Shen Almaru Archipelago
Executive Highway entering Mazaraan
Just after 11 AM
The town car sped along at about eighty miles per hour, unobstructed by traffic on this, the metropolis' most exclusive highway. From inside Governor Titus Lartius watched sleek and sporty coupes speed by at truly impressive pace; the drivers of these, he knew, would invariably be the city's business and political elite commuting to the heart of the island's largest city for another day as the biggest, coolest kids on the playground. Today, though, there would be a new kid on the block. Lartius had taken a long morning at his mountainside estate that overlooked the city; he enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with his wife, read the local newspapers and enjoyed some strong Almaran coffee from Ashkak, the archipelago's second city and premier coffee growing region. Today was a day Lartius would thoroughly enjoy.
On his way down the elevated, restricted highway, bypassing the miles and miles of slums that surrounded the city center, Lartius was receiving a security briefing he normally would have received in his offices at the start of the day. His Minister of Security, one of the members of his cabinet of appointed ministers, was reporting to him via teleconference. Normally it would have been a junior member of the minister's staff afforded this routine task, but as Lartius already knew, today was a special day. The first issue on the agenda was the city of Mazaraan itself; the minister informed Lartius that the foreign troops (they avoided saying 'Scandinvan' on unsecured lines for the time being) were installing themselves in important positions throughout the capital. Some were stationed in the governor's palace and, as the minister could relate from personal knowledge, also stationed prominently in the palace of ministers. The second issue was international; in the last days and weeks all Pudite government staff and Freemen living abroad in Vetalia had been ordered to assemble at the Vetalia City Embassy for evacuation. The Kraven assault on the city, which began only the day before, was a danger to this operation. The security minister explained that for the time being the embassy remained secure but that they were receiving conflicting reports regarding the Kraven forces storming the Vetalian palace that had been garrisoned by Skyan legionnaires and, notably, their Queen Jessica. Some reported the Skyan monarch dead, others, that she escaped the attack.
Governor Lartius wasn't interested in what happened to the brash foreign queen or even to his own countrymen in the embassy, however. The news from Vetalia wasn't anything to be concerned with anymore; The archipelago was now well protected. Lartius wasn't listening as the minister went on to describe the news from the summit of Gothic Lords in Automagfreek; how the Skyans and their Kylarnatian allies had mobilized a coalition to oppose the Kravenite assault, how Ambassador Otho had pledged his support to the ad hoc grouping. In actual fact, Lartius' ears did pick up on the mention of the latter’s name; he couldn't wait to see the ambassador's face when he returned to his offices in the governor's building to find Scandinvan troops at the door. He could hardly wait.
It only took a half hour to speed from the gentrified outskirts of the city to the urban core, bypassing as they did the congestion of the regular highways, and before the governor knew it his car was taking the familiar exit that lead to the heart of the government district. They were joined by a municipal police escort for the short jaunt down city streets for the rest of the way to the palace, not that danger lurked here; the government district was far removed from the poverty and crime of the city at large. They pulled into a special entrance at the building and drove underground to Lartius' private garage, reserved for him and his immediate staff. There was a lobby just off the garage where an elevator would take him directly to the top floor where his offices were. Two guards stood flanking the elevator doors: here was the first of many new things for Governor Lartius that day. Instead of the usual Imperial Guard soldiers on station here the governor found a pair of white-uniformed professional-looking men wearing no insignias. They were both Pudite, carrying Pudite weapons, but they definitely weren't regular armed forces.
The governor would have questioned them if he hadn't been surprised by the third resident of the otherwise deserted elevator lobby; an elderly man in red and gold colored court robes over which hung both his long white beard and the instantly recognizable symbol of the Dogmatic College's Congregation for Doctrine. The old man had been sitting patiently in a seat against one wall, but he stood up at the arrival of the governor. Lartius knew it could only be Tan Sen, the senior of these religious policemen assigned to the archipelago. Lartius had met the man once before, when he was first sent here, and had only ever skimmed his dispatches and humored his office's occasional official requests until now. Tan Sen didn't look happy.
