“Hail Thee Our Motherland!
Thy art our Living Hand
Sow and craft our brand.
O Brand of Gidden, guide and shield us
Long live our triumph!
Marching across the plains
Climbing through the dales
Streaming along the Montanya
Sun shining upon our motherland
Sileland, Our Pride and Blood!
Shall we never forswear
Never shall we yield or cower
Steel our blood, Her Folk!
Feel our grit and might
Watch our hands in light
Fill our worth with sight
Whet our brand like our soul, bright!
Sileland, Our Brand and Soul!
Be, Her Lady, here.
Long Thy Almighty Flame
Our shining hope, we gain
Toiling till blight in vain
Now we live in peace,
Sileland, Our Home and Bliss!”
Finally, the notes of the melody faded, and the flag bearers marched down the stairs with resolute steps. Envoys settled back into their seats, hands clasped on the desks before them. A surge of pride coursed through them as their eyes met the glorious Fyrflugel, the massive, gleaming steel-crafted symbol of motherland, hovering sentinel behind the stage. Their gazes were fixed in front, where the grey-bearded man spoke into a curious-looking shouter called a microphone. We followed suit, save for desks that nudged our arms as those envoys. Severity loomed. Silence began to craft their ideas—perhaps even a foolhardy balderdash—inside their mind.
Tyler's gaze swept like the Fyrfugel’s eye across the sprawl before him. He embodied the same earnest vigilance as his forebears, of whom I was one. His throne, however, was a simple armchair, sharing from its brethren alike in this vast chamber.
In the grip of a solemn silence, a storm of uncertainties raged within me. From profound questions to outlandish notions, my mind reeled. On one hand, the court before brought about the sheer weight of a crucial choice—a choice that could usher in wealth or burden the motherland. Hence, my eyes would open very wide. But on the other hand, the court now offered little to no intrigue to my insight. Hence, my eyes would close… rather slowly.
But then, a sharp smack from Tyler against my shoulder yanked me back from the impending hebetude.
“Never fall asleep amid your duty, ‘dear’,” he said. “You’ve got a job to do.”
“Job? Since when have I had it?”
“Miss Ayako already asked you…,” he paused, darting a glance across his side, then lowered his voice. “To trade words, eh?”
“Right, but how and when can I do it?”
“During the press release, right after the entire forum bullshit, you can ask them away and see if something interests you. But I wouldn’t advise getting straight to the point just yet,” he grabbed a small paper bag from below and handed it to me. “Here’s your kit of disguise. This will make you handy.”
“Handy?” I asked, opening the bag and checking it. Inside, there were three items: eyeglasses, a notebook, and a sling.
“Scanning specs, Journalist’s guide, and ID sling,” he clarified. “All of it will fit a right disguise as a junior media reporter under Miss Laura Becker, my old journalist friend.”
“I see,” I tucked my hand into the bag.
Then Tyler suddenly clutched my wrist, resisting me from pulling it out, “Pull out only the guide, not the rest until when the time comes. For now, take your time to study, but I recommend not using it during the interview. Got it?”
“Right.” So I pulled out the guide and opened it, reading:
JOURNALIST FOR DUMMIES 101
1. Your job is to gather information, not understand them.
2. Keep their words in mind as always.
3. Craft your questions beforehand.
4. Don’t ask them names, ask their thoughts on relevant issues.
5. Be mindful of their roles and status.
6. No personal issues, just business issues.
7. Don’t be bloody deaf and daft.
8. No bias, be open.
9. Don’t be hostile.
10. Be calm and kind, even if they aren’t.
I flipped a page and even another; only an empty paper greeted my sight.
“Right,” I closed the guide and kept it back after skimming twice. “I have noted these… advice.”
A flicker of movement caught my eye. A black-coated officer darted onto the stage, a hushed exchange rippling through their lips. The grey-bearded man's frown deepened, his gaze hardening into a narrow slit. The officer vanished as quickly as they appeared, leaving the man to rub a weary hand across his brow. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, betraying the exasperation simmering beneath his stern facade.
"The Himel Forum shall now commence forth through the address of..." The grey-bearded man's voice trailed off as his gaze darted to the side. A frightful masked figure, cloaked in a sleek black coat and cloak, emerged at the edge of his vision. Silver hair glinted under the stage lights as… “Sir Likard Vaelar, Grand Marshal of the Arian Military,” marched towards the stage, his arrival astounding audiences’ eyes, but striking a familiar chord to mine.
“Wait… huh?” Tyler gasped.
“Grand Marshal,” I repeated, then asked. “Could he be the one who leads the entire military?”
“Not only that,” he paused, tilting his head slightly and narrowing his focus, then stuttered. “He was… my old friend, too.”
“Old friend? Lucky for you, you might have a trusted one to bring back—”
“Shut up,” Tyler cast a fleeting glare against me, then shook his head and heaved a sigh. “You’re still out of touch with the circumstances of this very time.”
