone.

‘It's done’ he said simply

‘Bueno, your payment is being wired now’ a male Verdean accented voice replied

‘Good’ Soloman said before hanging up

He switched the car into third and was soon racing down the street and back towards the lights of the business district. The night was still young and El Segador needed a drink.



*the bloods and royals are an Astragonese nationalist gang, they are fanatical supporters of Rio’s reintegration into the mainland and further this cause through acts of violence against the Verdean government. They also control almost all drug distribution from the mainland into the city

*El Sagrador translates to ‘The Reaper’ in mercanti, El Sagrador is arguably the most infamous hitman in Rio and possibly Iteria, brutal and mercilessly efficient slayings always follow in his wake.

*Ubgandi-beats is a popular style of music combining traditional Ubgandian themes and lyrical systems with modern instruments and bombastic jazz sounds.

*Abel Na Teshar, a popular Ubgandi bears musician who divided his time between Demescia, Naizerre and Astragon. Noted for his strong political critiques and bombastic style, he was killed in a break-in during the early 60s
*Peleshi is ‘Pale’ in Hailesha, a derogatory term for people considered to be Verdean or to be expressing Verdean cultural traits, ironically also applied to mixed-race people

*Los Hermanos or ‘the brothers’ a Verdean nationalist gang who are fiercely supportive of the independence movement, frequently commit violent acts against Astragonese citizens and political figures but have been losing ground since the early 2000s

 

[Pikabo]

---

बतसन पम्बन्स
Batasan Pambansa
Bahay-ng-Batas, Ganatrastadt

Amt des Oppositionsführers










FACT-FINDING MISSION TO RIO VERDE










Dies ist ein inoffizieller Entwurf. Wird nicht kompilieren.

Dieses Dokument gehört zu Nationale Volksaktion.

---

​

Ganatrastadt

"Have a safe flight!"

Arvin smiled at the gate agent. She said another thing in Astragonese but he's going to assume that he's repeating what he just said. Even though they were late, she behaved very cheerful as expected. Their airline uniform and livery is reminiscent of the colors in the Astragonese flag.

"...Faszinierend. From newspapers to oil companies, it's fascinating to see a nation so practical with their symbols they adapt them for business. It becomes synonymous with their trade. It's effective marketing to distinguish their products. Pity if we did the same thing, our country might be mistaken for Astra-"

"Scone Bristi!"

The woman gasped. Arvin took Stoyanovich's hand and dragged him inside the jet bridge. The second-hand embarrassment pumping blood into his face. Possibly first-hand embarrassment too since the slob kept his lecherous grin on his maw. Arvin felt something sticky in his hand and he's sure as the underworld it's not him. He had to flash their boarding tickets at the flight stewardess's to save her good day.

Arvin whipped out his handkerchief and wiped his fingers on it.

“Never. Do. That. Again! And why are you putting on that stuff again? You’re going to get us all in trouble!”

Stoyanovich grinned with his yellow teeth. The tartar matches with the stains on his signature sky blue suit.

"Oi! They no bother, then you no bother. I am renowned elder statesman. I am man of great integrity. You should know I know better. Trust me.”

“Grig. You don’t tell me or anybody elected in public office to trust you. WE ALL know we can’t trust one another because WE are ALL politicians!”

Stoyanovich's thick and obnoxious Szlavic accent makes it sound less convincing.

Arvin led Stoyanovich to their seats in the business class. Stoyanovich took the window seat. Arvin took Stoyanovich's briefcase and put their briefcases among their other carry-ons in the overhead bins. He sighed as he sank in the relaxation of his comfortable seat. He closed his eyes to take a little nap. When he woke up, he looked out the window and saw the plane was taxiing.

As much as I don't enjoy his company, it's for the good of all sentient beings on this flight.

An electronic sound buzzed and vibrated in Arvin's pants. He took out his phone and tapped to answer.

"Hey, Chief. We're in the plane now … Hehe. Yeah. Was it funny? … Oh. Right. I didn't mean- Of course, of course. Sorry, you're Alwablah's Chief of Staff so I- Yeah, yeah... I got it! I got it. … I wasn't planning on making jokes, I wouldn't do that. It's kind of a compliment if you think about it. … And yeah...he's here."

Arvin peered to his side. Stoyanovich is trying to straighten the wild strands on his slicked gray hair. None of them straighten and it has only gotten wilder.

"No need to worry, I think I'll be able to get him under control. … Also, I'm gonna need a guide when we get there. … Somebody who can translate. … Ja. Okay. Thank you. … Ja, I got a copy. What about it? … You want me to check the contents? … Why? … I'll do it later after takeoff. Okay? Okay. Goodbye."

The plane PA system chimed on.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome onboard Flight 536 with service from Ganatrastadt to Rio Verde. We ask that your seats and table trays are in the upright position for take-off. Please turn off all personal electronic devices, including laptops and mobile phones. Please fasten your seatbelts and secure all baggage underneath your seat or in the overhead compartments. Smoking is prohibited for the duration of the flight. Thank you for choosing Air Astra."

Stoyanovich stood up from his seat. "Hey. I think plane bathroom needs inspection."

"Sit down, Grig! For everyone's and both our sakes. Besides, I might ask you questions for something I'm about to read."

Stoyanovich groaned. "Ugh. I do not like read. It makes feel stupid."

"You are stupid..." Arvin mumbled. He put on and buckled his seat belt.

"Nein. The prayer." Stoyanovich repeatedly poked Arvin on his forearm.

Arvin ignored him and took out a document underneath his jacket.

The PA turned on.

"In the name of Shaddai, the Creator of All Things, we commend our souls to His keeping. In the name of Yeshana, Daughter of God and True Messiah, we beseech Thy blessing. That voice. That ethereal voice. In the name of Kaidain, Divine Emperor of the Hailakaid people, we pray for discipline. Guide us as we navigate the heavens and see us safely back to the verdant earth. Praise the Divine in all its aspects, crew ready for takeoff."

Talk about religious zealotry.

Arvin opened the document and turned the page to the table of contents.

---

​

CONTENTS​

​

​

​

p.4 | BACKGROUND​

​

​

p.5 | ISSUES OF SPECIAL CONCERN​

​

p.5 | The Rio Verde Constitution​

p.5 | The Legation Council​

p.6 | Human Rights​

p.6 | Independence movements​

p.7 | Astragon policy​

p.7 | Reintegration​

p.7 | Lawston policy​

​

​

p.8 | EMERREH TREATY OF 1947​

​

​

p.9 | LEGATION COUNCIL​

​

​

p.10 | RIGHTS AND JUSTICE SYSTEM​

​

​

p.11 | SUPPORT FOR INDEPENDENCE​

​

​

p.12 | CURRENT ASTRAGON POLICY​

​

​

p.13 | REINTEGRATION PROCESS​

​

​

p.14 | PROPOSED LAWSTON POLICIES​

​

​

p.15 | CONCLUSION​

​

​

p.16 | ANNEX​

---

The PA system turned on again.

"This is your captain. We are airborne, praise the Exalt!"

"Winnie derf? Can I check bathroom now?" Stoyanovich poked Arvin on his forehead.

Arvin looked at Stoyanovich and saw his seat belt is unbuckled. It is not even around his fat waist.

Arvin closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Pisse. I hope we crash..."

 

[North Timistania]

Chapter 5: Blood in the Water

Rio Verde, Downtown ​

Downtown was a warzone, traffic had ground to a halt on the outer limits as hordes of protestors had descended from both Verdean and Astragonese sides of the city. The police were out in force, riot cops and mounted units blocked the main road. It didn’t seem nearly enough.

The air was filled with a cacophony of shouting, microphones and the hammering of drums. A thin green line of riot police had blocked the intersection, they were outnumbered by seas of angry humanity on both sides. Ramon reached for the crumpled pack of Uncle Volkov’s and lowered his visor; he fumbled the lighter with a gloved hand. After several attempts a flame rose and he was rewarded with a satisfying hit of nicotine and tar.

He was in the shit; riot detail was practically a punishment these days given how violent things had become. On one end of the street a few thousand independence movement marchers were chanting and waving blue banners. Their numbers had dwindled since the last time Ramon had seen them; their chanting was almost entirely eclipsed by the roaring chorus emanating from the sea of red on the opposite end of the cordon.

“Innies look damn anaemic, there's what? five of them?” Castro, Ramon's second muttered grimly

The movement had been dying on its feet for the last decade, Astragon was resurgent and the influx of mainlanders to Rio essentially meant Verdeans were outnumbered in their own city. Several police vans had water cannons trained on either side of the street, but Ramon suspected any trouble was going to be coming from the red side.

