Springville, North Cenoka
Yara brushes an obsidian hand through her platinum hair, it’s in need of brushing but there’s never enough time in her day. The report in her other hand is all good news; Dhana may be starving the populous of North Cenoka, but that leaves ample funds to keep her factories running. Looking at the neat concisely written report makes her wish she’d never speak with that sing-song-rhyming freak ever again.
Face to face meetings are for people with time to waste, she runs forty-seven weapons manufactories. Keeping them at top efficiency takes all her time.
This office is all she needs for twenty hours of her day. The loan chair is comfortable, her desk while not big or ornate, is large enough to be productive. A second writing desk, elevated to be useable while standing is the only other furnishing. The rest of her wall space is consumed by file cabinets and bookshelves.
A light tap on her door breaks through her rare moment of self-reflection.
The person on the other side is Lula, her personal assistant, “Enter.”
Lula enters the room, lacking the determination and skills of her boss, her complexion is deep brown in color. Her light green hair and brown eyes make her appear plain compared to her ebony colored, platinum haired, face blurred superior.
Lula knows better to speak before being addressed, stands attentively before the paper covered desk.
Yara places the letter in her hand face down and looks up at her assistant, “You may speak.”
Keeping her voice reverent, “Disciple Yara, I have the numbers you requested. Would you like me to recite them, or would you rather read them yourself?”
“Recite away but be quick. I have work to do.”
“Of course, your magnificence; as you predicted the loss of efficiency at thirty of our plants was due to defections. A total of one hundred priests lefts their designated positions and seemingly disappeared.”
Hearing she was correct brings a small glimmer of pleasure, “Is there anything more to report?”
“Yes, implementing the work procedures as you directed, I started an inquiry into the man-power shortage. My investigator interviewed managers at each facility looking for commonalities.
“The common thread turns out to be a visit from the vice president of production who showed up at each site to perform an employee survey.
“Under the guise of randomly choosing a number of employee files, he interviewed each of them. All but a few of those priests are the ones that disappeared.”
Yara sits back in her chair and speeds her mind to check through all the possibilities before speaking, “How many were interviewed and did not leave?”
“Thirteen.”
“Have they been detained for questioning?”
“I’m sorry to say they have not. While they did not disappear, they still account for the loss of man-power.”
Yara is not pleased with this outcome, “We have a war to prepare for, the only excuse to not perform their duties is death. Have them executed!”
“We can’t,” speaking rapidly to cut off the building outburst, “They’re already dead. By their own hands. The same night the one hundred priests deserted their posts, the thirteen hung themselves by the neck.”
“How certain are you that they were not murdered?”
“You can never be one-hundred percent certain of such things, but there was no sign of struggle. It was suicide.”
Yara doesn’t hesitate with her last question, knowing the answer she asks anyways, “Who is, no who was our vice president of production?”
“That position was still held by your originally pick, Brother Ogen Lash.”
Yara leans forward elbows on desk, fingers steepled, “Of course it would be him, he’s a fanatic with unparalleled devotion to the dragon. I’m sure you’ll find the missing priests to be zealots too. Lash’s ability to motivate people made him an excellent choice for upper management. He was bound to betray us as we strayed further from her mission.
“Our missing VP and his one hundred will surely be gathering at the lava fields. Dispatch a mechanic to clean up this mess.”
Yara waves a hand in dismissal and picks up a stack of work orders that require her approval.
Lula, having anticipated exactly this outcome had already issued the summons. Outside the disciples drab office waits Fixer Albrecht.
Albrecht is dressed in his grey coveralls, halfway unbuttoned with the top half off his shoulders and draped around his waist, exposing his white sleeveless undershirt. His short cropped vermilion hair has black tips that match his vacant black eyes. At 60-inches he’s taller than average, his chiseled physique proves all 155 pounds are muscle.
Lula takes a moment to admire the perfect masculine figure he presents before addressing him, “Fixer Albrecht, our disciple has work for you. One hundred and one priests have brought disgrace to the productivity of her Magnificence. They are all to be terminated with no possibility of returning.”
