It had been a long day of meetings. To be expected when you manage a bank, Xiatoktok thought. He was refreshing his grooming in the private bathroom attached to the Presidential office. Bright light cores tuned to the color of sunlight late on a summer’s afternoon brought out the fine texture of the wood paneling and the rich green and white tile floor. The sink was deep, carved with hundreds of morning glories on their vines. Each carving was inlaid with colorful stones, bringing the flowers to dewy life as water splashed them.

Built into the sink was a small hot stone, just the right size to warm the pitcher of water on top of it. A small bar of soap, scented with kelly grass all the way from Fish Weir, rested in a little antique bone porcelain dish. On a ring next to the sink was a blindingly white, impossibly soft hand towel made from the finest ring spun cotton. All of which paled into frugal austerity in comparison to the utterly massive, five foot wide and seven feet tall mirror that dominated the wall above the sink.

The mirror was quite simple- just an enormous sheet of glass with a special, highly reflective material sealed to the back of it. And it was brand new, installed barely ten years ago.

Mirrors were curious things, Xiatoktok reflected. People start making them early in a development cycle, hunter gatherer stage, even. The apocalypse still fresh on everyone’s minds. A lot of the time, the mirrors are just black rocks polished to a, well, mirror shine. Or some salvaged piece of metal, buffed until blurry reflections could be seen. They were mostly useless, purely a ritual or vanity item. For some reason, people really, really wanted them despite that. More than, say, toothed gears. Or agriculture.

Remnant tech mirrors could be found very, very, rarely, and usually with the reflective backing corroded away. The ones that relied on electricity or other sophisticated means tended to simply erode under the weight of time. The ones that did last were inevitably precious treasures, and viciously fought over.

The sophisticated glass making needed to create perfectly flat, perfectly clear glass for mirrors was its own huge challenge. A challenge that was dwarfed by the difficulty in making the silvered, reflective backing. A challenge not met this epoch, save in one very specific workshop run by exactly one Clan. Because they could.

Xiatoktok stared into the mirror, carefully tweezing errant hairs from his mustache and gently refreshing his hair. A little lotion for the skin, to keep it looking youthful. A quick wipe with a damp cloth to freshen the back of his neck. He looked over at the “seat of ease,” a nice way of saying “a chair with a chamber pot built into it, and fancy bucket with sponges on a stick to wipe your ass with.””

Oh, the Xia knew about toilet paper. They knew about flush toilets, bidets, the three shell system, all kinds of hygienic waste removal systems. They preferred this. As policy. Because the system required people.

Someone had to spend all day waiting for the President to go to the bathroom, so they could remove the chamber pot, replace it with a clean one, and hygienically dispose of any waste that may have been deposited. There was the delightful job of cleaning the sponges too. And it was a job people would fight for, would scheme, bribe and betray for, because it meant that you spoke directly to a rich, powerful Xia on a daily basis. The value of being able to speak a word in that ear, on your own behalf or anothers, was immense.

The Xia knew all that too. They engineered the system to be like that. They thought it was hilarious… and useful. One more way to control people. One more way to harvest their time.

Xiatoktok sighed lightly. It wasn’t that he disagreed with the policy. But he wanted toilet paper. At a certain point, the sponges just couldn’t be washed any more, and weren't nearly hygienic enough for him. With a major war coming on fast, how likely was it that they could keep importing sea sponges? There were any number of paper mills in the New Territories and up north. He could have a nice, stable supply of hygienic bum cleaning, and he wouldn’t have to wonder about the previous users of the sponges.

“How often did old ’Lu replace the sponges?” He asked the drab attendant standing by the door, holding a tray of cosmetics and perfumes.

“The Former President required a brand new sponge every visit. The used sponges were cleaned and distributed to the toilets of the senior staff.” Xiatoktok slightly widened his eyes at that- even for a bank president, that was uncommonly lavish. This was followed by a micro frown, as he thought through what Fattie ’Lu had undoubtedly been thinking. Then he smiled slightly.

“Did he also handle the contract to have the sponges purchased for the Clan?”

“I really couldn’t say, President.”

“Mmm. Well, let's stop that. Get… ten good sponges and keep them on rotation up here for me. Well washed and with plenty of softener, mind you.”

“Of course, President. Are there any other changes you wish to see? Perhaps a redecoration?”

“Not at this time. This is generally satisfactory.” He picked up the bar of soap, smelled it, and gave a slightly wider smile. “Hard winds blow from the east, but they carry a refreshing scent. Under all the smoke.” He was off to see the Patriarch, and possibly, the noose. He could be forgiven for teasing the attendant and their network.

“Alright. We survived Day One and Day Two. The Patriarch has confirmed our takeover of the Bank, but that means our enemies are now working in the shadows instead of coming straight at us. While we have been telling everyone that the “recovered” investments will essentially fill the gap in our budget, the fact is that two hundred million Rads a month is one hell of a big hole. Projected revenue streams cannot fill a present deficit.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Xiatoktok looked around the table at Xiatokmia and Xiatokte. It seems that ’Te’s “hot date” had gone quite well as his usual mischievous grin was slightly more wicked than usual. ’Mia just looked tired and pissed, which was fair. The takeover was relying on her riding herd on several hundred unruly finance professionals. Still. Time to give them a bit more direction than just “survive.”

“So. That was step one of the plan. Ready to hear about the next steps?”