“Innies are a lost cause, Kaiders can smell them bleed, just keep them apart” Ramon replied nonchalantly before stomping out his cigarette

The Astragonese had brought loudspeakers and were chanting something in Hailesha, Ramon recognized the word instantly, Ubasha.

“UBASHA NA KAID!!! UBASHA NA ASTRAGON!!!” A man sporting a red beret and sunglasses screamed from a microphone

“UBASHA!!! UBASHA!!! UBASHA!!!” the crowd roared back in reply

The smaller crowd of blue independence supporters was trying to match the opposing chants with one of their own. The age-old refrain “Freedom and Dignity!” was barely audible over the drowning chorus of Ubasha. A press helicopter buzzed overhead like a buzzard come to feed on Rio’s rotting corpse.

The Astragonese line began to advance towards the police, they came in the thousands, men and women all wearing red and carrying placards and pictures of the Empress. The police line felt tiny and fragile compared with the horde that approached. Ramon reached for his shotgun and loaded it with rubber bullets.

“They cross 200 meters start unloading the gas and water,” he said to Castro as the protestors got closer

A protestor stepped forward from the wider crowd, his face was obscured by a scarf and black shades, he raised three fingers in a mocking gesture and then he pulled something from his pack.

“PETROL BOMB!!!” an officer roared as the protestor lit the rag and hurled the burning bottle at the police lines

The projectile shattered against a riot shield sending flames flowing across the frontline of officers. A trooper in riot gear screamed as his comrades doused his burning body with a fire extinguisher.

“LIGHT THEM UP!!!” Ramon roared

A shower of water and gas grenades filled the morning air, great choking clouds flowed across the red lines. The water cannons sent people flying as arcs of high-pressure liquid smashed into protestors. The Astragonese marchers buckled but they kept advancing, they had numbers on their side.

A protestor raised a brick ready to hurl it at Ramon, he unloaded a round into the man's stomach, he doubled over and collapsed in agony as the bullet hit him. The Police line advanced laying into anyone stupid enough to stand in their way. The mounted policemen were unleashed and raced past waving batons, Protestors were smashed to the ground as the horse cops swung their weapons at heads and legs.
For a moment it seemed like the native crowd were in retreat, then he saw it. They hadn't been retreating, they had been drawing the police line forward towards a street filled with alleyways and side roads, from which protestors armed with petrol bombs and improvised weapons were now flooding.

The police line became a defensive circle as waves of humanity crashed riot shields, but with the line now stretched and beyond its original cordon the protestors were now streaming past them and descending upon the fleeing innies. The streets were a bloodbath as red and blue clashed.

Ramon headbutted a charging woman in the face, his visor darkened with a spray of blood. He reached for his radio and hit transmit.

“Line is Broken! I repeat line is broken! Requesting reinforcements!” he roared as his men struggled to hold back the sea of red

The air was now filled with the sounds of rioting and a rising chorus of one familiar word

“Ubasha!”

No Church in the Wild - Lyrics

www.youtube.com

*Ubasha, translates to "Unity" In Mercanti

 

[North Timistania]

Undisclosed location, Bhadari Desert, Astragon
​

The research complex would not have looked out of place on the surface of another planet. A collection of prefabs and steel domes dotted the valley, beyond there was nothing but desert and rock. The facility may as well have been on another world, a thin strip of lined tarmac represented the sole link to the outside world.

Makada Na Bashadh was an oddity in such a place, the heiress of Astragon’s largest defence contractor she could have lived her entire life in the comfort of luxurious palaces, instead, she chose the desolate solace of the Bhadari. Unlike the countless heads of other noble cartels Makda did not pawn her duties off on an ever-descending line of lesser relatives and corporate officers, Bashadh & Kashka was hers and she would rule it directly.

At 50 she now felt comfortable leaving the companies immense purse strings in the capable hands of her younger cousin. Ferrekh Na Kashka had, despite his young age, proven a skilled and trustworthy accountant, his support allowed Makda to devote herself entirely to research. She had all but abandoned the slothful indulgences of court life, she now threw herself into her passion, building weapons and innovations that would ensure her nations glory.

Today, however, was not a day for isolation, the affairs of the wider world had managed to reach even the wastes of the Bhadari. She gazed out the window of her office, an endless sea of red sand covered the horizon as far as the eye could see, in the distance the spiny protrusions that marked the border with Rafhazan rose like a crown of spikes.
“close shutters,” she said in a neutral tone

On Makda’s command, the blinds to her office all descended and shrouded the outside view, a large screen descended from the ceiling and several glowing icons began to appear. It was a conference call from the capital, one that could not be ignored, she took a seat at her desk and set her status to active.

“Is everyone present?” a commanding voice asked, it was a voice at ease with authority

“Everyone is present your majesty” a calm male voice replied, the icon on the screen was that of an Ibis

“Well let us begin then " Empress Sabhrain replied approvingly

The icons on the screen were replaced by a render of the city of Rio Verde, several red circles marred the maps face, they were projections of the expected epicentres of urban violence. Countless blue arrows were scattered across the map, police units struggling against a sea of rioters.

“The legation council has clearly lost control of the situation, is it time to make our move?” the Ibis icon asked

“Don’t be so hasty Fazakh, a few more weeks of chaos will be vital, the colonists must be seen to fail before we impose order” Sabhrain replied in a calming tone

The legation city was in a state of chaos, riots had reduced much of the state to an anarchist wasteland. The city centre was in lockdown, the hordes kept at bay by an army of private security firms, its government was the laughing stock of Eras and all the empire had to do was wait for the right moment to take back what was rightfully Astragon’s.

“We shouldn’t delay too long, the corporations are panicking, they could pull their funding!” A panicked male voice said urgently

“I wouldn’t worry too much about the corporations my dear ambassador” Makda replied with a grin

She already had controlling shares in the largest of the cities conglomerates and promises of lucrative tax exemptions had been more than enough to placate the rest. The cities rich were like rats trapped on a sinking ship, they would chew off limbs and sacrifice their kin for the promise of a return to order.

“We have all had to endure much these many years, but soon Kaskaran’s* great shame shall be expunged! Soon Bayyah Na Emmereh will return to peace under the rule of its native people” Sabhrain said her tone rising into what sounded like a post-colonial sermon

Makda smiled, she was proud to have done her part to end the colonial stain that was Rio, that she stood to gain immense wealth from her acquisitions was merely an added bonus.

*Kaskaran II popularly known as “the frail” was responsible for leasing the Emmereh peninsula to foreign interests. The move was intended to help restore Astragon’s failing post-1912 economy, but it was met with scorn by Nativist factions.

 

[Pikabo]

Lawstoner Republic

"There's a dead bird in my office... Das ist voll nervig!"

Jejomar could've sworn he closed the windows before he left. He just wanted some fresh air after spending hours in an air-conditioned room. The old building is that old to become a natural fridge. It only needs to open the windows if it gets too hot outside. But who would've known this could happen? A bird would find it tempting to go inside and nest on top of Jejomar's bookshelves, right in front of the cold air vent, with no source of food or water for days. Jejomar could only hope the bird died at least in its sleep.

"Oh look! There's the dead bird. Ja..." Gat Untalan said, sounded like he was dishonest.

Jejomar was tempted to say Ja, we could all see that from their vantage point at the door. But he'd digress. He's not going to let his mouth spit anything at Gat Untalan. The man's too thick in the heart to care about a little insult, and another reason. The man's too sketchy.

Many of the people passing by in the hallway paused to check what the fuss is all about. Some stayed and went inside the room to try and take a whiff of rotting meat. Avian meat, that is. It was too late to realize their mistake as they gagged and coughed. Even the cleaning person is wobbling on her step-ladder. She's too caught up with her hand holding her breath.

Gat Untalan tapped Jejomar's shoulder. He said, "It was a mistake."

"Ja! It is." Jejomar threw his hands up and pushed out air from his lungs. Finally something from Untalan he can agree wholeheartedly.

"Nein, I meant Stoyanovich."

"Everyone knows!"

Jejomar rolled his eyes. Who knew Gat Untalan could be so true for once. For this, Jejomar would marry Untalan and ditch his wife-

"I meant sending Stoyanovich on a fact-finding mission."

Jejomar looked at Gat Untalan with a narrowed eye. "Huh?"

Two more cleaning persons entered the room, both armed with a garbage bag and a pooper scooper. Meanwhile, Gat Untalan took out the tablet PC under his arm and gave it to Jejomar. He scratched the edge of his scalp and dragged to scroll up to see what this is.

"The Zeitschrift für Batasan...?"