Rebirth coastline, Cantial Ocean
The Sou’wester pushes the Rebirth convoy steadily home, another two days and they’ll be safely in port unloading their wares and preparing for the return trip.
Defender Aquinas of El’Hat Study is here for two reasons, the first is to restore honor to his study. That honor was squandered by their previous headmaster and his six cronies, Master’s Finner, Remon, and Ta Raha. Master Nguyen claims ignorance, but his failure to return home points to complicity. The second reason is his oath as a defender to uphold the natural laws of humanity. It’s his moral imperative to intervene when there is injustice.
These ruminations are a distraction from the tedious task of watching out for an adversary that has become increasingly better at hiding their approach with each interaction. No longer can they rely on the presence of underwater turbulence to give away the enemies presence. They caught on to that hole in their cloaks after the second encounter.
He’s not alone on deck, lounging in a chair next to him, with eyes closed you’d think he was asleep, is Bill the ships electrical engineer.
The ship is called the Narwhal, it’s powered by electricity. It’s Bill’s job to gather free elects from the surrounding sea and atmosphere and keep the batteries topped off. The convoy can only go as fast as it’s slowest member, there are twenty-two wind powered ships that are holding them to 14-knots at the moment.
Defender Aquinas is the Dean of Combat with a gift ill suited to weather manipulation. The hired duelists are all lacking in the same department, 14-knots will have to do.
A blinding flash of light followed by a thunderous roar of sizzling air causes everyone to jump or duck.
Defender Aquinas jumps and quickly identifies two North Cenoka longboats barreling towards the starboard side of the convoy.
Short sword drawn, Aquinas launches himself straight towards the nearer of the two.
Old-timers like him have a saying, time is free, you have to pay for everything else. Expending nothing but willpower he subverts time to propel himself toward his adversary. The swells are less than two yards. Aquinas lowers himself until he’s skipping along the surface of the water. Stabbing through waves and sailing above the troughs. Each impact with water generating bone shattering collisions of kinetic energy. Using lessons learned by only a few of his generation that energy floods throughout his body strengthening his 62-inch, 170 pound frame multiplying his strength five-fold.
Using all his senses to watch the longboat ahead he can see the sailors moving into a cluster along the ships keel line. Reports say there should be fifty men on that ship, they look to be shorthanded.
That was all the preparations Aquinas had time to make, as he slammed a meaty fist into the prow of the ship dislodging planks and creating openings all the way down to the waterline.
Allowing his gravity to return to normal. He’s no longer propelled forward and plants his feet on the rising deck. The jarring force buckles more decking further weakening the ships integrity.
An enemy sailor throws a kinetic powered fist at the defenders head. Aquinas bats the fist away with his free hand, his sword flicks towards his attacker. A narrow slit opens on the side of the woman’s neck followed by a thick stream of crimson.
A cluster of men and woman in the center of the ship are aligned in two rows of seven, one hand resting on the shoulder of the sailor before each.
Aquinas releases a flash of lightning, with his mind operating just as fast, after twirling 360-degrees to take in his surroundings, he releases his short sword as he completes his turn. With aim true, the sword punches through the first sailor, passes nearly through the second and fatally stabs a third sailor.
The second line reacts a moment later and releases a powerful blast similar to the one fired on the convoy.
The pulse of kinetic energy comes at Aquinas at just under the speed of sound. Unable to dodge, dumps everything in his hold into the ships hull and attempts to absorb the incoming blast.
The defender’s energy hold fills, overflows, by instinct he channels more into his already energy infused flesh. His right shoulder and arm take the brunt of projected force. Bones shatter, flesh tears, his armor keeps the limb from ripping free.
Aquinas can’t feel any of his limbs through the pain consuming his mind and spirit. He almost forgets how much energy he’s holding.
Using his left hand he draws his baton, ignoring the water swirling around his knees, Defender Aquinas advances on the eleven sailors aligned against him.
