TS Labor Thread IV: There's a Lower Higher Power [OPEN!]

[TURTLESHROOM II]

TURTLESHROOM LABOR THREAD NAVIGATION:

• PART ONE: http://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic ... 4&t=331775
• PART TWO, COUP D'ETAT: http://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic ... 4&t=361265
• OOC THREAD: http://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic ... p=27140627
• PART THREE: http://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic ... 4&t=363999
• PART FOUR: You're looking at it.
• PART FIVE: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=417442
  

By early December, the rain had finally stopped as the usual autumnal intermission for the Wet Season finally kicked in. The skies were clear aside from the expected, random bursts of rain in the rainforests, and, tonight, even the rainforests were expected to be clear when it mattered most.
Today is New Year's Eve, which, in observance of the extended Christmas Truce, was the last day of its observation.

Jonesboro was filled with revelers and the casinoes, restaurants, and churches were packed with tourists and visitors alike. TurtleShroom had issued a warning for tourists in the entire country to depart as the nation teetered on the edge of madness. The Christmas Truce was the final week to evacuate the tourists, who were slated to leave by 6:00 AM next year, which was the official end of the extended Truce.

The festivities were in order and the police and military were on high alert because of the successful military coup d'etat against the Crown and the military top brass with the overwhelming support of the martial and police rank-and-file.

Like they did every year, TurtleShroom's New Years Festivities were gathered, in the capital, around the famous Orthodox Chapel of Jones Found, which is the site of the first church of any kind in Jonesboro, erected in 1619 AD. The current Chapel, which is really a cathedral or ecclesiastical metropolis for the small TurtleShroomer Rite of the Orthodox Church, was built in 1799 AD after the original burnt down.

Its most distinctive feature was also its newest. The Chapel is large and cubed shaped on the outside, with four onion dome towers on making up each corner, separating its face. All of them were coated entirely in TurtleShroom-mined sapphires. What set it apart, though, was its central onion dome; covered in silver and gold leaf, the shaft tower leading to that dome was five times the height of the actual church and topped with a traditional Orthodox cross.

This dome was modified in 1991 AD so that the dome itself lowered down the shaft like a ball drop in a New Year festival. Though mostly for tourist matters, lowering it made it easy to polish, to clean, or to replace cracks.
Every year, Jonesboro was the center of the party and this Cathedral was the means to ring in the New Year.

The people were on edge and tried to drown their fear by partying as much as they could in a dry nation. Casinoes racked up more in this time of the week than they do in the past three months combined. Coca-Cola, sweet iced tea, and water flowed out of fountains and taps like the rain that didn't come. Jacobins, Reds, and rioters mingled among the crowds, desparate to hold the legitimacy not fighting in the Truce would bring.

For one last time, for one last night, all seemed right with the world. The people of the country were together with the ones they loved and the ideas they clinged to. Church services were packed before they let out in a few hours for the Onion to drop.

All was right.

[TURTLESHROOM II]

(Please do not post in the thread until 2016 AD.)

[TURTLESHROOM II]

THIS THIRTY FIRST THURSDAY OF DECEMBER, IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD TWO THOUSAND FIFTEEN
JONESBORO, TURTLESHROOM
11:58 PM

A turtle, dressed in Army ceremonial dress addressed a crowd outside the center point of the New Year Festivities.

"Mah constituents, let us join as one, and may this truce last forever!"

One Star Governor-General Bubba Bubbavich Long II, Grandmaster of the Second Sacred Junta of the Holy Kingdom of the United Turtles, Mushrooms, and Men of TurtleShroom outstretched his neck and gripped a heavy lever. The Asian human keeping the nuclear football tapped upon the turtle's shell as the clock struck 11:59 PM.

SIXTY!

The bells of the Orthodox Chapel of Jones Found began pealing in joyous celebration, the first in TurtleShroom to ring. The cranking and whirring of fully analogous, manual machinations and gears within the shaft of its central onion dome temporarily outdid them in the sheer decibels of the jubilee. The Orthodox cross topping the dome slid down its right side as the tip opened up like a spacepor. Slowly, the twenty four year old contraption began creaking downward.

TWENTY NINE!

The clocktowers all over TurtleShroom neared closer to the stroke of midnight. The bells of the Catholic Oakwood Cathedral joined the carols of the Orthodox denomination in bliss ecumenical. The crowd was swept up in the celebration and cheering increased.

TWENTY FOUR!

The citizens applauded as turtles, mushrooms, and men alike crowded around their radios, their slot machines, and, of course, their loved ones, all counting as one.

NINETEEN!

The prayers of the Christian clergy for the nation and all believers extended across the country as the bells of the largest churches representing minor denominations joined the fanfare. The creaky onion dome neared its base.

FIFTEEN!

Crowds linked hands and erupted as the countdown reached its crescendo.


TEN!
NINE!
EIGHT!
SEVEN!
SIX!
FIVE!
FOUR!


THREE!
TWO!
ONE!

The crowd fell silent as the clock struck twelve. In the quiet, the largest Baptist megachurch in TurtleShroom struck its largest bell, sending a single shockwave like a warehouse of gongs across Jonesboro. The electrcity in the air, the thrill, the excitement rung out in the air as every turtle, mushroom, and human TurtleShroomer joined as one nation.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

The onion dome clacked at its base and a chain of fireworks shot up behind the chapel. The bells in every Christian church in TurtleShroom joined together as Christendom rejoiced a successful revolution of NationStates Default Planet One's orbit. Fireworks lit up the night. all over the country.

The roar of the crowds drowned out the hate of the riots, the vice of greed, the division of families, and the pains of the nation.

Just one time, TurtleShroom was harmonious, as it should be.

[TURTLESHROOM II]

This is a forum post bump!

[TURTLESHROOM II]

{OOC: I have been contacted by other nations concerning this story, where I was told that they wanted to post something before I continued. That is why I haven't written anything yet.}

[Apiatica]

Written with the permission of Kedri and TURTLESHROOM II

The pirate ship was larger than Guide 1 has thought, a good thirty meters from stern to bow, and sitting several hundred meters off the apian coast. It was a wooden sailing vessel, two-masted, the chained anchor currently stuck into the undersea sediment.

The three guides had declined a launch to take them to the ship, and instead simply flew, along with a few porters, aboard. The deck, as with the rest of the ship, was made of wood, hard and salty to the touch, and visibly rotten and blackened all around. From the level of grime and dirt, 1 could guess they hadn’t cleaned in weeks, if not months. She waggled her antennae disapprovingly, in near-perfect unison with her two comrades, before giving a polite bow to the ship’s captain.