He scrolled down to find where Gat Untalan wanted him to read and he stopped when his eye caught the words Stellvertretender Oppositionsführer. Aloud, he read the rest of it, "The categories of persons to whom diplomatic and official passports may be issued are as follows...Der Präsident...Der Kanzler...Der Präsident des Batasan...ein Staatsminister...Oppositionsführer... and the Stellvertretender Oppositionsführer?"

"This was President Imbante-Agbayani's answer in Nineteen-Eighty, then Außenminister, to a question about DOFA's policy on diplomatic and official passports."

Jejomar rubbed the bridge of his nose and kept his fingers there, pinching it. "...Und so? What does this mean?"

Gat Untalan clicked his tongue. "Well, there's a strong implication it might not just be a...partisan effort. And the Astragonese could have their suspicions. Den Braten riechen."

"Oh..."

Jejomar felt a throb in his head. It aches.

Rio Verde, Astragon

"Ja, we'll pay for the overweight luggage. Wir bezahlen. Strange we have to also pay fees for you finding our lost items, though."

Stoyanovich pulled on Arvin, trying to keep a distance between the wallet and the Astragonese customs officers.

Arvin just pulled against fatso. Stoyanovich was hopeless. He kept slipping down on the floor and his attempts to anchor his arm around Arvin was futile. Somehow, despite the disparity and one-sided favor of body weight, Arvin is stronger.

"BECAUSE. IS. UN-LEGAL! WE. ARE. TO. BE-!!! BAMBOOZLED...!!! PAZHALUSTA!!!"" Stoyanovich said in his annoying accent, gasping for breath and spit all over his face. That false set of teeth in front of his real ones has given him a messy overbite.

"Un-legal...??? Mich komplett verwirrend. What do you-? Could you wipe that stuff off!!" Arvin is close to calling the police on him. He'll do the rest of the mission on his own.

As soon as Arvin reached over the counter with his money, the Astragonese customs officers quickly pushed it away. They hastily gave back the passports and bowed their heads several times, pointing Arvin and Stoyanovich in the direction to leave.

While Arvin gathered his stuff, Stoyanovich was ready and made a run for it. Thank goodness for the wide open space and the blue glass that housed the entire airport main terminal. Otherwise, Stoyanovich could have quickly disappeared and both of them would get lost in the process. Plus, the sound of his belongings scrapping and tumbling across the floor makes him an easy target to stalk, like a frantic animal trying to flee. The old man may be heavy on the side, but he's got legs under that thick waist.

Upon entering earlier when they deboarded the plane, Arvin noticed the terminal's permanent welcoming committee, stuck in place as mere marble figures of the memorable and noteworthy. Known personalities which, based on the names inscribed on their pedestals, Arvin Albert Goffman and Dieter Weiss, just to name a few, are none too familiar to be known to Arvin or any regular Lawstoner.

Except one.

"Sakard the First. Kaiser..." Arvin muttered his read.

It's not just Syrixian emperors and Hightonisch princes that Lawstoners encounter in the classroom. Regional history is also history and the Astragonese emperors have always been the center of some bizarre, somewhat morbid astonishment. Arvin, in his experience, could confirm he and his classmates found Astragon a rough-and-tough place to live in. Some even called the ancient Iterian nation a backwards society.

But what about Sakard? Well...Arvin didn't really listen to his history classes. Other than this airport's namesake, Arvin only learned about Sakard because of Rio Verde.

The man who stopped Syndicalism from becoming a threat in Westiterien.

"Can you say cheese, Mister Stoyanovich?"

"Yes. Anything you want, Beautiful! U-nas yest' vr'em'a!"

Arvin groaned. This again.

One of his fans, no doubt.

It was surprisingly quick. The woman got a selfie and...a complimentary pat in the back. The very wholesome one. It was good... Quick is also good since Stoyanovich calmed down. He stopped running ahead and slowed down to Arvin's side...

Actually, Arvin just realized he liked the distance between them. It would be safe for both of them, the two organisms who really matter: Arvin and Arvin's brain.

Arvin felt his phone vibrate. He took out and returned the call.

"Hallo...? Ja...we're here now … I'm with Greg … Ja … Ja … Okay … We'll see you there!"

"Schto? What is problem?" Stoyanovich asked.

"Du. You are my problem." Arvin replied, absentmindedly.

Arvin realized what he said and looked with regret at Stoyanovich's pitiful face...still wet in some areas. Make those two different regrets.

"I-I meant wir. We are the problem. Everyone is a problem." Arvin hoped he did a good save.

Stoyanovich simply nodded. He grinned with the dirtiness that is his teeth. When Arvin believes he's already used to it, he cringes at second sight. For the love of everything holy, he should keep them inside.

"I'm asking, skoreye...who were you speaking to?"

Arvin nodded ahead, pointing in its direction. "Somebody from the Konsulat is waiting for us outside."





The highway runs throughout the city like a main artery. They just left Sakard International Airport and are about to enter the Outer Wards. His face clean, Stoyanovich busied himself with the scenery while Arvin read the document given to him by their driver Robert. He's the Trade and Political Analyst at the Lawstoner Consulate in Rio Verde.

"Bitte. Feel free if you have questions, Arvin." Robert said.

"Ja, I will. Ich werde."

---

Lawstoner Generalkonsulat
Rio Verde

​

TABLE OF CONTENTS​

​

​

​

xiii | SUMMARY​

​

xiv | Lawston-Rio Verde Trade and Investment Trends​

xiv | Lawstoner Exports to Astragon​

xvi | The Business Environment​

xvii | Foreign Investment​

xvii | Trade​

​

​

p.1 | RIO VERDE​

​

p.2 | History​

p.4 | Regional Economic Performance​

p.8 | Drivers of Economic Prosperity​

p.9 | Demographics​

p.10 | Political Pressures​

p.12 | Culture and History​

p.13 | Major Markets​

p.17 | Products and Services​

p.20 | Export Opportunities​

p.24 | Direct Investment Opportunities​

p.27 | Implications​

p.30 | References​

​

​

p.31 | ASTRAGON​

​

p.32 | Monarchy​

p.37 | Oil, Gas, and Petrochemicals Investment​

p.50 | Astragonese Investment in Lawston​

p.54 | Merchandise Imports from Astragon​

p.54 | Business Links with Astragon​

p.55 | Implications​

p.56 | References​

​

​

p.57 | THE BUSINESS ENVIRONMENT​

​

p.58 | Society​

p.59 | History​

p.63 | Legal Environment​

p.76 | Key Issues for Lawstoner Businesses​

p.84 | Status Quo and Rio Verde Economy ​

p.87 | Regional Trade Developments​

p.99 | Main Trading Partners ​

p.100 | Intra-regional Trade​

p.101 | Local Concerns on Reintegration​

p.105 | Post-integration Trade Prospects​

p.106 | References​

​

​

p.109 | IMPLICATIONS​

​

p.110 | Implications for Business​

p.111 | Implications for Government​

p.114 | References​

p.115 | Contacts in Rio Verde and Astragon​

---

"Is this data available online?"

"Ja."

Arvin sighed a breath of relief. At least this isn't something heavy to carry around during their stay. Well, not considering its physical properties. The document has too many pages and it was put in a binder.

Still. An Assessment on Rio Verde Growth. Diplomatic missions regularly release labor market guides and other information in their annual economic data reports on their host countries, but this particular report isn't routine.

Arvin glanced at Robert, his eyes still busy scanning the contents of every page he flipped. He said, "This was particularly written and published for Rio Verde's impending reintegration."

Robert nodded. "Lawstoner businessmen and investors in Rio have been anxious. Sie machten Darstellungen. To both Außen and the Astragonese authorities. Konsulat only published this to reassure them...for now."

Arvin didn't reply. He felt a headache coming in so he closed the binder and left it to his side.

With Stoyanovich staring at the window without making any noises, Arvin felt curious as to what Rio Verde looks like. The glint of adventure and brace for excitement was dashed by the run-down housing and apartments, or rather shanties and slum tenements, that littered the city blocks around them. If Arvin drove to Rio Verde from Astragon, he'd suspect he was in the wrong place. This doesn't look like any of the pictures he's seen! It's outrageous! This is...astounding, and quite upsetting. He least hoped for a decent vacation for this temporary exile, but now it's- Arvin is just disappointed.

The Outer Wards would've looked like a deserted city if not for the smoke and the bustling activity.

"I can tell sewers are not clean. Imagine, Arvin! Scat and fat clog the tunnels. Blestyashchiy!"

Yeah...what Stoyanovich said.