"Governor," the elderly man spoke, walking toward Lartius who had brushed past him and was waiting for the elevator, "I was hoping to run into you here." Lartius smirked, turning around to face the octogenarian, "I hope you haven't been waiting too long, Your Excellency." Sen merely nodded, "Yes. It is a rather late morning, is it not?" The elevator arrived, empty. Both men stepped inside. Tan Sen continued as the elevator took off toward the highest floors, "Governor, frankly, I am concerned this morning. This protectorate business and the arrival of our new guests, it has me worried that the principles of the Seven, and particularly those of our Most Holy Son, will no longer be the guiding principles of this land. These affairs are the concern of my office, you see?" Lartius merely nodded, not looking at the old man. Sen carried on speaking, weighing his words the way an old man does, "Titus, I have arranged for myself a meeting with this... Scandinvan Lord," he pronounced the title dismissively, "To reassure myself and my order that proper moral and spiritual authority is maintained.” Lartius was checking his phone, seemingly ignoring the old man, who carried on like nothing, “I trust you and I share some of the same positions on the matter." Somewhat condescendingly, Lartius responded, "Frankly, Sen," mimicking the older man's tone and familiarity of address, "I am sure we do, and so we need not discuss it further." At that moment the elevator dinged to alert them that they had arrived at their destination. Tan Sen stepped off first, "Then I may trust that we will not be forced to speak again on the subject, yes?" he said. Without waiting for the governor's response to what was a thinly veiled threat, he strolled away toward the offices Lartius had yesterday given over to the use of the Scandinvan entourage. The governor was glad to be rid of the old monk.
The religious police carried legal authority but were more often than not simply humored by the officials they theoretically held power over. Although Lartius was a faithful man, and did not want to supplant his native religion with some foreign cult, he similarly did not feel the need to continue to humor that humorless old man and his army of fanatics. Lartius stalked off in the opposite direction, some of his good cheer lost to the unpleasant encounter. Making his way down the hall that lead to his office the governor suddenly stopped and sniffed the air; there was no doubting it, the smell of marijuana drifted lazily down the passage on the cool, air conditioned breeze. Ambassador Otho must be back. Despite his intolerance of the weed, he smiled. This was the encounter he had been looking forward too all morning.
Sure enough, the door to Otho's office was ajar when Lartius came upon it. Some light and airy rock tunes drifted out from within amidst a cloud of the ambassador's smoke. Without knocking, Lartius pushed the door open and entered. Ambassador Lucius Salvias Otho, now properly styled Special Representative to Gholgoth, was sitting within, feet up on his desk and reclining with a fat cigar in his lips. Lartius knew it wasn't rolled with tobacco. Otho was wearing a slightly worn flower-print tourist shirt and kahki shorts and had sandals on his feet over a pair of bright white socks. Otho spoke first, grinning from ear to ear, "Governor!" he took a drag and coughed out his next words, "Or are you not governor anymore? There's been an invasion, Titus! We're in occupied territory!" Otho was laughing as he spoke, clearly mocking the governor in Lartius' mind. "Don't worry Otho, I'm still the governor." Lartius waved away the cloud of smoke that Otho had blown at him, "And I still don't permit this sort of smoking in my offices." It was more an observation than an order, but Otho had never been good with orders anyway. He retorted, "Aha! But I don't report to you anymore, do I? I work directly for the Emperor, don't I!" Otho had his stupid grin on his face again. Lartius was beginning to worry this exchange was not going the way he had hoped. "Do you still work for the Emperor, Lartius? Or is there another man in your life now? Me, I'm a one-Emperor man. There's only room for one, you see? How about you?" Otho took another long puff. Lartius wasn't amused. "I have taken actions to protect the territory for which I am responsible-" Otho blew more smoke at him, "Oh, fuck, what's the use in talking to you." To the sound of Otho's hysterical laughing, Lartius turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. He heard the record in Otho's office skip and a loud protestation from the ambassador. At least that annoyed him, thought Lartius.
As he made his way the rest of the way to his own office, his morning thoroughly ruined, the governor wondered what was next in this most assuredly unpleasant stream of encounters. Right on point, he arrived to find his office already occupied. His secretary even tried to tell him that "He'll be done soon," as if Lartius would wait outside in his own waiting room. He swung open the door and strode inside. Sitting in his chair with his feet on Lartius' desk was a man the governor had not been expecting in the islands for some time; wearing his trademark white suit, long-tailed jacket and shoulder-length silver hair sat Albus White. "Godsdamnit, get your feet off my desk," snapped Lartius upon entering. "If I see one more person thinking this is some gods-damned beach party I'm going to call my guards!" he shouted, throwing his hands up in frustration. Mr. White did not hurry to obey the governor, though he did eventually stand and offer the governor his own chair, which Lartius collapsed into unhappily. Only then did he notice the third occupant of the room. Imperial Navy Fleet Admiral Gagara stood stoically at the edge of the large room, clearly until a moment ago engaged with Mr. White on some matter. The admiral was saluting Lartius. The governor quickly stood back up and returned the salute before somewhat more calmly relaxing into his seat.