The captain was a sunburned gentleman, dressed in a waterproof overcoat, tricornered hat, and with numerous swords, pistols, and unnamed objects dangled from a belt. The boots were a dark, smooth leather. He looked better than his crew, who were more scantily-clad, some wearing only pants and no shoes, several of which were yellow-faced and with what 1 suspected could only be a less-than-full set of their dentures.

“Here is your payment, queen of the sea,” said 1, motioning to the duo of porters, who came in with the paper chest. Opening it, it was filled with small silver and gold coins, stacked to bursting. “25 000 doubloons for a week’s journey to Jonesboro, as promised.” She noticed that all of the crew looked with some sparkle in their eye at the sack of coins, which the captain was rather quick to take, before ordering two deckhands to carry it inside the ship, to one of the cabin’s level with the deck.

“Good, good,” said the captain, coming back. His voice was hoarse, and he pulled out a long, brown stick, which he proceeded to set fire to and puff on, which created a big cloud of smoke. “Well, welcome aboard the Plummeting Batavian, mateys, I’ll show you the below-decks.”

The captain didn’t talk much, and kept smoking the stick, which put the guides off-kilter, hazing their minds as they struggled to follow the ambling pirate. The below-decks area where they were to sleep was pleasantly expansive, and, to their approval, also communal. This meant, of course, a foul smell, lopsided hammocks, and an area so small you could barely move, all of which beat the restrictive wax cells the bees had grown up with, literally since infancy.

“Well, this here’s your place,” he said, waving a tarred hand in the direction of a near-broken portion of the floor, with three barely-hanging “hammocks” made out of assorted rags and stitches. The bees were impressed by its opulence, worthy of a decent merchant. They thanked the captain, informed him they would be taking all their meals alone, and then they were left in the dark hold. A few hours later, as high tide approached, the anchor was pulled from its location on the floor, the ship rocked, the sails were unfurled, and the whole timber contraption was blown away out to sea. The bees settled in uncomfortably against the feel of being surrounded, completely, by water.

The trip passed uneventfully, with the guides spending most of their time arguing everything from politics to eating manners, often while flying around the ship to get exercise. The crew largely ignored the guides, and the guides the crew, and they only occasionally gave a word of passing to the captain. While still nervous about being unable to see land, they soon fell into the routine, drifting through the bobbing ocean, letting time pass as they discussed what had come, what came, and what was to come.

---

The ship arrived at high tide, uneventfully, in Dire Dire Docks. These humans had an odd complexion, like near-invisible dirt, and their eyes were more narrow. The delegation, not wanting to interrupt the work of docking the vessel, quietly flew down to the shore. There, five minutes earlier, a man had come and patiently waited. He, unlike the others, was rather pale, so as to have a semi-permeable look to the bees, who could not see white very well. It enforced their previously held belief that, indeed, the humans had something of the mythical Keepers in them.

“Ah, hello!” he now said jovially. The sun was just past its high point and slowly beginning to arch down; it was high tide, 3 o’clock. “I’m John Smith, I’ll be your guide for your stay in Turtleshroom. Will you please come this way?”

The guides, unsure but nonetheless in a respectable mood given the time of day, let 2 answer for them. “Good! We are guides 1 through 3. Um… do you not have a partner?”

The man, who was now leading them through the busy docks, look at them, puzzled. “No, why would I?”

The bees drew a blank. To them, individual expression was the equivalent of insanity, and lone individuals were raving mad or worse. Honest as they were, they explained this to Smith, who nodded solemnly and told the bees to follow him.

“What are those on your face?” they continued.

“You mean my glasses?” he said, taking them off, then looking at the fuzzy blurs that the bees had become. “Well, I need them to see correctly.” As they walked, the bees quizzed the man about his glasses, what they did, how they worked, what they were made of, and were furnished with information not even their greatest scholars could understand.

The bees were greatly impressed. “Where did you get your education?”

“Uh… my diploma was from Jonesboro Eastern,” he answered, referring to his high school, a Baptist one on the outskirts of the city. The bees saw a massive university, the size of a hive, in which thousands of professionals toiled away. Probably the best of the best.

As they continued walking, they relentlessly quizzed Smith on everything around them, from the steel ropes used to dock the ships, to everything from his shoes to his hair, as well as why he was wearing clothes, reserved in Apiatica for priests, and then only for certain ceremonies. The man’s cheeks went inexplicably red, and he suddenly gained a speech impediment. The bees chocked it up to the dockside humidity.

After some time, they came to the end of the quay, and, with a loud breath and a handwave that were probably greetings, handed them over to several uniformed customs officers. After a brief discussion, they opted not to pat down the bees, and instead asked to see the paper suitcases, which were stained and crusted over in salt from the sea voyage. Inside, they were surprised to find thousands of stamp-sized bills, worth thousands of Notes each. As they found no contraband or other suspicious substances, the officers stamped the flimsy containers, then let the bees on their way.

Just outside the customs house, Smith picked up a second man, a certain Bradford, and introduced them, setting the bees much at ease that, indeed, their guides were quite sane after all. Bradford was like the dockworkers, a pale brown color, and his slit eyes were emphasized by the thick coke-bottle lenses, which distorted them significantly.

Their first stop after this was an exchange bureau, a small white building, immaculately clean, with the exchange rates written in chalk along the window. The Gram, they saw, had lost further value, now at 2 000 to the Skillet, among other currencies. They handed over their battered cases, which the smiling, if surprised, operator converted into numerous local currencies, totaling, if they had bothered to count, to roughly 125 million Skillets in all.

Why a single country would have so many different currencies was beyond them, they put it up to human individualism, like thinking they could be alone and sane at the same time. With this small business done, they repacked their bags and set off, following the guides towards the train station. It was 5 pm.

---

The Nonvisualist priests said that each successive incarnation brought one a little closer to paradise. This could not have been any truer, for, if it had not been for their own pheromone scents, they would have thought themselves dead. It was glorious, all of it. The massive streets, easily several bees across, and the immaculately pristine streets, cleaner than even the best maintenance crews could maintain, it was all indications as to the sheer luxury of the place they were now flying through. The homes were decadently large, enough for a few bees each, and built out of sturdy materials like wood and metal, instead of the usual paper and wax. In addition, they noticed several small shops, filled to the brim with all sorts of peculiarities, most of which the bees had never seen, let alone imagined could be priced for under a dollar.