“Go on, shock us.” ’Mia waved a beefy hand to encourage him along.

“Step Two: Make nice with the Nomekis as an institution.”

This got him some flat glares.

“I want to emphasize the word “institution” there, as I am specifically referring to them as a money lending and investment services vehicle, not the family.”

This did not quell the nigh mutinous looks.

“Look, describe the continent east of the Mud Dragon river in one word.”

“Fucked.”

“Screwed.”

“Doomed.”

“Cursed.”

“Ma-friendly.”

“Bo Supply Warehouse.”

“Occasionally not on fire.”

“Fields of corpses, and not in a fun way.”

“Peaceful like my third wife.”

“’Mia, you have never been married.” ’Tok buried his face in his hands.

“Right. Peace is a lie.”

“Let's end on that happy note. The bottom line is that the North Sea Confederation’s “Lightning War” strategy didn’t survive its first couple of days in action.”

“Neither did Old Radler.” ’Te shook his head. “We lost a lot of people there.”

“Oh, everybody got it in the neck after Old Radler. The Hag was very fair that way.” ’Tok’s face turned brittle for a moment. “As a result, the under equipped, under supplied, under funded, and over extended, Confed army is bogged down and trying to live off the land.”

“Which is a polite way of saying raiding and stealing everything they can to keep their army together.” ’Mia commented. She spoke from experience.

“As well as burning out villages for harboring partisans who may or may not exist. Or being “Ma sympathizers” which may be the single funniest thing I have read in a governmental proclamation.” ’Te chuckled lightly at the thought.

“They have apparently hired the Two Souled tribe to act as mercenaries and irregulars, pressing the western edge of the combat theater. The Two Souled, now having brand new weapons, loot and experience, are cycling back to the Plains and pushing west hard. Into Langpopo territory. And from there-”

“We get the New Territories situation, with the Sea Folk coming from the west coast, the Langpopo coming from the east, the Collective coming up from the south, and the Dusties parked in the middle, getting up to who knows what.”

“War is coming. We all see the war coming. The pressures giving rise to the war aren’t likely to go away, so structurally, the war almost has to happen. And here we are, a modestly wealthy, strategically located and defensible but not terribly well defended, city, hanging out all by its lonesome.”

Nobody had anything funny to say about that. The Five City Alliance's defense pact hadn't been tested. The economic union was in its infancy, and the unified currency was just one of the first serious steps in its development. It would be easy to pick the cities off individually.

“In other words, we need help, and we can’t look to our traditional strongholds in the Eastern Edge. We need to make the Five City Alliance something effective, or we can look forward to our speedy extermination.”

“Don’t be so negative. We might live as a slave or criminal class under the Langpopo or Collective.” ’Te could be relied upon for “jokes.”

“Not the Collective- they hate the Clans with an unholy passion. Can't imagine they would take us alive, unless they wanted to make some examples. And speaking of the Langpopo, does anybody know where they are getting their fancy new guns and artillery?” ’Mia didn’t really do “jokes.”

“No, but I did hear an extremely disturbing bit of analysis on that point.” ’Tok admitted. “Apparently Nacon drones have been spotted, in quantity, all across the plains. As far as the outskirts of Muddy Waters. The young man in question concluded that a Nacon hybrid intelligence might have survived the apocalypse and is looking to rebuild the Technocracy. Oh, he called it a dry mind, but that’s what he meant. And one of their go-to ploys was using local proxies to weaken their neighbors before the Nacon regulars came swarming in.”

The temperature in the room dropped sharply.

“Have these reports been verified? And how does this “young man” know anything about an empire that existed before the last apocalypse?”

“Tentatively verified, yes, and it explains why the Two Souled are so restive. The informant was from one of the Great Clans, so he would have the education recognize what he was seeing. Tabling that, and getting back to Step Two- we need to firm up our relationship with all the cities in the Alliance, Red Mountain in particular. Frankly, I would love to form a banking cartel that covers the whole of the Alliance, and the Nomeki’s are our largest non-governmental competition.”

“Only going to happen if we let Jerri run the show, and she will make crippling us her very first priority.” ’Mia shook her head.

“Agreed. But I think I see where you are going with this. Make nice for a bit, maybe some joint investments on projects around Red Mountain. Ease up some of the currency shortage, keep a presence in the Red Mountain market. Then, when the opportunity presents, undercut the Nomekis and take over their bank.” ’Te had stopped smiling and was seriously considering the idea.

“It would be tough. We are very well integrated here in Cold Garden, but the Nomekis were a founding family in Red Mountain. The institutional and public support they have is enormous. Frankly, I think Jerri could eat a baby on the steps of her bank and people would hand her a napkin. She’s not loved, but she is an institution.” 'Te concluded.

“Basically, yes. But before we get to destruction and much deserved vengeance, I want to think about Step Three. There is another financial technology I want to reintroduce, a sort of logical next step after fractional reserve lending and sovereign debt.” Xiatoktok looked grave.

“Ok? Is it on the restricted or forbidden schedule?” Asked Xiatokte.

“Restricted. We need to bring people together. Give them a common project, a reason to fight against outsiders. A reason that makes us all fabulously wealthy and gives us control of a huge pool of people and labor.” He drew in a deep breath. He stood suddenly. “Tonight, after the bank closes. We will take my carriage.”