"So, what am I interrupting," Lartius said, adding more quietly, "In my own office..." Mr. White answered him, now standing to Lartius' side, looking down at the governor. Lartius wasn't sure if he liked that better than him with his feet on the governor's own desk. "Governor, noticing your absence this morning I began without you. I have been meeting with the senior military officers in Shen Almaru here all morning. The admiral here is the last of those I interviewed. I am particularly impressed with him, we've been talking at length." Lartius looked to Gagara to confirm this; Gagara had been a trusted ally of the governor politically and a loyal soldier, though he had no idea what sort of a man the admiral was. The admiral nodded, "Sir, I am at your command and remain so, though I must report Prefect Nadej has contacted me with orders to the contrary." Lartius nodded. He had wondered what Nadej would do about the lingering confusion in the chain of command; the Imperial Armed Forces units on the islands, while under the governor's direct control here also were subject to the Prefect's higher authority, and with the Prefect for now aligned against Lartius in this matter the governor didn't know what would become of his garrison forces.
"Gagara assures me that he is our man." Mr. White said, "Though I have my doubts about some of the other officers here." Lartius nodded again, White continued, "Admiral Khudoi has already departed his base outside Ashkak, we've received no answer from his fleet headquarters in the city and no response to any communications directed at the fleet. They are sailing west." Lartius shrugged, "I imagine Nadej contacted him too," the governor said, "It's all just as well, his fleet is a pittance next to Gagara's here." Mr. White agreed, nodding his head to Lartius' statement, "Yes, but he will be monitored all the same. Another one, Barsukov of the Imperial Air Force came here this morning but seemed to waffle under my questioning. He made excuses and left early, my intelligence reports that he has already flown back to Esu where his forces are based." Mr. White pulled out a cigarette and offered one to Lartius, who declined, "As for the final man, Field Marshal Esyr of the Imperial Guard, he is in the next room. He has assured me that the Imperial Guard here are ours. Either way, for now at least, I've taken the liberty of installing some of my own men as security for the building. It's the safest option." Lartius suddenly realized who that must've been downstairs at the elevator.
As the governor spent the remainder of his decidedly less than pleasant morning interviewing the local military brass, Ambassador Otho quietly slipped out of the building. He was sure that Albus’ white-coated grunts had seen him leave, but he was prepared to take precautions against their continued surveillance. Otho’s driver picked him up in front of the administration building in full view, Otho still sporting his uniquely pungent cigar and jovial attitude. Once inside, and after a good long pull on the thick brown stogy, he relayed his instructions “Take me down to 183rd and James St, there’s a frozen yogurt stand there, I could really go for a frozen yogurt...” Otho trailed off, describing his favorite flavor, evidently a complicated mixture of flavors the driver somehow doubted Otho had ever tasted before, at least soberly. He surreptitiously rolled up the partition, to which Otho made some muffled exclamation. The driver turned on the radio and the ambassador quickly calmed down.
The darkly tinted windows and soundproof partition prevented anyone outside the car’s backseat seeing what Otho did next. The blunt at least was no cover, he continued to take occasional puffs, but he quickly shed the lackadaisical persona and pulled out his cell phone. Any decent surveillance operation being undertaken against him would already be listening in, the ambassador was no fool. He dialed the first number his observers would expect: the request line for the local beach rock station.
“DJ Cactus Dan!” the ambassador exclaimed, having been put through relatively quickly given the station’s familiarity with him. The DJ answered, “Lucius in the sky with diamonds! What can I do for ya, buddy?” the thickly-accented Almaran voice came through both the telephone and over the car’s speakers. Otho knew exactly what he could do for him, “I’m feeling some Turtles this morning, Dan, Rugs Of Woods And Flowers, if you would!” Otho coughed audibly on the line after that, not only for the benefit of those listening, but because he had just taken an extraordinarily large cloud of smoke into his lungs. Laughing, the DJ replied, “Don’t sweat it Lucy! Coming right up!”
His business concluded, the ambassador said goodbye to DJ Cactus Dan and hung up his phone. In a moment of contemplation as the previous song wound to a close Otho wondered if this would be his last request of DJ Dan for a long while, and then somewhat more somberly, if he had just inadvertently put Dan in danger. He certainly hoped not, still, it had to be done. The message was out, Otho’s allies would all soon be scrambling to positions long-before agreed upon. For the rest of the ride down to the frozen yogurt shop Otho sat quietly, listening to his music. The ride would take about forty-five minutes with the thick urban traffic and generally very poorly laid out city streets.