For all Arvin knows, the word sanitation isn't a familiar word in these parts, or anything in the glossary of civic-related terms, at least outside of the Middle Wards. Or worse—Outside the Central Business District. The latter most definitely has the proper sanitation and all the services, including non-essential, based on what the country brief described about the vast social divide existing in this city. The obvious absence of any semblance of a city government here in the Outer Wards, if put into contrast, makes the strongest indications.

If this is the Outer Wards, I wonder what the Central Business District looks like.





"Besser. This is disappointing...better."

Whether Stoyanovich meant disappointingly better or disappointing and better or this is disappointing, better, Arvin will never know. He doesn't want to know anyway.

Besides, the Central Business District is just like home. Urban home, to be exact. Typical skyscrapers and office buildings fill up the city skyline. Benches, segregated waste bins, bus stops, parks, and all other sorts of utilities and city beautification usually found in highly-urbanized cities anywhere. Except the common sight of people carrying machine guns, whose uniform and body armor get-up look like a cross between riot police and soldiers in the special forces. It looked like Martial Law was declared.

This must be the private security groups hired by the people here. The assessment wasn't using the wrong terms.

Above that ridiculous level of security, there's a relatively same level of sophistication. Arvin feels sad not everywhere is like this and Rio Verde has been divided. There are decrepit ghettos, clean middle-class neighborhoods smack in between, and the exact kind of upscale high-rises Arvin expected the rulers of this town to live in. Separated in an island, in their own little world, high up in their sky palaces.

Just like home if it was ten times worse? How in the name of every God did Rio Verde become an important center of regional trade? This place is the perfect cesspool for revolution and terrorism to fester. Crime should've taken over this city a long time ago. Or it probably already did... We just didn't see it!

"Ugh. Nein! Forget about vacation. I have to survive this place." Arvin said, letting Robert lead the way to their hotel rooms.

"I'm sorry if I have to leave after helping you guys settle in for the night. Unofficially, we're assisting you and Mr. Stoyanovich. Officially, we aren't because you're on the opposite bench and you're here on a partisan mission for the Opposition. That'll look weird for the Government. Oh, and the translator should be here by now."

Arvin didn't even notice the setting sun. The day is already near done. He is...feeling a bit sleepy.

"Thanks a lot, Robert."

"Kein Problem!" Robert gave a thumbs up.

Thanks, Gat Untalan... I guess.

Though Arvin feels like he could do a lay-down for a while, he's also hungry. He'll probably head down to the restaurant and bar...preferably without Stoyanovich. But how can Arvin keep him in his room?

"Also, Tür. Your two suites are connected by one communicating door."





"Scheisse...why do I feel hungover?" Arvin groaned out as he dragged himself up from the bed.

Well, at least the incessant knocking on the communicating door has stopped. Stoyanovich probably slept in boredom after eating dinner. It's amazing how the hotel allowed Arvin to lock Stoyanovich in his room. The hotel staff put a door against his door knob outside in the hallway and gave Arvin the only key to the communicating door. But Arvin couldn't remember why and how did he manage to convince them. All he could think of was laughter, more laughter, and drinking-

Arvin shuddered. He felt something grab him on his thigh- Wait, why is he not wearing pants?

"You're awake?"

"GAHHHH!!!"





Sleeping with...the translator was the last thing he'd thought he would do- It's quite improper. But thankfully, the word amicable were in both their minds. Cut, clean, and simple in this one-time-big-time event. Nothing more, nothing less. Just... Just a mutual understanding.

"We won't speak of this again, werden wir nicht?" The Astragonese woman teased. She took a sip in her cup of coffee. Breakfast had to be brought up here in the room to keep things to themselves.

Arvin nodded. He only gave passing glances at his meal on the small table. He didn't feel hungry.

"It's my fault, ich... I wasn't drinking... responsibly."

"Mmm... Are you married?"

Arvin shook his head. "Even if I was, it's not a problem."

"Huh?" The Astragonese narrowed the features on her face.

"Ja. There's no such thing as... What you and many other cultures would call 'adultery.'"

The woman took another sip of coffee. "Huh. Is that why you have polygamy?"

"Ja. There's a proverb in Lawston... It says, 'When the body is cold, it craves a dozen bodies for warmth. But when it has fever, it wishes it only had one.'"

The woman snorted, trying to contain herself, but she laughed anyway. Arvin tried to compose himself a sense of rigidness, but he also failed, giggling and smiling at the...foreign woman. He just realized...

"Um... Hold on. Did we-? Uh. Did you-? Did I-?"

Before Arvin could say anymore, the woman grabbed him with her free hand and shook his hand.

"Kapia Na Nyala. Pleasure to meet you again, Mister Pataliputra."

Arvin widened the smile on his face. He shook her hand. "Pleasure. It's just Arvin, though."

Kapia nodded, then something moved behind her eyes. "Oh, also." She began.

"I think you have a meeting today. Somebody in the Legation Council. You told me about it last night."

"Oh...Scheisse!"

Arvin stood up from the table and made his way to the bathroom. He also remembered Stoyanovich is still locked in his suite. Arvin ran over to the communicating door and opened it- Wait, wasn't this locked?

"Fich, no!"

Arvin went inside Stoyanovich's suite and checked the rooms. Just as he thought. Nowhere to be found. Then he saw the open door to the hallway and the loud noises of laughter and cheering.

Shit! Of course the hotel management will never let me lock in Stoyanovich, one of their own guests. I was dreaming!

He went out of the suite and into the hallway. It was just as he feared and imagined it would be. A group selfie with more Lawstoner fans, Stoyanovich wearing only his flimsy and worn-out underwear props.

"Alright, alright!! Everyone say 'Bobo kami!'"

"Bobo kami!"

UBASHA!!! UBASHA!!! UBASHA!!!​

The situation near Albert Goffman Bridge was spontaneous as it was fire. Bricks and heavy projectiles flew from the rioters. People caught right in the middle of it abandoned their cars. They joined the bystanders, screaming and running towards nearby buildings, far behind the riot police formation. The police looked like a green breakwater against the torrential red tide of angry people. Like their real counterparts, these people aren't the type known to ebb and flow once they hit shoreline.

Arvin and Stoyanovich are watching it with everyone else on-screen, in the safety of the hotel lobby deep in the city center. Nyala is busy talking with the concierge to request for a car. Apparently, many of the Mercanti-speaking staff joined the protests and taxi drivers were refusing rides to people in the Downtown area.

"Perhaps we go down sewers-?"

"Nein!!" Arvin immediately replied to Stoyanovich's idea.

They shouted, they jeered, they spoke through their microphones to let their fury be heard. Arvin didn't understand a word of it, but with the banging of their drums, he swore he could hear the march of change... That, or it was the rumbling in his tummy.

"Stornieren. We have to cancel the meeting." Nyala returned, the look in her eyes cast disappointment with her heavy sigh.

"I assume no one's willing to go out in the streets." Arvin said.

"Nein, Arvin. It's because no one is allowed. The city center is in lockdown."

Arvin came to a decision in light of this.

UBASHA!!!​

Then he heard people gasp and some whimper.

Heightened sounds came from the television. Arvin looked and saw and reached for his face to cover his mouth as he, too, gasped. Cars and police vehicles were either smashed or overturned. People were fighting against their own and some officers were surrounded. The worse-case-scenario has unleashed the extent of brutal nature, unadulterated on live television. The blood on their faces matched their shirts and the scattered riot police are now retreating.

"Mga ninuno... The riot broke through the police line!"

Are we still safe?

Arvin looked at the lobby windows and saw those private security people swarm out into the street. That allowed Arvin to give himself a reassuring nod.

Stoyanovich said something, but Arvin didn't hear.

He looked at Stoyanovich.

Stoyanovich repeated, "I suppose we go tomorrow instead...da?"

 

[North Timistania]

Chapter Seven: What Comes Before

Rio Verde, Downtown
​

Luca lit a cigarette with a shaking hand, even with the medications the tremors were getting worse, he took a long draw and felt a comforting warmth descend into his aging lungs. He’d tried giving up many times before but old habits had a way of dying hard in Rio, the days of fire and anarchy had made smoking a necessary coping mechanism.

He stubbed out his cigarette in an old gourd ashtray, it was hard to find an empty spot amidst the sea of ash and deformed butts. He glanced at the empty chairs and overturned tables in the main dining area and felt a wave of resigned sorrow wash over him. Fifty years of his life were bound up in the now-abandoned café, he had risen and retired each day knowing that this small building was his domain, a small slice of Rio all his.