“What is this ‘bubble gum’?” the guides asked of their own, after being led into one such shop. It was mostly a dry goods store, though it carried some of the more modern amenities, including the gaudily-wrapped bubble gum packet. After retrieving the name from the grocer (all three had never learned to read, let alone foreign script) Smith answered with an easy smile, chuckling at the bees.

“You put it in your mouth and chew it.” Their faces flashed in comprehension.

“Oh, just like wood!” 2 said, giving a packet to the store clerk, who was more interested in the entire briefcase she had put up to pay for it. Smith dutifully stepped forward and negotiated a more equitable transfer, and so they encountered another marvel of the modern world: The cash register. Unfortunately, the store owner was considerably less enthusiastic about them playing with the register, and so politely led them out the door with a firm “Goodbye.”

Staring attentively into other shop windows, 2 shoved the gum pack, wrappers and all, into her mouth. Smith and Bradford winced, before trying to explain that wasn’t how you ate gum, and 2 irritably began trying to spit it out. The gum, however, was considerably more sticky than even honey, and so remained stuck there. While she could still breath, she doubted she could eat, and 1 and 3 began to perform burial rites as 2’s antennae drooped in resignation.

“What are you doing?” asked Bradford politely, one of the first times he’d spoken.

“We are wishing our friend a good and speedy reincarnation into the next life, that it may be better and closer to paradise than this one.” Realizing what they meant, Smith intervened.

“Um… shouldn’t we see a doctor first?” he proposed, and the two humans simultaneously took off their glasses and began cleaning them in nervousness. 1 and 3 stopped the rites.

“A… doctor?” To the bees, doctors tended to double as morticians, as, with no medical technology, their position consisted largely in declaring the time of death and burying the limp cadaver.

“Yes, you know, someone who heals wounds and injuries?” The bees, looking at each other, nodded, and let Smith and Bradford lead them to a private physician. While not a veterinarian, the private practitioner found no problems with taking a pair of large pincers and removing the wad, and, after exchanging a few pleasantries and a decent stack of cash, they started to leave the doctor’s office. The bees couldn’t believe it. Their comrade had been saved from the jaws of a slow and painful death! They bowed at least a dozen times in thankful gratitude to this strange doctor, before taking their leave with their guides.

They spent the rest of the evening exploring every locale on the way to the train station, eagerly giving over their money for such things as an aluminum pot, pez dispensers, souvenir mugs, a waffle iron, a model fighter plane, and even a Gameboy, which astonished them to no end.

“How does it work?” they asked, after failing yet again to clear the first level. They had never seen such sorcery: Light, sound, even movement of unreal characters on a screen! It was beyond unbelievable!

“Oh, well…” Smith and Bradford struggled through an explanation of how electricity, batteries, moving pictures, and video games worked. They continued to discuss the specifics of these concepts as they continued on their way, finally arriving at the train station. It was 8 o’clock.

---

The station was a ‘small’ affair, which to the bees meant luxuriously palatial. All they had seen (and were presently carrying) further confirmed that this was indeed one step from paradise, if not paradise itself! Smith had just come back with their tickets when the train roared into the station and had them nearly jumping out of their exoskeletons.

“It’s a train,” Bradford explained, spreading his hands placatingly to the bees, who were mobbing him in an attempt to get an explanation for the sudden attack from hell that had borne down upon them.

As they boarded the 9 o’clock train to Jonesboro, the bees marvelled, yet again, at the finery and decor of the economy-class car, eagerly inspecting each portion of the carriage, from the rugged floors to the stainless-steel baggage holders. Steel, fabric, even that strange hard “plastic,” used in such apparently pedestrian things as public transit? It was unthinkable, but the bees had seen plenty of unthinkable things during the day.

The train ride into Turtleshroom was uneventful, and the bees spent most of their time interrogating their two human assistants as to why there was open land, what is what used for, and who tended to it. The train pulled into several stops along the way, much to the dismay of the jolted insects, who grumbled and tried to complain to the conductor, but were successfully dissuaded from such action by polite intervention from Smith and Bradford, who convinced them this was normal on a train.

The train eventually arrived, exactly on the dot, at midnight, just as the many bells and explosions began roaring through the city. It took several minutes and an explanation of the Gregorian calendar before they were made to understand that it was simply the celebration of the New Year, and even then they were rather reluctant to leave and follow their guides.

Leaving the even larger, more impressive Jonesboro station, the bees, their fear slowly dissipating into wonder at the even more opulent surroundings of Jonesboro, were aghast at the sheer size of everything. The houses were slightly larger, big enough for a dozen bees, and the streets were now filled with revellers under the night turned day, as fireworks blasted off in a continuous roar that made all dialogue an impossibility.

While many stared, they either wiped their glasses (to find the bees gone) or looked suspiciously at the nondescript paper bags they were carrying with them. Smith explained that a certain drug called alcohol was prohibited. They bees, if they had known the meaning of the word, would have approved; the traditional practice of amputating drunks was still common back in their homeland. As it was, they simply continued to follow the two guides through the crowded streets.

Finally, they arrived at their destination, a modest hotel, two stories and made of wood, that took them in. The bees spent most of their time admiring the artwork and wandering through the empty hallways, until Smith and Bradford kindly pointed them into their rooms, after explaining the concept of locks, keys, and theft, anomalies that they only just accepted as reality in this strange new world. While still confused, the bees spent a good hour or so admiring their cavernous rooms, with plenty of space to move and fly around in, before calling back Smith and Bradford to explain the magic that made it daytime at night. The two again struggled through explaining electricity, light bulbs, and the conductivity of metals, before promising to take them to a nearby power plant the next morning, then finally shutting off the lights and leaving the bees to their sleep, before going to their own private rooms. And so passed the first day of the apian delegation’s visit.

[Darussalam]

"Isn't it such a fine morning, Uncle?"