Arriving finally, Otho climbed out of the towncar accompanied by a rolling cloud of smoke. Marijuana was legal in Shen Almaru and enjoyed by many, indeed it was one of the islands major cash crops, this in itself would draw no undue attention. On the other hand, he had donned a long coat, sunglasses and wide-brimmed hat, looking now like the most obviously disguised person who ever had been tailed by government cronies. Otho was relatively certain he had been followed here, a prospect that didn’t concern him overmuch at this juncture. It was what he expected.
He went inside the little yogurt shop and waited patiently in line for his banana-pineapple-coffee froyo. After paying and exchanging a knowing glance with the manager on duty Otho slipped around the counter behind a crowd of yogurt-lovers and ducked into the back room. He threw off the coat and hat and passed them off to another, similarly proportioned man enjoying Otho’s signature frozen treat. He left his cell phone in the coat pocket as well, aware that it made a convenient mode to track him for anyone with the intuition. As Otho escaped out the back door, the second man returned to Otho’s idling towncar. The car would wind its way through the back streets of Mazaaran for a few hours now. Eventually the tails would realize what must have happened, but hopefully not too soon. The speed of the whole exchange would be the key to throwing off a potential tail.
In the alleyway behind the yogurt shop waited a young woman and her idling motorcycle taxi. “Spring,” Otho greeted her by name, “Let’s roll.” Otho had a wide smile on his face. In a few large bites Otho finished off most of his frozen yogurt before tossing the rest aside. Seeking Spring, for that was her name, handed Otho a motorcycle helmet that would conceal his face and he hopped on the bike behind her. The pair sped off down the alley and soon merged into the street. Surrouned by dozens of similar motorcycle taxis and their passengers they would pass relatively incognito.
The journey from here wasn’t far, only about five minutes of weaving dangerously through traffic both foot and motorized led Spring and Otho to their destination. It was a dilapidated tenement house, as most buildings in this district were. An overhead door slid open at their approach and Spring eased the bike inside. Once concealed she and Otho shed their helmets and dismounted. Through a creaky screen door they stepped into what could only charitably be described as a kitchen. Inside waited two men, presently occupied in a game of dominoes. The first was a short, squat round-faced Pudite man named Carl Eastman. He was puffing on a fat cigar (of the tobacco variety) and was losing the game badly. The second man was a black Almaran man whose face was partially concealed beneath his long dreadlocks interwoven with red ribbons and other trinkets. He sipped at a glass of brown liquor expectantly as Carl plotted his next move.
Spotting the pair enter, Carl tossed his dominoes down and stood up to shake hands, “Went off without a hitch then!” he exclaimed, beaming at the two of them, seemingly as glad to be done with the game as he was to see Otho and Spring arrive safely. The Almaran, Robert Redfoot, stood up as well, “Getcha a glass of brown rum?” he asked. Spring shook her head no but Otho took the offered glass enthusiastically, “Have any of you ever seen this one drive!” he gasped after taking a large swig from the drink, “You’re a much better spy than a taxi driver, that’s for sure.” Seeking Spring laughed and flopped down on a couch in the next room, “Or maybe I’m an excellent taxi driver!” she called back, “Got us here in one piece, and fast, didn’t I?” The three men soon joined her on the rotted furniture of the adjacent living room.
“I hope you two didn’t have too much trouble getting here,” Otho offered to the two men, “It was all a little short notice. Lartius came into the office much later than usual, which cost us a few hours.” Redfoot shook his head no, “At least your friend DJ Dan was playing some good music this morning,” he chuckled. Carl did a quick lap of the perimeter of the room, checking that windows were closed and covered, doors locked. Otho was watching him, “You know, for a man who doesn’t partake, you’re pretty paranoid.” Carl shrugged as he continued his rounds, “I’d make a pretty poor secret conspirator if I wasn’t at least a little paranoid.” After a few more windows and doors Carl returned to the living room and took a seat in the corner of the room.
“Shall we get down to business then, Spring?” Robert began, “Ah yes, I suppose,” she replied, “I’m sorry my sister couldn’t be here, it simply would have been too suspicious. She remains in Eseka with the relief workers. She’s got the message though, god bless satellite radio.” Eastman chimed in at this moment, “And Isaac and White Beard, where are they?” he asked the room. Otho answered him, “Isaac isn’t much for subtlety and White Beard is far too memorable a character even if he does know the trade inside and out, I elected to have them remain at home for this one. I’m sure Spring here can fill them in later.” She nodded at this. “Well then,” Otho continued, “We’re all here.”