The row of four are resetting for another attack. Aquinas dismisses them, it was the seven that took his arm, they are the bigger threat. A powered leap takes him to their side with the ships rail to his back. A kinetic infused swing of the baton takes off the heads of two sailors. Imagining his right hand clinched in a fist he throws every inch-pound of kinetic force he has left into the three foremost sailor knee caps.
Unprotected legs explode, chunks of flesh are torn from bones as the seven sailors combined kinetic output is returned concentrated at knee level.
Mind still racing at lightning speed, Defender Aquinas pounces on the remaining two with his baton; a crushing blow to a clavicle collapsing the first and a crosswise upper swing connects with the chin of the second, snapping his neck.
The row of four get their bearings, they must be weakened or running short of energy, their next blast is easily taken by Aquinas. He doesn’t even bother shooting it back. Three rapid strikes with his baton and all of them are floating in the now waist deep water.
Defender Aquinas is in no rush to see what’s behind him. The carnage he saw when he spun around before throwing his sword was already bad enough.
Whether the second longboat sank or fled, the damage done in those first few moments was devastating.
North Cenoka, Anapa
Tepeyollotl reads the report summary his aid has brought him. Preferring to learn of events verbally he likes to start with a summary and then grill his expert staff for details and opinions.
Something about these reports has been bothering him, “It says our attack boat disengaged when objectives were met. What exactly does that mean?”
Citlalli dreads these sessions; she confidently responds, “The navy was given the mission of degrading the enemy shipping capabilities by four percent a month, to grind them down until our forces have reached their full strength.”
“Yes, I know that. Why did we disengage when there were still enemies willing to fight?”
Citlalli pushes on with her false confidence, “Continuing to fight would be a deviation of the battle plan left in place.”
Tepeyollotl afraid he’d hear something like that, tempers his response, “Did anyone review this battle plan when we inherited it from the other?”
Tepey doesn’t want to use the name Yellow in front of his aids, and he certainly won’t ever call him the nameless one ever again.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“We’ve taken over so much, I don’t know if we’ve had a chance to review every order.”
Agitated, Tepey belts out, “You mean to tell me you left the battle plan in place that was put together by a bunch of neural divergent bureaucrats with zero responsibility?”
Citialli holds her composure, “I’ll have this addressed right away.”
Tepeyollotl wants to lash out and kill his staff, that’s what Yellow would do. He’s not Yellow, his staff is actually talented and good at their jobs. He closes his eyes and meditates for an hour.
Opening his eyes he continues, “The report mentions a single longboat, I ordered them to go out in pairs, explain.”
Glad that this will end soon, Citialli picks up where they left off an hour ago, “The second longboat was lost with all hands.”
Had Tepey not taken an hour to cool down, he’d have lost it over this, “We lost a boat and fifty men?”
“The boat had a skeleton crew of fifteen. They were only along to observe and provide backup if asked.”
“Why was it lost?”
“It seems the free cities of South Cenoka are now aided by a Defender Study.”
Citialli hopes he makes them stand for another hour and not blow up upon hearing the news.
“That was expected to happen eventually. Don’t we have people in each of the studies, why am I only now hearing of this?”
“The study in El’Hat recently went dark, as did a second.”
“Yes, I remember that now. That happened months ago, why have our agents not been replaced?”
“Both studies have tightened security, we can’t add people if they don’t open admissions or hire from outside. We can’t be certain how the Disciple from Vorg is addressing the issue.”
Tepey inwardly compliments his aid on her tactful shift of blame to Trebor.
“The summary states objectives were met, how many ships did we leave afloat?”
“They were told to take a maximum of twenty-four boats, it was a small convoy of twenty-seven. They left three disabled but afloat.”
“Were there any wind runners present?”
“No, this convoy was too small and the contents not important enough to warrant an escort.”
“Yet, there was a Defender there.”
“We don’t have anyone inside the studies, but our government sources are in place. The trade association of Rebirth has sent requests for help to all the studies of South Cenoka.”
Tepey dismisses his aid curtly and ponders the issues at hand. Building the ships is easy, the returns from the pits are diminishing, more births but less with the gift from each successive litter. He has a decision to make, delay or begin the extermination underpowered.