Prince Tahmasp was momentarily stunned as the adolescent boy seated in front of him suddenly addressed the young prince, interrupting his trail of thoughts. They along with a dozen other guests, all of which belonged to the Imperial Clan, the apex of Darussian hierarchy, were enjoying a late breakfast in the central courtyard of the palace, the aptly named Jannat al-Khuld, Garden of Eternity. Here there were no traces winter that ravaged much of northern Darussalam right now, colorful exotic flowers still bloomed contrasting with soft green grasses, bathing under the radiant sunlight, warm although not burning as the sunlight of Dashret. At the center of the garden there was a colossal fountain, its water sprouted in an increasingly more intricate pattern, and in front of this fountain the group enjoyed their rare Imperial breakfast, a mini-feast with couscous, baklava, kebab, lamb curry, cakes, sweets, every Darussian local cuisines arranged on a clothed round mahogany table. There was also a tray with cups and a teapot, black chai sprinkled of course with sweet khat.

Tahmasp quickly putted his best smile and nodded. "Why of course, Most Divine Sovereign. Surely this is the result of your excellent work, that the Imperial Realm is prosperous and your subjects sing musics of praises." -and of course, the boy in front of him was none other than Iskandar the First, the Sovereign-Emperor of Darussalam, Caliph of Islam, and Sublime Lord of the Peacock Throne, nominally the most powerful person in the Imperial Realm, whose mere words may put Tahmasp's head upon a plate or even better, a pike. He most likely would had he realize the sugary sarcasm on the Prince's words, and indeed he did.

There was a long silence, with the guests uneasily stared to each other, before it was shattered by the Emperor's shrill laugh, almost hysterical. "A good one, Uncle, a good one." He wiped off his tears. "Be forewarned, however, had you not point out the truth which will be our primary topic today, albeit in a rather inarticulate manner, we would not tolerate your humor."
The boy leaned against his chair, smiling. He spoke those words very casually, almost as if he joked back to the prince, and other guests sighed in relief. Tahmasp was not as easily fooled however, as his eyes shifted to the gracefully striding peacocks he silently counted the number of unseen guards. Eleven-twelve-thirteen, thirteen Janissaries on the corridors and balconies that surround the Garden, and he was certain there were also at least four Winterborn Knights lurking on the shadows somewhere. Even in this "normal" situation, a mere invitation of breakfast for a select courtiers, the Emperor was hardly unarmed.

"So you have seen them." Iskandar said, with a certain air on 'them' that indicated he wasn't talking about the peacocks.
Turning back to the child Emperor, Tahmasp murmured a quick "Yes, milord" to mask his shudder and sipped his tea.

"Well, but he certainly implied a truth there," Iskandar now addressed other courtiers. "That unfortunately, our realm faced a much longer and more arduous problem than the previous winters. As most of you have certainly been aware the spring you saw here is artificial, the whole garden is domed and the sun is also an illusion to assure us we are living prosperously. Elsewhere the commons were suffering an unusually harsh winter, and those who were not have been invaded by ferocious swarms. There were many starvations, northeastern agricultural areas of Panjshir Valleys have been devastated and our urbanization program there is facing trouble. The Haryrat is freezing, Nakhchar and Darband have been isolated as the access there were closed by heaping snow. The masses, the commoners are too hungry to ever 'sing songs of praises', which is a deep concern, they may as well begin to sing songs of dissent and revolution."

"As I have advised to the Most Divine Sovereign before, while I have little purview on this matter I must emphasize that this is a regular problem and should no way be considered as exceptionally catastrophic." A long-haired middle-aged man replied. "Severe winters have occurred in the past, on intervals of five to ten years, and while it is speculated the interval will be gradually closer due to climate change we have prepared ourselves for that. Currently food supply and weather-alchemists have been dispatched to said area, God willing that the winter will perish shortly and the snow melted."

"And indeed we have accepted your explanation, Treasurer." Iskandar said. "However, we also believe that simply walking against the winter is not enough. Weather-alchemists are at best temporary solution in a massive-scaled situation, they may contain a single settlement or withhold a single rain but not stopping an entire climate for years. Until they resolved it, this situation in fact will put our opiate and hashish industry in danger, as the factions of the Durbar and the Porte surely will pressure us to abandon our eastern opium estates and peasants' free landsーas their terrain and soil features resemble Panjshir Valleys the closest, with crops that may last for an entire year and closer proximity to northeastern provinces thus allowing shorter delivery. Then we will be requested to allocate them for general agricultural use. The fact that our best melons and pomegranates came from the Panjshir didn't help, and with the Chief Minister endorsing them we are afraid even the Lord of the Peacock Throne cannot object to the relinquishing of a demesne that theoretically belonged to the Sublime Porte."

"But is it not that my mothーthe Karyadans own vast demesne with similar feature?" A girl only slightly older than the Emperor inquired, the Emperor's sister Princess Ayesha. "Surely they can be persuaded, for the greater good of the Imperial Realm, to contract the peasants' lands and target greater output."

"For that we should persuade the Durbar that our opiate industry has larger profit than their spice production. A little tampering on reports wouldn't do, as the part of our deal with the Porte three centuries ago they also maintain records of our input, output, profit and loss. While most of the time they ignore the records and allow the Imperial Clan free rein over our resources, it was almost one-hundred percent ensured that it will be the first thing they raised during the next Durbar convention." Iskandar shook his head. "Uncle Tahmasp, you are the chief manager of our estates. How much was the income we acquired last year?"

Tahmasp went silent for a moment. "It was...seventeen billion dirhams, Lord. Seventeen billion, four hundred fifty-one million. A quite sharp decline from last year, butー"

"Then that is not enough." The Treasurer gulped. "The Karyadans' income from spice trade amounted to almost twenty billion, and used almost entirely for their private endeavor." He spat. "It would do justice to them, my Lord, to allocate their plots of land to the Porte. Command them! Order them to kneel before you!"

"Our great-grandfather tried once, Wakhan Emperor. From what we have heard, it didn't work well. Did you just advise the Lord of the Peacock Throne to betray His closest ally in the Ashvalan Estates for over a millenia, Hallowed Treasurer?"

"IーOf course not, my Lord! However otherwise we must persuade the Durbar for even greater profit for this year, or we will be forced to surrender our land."

"One-fifth of our land, to be more exact, and yes. But worry not! We are quite certain for one that the answer lies within the field of purview of our uncle here Lord Tahmasp-shahzadeh, hence we have assigned him a specific task lately. Surely you would know, Uncle?"

Tahmasp blinked. Of course he did. The Prince glanced to the other guests, and they watched him back as if this was a test, noble eyes shining with glamour surrounding him from every side. Sighing, Tahmasp finally nodded and replied, "The Turtleshroomers are not in a decent situation now, so we could increase the smuggling activity there. There is a momentary peace when they observed the Nazarene New Year. However it is expected that this peace will not last long, as the radical factions have already acquired sheer popularity over the Shroomers. A little careless stumble, and Allah alone knows what kind of barbarian horde that will stand next to us."