“Lucas” had become a much-beloved institution in the lower wards, a place to meet friends and enjoy excellent coffee. It had survived 50 turbulent years of Verdean life; it was a testament to Luca’s business acumen and personal charisma that the café attracted both Verdeans and natives in equal measure. Luca had prided himself on never turning a customer away, the satisfaction of a café full to the brim with faces from every corner of the city had been his reason for getting up.

Now though only silence greeted his gaze, the windows were boarded up and the kitchen idle. From between the boards covering the window he could see an armoured carrier pass by, its tracks creating a low rumble as it moved down the road. The police had the entire district under lockdown, the streets had been cleared and now only patrols occupied the deserted walkways.

Luca considered lighting another cigarette but the trembling in his hand was now occupying the entire left side of his body. He stumbled over to a chair and lowered his increasingly rigid frame down into it. It hadn't always been this bad, the Parkinson's had been manageable at first, but Luca was now nearly 80 and the disease was starting to wreak havoc on his increasingly frail body.

He sat in the chair as best he could, the tremors washed over his body like a series of violent waves. It hadn't been a bad life, all things considered, he had never been without money and his children had never wanted for anything. His daughter had begged him to sell and move to Callise to be with her, but what would he have done there?

This place was his entire life, he knew the names of each customer he served and his dear wife was buried a few blocks away. Selling would destroy what purpose he had, moving would feel like abandoning his wife who was only two years gone. No, Rio was Lucas home, he would live here and he would die here.

He felt the tremors subside slightly, enough for him to rise without much struggle, he walked over to the wall-mounted television and switched it on. GNN was a chaotic mess of arguing suits and violent imagery, Rio daily was on temporary shutdown and Astracomm was spewing the usual mainland rhetoric with unusual vigour. He lingered on the mainland channel unable to look away, it was like watching a Trainwreck.

“They have failed! Categorically! The time has come to take back the city!” An Astragonese man in a black suit and bowtie was all but yelling as he slammed his fist on the coffee table for emphasis

It was the usual wild political theatre that Luca knew all too well, Astragonese tv had a habit of becoming loud and expressive. The host of the segment, a middle-aged woman with a bored expression, played idly with her braided hair as the suited man continued to yell. She straightened her purple aso ebi* and cleared her throat. The suited man quieted at her prompt.

“Thank you, professor, I would like to give general Na Kuda time to speak before we break,” she said as a hard-faced man in an officer's uniform materialized on the conference screen

“Thank you for joining us general, allow me to start by asking, what is the military's current assessment of the situation in Rio?” the host asked

A long awkward pause followed as the connection became patchy, it reasserted itself in time for a tank to roll past where the general was standing. The border with Rio was crawling with Astragonese troops, it looked like they were gearing up.

“Thank you for having me Unity, we are watching the situation in Rio very closely, currently no order has been given but rest assured the Imperial military is prepared for any eventuality,” the general said, the last words hinting at ominous possibilities

Luca turned off the tv and sighed, he didn’t have anything against Astragon, he’d served just as many mainlanders in his time as Verdean’s. But the thought of being forcibly occupied by a nation like the exalted empire didn’t sit well with him, that might not be what the general had meant but it felt like a distinct possibility.

He looked out at the empty streets once more, everything seemed uncertain, life since the riots had been put on pause. The once manic pace of existence in vibrant Rio had been reduced to a daily game of wait and see, the fear of what was to come matched only by the fear of what was presently occurring. Luca grinned mirthlessly, at least if Astragon retook the city he would have someone to serve coffee too.

 

[North Timistania]

Chapter Eight: The Seal Breaks

Hernandez Street, Inner Wards, Rio

“Hurry up!” Ofili hissed as the lights from a passing helicopter briefly illuminated the alley

“I'm trying!” Kosi growled back in a low voice

It was a dangerous game the two boys were playing, breaking curfew during a citywide emergency was a serious crime and the police were not gentle with rule breakers. Ofili had been shamed into it, goaded by attacks on his patriotism and heritage, Kosi wanted to do his bit for the great struggle and he had no intention of doing it alone.

That small contribution to the liberation of Rio? Badly drawn graffiti in a back alley in the inner ward. The neighbourhood was largely Verdean, somewhere with good credit and regular police patrols. Kosi wanted to make a statement, a big red mark on the Peleshi’s shiny new bank, the police would not take kindly to such an action. Ofili hoped that Kosi wouldn’t embellish too much, hanging around outside was a bad for one's health in Rio.

A few final sprays of the can and Kosi was finished, a crude-looking red circle containing an equally primitive-looking bird shape now covered the rear wall of the Hernandez street bank. Kosi grinned as he admired his handiwork, Ofili felt his heart race as the older boy wasted time they could have spent running.

It seemed foolish, the sort of idiocy that only two young boys hyped up by alcohol and recklessness could conceive of. Ofili had tried to back out, Kosi had accused him of cowardice and that had been that. He was kicking himself now, the crude bird was hardly worth the danger and his mother would kill him if he didn’t get back before she noticed he was gone.

“Come on we need to go!” Ofili said in a low voice, nudging Kosi

“Relax” Kosi replied dismissively

Ofili was about to say something when he heard the growl of an engine, a police APC was slowly rolling down the main street, its lights flooded the darkness with an accusing yellow glow. Kosi stuffed his spray cans back into the kitbag frantically as they heard booted footsteps. Kosi dropped a can which clattered loudly, Ofili all but dragged him behind the side of a nearby dumpster.

“Fucking Kaiders!” a Verdean man's voice growled

“You shouldn’t call 'em that Rico, sarge told you he’d put us on riot duty again if he heard you say Kaider again” another man replied in protest

“Sarge isn't here!” Rico hissed

Two policemen walked into view, they looked more like soldiers with their black armour and assault rifles, not long-ago men like this had just carried batons. It had been like this for weeks, ever since the riots had ripped through the city the police had become little more than an armed militia. One of the officers leaned down and picked up Kosi’s fallen can with a gloved hand, the other illuminated the graffiti with his torch.

“Look at this scrawl Sandro, they can’t even draw properly,” Rico said in disgust

“Probably just dumb kids” Sandro replied nonchalantly

From their hiding place the two boys watched with growing anxiety, the police were close and neither boy wanted to be on the receiving end of Verdean law enforcement. Ofili held his breath and tried to stay calm, Kosi was fidgeting in panic as Ofili struggle to hold him.

“We need to run!” Kosi whispered fearfully

“No! We run and they will catch us! Stay put and wait for them to pass!” Ofili replied trying to sound stern

The two cops had not moved, they were searching the alley with rifle mounted torches, their boot falls sounded like titans' steps as they paced up and down the darkened street. They were getting closer, only a matter of time before they found the two would-be artists.

“We need to run!” Kosi hissed as he struggled with Ofili

“You can’t outrun them! We need to hide!” Ofili replied in a pleading voice

Kosi could hold his fear in check no longer and rammed his elbow into Ofili’s stomach as he broke the other boys hold and began to run.

“HEY!!! STOP!!!” Rico roared as the boy raced down the alley

A single gunshot rang out as Kosi fell to the ground with a muffled scream and lay doubled over in agony, his leg was bleeding and he writhed on the concrete moaning in pain. Rico strode over to the hobbled boy and kicked him in the stomach with a booted foot.

“Little Shit! Bad enough your parents turned the city into a tinder box without having to deal with your scrawl too!” Rico snarled

Kosi spat in Rico’s direction, a drop of spittle landed on the officer's boot, for his defiance Kosi received another booted kick, this time to his face. The boy howled in pain as the boot impacted with his forehead and broke the skin, he whimpered as a trail of blood leaked down his face. Ofili felt powerless, he wanted to help his friend, but his legs were fixed to the ground, all he could do was reach for his phone and start recording.

“Fucking Kaiders! All you mainlanders ever do is cause trouble!” Rico roared

“That's enough! Just cuff him and let's go!” Sandro yelled in protest

“Shut Up! Our body cams are off! Its people like this asshole that put our guys in the hospital! and this little shit needs to be taught a lesson!” Rico snarled in reply

Sandro kept quiet, Rico kept kicking, Kosi’s screams filled the night air as he was beaten bloody. Eventually, Rico stopped, spat on the battered youth and turned to Sandro.
“call it in, resisting arrest, the ambulance crew can clean this mess up,” Rico said turning to walk back to the APC

Sandro stared down at Kosi who was breathing in frantic starts, his chest was wheezing visibly, the boy was covered in blood and bruises. Sandro shook his head and gave the boy a sympathetic look, he didn’t do anything else though he just called in the ambulance on his radio and walked off.