“What do you mean? You have the blood and name—”
“They don’t matter anymore,” he interrupted. “We’re in the age of democracy now. People can do whatever they want… as long as it’s aligned to whatever they wish for.”
“So people… can rule the motherland?”
“No, people can elect whoever’s worthy to rule the nation. For instance, back in year twenty two thirty one, the majority of the population voted Paul Neumann as a UAF Chancellor with seventy-four percent success…. And, it was his third win throughout his political career. From seventeen to twenty four to thirty one. Quite ambitious of him, innit?”
“Right, so how ambitious is he?”
“In practice… let’s just say he’d done quite a productive job when it comes to economic recovery, enhancing infrastructures, and establishing welfare policy for people, especially to his Osten brethren. Though, there were a bunch of broken promises out there that brought more questions. For one, he failed to address the Nuclear Weapon Neutralisation, especially the locations of the nukes that were deemed ‘unknown’ or ‘missing’. And to this day, it continues to bring concerns throughout nations as to where they could be.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Right, but you are one of the heads. Surely, you would know of it, right?”
“No, the Chancellor’s always reserved when it comes to that issue. Surely, he’d trust nobody about that even inside the government… which makes him rather suspicious, for real.”
“But why do most people… still favoured him?”
“That, to be frank, I couldn’t fathom how and why. Some say when he drifts… sowing even a tiniest seed of curiosity shall reap your soul out. And there were numerous cases like that, too. One of Laura’s friends fell victim to it ten years ago—gone missing till now, and it totally shifted her view at that point.”
“Right, and do people believe it?”
“They do… but rather slowly,” he stuttered. “But the majority’s opinion stands firm. No matter how long they talk about this ‘deathly pattern’, they refute that it’s part of his ‘security against trespassers’, a security that I, the Head Security myself, never heard about.”
“And so, you were taken a lot of blame for that, yes?”
“A lot of questions, rather,” he sighed and shook his head. “Thanks to that urban legend being quite true, I’ve dealt with their superfluous bullshit they come up to me. Bloody times.”
“I see. Even without a crown and a throne upon you, you still bear heavy burdens to your heavy duty, eh?”
“That… truth be told, is an understatement to my taste.”
Soon after, Likard grabbed the gavel and pounded it twice, his eerie-looking mask echoing a deep voice throughout the court, “Greetings, ladies and gentlemen of the motherland! Apologies for quite an unexpected arrival… and my unusual changes of appearance, as I’ve suffered severe burns on the skin of my face during the incident at the Overseer Tower. But know this: I stand before you, alive and well, driven by the same unwavering dedication—to shield our Federation from harm. Should the world know our greatness, fear would be nothing to us, proceeding our hopes to reach high. Now I am here on the Court of Heart to address the status of our military status. First of all…,”
Likard, with a sharp flick of his finger, plunged the room into near-darkness. A beat of agog silence followed, then a flurry of bustles. Multiple screens flickered to life, revealing a bewildering array of pictures. Some displayed what looked like vibrant slices of a giant cake, others showed blocks stacked in neat rows. Lines snaked across some screens, mimicking jagged mountain ranges. The rest… were beyond words to my taste.
“What on the heavens am I looking at?” I moaned.
“It’s called statistics, gran—’dear’,” he replied.
“That is thrice now,” I mumbled. “Do not make me renounce your name in my great flesh and blood.”
Tyler shrugged silently, yet an inevitable giggle escaped out of his lips.
“What makes you laugh?” I asked in a glaring voice.
“Nothing. Just a spark of… reminiscence.”
Meanwhile, Likard continued his speech whilst glancing up, “Since our forces returned from Drugia and Asurah, we've witnessed significant improvements in military logistics. Supply and manpower losses have been minimised, leading to a robust production increase. Stockpiles of essential equipment like KILO-142, FYR-25, and JAG-32 have grown by fifteen percent, twelve percent, and five percent respectively, with FF-35 stockpiles seeing a three percent rise.
Furthermore, our recent recruitment drive enlisted an impressive forty-thousand conscripts, mostly which comprises eighty-nine percent of college freshmen under the ROTC Act and eleven percent of voluntary adults under TXF-730 Act.
Breaking down the ROTC contingent, sixty-five percent are advanced undergraduates, and thirty-five are newly promoted recruits currently serving. This diverse pool of talent includes medics—thirty five percent, logistics specialists—twenty-five percent, intelligence personnel—ten percent, and general military personnel—thirty percent.
We've also strategically expanded our infrastructure, constructing three new military bases and two new factories. Specific details on these facilities are, of course, classified for federal security reasons.
Our citizens deserve a sense of security without undue concern. The Federal Military is diligently strengthening our defences to safeguard our nation without hindering civilian progress.
However, let me acknowledge the unfortunate human cost of past conflicts. Our brave soldiers, particularly those deployed in the Mideast, have made huge sacrifices. According to current statistics, the anticipated casualty total is one hundred and fifteen thousand, with eighty percent maimed and twenty percent tragically fallen. These losses occurred under the command of the previous Grand Marshal, Sir Patrick Honnecker.