"Allah forbid it is the Mack-horde." The Emperor said calmly. "Proceed, Uncle."

Tahmasp coughed. "The Nazarene Kingdom itself is rather...inquisitorial for its law enforcement, however the forbidden substances' industry actually thrives underneath the nation, and for years the Darussian Empire remains as one of the primary supplier of their goods, primarily opium, hashish, arak..."

"They forbid liquor?" Ayesha interrupted, covering her mouth in astonishment. Next to her Lord-Prince Jahangir, Librarian of the House of Wisdom, visibly shuddered.

"Yes, they forbid liquor, and quite zealously. Anyway, our primary illegal industry in Darussalam is primarily comprised of narcotics and other addictive substances, as our attempt to introduce prostitution there failed miserably. I will expect opiate distribution to be much easier there when the Nazarene state finally collapsed, thus ensuring our income to skyrocket. We will also attempt to restore order in the Nazarene realm through covert means..."

"Our potential client?" The Emperor said.

"Correct, Lord. They are the former rebels, instigators of Equine Genocide of Turtleshroom known among them as the 'Dark Harvest'. As vile as these barbarians are, they have been pacifiedーmeaning, becoming opiate-addicts, perhaps previously provided by Necron benefactors, but I am working thus far to orient their market into ours fully. They are vast enough in number that they may withstand the influence of other Radicals, temporarily at least, and thus may play as our vital ally."

"Vital ally? Vital ally for whaーdo you intend us to interfere in the conflicts of barbarians?" Prince Mustapha, the Chief Director of Imperial Alchemist Laboratory stood with fiery eyes. Then he turned to the Emperor. "My lord, would you allow this travesty? Let the barbarians slaughter themselves! Let them consign themselves upon destruction, while we have nothing to do with it!"

"Such thought is unwise, Lord Mustapha." The Emperor said icily. "And its expression impolite. Surely you would not disagree that as the guardians of the universe we are endowed with divinely ordained duty to restore order in Chaos and preach light to the barbarians?" Mustapha retreated back to his seat, his face lowered obediently. "So we will use the opium dens as our stepping stone to the Nazarene Kingdom. Simple. We are quite certain the Ummah will also acquire a grip on other unlawful peoples later on. As regrettable as it is to deal with scum-holes, it is the only method that the realm may afford. Surely after then the Durbar will yield upon being threatened with the Mack-horde or the Nazarene-horde and turn in support of our endeavor, including even the Karyadan. They will gladly give their plot of land, and our income will fund...the interest of the Kedrians, expanding our agriculture. Of course," Iskandar raised his eyebrow. "Do not focus merely on the opiate rebels. Contact the Da'i of Alamut, I'm certain he would be willing for an expansion of his western wing. Perhaps these rebels will learn how to truly kill...as a fedaykin."

"As your command, Most Sublime Majesty." Tahmasp said.

"Excellent. So we may proceed to our hors d'ouvre, then!" The Emperor clapped his hand. Servants brought forward sweet cold melons topped with saffron ice cream, which caused him to nod in excitement. "Well, well! This might be the last Panjshir melons until other two months, so make sure to enjoy every bit of their taste."

[TURTLESHROOM II]

[JANUARY 2ND, 2016 AD]

The sky was dreary and overcast as the bees awoke the next morning, well rested and excited to see the opulence of the capital. They exited their room and found their tour guides waiting for them. The guides had been up since dawn.

"Good morning, delegates." Bradford said, smiling. "We hope you slept well. The General is ready to see you now, because your government requested an audience."

"In case you're wondering," Smith added, "we both personally support him. It's why we're serving as scabs while some traitors in our industry are being ingrates!"

The white human clenched his fists as Bradford placed a browned hand on his shoulder.

"You'll have to excuse him. He got in a fight with a colleague that was rioting before the Truce and he lost several teeth in the process. He's still sore in several places and I think he has a scar on his thigh from that stab attempt with a picket sign, but that nasty limp he had ended shortly before you gentlemen- uhh, gentle bees, arrived."

Smith nodded.

"I'm still irritated, but that's why I have such hope in the coup d'etat. God forbid we enter into a civil war. I'm not sure if we'd even emerge as one state if that happened."

It was Bradford's turn to nod as they looked at each other, and then to the delegations.

"Come with us and we'll take you to the General's HQ."

The bees complied and they entered into a limousiene that had been dispatched by the junta government, outside the hotel, to pick them up. They were quickly checked for weapons and wires by a heavilly armed Artillery Mushroom who telekinetically searched them in a few seconds flat. When they were clear, the Artillery Mushroom opened the door for the delegation and then got into the passenger seat. Bradford took the driver's seat while Smith sat with the bees.

The ride was uneventful. The tour guides gladly explained anything and everything the bees could possibly ask and really helped calm any stress or nervousness they had on the way. The Truce was in its waning days and was expected to end at midnight that very day. TurtleShroomers walked, crawled, and hovered along with tense expressions and an out-of-character sense of mistrust of their neighbors. Everyone seemed anxious, anticipating the civil war that most pundits now feared was on the horizon.

They pulled up to a massive building surrounded by makeshift barbed wire and tall razor wire fences, hastilly erected in front of the black, wrough-iron bar fence of the building itself. It was the Chancellery Palace, in all its rectangular, pillared glory (think of Versailles but taller, less wide, with normal looking, rectangular windows, and less ornate aside from the fountain). This building had a large, flat grass yard with red roses and magnolias, that lead up a cement pathway to the two twenty foot tall, marble doors at the exact center of the building..

The iron gates of the Palace creaked open as a human soldier emerged from a hastilly erected, wooden sentry building behind it, with an AK-74 automated weapon at his waist. He inspected the limousine and noticed the bees. He smiled sincerely to them and informed them that the Chancellery Palace is normally not like this. Apologizing for the inconvience, he bowed lightly to the bees and gestured for the limousine to enter.

Several other soldiers of various species, who were camping on the lawn, noticed the expected limousine and lined in formation as the doors were opened for the bees. The soldiers formed two parralel lines to the left and right of the bees and, along with the guides in the back and the Artillery Mushroom in the front, led them through the door. They were again screened and searched by a different mushroom soldier after entering.