Time passed at an agonizing pace, Ofili couldn’t move he just clutched the side of the dumpster and watched as nearly twenty minutes passed. Eventually, an ambulance crew did appear and unceremoniously hauled Kosi onto a waiting stretcher, they wheeled him into the back of the ambulance and slammed the doors. It was ominous, his friend vanishing behind the white metal doors.

Ofili slumped and began to weep, hot tears streamed down his face as he lay against the dumpster and sobbed. Maybe half an hour passed before he could pull himself from the catatonic trance, he had been thrown into. When he did come to his senses, he regarded the phone he still gripped in his hand, low battery but enough to do what he needed to. He clicked on the gruesome 30-second video saved in his files and hit send.

*************************************************************************************
The internet blazed with fury as the video jumped from phone to phone, eventually, it was uploaded onto Astravid, Netprime and even Verdcast. The views skyrocketed to viral levels; the comments overflowed as anger boiled over in the limitless expanse of cyberspace.

“0:25, This is why we riot!”

“Rio Verde is a terrorist state!”

“Soon we return!”

“#KosidiedforAstragon!”

Far away Ofili hid in the corner of his bedroom and struggled to feel anything but a wave of despair as the news broke. Kosi had died from his injuries in the hospital, the tv was a chaotic flurry of angry faces as people descended on the streets once more. The old protesters picked up their banners once again and now they were joined by people who had previously stayed indoors, the old and the very young. A sea of red flowed across Rio’s streets once more and they chanted one word as they marched

“UBASHA”

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[North Timistania]

Chapter Nine: The Sakard Clause

Downtown Rio, Legation Council Chambers ​

The mood in the situation room was apocalyptic, aides hurried back and forth passing through doors guarded by men with assault rifles. The updates were never good, half the city was on fire and the other half under lockdown, even the fire brigade was on strike.

Chairman Hernandez received each new report with white-knuckled terror. The executive head of Rio may as well have been presiding over the end times, he wasn’t even in full control of his own headquarters. Even as he sat scratching his head and fidgeting with papers his hallways were now ruled by corporate security who watched the comings and goings with finger never far from trigger.

In hindsight, Hernandez wondered if it had all been inevitable if there had ever been a moment when the city could have been saved. If there had that moment had long since passed, Rio had slipped from the grasp of the elites while they engaged in blind debauchery.

Men like Hernandez were told to ignore the wider world, their lives were centred around high-class gatherings and indulgent trips abroad. The haves of Rio lived in splendid isolation on their island mansions without ever having to see the squalor and ruin of the inner wards. If the bribes to Astragon were paid on time and the corporate tax kept low the city practically ran itself.

That logic had proven flawed, Astragon had shrugged off the decades-long political malaise that had crippled it, Imperial officials no longer took bribes. The corporations too were no longer particularly loyal to the old orders, they only cared for their bottom line and the cities failing condition was already causing them to rethink arrangements.

And then there was the rot, the slow and steady accumulation of neglect and resentment that festered in the cities unloved wards. They had ignored the poor rattling their cages for far too long, lulled into false security by their distance from the growing roar. Now though, the roar could be heard from even the business district and it promised ruin.

If his guest was amused by these developments, Hernandez could not tell, Ambassador Nandi Na Sobekh never shifted her expression from the slightest of smiles. She was almost certainly grinning on the inside though, every mainlander politician had dreamed of the fall of Rio for over a century.

Nandi represented an Astragon Hernandez had not seen before, young, assertive and patriotic. She was a far cry from the bloated fops of a decade ago, those men could be banished with gifts and flattery. The Kevshah dynasty had not been gentle with its political purges, the old order of corrupt officials had been excised without mercy.

Nandi was far easier on the eye than her predecessor, her finely boned face was crowned by neatly braided hair and she cultivated an air of dignified sophistication as she held her porcelain cup with slender and impeccably manicured nails. The previous ambassador had been recalled nearly a year ago, he had been louder and far less threatening.

She sipped red tea in companionable silence while Hernandez watched the world collapse around him. She reminded him of a lioness, she was waiting for the right moment to pounce, her silence only heightened the already tense mood. She scanned the room with a casual grace, but to Hernandez her hazel eyes promised murder.

“Why are you here Sobekh?” Hernandez asked irritably, unable to take any further anticipation

Nandi smiled like a cat that had just swallowed a canary “you know why I am here chairman, the screens behind you should be a clear explanation of my presence” she replied in perfect Mercanti, her accent so slight as to be a mere whisper

“The current unrest is an internal matter! We have the situation in hand!” he growled with an angry wave of his hand

That was a lie of course, the only thing the council did have in hand was an ever-growing list of damage reports. The city would be lucky to escape this uprising with any of its wards intact, the projected losses were in the billions. Sobekh frowned and set her cup down.

“I think we both know that that is a bald-faced lie Chairman,” she said more sternly, he despised the mocking lilt in her tone as she said “Chairman”

Hernandez sat back and sighed, he knew there would be no winning now. The façade of control had shattered, the mainland would not be deterred from whatever course it had planned now. All that was left to do was to hear it straight from the peacock's mouth.

“If you know this ambassador then why are you here?” he asked wearily

“The imperial assembly convened this morning; the empress has determined that the situation in Rio has deteriorated beyond your ability to control” Nandi replied coldly
That wasn’t exactly news, the imperial assembly had been engaged in rhetorical displays since the crisis had started. Something about Nandi’s tone though suggested that this time the reaction from Astragon wasn’t going to be symbolic declarations and angry television segments.

“And what has your assembly decided?” he asked his tone laced with hostility

Nandi smiled “all in good time chairman, as soon as my colleague arrives, we can begin,” she said with a malicious grin

************************************************

Reth Na Tuwili straightened his tie as he waited for the elevator to reach the top floor. It was good to be back in Iteria and he was enjoying a rare moment of levity. Reth was not a sentimental man by nature, he was a career diplomat and went where the foreign service required, but damn it was good to be away from Highton.

The recall order had been a strange one, he had been ambassador to the Craviteran nation for over a decade after all. His time in Highton had been a resounding success, the communique commented as much, but evidently his skills were required on home soil.

His flight from Alexandria had been long, the contents of his apartment was still being shipped back to Domos. All of that was just window dressing mind, Reth didn’t live for the trappings of the job, he lived for the work and today was going to be a productive day.

He patted the brown folder slung under his arm and stepped out into the ornate corridor of the chairman's office as the lift opened. Security moved to stop him only to back away as he glared and flashed his identification with a deft hand. No one would stop Reth when he was on the warpath.

He opened the door to the situation room and strolled in, completely ignoring chairman Hernandez as he did so. He nodded to Sobekh as he walked past

“Sorry I'm late Nandi, the road from the airport was on fire,” Reth said matter-factly, his delivery helped by the fact he was telling the truth

“Excuse me, who are you exactly!?” Hernandez asked accusingly

“The man who they sent to clean up your mess!” Reth growled before turning to regard Nandi, a wicked smile crossed his face as it dawned on him

“You haven't told him, yet have you?!” Reth exclaimed with a smirk

“Told me what!!? I demand someone to give me an explana..” Hernandez’s words trailed off as Reth slammed the folder down with the front page open
A letter inside the folder was written in formal handwriting, a neat and very brief note read:

Due to the worsening tensions in the city-state of Rio Verde, currently leased to the legation council of said city, and noting that that lease is expired by several years.
I Sabhrain Nkosha Na Kevshah, Empress of Astragon, guardian of the Hailakaid people and by constitutional authority Protector of Rio-Verde's security. Hereby invoke the Sakard clause in order to rectify the current crisis and to restore public order.
To this end Imperial forces will enter the city proper and move to pacify the current unrest. Rio’s legislature and law enforcement agencies will provide my soldiers with all the necessary assistance and additionally will obey their constitutional authority as they work to bring the situation to an amicable settlement.
Signed
Sabhrain Nkosha Na Kevshah
By the Grace of Shaddai, Kaidain and Yeshana
Empress of Astragon and protector of Rio

The Sakard clause, arguably the most important legal amendment in Rio’s history, had been written following the city's liberation during the fascist war. Sakard had moved to reclaim Rio from a syndicalist uprising that had toppled the legation council some two years prior.

The strong man of Iteria might have annexed the city altogether if not for the need for have his armies elsewhere. Instead he had used his position as liberator to draft a new constitution. The council could keep their positions for the leases remainder, but should any crisis threaten the city and prove beyond their control they were to revert control to the mainland.

It was a surprisingly far-sighted piece of legal manoeuvring, Sakard clearly attempting to gain a means of legally reclaiming the city for Astragon. That moment had been delayed for several decades as Astragon fell into stagnation and corruption, but now the resurgent empire would be held back no longer.