House of Costaguti
Slipping across a border is easy, it’s often an imaginary line on a map somewhere; in this case it’s a creek.
Equipped with nothing more than the clothes on his back and small pack containing two dozen energy bars, Cuauhtémoc jauntily steps over it.
He knows this crossing well, he’s used it dozens of times and it’s also a favorite of smugglers because of the lack of eyes. This section has been left unofficially-intentionally open for this very reason. Smuggled goods keep the populous happy and it provides a point of entry for official operatives such as himself.
There’s a hundred yard clearing before the tree line. After reaching the tree’s its twenty miles before there’s an unguarded section of road, once on that road he can saunter right into any town it connects.
Instead, he needs to be caught. Taking the road will require four days of travel, then he’ll need to commandeer transportation to Valleta, and he doesn’t want to waste time on all that. Getting caught will put him in the system, it will take hours instead of days to be on his way to Valleta.
Crossing the tree line, the forest here is thin with good visibility. The trees are regularly harvested and the forest floor kept clean. Smugglers know to veer west, Cuauhtémoc goes directly south where he’s sure to encounter sentries.
It takes almost two hours before he hears, “Halt! Do not move!”
A roll of shoulders drops his pack to the ground, placing his hands on his head, Cuauhtémoc drops to his knees and awaits further instructions.
The sentries are exactly what he expects, emaciated and exhausted. Il fitted uniforms hang from slumped shoulders. Malnutrition has turned both their hair grey, making them look identical. This is a hardship post, used as punishment by every branch of the Party. These two have been here a while.
Sentry one, “Search him for food.”
“I have energy bars in my pack, take them all.”
Sentry one, “Shut up, do you want me to add attempted bribery on top of smuggling?”
“By all means pad my charges, I want to draw attention from your supervisors.”
Sentry one, “Jonseie take his pack. Is he lying?”
Jonseie snatches the pack and looks inside, “He wasn’t lying.”
Pulling out two bars Jonseie tosses one to the other sentry and greedily tears into the other.
Cuauhtémoc see’s Jonseie reaching for more, “Don’t eat them all at once, your stomachs will not be ready. You’ll just throw them up.
“Drink some water, have another in thirty minutes. Hide the rest.”
Sentry one, “Shut up smuggler, you don’t tell us what to do.”
Jonseie takes the pack and slings it over his shoulder.
The two are only armed with clubs, Cuauhtémoc considers attacking them to elevate his charges, it’s not like either of them are in any shape to inflict real damage. Seeing how frail they look he refrains out of concern for their mortality.
Sentry one slaps cuffs on Cuauhtémoc’s wrists with his arms in front, showing a lack of training as well as nutrition.
On the walk back both sentries sip water, they must be feeling better because they engage in small talk.
Jonseie asks, “How did you get past the first two sentry lines?”
Cuauhtémoc suppresses his laugh, “I never saw them, I thought you were the first.”
Sentry one presses, “What else are you smuggling, the bag of food is a decoy. We’re going to have to get someone to screen you for whatever you swallowed.”
“That’s fine by me, don’t you want to know my name?”
“I’ll get to that, I want to know where you were going and who are you working with?”
Did these men receive no training or are they really this bad at their jobs, “Suspects are usually more cooperative if you establish a rapport first. You know exchange names, at least one of you should be friendly. Jonseie should be that guy. You should let him chat me up for a while, then start asking me the tough questions.”
Sentry one snickers, “So if I asked you your name first, you would tell me everything?”
“Me? Of course not, I’m here on party business. I can’t disclose any information to someone without clearance.”
Now Jonseie snickers, “You, on party business? Sneaking across the border with candy bars. If that’s true I’ll be dining in Valleta tonight at the House of Costaguti.”
“How much further to your outpost and are the communication lines working?”
Having reminded himself of the pack full of energy bars, Jonseie responds without thinking, “Another twenty minutes at this pace and the lines are working fine.”
“Good, you two have time to eat another bar before you get there and since the lines are up, I don’t have to escape.
“My name is Cuauhtémoc Il Ritorno Costaguti by the way. Be sure to spell it correctly on your report.”