The grand foyer had a vaulted, cathedral ceiling and a (newly electrified) crystal chandelier donated by the Tsar of Russia. The floors were marble and the walls were white with pretty, pale yellow flowers. A receptionist desk, made of tropical wood with matching marble countertop, was clean aside from neat stacks of paperwork. Facing from the entrance, there evenly spaced, dark, tropical wooded doors, each ten feet tall to account for the height of the TS humans, on all three sides of the rectangular room, which was longer than it was wide.

If the bees were unnerved by this open floor plan, they were pleased when they were lead through one of the doors. The Palace interior was all hallways and rooms. Each hall had fifteen foot ceilings but narrow, six foot walls, not quite wide enough for two fully grown humans to walk side by side. Many foreigners found this claustrophobic, but the TurtleShroomers loved it and, hopefully, so did the bees. The hallways were lined with white walls and harvest gold carpeting. At the bottom of the white walls were bright red crown mouldings, separating it from the carpet.
From time to time, the halls opened wider into little nooks, each about a yard deep and four feet wide, where Russian chairs and end tables with various decoratives, pictures, patriotic memoirbillia, and such. The chairs were always dark brown with bright red apholstry.

These hallways lead on until they reached a door with a piece of paper, bearing the Army of TurtleShroom's logo, taped onto it. They knocked a rhythemic ditty and the door was opened.

The room was spacious and ornate, with dark wood on the walls and the floors. The ceilings were about fifteen feet high. A large ceiling fan with a chandelier was spinning slowly. A Murphy Bed in the back was folded up and closed, as the rest of the furniture was pushed up against the wall. Chancellary Guardsmen, all humans and denoted by their sunglasses, their crank-powered Gatling machine guns, their slew of other modern weapons, and their black robes with green and brown sashes, stood at attention.

In the center of the room stood what seemed to be a rectangular, fold-out, green card table and a grey, metal, folding chair. A tall, Asian human with spiky, gelled hair, sunglasses, and a long, orange cloak with the hood down stood next to the chair. Handcuffed to his wrist was a large mettalic briefcase, which he held firmly in his right hand.

In the chair sat a Russian tortoise*. He, like most adult, male, TurtleShroom sentient turtles, was the size of a male Galapagos tortoise. The tortoise sat on top of a few books, wearing full ceremonial military dress: a brown bowtie, a white pickelhaube helmet denoting his rank, topped with a cross, and two khaki ribbons draped on his shell like a wedding cake, with various medals and decorations hanging off of it. One unique difference on the tortoise was a black bandanna tied, much like a Ninja Turtle's mask, around his little head, as well as an ornate cross necklace dangling around his neck.

The tortoise lifted his neck up and smiled, as much as he could without lips, to the delegation who entered.

"Greetins'." the tortoise said with a thick accent. "Mah name is General Bubba Bubbavich Long II. I am the Grandmastuh of the Second Sacred Junta and, unfortunately, the current ruler of the Kingdom of United Turtles, Mushrooms, and Men 'a TurtleShroom.
Yalls' government requested an audience before me, and ah'm happy ta' oblige."

He nodded his little head as the two tour guides nodded to the bees before taking their seats in nearest corner.

"Speak yer mind and ya'll be heard."

[Apiatica]

JANUARY 2ND, 2016 AD

The bees woke from sleep, by instinct, at dawn, and blithely buzzed around their respective rooms until they were summoned from the glorious poshness that were their quarters, until the guides came in a few minutes later to take them out.

"Good morning, delegates." Bradford said, smiling. "We hope you slept well. The General is ready to see you now, because your government requested an audience."

"Ah, good morning to you to, workers," said Guide 3 on their behalf. We have had quite a fine rest, in fact, far more than we are used to." The bees normally got 5 hours, if that, to sleep. Here, despite the late hour and early rise, they had slept 7 hours, and so were quite well-rested.

"In case you're wondering," Smith added, "we both personally support him. It's why we're serving as scabs while some traitors in our industry are being ingrates!"

The bees were rather surprised by the sudden vehemence of their previously friendly guide, and the discussion about picket lines, teeth, and limps had them very confused. The bees did, however, sympathize with the two Turtleshroomer humans about the fate of their country. The civil war back home had hardly been nice, and even as guides, the three bees had seen plenty enough of warfare to be convinced of its overall stupidity in solving disputes among large groups of sentients.

The guides were rather surprised by the dark, lengthy machine that was the limo, and of the Artillery Mushroom. They were all aware of a brush of foreign thought in their brains, a quick wisp of stranger, before it was gone, and they were left to themselves again. Sitting next to Smith, they asked him numerous questions about the civil war, scabs, and protests, and got answers that confused them all the more. They continued to ask, and, as Smith explained the working of TS society as its social fabric deteriorated, the bees listened, interested, to these unexplored concepts they had never learned.

The conversation was enough to keep the three occupied until they arrived at their destination, a colossal, nearly-invisible ghostly white building, guarded by curly metal. The limo slowly rolled up to the gates, another confusing concept (they were later informed they were similar to doors for open-air gardens, another concept they could not comprehend). The human in charge of protecting it politely informed them that the Palace (as it was called) was not in its normal condition.

To the bees, this meant "not in its better condition." What could possibly be better than a plaster hive, erected of solid stone and standing several stories tall? Heaven, most likely.

The apians were impressed by the discipline and rigidity of the soldiers as they respectfully attended to them. Normally, soldiers were a rowdy, informal bunch who viewed anyone outside their ranks with a natural suspicion, but these armored sentients seemed no more worried about civilians in their midst than any normal bee would've been. After a second screening, they were in.

"Did you see all those flowers? You could feed a small hive on all that nectar!" commented 2, with 1 and 3 agreeing. While they were used to flowers in large amounts, they hadn't ever thought of having them for aesthetic purposes, and the thought that flowers could be spared for such decorative purposes made them imagine the bounty of food available in this wonderland of a country.

But the bees were left truly agape by the glorious clear chandelier. Their first reaction was to fly up and touch it, wondering in open awe at its brilliance, electrification, and glorious position, commanding the foyer. They also eagerly attempted to pollinate the wallpaper, only to be thoroughly disappointed. Smith and Bradford eventually convinced them to return to floor level, before leading them into some properly-sized corridors.