Hernandez regarded the note with a look that reminded Reth of a dying antelope. The Verdean chairman went pale as the letter's significance sank in. He sat in utter silence for a while, his brain likely trying to rationalise what it was seeing, then came the denial.

“No! This is unconstitutional!” he roared angrily shoving the folder to one side

“I assure you your cities constitution very much contains such legal provision and I would expect the councils invested leader to be aware of its presence!” Nandi shot back
“Doubt he’s ever read the thing; he probably doesn’t even wipe his own arse Nandi!” Reth said slamming his fist on the table to get the chairman's attention

“I will not tolerate such insole....” Hernandez screeched indignantly before being cut off

“I don’t care what you will or won’t tolerate! You over-polished giraffe's turd! Right now, you're sitting on your arse while the city tears itself apart!” Reth yelled silencing the beleaguered chairman

“The city is under control!” Hernandez protested weakly

“The city is on fire you Idjott! I like the climate in Iteria, Highton is about as warm as a penguin's scrotum! But usually the heat doesn’t come from the bloody buildings being on fire!” Reth snarled in disgust

“Chairman the time has come to face reality, you lack the strength to reclaim control, it's time to step aside and let Astragon do what is necessary,” Nandi said in a gentle, almost placating tone

Hernandez nodded and turned to regard the screens behind his chair with a defeated stare. Reth rose from his chair and motioned to the door.

“I think we’re done here Nandi, time to get to work,” he said as the two diplomats left the cities last Chairman to mourn his failure

​

 

[North Timistania]

Chapter Ten: Bugle Call

Mainland Astragon, the town of Navinga

Brigadier-General Morgan Tandesha watched the television set with a relaxed eye, he was content, the children had been put to bed an hour earlier and his wife was dozing gently next to him as they enjoyed a rare lazy evening at home.

His posting on the border with Rio was a coveted one, apart from the odd wargame little of note ever happened. Tandesha was able to indulge in family life, he was home often and usually at normal hours. His children enjoyed a relaxed upbringing that Morgan himself had never known.

Morgans eldest son had already gone to the Kraal, one son for the empire's army was more than enough. His two younger children he intended to steer towards the bureaucracy where they would have normal lives far from the backbreaking trials of the Kaiderin settlements.

His own father had been far more traditional, packing Morgan off to the Kraal almost as soon as the boy had reached the minimum age. Morgan did not resent this, of course, he was a proud Kaiderin after all, but he saw no reason to force all his children down the same brutal path. He smiled briefly at the thought of Tandi and Kuda attaining ministerial positions.

Morgan was one of the increasingly liberal Kaiderin that had arisen in the wake of Kaskaran’s reformist reign. He was still a fierce patriot and lifelong warrior, but he could envision a future where caste might be less rigid, a future where his children might even choose more than to be either soldiers or bureaucrats.

He regarded the house around him with a lazy eye, there were many happy memories tied up in this home. His permanent posting at the nearby border made normalcy possible, family dinners and lazy shrine visit colouring military life with a welcome hue of domesticity.

Often his evenings ended with him and Anashe lounging together on the couch while bad tv played. Tonight, Compatriots of around the Baobab was playing, it was amusingly bad. He chuckled as the bank robber was chastised by the decidedly relaxed town police

“I want forty thousand Kashai now!!!” the ski-masked robber yelled through the tv

“Sir...with respect...That is a foolishly low sum of money...your legal fees will consume most of that! You are wasting everyone's time with such a small sum!” a policeman with a comically large microphone bellowed back

The punch line was about to play when Morgan’s phone began to ring loudly in his pocket, he reached into his coat and stared at the caller ID. It was the base and to be calling so late likely meant it was something that would not wait. He sighed hoping he would not be required on-site and clicked answer.

“Tandesha” he said drowsily

“General! My apologies for calling so late but we have urgent news to relay, the Sakard clause has been activated and there is an emergency briefing at the base scheduled for 0500 hours”
Morgan felt momentarily taken aback by that, but then his army training kicked in and he found himself accepting the new reality with ease. He was a Kaiderin, readiness meant being prepared to act at any moment. He wished it was not in four hours, but he would do his duty all the same.

“Very well, I will receive it in my office at 0500,” he said before hanging up

Anashe yawned “who was that on the phone husband?” she asked half asleep

“It was the base,” he said ominously

“What did they want so late?” She asked suddenly more awake and concerned

“The situation in Rio has deteriorated, they want me to be ready for a briefing in four hours,” he said trying to sound calm

It was the moment he had hoped would never come, the call for a deployment had finally come. Rio had finally reached the point of no return, he suspected he would not be home for many nights to come.
​

 

[Pikabo]

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Lawstoner Republic

"The Minister willingly let his loving legislator be sent to Rio Verde? Paano? " Bondoc said before she bites on a piece of her sauerbraten. Gat Untalan threw a nod at her as he quickly sipped on his glass of water.

"Paano? Well, surprisingly, I didn't need to scare the loving legislator. Alwablah's dead set on sending Stoyanovich to Rio Verde—for both reasons."

Bondoc hummed a happy tone as she smacks her lips contentedly. "So the Außenminister wouldn't have tried to convince Bonton Bagets, to convince Stoyanovich not to go on another one of his crazy krusadas?"

"Oo... Herr Ober!" Gat Untalan looked away from Bondoc to point at the waiter. "The cheesecake, please."

"Very good, Gat Untalan." The waiter nods accordingly, but before he leaves- "Oh. May I take these away?"

"Ja, ja!" Gat Untalan smiled and watched as the waiter took away the empty dish, plates, and little bowls on his side of the table.

He returned his attention to Bondoc. He slightly furrowed his brows when he saw her look at him with slit eyes.

"Blueberry and a glass of milk?" She tells him, almost muttering.

Gat Untalan blinked, confused. "Käsekuchen. Käsekuchen as always... Why, May?"

She shook her head and clicked her tongue. "Oh, nein. Remembered something that forced out in me an...unwanted habit."

Bondoc covered her mouth for her coughs. "Kindisch, kindisch," said in between.

At least as the other person heard. He cared less to what little and unsavory things such as that would mean. Especially of what it means to him... Perhaps it is just a bad cough. Besides, he wants a mind absolutely ready for the stomach that will allow him to enjoy his dessert to the extent he and the experience deserves. So, he simply smiled at her, for both their sake...him and his delicious cake.

In the meantime, as he waits, he notices he has been talking about his side of the vine...

"Ganon pa rin si Goggelmoggel?"

Bondoc coughed and drove her knife hard into her meal. It hit the plate hard enough to ring a loud clunk.

"Ganon pa rin. His obnoxious...vices may have deterred competition and helped him assert himself in the service." She pauses. Then she takes a piece of her meat, chewing slowly. Gulping it down as she looked at Gat Untalan, clear displeasure in her eyes.

Yet, she smiles. "I am simply using it against him."

"It's certainly a disgusting method you have." Gat Untalan snorted.

"Maniwala ka, Unty. It works." Bondoc cuts multiple pieces of the steak. She took one small bite after another in enthusiastic, almost sarcastic hum. "Repeat it over and over again and he'll become dependent on me...eventually."

Gat Untalan smirked, but he winced. "Oo. March on with that belief-"

Bondoc raised her knife at him to cut his speech and she spoke with viper determination. "-Making me more valuable to him and therefore making it necessary to keep things between us devoted. The devotion brings me the favors I need without dealing with the obstacles of his excessive and undeserved masculinity. Ganon."

"Orangen-Käsekuchen, Gat Untalan." The waiter set the citrus-encrusted cheese pastry in front of Gat Untalan.

"Danke schön!" The grateful civil servant rubbed his hands together. The waiter nodded his way out.

Grinning, and like a Courantist school boy, Gat Untalan made mockery of their sign of the cross, waving his hand up and down his face and across his torso.

"The real enjoyment begins. Los!"

Rio Verde, Astragon

"Herr Karl Mueller. That's the man we're going to meet, Grig."

Stoyanovich kept a steady eye at Arvin, either dazed at the thought of being here, in halls of the Legation Council...or just dazed for staring at Arvin for too long. Arvin has long convinced himself, ever since they first met in the last party conference, that it's the latter of two possibilities... Always.

"Da, but...why is there Aleborscht civil servant in Astroland?"

'Comprehensive, objective and impartial.' How the hell are we supposed to conduct a fact-finding mission in that direction when we have... Stoyanovich. The lack of a reply and anything audible from Arvin made the old man look at Kapia. Suppose the old pervert decided to spend his wasteful existence in the nearest, fairest sight. Of those who would obviously resent him, which is anyone and anything alive.