Sentry one processes Cuauhtémoc upon reaching the outpost. On advice from his captor, he claims all contraband was destroyed during apprehension. He was going to turn in half the bars, Cuauhtémoc pointed out how suspicious that would look. Either way will look questionable but this way they have time to consume the food while waiting to see if there will be an inquiry.
Jonseie removes the cuffs and parks Cuauhtémoc in the lone cell.
It takes seven hours from the time the report is transmitted for a high priority response to return, directing the sentries to release and cooperate with Cuauhtémoc, for transportation to arrive in the form of an electric buggy.
Jonseie and his partner are quickly forgotten as Cuauhtémoc is taken to the bustling city of Cremona where he is given train passage to Valleta. There an inu drawn carriage awaits to take him to the House of Costaguti.
Afforded one hour and a guest room to freshen up Cuauhtémoc takes advantage of the opportunity to don clean clothes that befit a party member of Vorg.
Office of Secretary Robert Mills of House Costaguti
“You’ve come a long way and by a most unusual route to be here. Is this because of the sudden demise of your employer, Rätsel?”
Cuauhtémoc feigns prior knowledge of her death, “Not at all. I was dispatched to retrieve something and to diagnose a weakness in our security protocols. The item retrieval will not be possible, it is the other issue which has brought me here.”
“This issue is so important that it’s brought you across two continents, and for you to request an audience with me?”
“Not exactly, I requested an audience with Francesco and figured I would be passed down the chain much further than you sir.”
“Well played, and here I thought you had let your promotion to Cairn go to your head. Now that she’s dead that title is meaningless. Under me you are a simple investigator. How does that sit with you?”
“It’s actually what I’m best suited for; I’m no knight. Are you saying I can cut ties with my deceased employer?”
“You might as well, everyone else has. Her pyramid didn’t collapse like what’s-his-faces but it might have well done so. Her organization bled out faster than she did.”
Cuauhtémoc might be overstepping but must find out, “If I may be so bold as to ask you a question, how did it happen?”
“Ordinarily I’d say there’s a fifty percent chance I’d be offended by an investigator quizzing me. In this case I’m going to enjoy delivering the answer.
“She was murdered. She was murdered in her private bath. No trace of the killer was found. It was a classic closed room assassination. Exactly the kind of thing I’m usually responsible to arrange.
“Except I didn’t and none of my contemporaries believe me.”
Cuauhtémoc sees his opening and offers, “Is there anything I can do to assist?”
Secretary Mills laughs heartily at the offer, “No, there’s no repairing that relationship; but since you ask…
“There are two issues that are pressing and need tending to. Perhaps you could take one on. The first has to do with a leak in my intelligence network. It appears that my enemies have found a way to tap into my information flows. I don’t believe you’re the man for that job.
“The second though, might be exactly what Detective Cuauhtémoc desires.”
Secretary Mills opens a drawer, removes a leaflet, and passes it to Cuauhtémoc, “These have been showing up all over Valleta. I wish to know who is distributing them.”
Glancing at the bold headline, the detective resolves to find out who is distributing these Eternal Grace leaflets; whatever that happens to be.
Cuauhtémoc slaps his chest in salute and states, “It will be done,” before correcting himself, “I’m proud to be a party member.”
When the detective leaves, Trebor drops his Mills face and replaces it with his blurred visage.
Alleyway, Sacchetti Ghetto
“You!” accuses the youth furiously when Renzo pulls back his hood to reveal his face.
Missionary Renzo says nothing, knowing the boys curiosity will outweigh his outrage.
Looking up and down the alley, “You have a lot of nerve contacting me like this. Is this some sort of sting operation? Do you need to make quota, by kicking over old rocks?
“Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I’ve given up on trying to save the world.”
To make his point he gestures to his feet to highlight his recently acquired shoes that took him five hours in a queue to receive.
“I’m not here to entrap you. I’m here to apologize. Not for doing my job or stabbing you in the leg, I’d do it all over again if I catch you openly subverting the party again. I apologize for not seeing through the veil of party propaganda sooner.”