They were a bit tall, but efficient; the bees assumed a stack with one flying above the other, and followed inside the practical architecture that was tasteful to their species. They were surprised by the numerous decorative features, decadent even by Imperial standards, as well as numerous conference tables and chairs to either side at sporadic intervals. Finally, they arrived to a thick oaken door, with the now-familiar five-pointed yellow star logo, and the apians simply stood in awe and took in their surroundings. It was an impressive room, beyond even what their wildest dreams could've given them. Giving themselves a full minute to take in the scenery, they refocused on the strange Asian man and the accompanying turtle, large and draped in various symbolic vestments. The white pickelhaube lead them to think they were in the company of a priest, but the tortoise's introduction proved them wrong.

The bees, at the indication of their guides, rested their legs on the ground and assumed a locked position, similar to sleeping cows, to ensure they would remain at about eye-level with the turtle.

"We are most humbled by your presence, High Queen," said 3, and the delegates bowed low in unison, antennae splayed to the sides in subjugation and thoraxes rising up.

"Our information is a bit shaky, but we have learned that your nation has divided, we ourselves have suffered such division, and have found unity only quite recently, and even then we struggle with the remnants of our foes. We have come, therefore, to help you in your attempts to halt bloodshed.

"Upon listening to the complaints of our leaders here," continued 3, gesturing to Smith and Bradford, "we have learned that a certain Marxist group has made numerous demands of your government. While they were certainly loyal to your cause, and their devotion to it should not be questioned, we cannot help but wonder why your laborers protest. Surely, they understand that the whole is superior to the individual, and that the common worker is but a single portion of a vast mind that has the collective interest in mind?

"Further, we ask where you derive your power from. Your rank and accoutrements would suggest from the army, the Church, or from both, and, naturally, a government supported by your queens"-translated as community leaders-"would to us be more well-received than one back by weapons. In addition, it would seem that these Marxists of yours are greatly supported among the common workers but not the queens, may we ask why your country has so many divisions, and no united front, or even fronts, and that all your workers seem scattered among them like flower petals in the wind?

"Finally, we would like to present to you these cases, filled with approximately 100 million of your Skillets, to better run your national establishment." They three, who had carried the briefcases with them, then pushed the cases forward and opened them.

"We are afraid we cannot offer much, we have only recently broken the chains of our oppressors and are still removing the final shreds of bourgeois influence in our nation, though we hope that these funds would be able to persuade you to conduct a meeting of the queens"-translated as election-"to better demonstrate the will of the queens and to better unite your apparently disparate country."

With this, the three bees bowed again, then arose and waited for the General's answer.

[TURTLESHROOM II]

With this, the three bees bowed again, then arose and waited for the General's answer.

In a gesture of humility, the tortoise lowered his neck- this was saluting for turtle soldiers, not bowing -after the bees rose from their gesture. He ignored their misgendered address of him as a queen, though, being a turtle, it's unusual for males to be powerful inside the home and the barracks.

"Welcome. Unfortunately, I'm a soldier, not any of this country's monarchs. The Kings of TurtleShroom... they ain't in commission right now." he said, somewhat nervously. "I did what I had to do."

He listened to their replies.

"Upon listening to the complaints of our leaders here," continued 3, gesturing to Smith and Bradford, "we have learned that a certain Marxist group has made numerous demands of your government. While they were certainly loyal to your cause, and their devotion to it should not be questioned, we cannot help but wonder why your laborers protest. Surely, they understand that the whole is superior to the individual, and that the common worker is but a single portion of a vast mind that has the collective interest in mind?"

"Y'all are correct in sayin' that the collective economy trumps the greed of the working lay-bruh, but I don't believe that the majority sympathies of the labor forces reflect collective interests; even if it did, them rioters ain't no majority. The riotin' lay-bruhs don't know their place and they're bein' ungrateful and not humble in the face of those who, thanks to their employers, would otherwise be livin' in the streets. What they are demandin' us the dismant'lin of the truck system- the company store -which is one of the key pilluhs of the TurtleShroomer economy."

With the General's permission, Smith and Bradford interjected and explained the basic tenants of the truck system, of private currency (Scrip), of company towns, and why it was such an effective system. The General nodded his neck and head.

"They're a-makin' insatiable demands on companies they ain't got no right to make, and are tryin' to use the force of the gov'mint to coerce businesses into adoptin' somethin' they do not wish to adopt, and the consumuhs do not expect them to provide... how do I explain this here..."

General Long II paused.

"What do y'all know 'bout the Invisible Hand of the Free Market? It's a term used to representant the collective will of everyone who buys goods and services for a company. Consumuhs refuse to shop at businesses whose practices they don't like, or whose products ain't meetin' their standards, and spend money at those who do instead. Businesses with practices and products the market- the consumuhs -does not like fail to make a profit and are thus shut down, while the ones that do what the people want are rewarded with their patronage."

The General nodded again.

"If the Free Market wants highuh wages and an end to the truck system, they'll get it by making it unprofitable to not provide those demands. People will refuse to buy goods from mills- that's the term for companies usin' the truck system -and they will either change their ways, scale back, or go bankrupt entirely."

The tortoise grimaced.

"If them rioters wanted to change the market, they could have founded their own businesses and competed with the companies they deemed unethical. If they were better, they'd win. They could'a bought stock in companies n' pushed resolutions to end the truck system or raise wages. They could'a volunteered with charity or with the Church's welfare to help those they claim to advocate for."

A metaphorical fire raged in the General's little turtle eyes.

"These people are nothin' but greedy! If they cared about the poor and the common lay-bruh, they'd be servin' the poor, feedin' the hungry, and tendin' to orphans and widows! -but no, instead they're usin' the force of the state to change something the people don't want no part of!"

He sighed.

"That's what I'm fightin'. These rioters... they're violent. They ain't peacefully marchin' n' holdin' hands and callin' fer Jesus' love ta be acted on or nothin'. They rioted in our holiest religious days, they're riotin' in our secular holidays, n' and they don't give a care to no one but themselves. They block farmuhs from takin' food to the market, they block schoolhouses from teachin' kids... 'bout the only thing they ain't blockin' is the far-men, hearses, and the am'blances, but the poe-lease are blocked everywhere, and they're fed up.
They don't listen to reason. I've given them months to try and resolve it, but they won't go away, even on holy days."

He looked to the bees as the continued speaking afterwards.

"Further, we ask where you derive your power from. Your rank and accoutrements would suggest from the army, the Church, or from both, and, naturally, a government supported by your community leaders would to us be more well-received than one backed by weapons."