“Our first concern has to be getting the ambassador out of the country,” Robert began, “Once you’re safe we can operate more openly.” Otho smiled at the big man, “I thank you for your concern, but I don’t want to be a hinderance. I’ve arranged some transport off the islands already, courtesy of a friend in the Imperial Navy. I’ll be gone by sundown.” Robert nodded at that, “Good then. That’s a major concern out of the way already.” Otho pulled out another of his ‘cigars’ and fumbled for a lighter; Eastman had one handy and offered it as he spoke, “Then our next focus has to be the governor.” As he lit up Otho indicated his agreement, “Yes indeed. Carl, that’s your territory. Keep tabs on Lartius and his cronies. Spring here can help you with that.” Eastman shook his head, “I work better alone, besides, Spring has limited resources as it is, don’t need to be wasting them on me.”
“Aren’t we forgetting someone?” Robert said, “Mr. Yeza remains an asset as well.” Otho sighed at the mention of the dour Suudihyan, “The ponderous old visionary, he’s got a little too much religion for my tastes. Besides, he has his own team on the ground by now, I’m sure of it,” he cast a glance at Spring who confirmed it. Robert snorted, “Too much religion, huh? What do you think it is inspires my flock, Lucius?” Otho held up his hands apologetically, “Sorry minister, I didn’t mean any offense.” Robert gave another disapproving grunt. “It’s my folk who’ll be on the ground for us, Otho, don’t discount those with a little too much religion.”
“That’s something we should clear up,” Spring chimed in, “Robert, as your people are our ground-level informants, we need to prioritize their targets. Post them only at important places, avoid drawing too much attention at first.” The other two men nodded in agreement. “Drawing attention is half my game,” Robert replied, “You’re the master of subtlety, but I’ll do my best to keep them low-key.” Robert poured himself another generous helping of rum. Spring continued, “Speaking of, we won’t be able to hold these sorts of meetings in the future. It’ll be best to keep all of us as far apart as possible,” Carl agreed with her, “She’s right, we’ll leave it to Spring here to pass messages between us when necessary, otherwise, no contact.” The whole group was in agreement on that.
After nailing down a few important details the group turned to less urgent matters, “Do you have time for a quick game of dominoes,” Eastman asked Otho, “before your navy buddies secret you away, that is? This guy’s been killing me at them all day,” he nodded toward Robert, “and I even thought I was good! C’mon, let’s work on my self-esteem.” Otho chuckled, “Sure, Carl, I’ve got an hour or two to kill. Spring, are we safe here for a little while?” She nodded, “Aye, I’ve got eyes on the surround, we’ll not be caught out in this neighborhood.”
Only two short hours later, Carl’s self-esteem suitably buffed, Otho bid farewell to his friends. For the second time today he wondered if this goodbye would be his last. With the help of some of Spring’s agents the ambassador was stealthily removed from the city, no doubt right under the nose of the governor’s authorities who had by now received orders to locate and detain the vanished diplomat. Lartius was not known for his subtlety, nor his patience.
About fifty miles outside the cities outermost boroughs, westward along the coast, the terrain leveled out to form vast marshy tidal plains. Here villages were few and far between and the locals were easily bribed with a few bags of tobacco or bottles of rum. There was an abandoned church sitting atop a small hillock overlooking the sea. Here, Otho would wait, accompanied only by his ample supply of recreational substances and a small semiautomatic sidearm. He sincerely hoped he would only have to use one of these things tonight. Approximately one hour before sundown, in the dim light of the Almaran sunset, his ride arrived. Dressed in plainclothes, a team of Imperial Navy celeres marine raiders slowly trickled into the church. After thirty minutes or so, the whole team assembled, they began the extraction. The ambassador was smuggled into a fisherman’s boathouse where waited the RIB that would take him to the waiting submarine.
Soon Otho was safely aboard. The whole day had been unlike any other he had ever experienced. There was but one thing left to do: Sleep. He laid out his blankets on his shipboard bunk and settled in to a restless night. He would not be sleeping easily for the next few weeks, he knew, maybe even months; and he couldn’t even smoke aboard the submarine. Some hundred and fifty miles to the west Admiral Khudoi’s fleet waited expectantly for his arrival.