The Youth, Marshal isn’t sure he heard the party-puppet correctly but senses weakness and must strike, “Did I just here the Capitano say he’s disenchanted with the Party?”
“Maggiore, I’ve been promoted and yes, you could say I’m disenchanted with the Party.
“I spent more than a year abroad and learned that everything you believed was true. The Party is corrupt and life outside of Vorg is better in every way.
“It’s funny that you used your shoes as an example of compliance because it was their shoes that exposed the lie.”
Marshal is dumbfounded and still believes this is an elaborate frame-job, “Yeah, that’s nice but I need to be somewhere else right now.”
“No, you don’t. I’ve surveilled you for the last three weeks, you’re heading home where you’re going to heat a can of beans for dinner and drink yourself unconscious like you do every other night.”
“You used to preach on street corners the evils of the Party. What if I told you there was a better way to take them down?”
Marshal consoles himself with the fact that if a Maggiore has targeted him, then he’s cooked. He might as well play along and hope to survive. Nodding his head is all he can muster to indicate he’s willing to listen.
Missionary Renzo pulls a leaflet from his pocket, “Have you seen these?”
The youth looks at the piece of paper being offered, takes it and skims a few lines, “Yeah, I see these littering the streets a lot lately.
“Have you read one?”
“Nah, it looks like gibberish.”
Renzo smiles, because that’s what he thought when he first read about the prophecies.
“Read it, it should take less than two minutes; I’ll wait.”
Marshal is skeptical and skims the first few lines, then something catches his eye. There’s a sentence about something greater than self being self-evident. He backs up and re-reads from the top.
After reading it through twice, Marshal pulls his eyes off the leaflet, “This is amazing stuff. I don’t know if I believe the conclusions but if we get people to commit to this, the party will lose sway over their hearts and minds. Take that away and the Party is just an oppressive oligarchy.”
Handing the paper back to Renzo, “I wish you luck. I have a can of beans waiting for me.”
Renzo needs to make his finale push before Marshal retreats, “You know, in prison you get two meals a day. The menu varies, but you get meat five out of six days.”
Halting mid turn, “Are you threatening me with prison time?”
“No, I’m threatening you with two nutritious meals a day and a chance to make a real difference for the People of Vorg.”
Stomach growling, “Ok, you’ve got my attention now. What is it you want from me?”
Missionary Renzo digs deep into what he was taught by his mentor in val’Air, “I’m a zealot, think on that word and all the implications.”
Marshal had never heard the word but upon hearing it, the definition comes to mind. Thinking about what that means in this context brings a smile. He considered himself dedicated to bringing down the party, but his feelings fell well short from that of zealot.
“Ok, you’ve finally gotten my attention. What would you have me do if I were to be sent to prison?”
“I need someone on the inside to spread the good word of Eternal Grace. It’s no more complicated than that.”
“Prison life isn’t easy, I’d need more than two meals a day to make such a sacrifice worth making.”
“The people in prison need something to give them strength. The possibility of Eternal Grace could give them strength. The party would frown on it, but it would at the same time make the prisoners more compliant, something the guards would desire.”
“The payoff is when they are released, they’ll be entering their new life with a dedication to Eternal Grace that I could never foster on the outside under the party’s nose.”
“Yeah, I got all that on my own. What’s in it for me?”
“Besides the downfall of the Party?
“You too can achieve Grace.
“Don’t give me an answer now, take this,” Renzo hands him a copy of the book of prophecies, “and read it over the next few days and I’ll contact you in a week. Let me know what you think.”
Marshal takes the book and leaflet and exits the alley, planning to rendezvous with his can of beans before considering the book in his pocket.
The small statue in Renzo’s pocket crawls out and claws its way up his shirt to perch on his shoulder.
“Well done Missionary Renzo. I think he’ll come around.”
“If he does, it’s all because you pointed me in his direction.”
“Awe, I only found him because of your report. You described him as a true believer and someone not likely to reform. It looks like you were right.”
“We’ll see Maddie, we’ll see.”