But why bother now? Arvin, Kapia, Robert, and everyone else have encountered Stoyanovich repeatedly throughout their stay here for at least a minute. Most of them foreigners, they all managed to leave a normal, sentient being.

"Wala kang asal. Alam mo yun, Grig?"

"Nyet." Grig answered immediately, smiling.

Arvin...laughed. Well if there isn't much to say then there's, he supposes, always laughter. And he doesn't question it, or himself for that matter. Instead, he feels very comfortable. Unlike just a moment ago. Not as disturbed as he would always feel with Stoyanovich.

Kapia pinched Arvin on his side. "Arvin. We're almost there. Fertigmachen."

OOC:

Spoiler: Translations

"Oo."
Yes.

"Ganon pa rin si Goggelmoggel?"
Is Goggelmoggel still the same?

"Maniwala ka, Unty."
You [should (?)] believe, Unty

"Wala kang asal. Alam mo yun, Grig?"
You don't have manners. You know that, Grig?

"Fertigmachen."
Get ready.

 

[North Timistania]

Chapter 11: Traffic

Alfred Goffman Memorial Bridge, Rio Verde
​

Sancho’s ageing silverstar* moved at a snail's pace, the engine humming loudly as the car did so, traffic was blocked up as far as the eye could see. He checked his watch, he was going to be late, normally the prospect of being tardy to his day shift would be a frightening one, he doubted anyone would bat an eyelash today though. Two military helicopters swooped over the traffic as they raced off towards the inner city, soldiers in Khaki fatigues were on every street corner.

The mainland had finally done it, all the years of posturing and rhetoric had finally replaced by a very physical presence. He saw an Astragonese flag waving over the bridge next to the Verdean ensign, he wondered privately how long the two would share the space before it was all red and gold. He switched on the radio hoping to pass the wait with jazz, instead every channel was set to emergency instructions.

“Rio Verde is now under Imperial Jurisdiction; the interim government encourages you to welcome members of the armed forces with open arms. Follow any instructions you are given and remain calm; Order is returning to Rio!” the voice on the radio put Sancho in the mind of a siren lulling complacent victims to their doom

After what seemed like an eternity, he found himself at the entrance to Alfred Goffman bridge and at the mercy of a military checkpoint. The soldiers kept their weapons low, the fearsome looks on their faces suggesting they would have no compunctions with raising them if he caused any trouble, a military policeman strode over and signalled for him to lower his window.
“License and identity,” the officer said in a commanding voice

Sancho fumbled in the glove compartment and pulled a scruffy looking set of work papers and his license out, used coffee cups and a chorro wrapper spilt onto the passenger seat as he did. He passed them to the officer with as much confidence as he could muster, it was a miracle his hands did not shake.

The officer scanned the papers with a frown, he was wearing aviators so Sancho could not tell what mood he was in. The soldiers of Astragon all seemed to have that same neutral expression, a kind of authoritarian demeanour that was utterly unnerving to be on the receiving end of. Kaiderin were famous for the “look” that frown that never seemed to shift, Sancho had always thought it was an exaggeration but now he could see it.

These were not the police who occasionally screened the roads for criminals or drug users, they at least made small talk, no, these soldiers had a cast iron air about them, they commanded rather than asked. Sancho felt a sinking feeling in his chest as he realized that he was now a citizen of a foreign regime that regarded individuals' rights with suspicion, and which expected absolute obedience.

He felt his chest pound slightly as the officer continued to silently sift through his papers, his eyes always hidden behind the dark plastic of his glasses. Eventually, he passed the papers back to Sancho wordlessly before waving for the barrier to be raised. The officer turned to Sancho and nodded.

“Everything is in order, head down the bridge and continue on to the main highway, do not deviate from the route and obey any instructions to stop given by police and military personnel, have a blessed day citizen,” the officer said his tone never raising above an emotionless drone

Sancho mouthed his thanks and drove on as the barrier was raised for him to depart, he was now over thirty minutes late for work. He could at least take comfort in knowing that most of his colleagues would be in similar situations too. He reached for a cigarette and lit it with his free hand, the news had said the military presence would be temporary, a necessary imposition needed to restore civil society. Deep down he suspected that the Kaiderin and by extension the empire they represented were here to stay.

*The Silverstar 4, a popular and reliable car produced by Iraelian based Red Star Motors.

 

[North Timistania]

Chapter 12: Hearken the new world

Sakard International Airport, Rio Verde ​

Javier watched as the hulking cargo plane descended onto the runway since the beginning of the occupation there had been a daily flow of munitions and equipment into the city. For most Verdeans the roar of the cargo planes engines was a reminder that they were under foreign occupation, Javier though simply saw it as an omen of steady pay.

The arrival of Astragonese troops had been a profound shock to the city-states understanding of itself. A few months ago, Rio Verde was for all intents and purposes an independent polity, troubled yes but free. Then the riots had started, and the city had become paralyzed by fear, the streets were quiet now but that was because they were patrolled by the jackboots of Kaiderin.

Even native Astragonese found themselves gripped by unease; these mainlander troops were different to the point of being alien. People in Rio had grown up with several basic assumptions about how the world worked, first commerce was king and second, you could say what you liked so long as you didn’t try to dethrone the former. These mainlanders couldn’t be more different, where they came from society was old as the sands and they had respect for caste, elders and exalt drilled into them from birth.

For his part, Javier simply accepted that change was inevitable and that it was better to work for the winning side than to be at their mercy. He hadn't always been so cynical about things, in the ’80s when the independence movement was at its strongest, he had marched with a blue banner in hand and sung the “La Bella”* with the best of them. But that had been a long time ago, it was 2020 and far better to be a well-fed collaborator than a starving patriot.

Javier rolled up his overall sleeves and picked up the tablet, the cargo plane had lowered his ramp and Franko one of the other handlers had already begun preparing to unload. Tapping the battered screen Javier pulled up the sign off form, it was a motion he had been through so often in the last month it was now second nature. An intimidating looking flight officer strode towards Javier with a frown so deep it might as well have been carved into his features.

“I wasn’t aware we were utilizing local auxiliaries,” he said his voiced laced with disgust

Javier knew full well what the officer really wanted to say, he was amazed the Kaiderin had managed to restrain himself enough not to call Javier “Peleshi”. Working for the Kaiders might have afforded Javier a bigger apartment and a nice set of green overalls, but that didn’t mean his new masters regarded him with any great affection. Local auxiliaries were useful publicity stunt and provided extra manpower, beyond that they were beneath the contempt of most imperial officers.

“Just here to sign off your delivery and get it unloaded sir” Javier replied in the most deferential tone he could muster

The officer motioned to the large crates being unloaded by the ground crews “Standard munitions resupply and several technicians arriving for assignments” the officer replied with a dismissive wave of his hand

Javier watched the so-called “technicians” descend the ramp, they were dressed in black flight suits and all of them were carrying large kitbags that seemed far bulkier than the average serviceman's gear. Javier said nothing, he knew the officer was lying but he also preferred to keep his life and a steady paycheck. He simply nodded and signed off the manifest and allowed the unloading to continue without incident.

The small group of black-garbed personnel must have numbered no more than a dozen, they didn’t look like technicians either. They all had a stern, self-assured expression on their faces and they moved with the confidence of individuals with a specific purpose in mind. Javier knew full well that these men and women were far more than grunts, they were killers and they had come to Rio to end lives.

When the officer had left Javier aided Franko with the last of the crates, after that they took a smoke break. They leaned against the mesh fence separating the military terminal from the rest of the airport and watched as planes ascended into the evening skies, it would have been almost idyllic in another time.

Franko motioned to the now emptied out cargo plane “technicians aye, they don’t even really bother to lie to us anymore” Franko said in a concerned voice

“they aren't paying us to be in the know, I just do my work and keep my head down” Javier responded bluntly

“It doesn’t bother you? What the Kaiders are up to?” Franko asked curiously

“Not like we can change anything; I just take their money and count myself lucky to not be on the receiving end” Javier replied stubbing out his cigarette beneath his boot heel

“wouldn't want to meet those guys in a dark alley” Franko replied giving an involuntary shudder

Whoever those men had been, they meant business, Franko seemed more concerned than Javier, he was younger of course, still too attached to the old Rio. Javier was less sentimental, corrupt police and rampant corporatism hadn't exactly been some paradise either, Verdean or Astragonese Javier intended to weather the storm. Looking the other way had kept him alive thus far and he had no intention of changing now.

*The La Bella is a patriotic Verdean nationalists' song