Hence, lest further measures might be detrimental to our safety and peace, I, by my order, have withdrawn all remaining troops from the Mideast.”
A ripple of disquietude washed over the court as Likard's words hung in the air. Everywhere, eyes narrowed in his direction, a silent question hanging heavy in the coltish air. Murmurs, barely hushed at first, grew into a rising tide of whispered opinions reaching our straining ears.
“So are we gonna leave those Libertian Yankees be their villains?” some laughed. “Gotta leave them in a play by themselves then.”
“Well, you could tell,” another replied. “He’s probably gonna cause a bloody ruckus between them and us again… just like between them and our Ostens here.”
“‘Little to no perils’?” another scoffed. “Good luck with those future terrorists coming to our bloody ‘motherland’, then.”
Looking at Tyler, he shook his head and blew a heavy sigh, his eyes spoke of… angst within him.
“If Sir Patrick could’ve kept himself and our army to just protecting our land,” he mumbled. “We wouldn’t have shared the burden with Libertia for their constant exploitation.”
“Libertia? Exploiting? I thought they were the ‘Land of Freedom’.”
“That’s only a relic of their past, ‘dear’... even if they’re still standing up proud to it—foolishly proud.”
“So a mere title and hypocrisy?”
“Yeah, some sort of that,” Tyler then pushed my head gently near his lips, my ear before his tongue. “Let’s not discuss this further about this ‘exploitation’ stuff, or else we might offend these pesky oligarchs around us.”
“Right. “
Tyler returned to his proper poise, his eyes and ears focused back to the court stage.
“Oh, Lika, what made you think like that?” he mumbled.
Then the clamorous rapping of the gavel echoed through the court, each successive blow a demand for attention. Slowly, the whispers dwindled, replaced by a respectful hush. Likard lowered the gavel with a decisive thud, a single nod his only acknowledgment before proceeding.
“Moving aside from the military reports, we press onwards to a domestic concern: the well-being of our fellow citizens. We are all aware that many people suffer with unemployment and homelessness, which often corresponds to a skills gap. Among our four-hundred million individuals, a significant twenty-three percent lack both jobs and homes. This disproportionately affects descendants of former East Silish citizens and even retired officers. Sadly, some resort to the streets, while others succumb to drug addiction. Such despair has imperilled our will to live and prosper.
Therefore, I propose the Citizen's Rehabilitation and Redemption Act, authorised by the Grand Marshal myself and the Fifth Federal Congress. This initiative seeks to empower the impoverished by providing rehabilitation with meaningful military service. The programme will give an opportunity to break foul, slothful habits and pursue a diligent path of service. They will be able to make educated future decisions thanks to specialised coaching and assistance. After completing their two-year term, they will have changed their life and gained vital skills.
Of course, some may dispute the transition. For those who already served, the Veterans' Reintegration and Support Act provides a comprehensive solution. This bill honours our returning heroes by offering job training, mental health services, and financial assistance. A dedicated veterans' affairs office will be their primary source of assistance. Career counselling and job placement will help translate their military experience into civilian careers. Moreover, access to mental health professionals specialising in combat stress and financial aid programs offering housing and education will ease their transition.
These bills not only restore productivity to our fellow citizens but also commemorate our veterans' efforts, ensuring a better future for all. Thus, I ask my fellow Envoys to endorse the Citizen's Rehabilitation and Redemption Act and the Veterans' Reintegration and Support Act. By investing in them, we invest in a stronger, more prosperous Federation for generations to come. Should we choose hope for our comrades-in-arms from utter despair, the motherland shall beget further misery and malady… no longer.
Thousand thanks for hearing my call.
Any further concerns and clarifications, I shall proceed to the press conference in the grand lobby.”
Finishing his speech, Likard offered a solemn bow before them and alighted from the stage, leaving the court in another rising tide of hushed opinions.
“His bills are… not quite bad at all,” some said. “My son will be glad to hear this.”
“But what about their annual salary? How much are they gonna pay?” another asked. “Two years of military service might still be quite a waste of time for them.”
“Plus, all of the army have already withdrawn from the Mideast, so what service are they gonna do aside from it?”
The shift in their words was jarring. Scathing slander morphed into fulsome praise, leaving a veil of unresolved questions. Born in a bygone era, my sensibilities baulked at such erratic utterances. I stole a glance at Tyler. His foot tapped a silent rhythm, arms folded across his chest. A slight grin flickered on his lips, and the gentle rise and fall of his breath hinted at a peaceful wellspring of delight within.
“Shall I head back to the lobby?” I asked him.
“As long as it’s relevant to your aim,” he replied. “Or should I say… quest.”
“What was it? Liu Sheng? Weian stuff?”
“Then there’s no benefit of asking him that. However, I’d advise you to head to Laura Becker as soon as possible. Learn the interviewing basics and techniques from her, and you’ll know how it works.”
“Right, then I must go.”
Tyler pulled out his smartphone from the pocket and shifted focus on it, tapping and typing, “I’ll contact her about it. You may now wear them and proceed.”