It took a moment for the General to realize he and his authority wasn't being challenged or mocked, so he sat quietly for a moment before answering.

"I ain't no followuh of the Christian Church. I ain't no Christian." he said, beginning his reply. "The cross is just the spike on mah pickel-hob helmet n' nothin' more; honestly, it's not even the one I normally wear, but rather, was given to me by a compatriot in my unit. The one I normally wear's got a spike instead."

He looked to the bees.

"Mah powuh comes from the military, and from the refusal of mah commandin' offi-suhs to handle this situation. The Kings did nothin'. The Dukem Brothers, both four star generals and the leaduhs of the Army, did nothin'. TurtleShroom's been paralyzed since spring of 2015 AD, and I think a yee-uh's long enough to wait before retaliatin'! These riotuhs ain't repentant, and it's my job to make them repent and restore orduh to the streets!"

He continued with that fire in his eyes.

"Sure, the Church don't like this, but ya'll think I give a flyin' Max Barry 'bout what the Church thinks? What has the Church done to stop the greed and the riotin'? NOTHING! Sure, they give to the poor, but what do they do besides handouts? NOTHING! Nothin', they've done NOTHING! They've always been ambivalent to capitalism; they're just glorified soup kitchens where ya dress up n' go to apologize for bein' sentient! All of those pompous talkers are dead ta' me!"

"In addition, it would seem that these Marxists of yours are greatly supported among the common workers but not the queens, may we ask why your country has so many divisions, and no united front, or even fronts, and that all your workers seem scattered among them like flower petals in the wind?"

The fire was gone. That question cut him off immediately. He seemed taken aback, and then very sorrowful. He spoke in a lowered voice, shaken with sorrow.

"........there, there was a time when TurtleShroom was as one. For gosh sakes, harmony's in our anthem! Our nation has been harmonious and unified for centuries, AND THEY TOOK IT FROM US!!"

If turtles were able to cry, the General would have had tears in his eyes.

"THEY'VE TAKEN ALL THAT MATTERS! The government is corrupted, the citizens are at each other's throats... brothers fight brothers, factories lie idle, sloth and lazieness, idleness is gripping us... no one is workin' 'cause either they're riotin' or they're bein' prevented from workin'... the harmony, the unity, the kindness for your neighbuh... the love, the love itself is GONE. I... I can't even see my country anymore. This isn't TurtleShroom."

He lowered his head on his desk and sobbed. The guard with the Nuclear Football subtlely lifted a brown-ish hand behind his glasses and instinctively wiped his slanted eyes, though he was not crying, making sure not to show any grief on his face. Smith clenched his fists and turned to the side. Bradford sighed deeply.

That's when he noticed the briefcases. He was not worried about their contents because they had been expected.

With this, the three bees bowed again, then arose and waited for the General's answer.

"Finally, we would like to present to you these cases, filled with approximately 100 million of your Skillets, to better run your national establishment." They three, who had carried the briefcases with them, then pushed the cases forward and opened them.

"We are afraid we cannot offer much, we have only recently broken the chains of our oppressors and are still removing the final shreds of bourgeois influence in our nation, though we hope that these funds would be able to persuade you to conduct a meeting of the queens"- translated as election -"to better demonstrate the will of the community leaders and to better unite your apparently disparate country."[/quote]

The General was flattered, smiling (as much as he could without lips) slightly.

"Son, your gift is greatly appreciated, but there ain't a ballot in the world that's gone end this. We don't want or need no money. Ya'll can keep that, or spend it at one of our amazin' tourist destinations, or save it for latuh, buy gold, I don't really care. Keep it as our thanks to ya'll. The Christians can only pray to their God for mercy on the country, and while they waste their time with that, I'm gone take care of this problem permanently."

[Apiatica]

"Welcome. Unfortunately, I'm a soldier, not any of this country's monarchs. The Kings of TurtleShroom... they ain't in commission right now." he said, somewhat nervously. "I did what I had to do."


The bees whispered among themselves nervously. This turtle had removed queens, or, rather, empresses! They buzzed in agreement.

“We would fully support such a decision. Artificial hierarchies based upon the individual” the word carried negative connotations in the apian language, to the point of being a swear word “are always bound to lead to stressed, insane rulers, whereas a robust system of many individuals shouldering the same common cause leads to quicker and better decisions.” Having harped their doctrine of common responsibility, the bees listened again.

"Y'all are correct in sayin' that the collective economy trumps the greed of the working lay-bruh, but I don't believe that the majority sympathies of the labor forces reflect collective interests; even if it did, them rioters ain't no majority. The riotin' lay-bruhs don't know their place and they're bein' ungrateful and not humble in the face of those who, thanks to their employers, would otherwise be livin' in the streets. What they are demandin' us the dismant'lin of the truck system- the company store -which is one of the key pilluhs of the TurtleShroomer economy."

The bees were shocked. In the streets. Every bee was given lodging and food as a right, even the drones. Leaving the hive was death. They discussed it with their guides, and were outright appalled: Poverty, homelessness, malnourishment. How could these horrors exist in paradise? Nonetheless, they forced themselves to listen to the explanations of corporate municipalities, before answering.

“How is your citizenry permitted to go hungry and destitute? Especially when you have… this?” the bees gestured to the elegant room they were in. “Surely, if you can afford paradise, you can afford it for all others, too?”

"They're a-makin' insatiable demands on companies they ain't got no right to make, and are tryin' to use the force of the gov'mint to coerce businesses into adoptin' somethin' they do not wish to adopt, and the consumuhs do not expect them to provide... how do I explain this here..."

The bees cocked their heads. To them, the government and business worked largely in tandem, with the queen declaring something and the hive businesses implementing it. To them, business was an extension of the government, a means to serve an end. Having the two in conflict was as ridiculous as having the Air Force bombing the Navy.

"What do y'all know 'bout the Invisible Hand of the Free Market? It's a term used to representant the collective will of everyone who buys goods and services for a company. Consumuhs refuse to shop at businesses whose practices they don't like, or whose products ain't meetin' their standards, and spend money at those who do instead. Businesses with practices and products the market- the consumuhs -does not like fail to make a profit and are thus shut down, while the ones that do what the people want are rewarded with their patronage."

The bees listened in awe at this description of a divine honey-distributing limb (the apian language did not lend itself well to translation). It appeared to be more a concept than an actual thing, related to what was bought and what was not. The bees had never heard of the theory before, but understood it as far as they could, having come from a command economy.

"If the Free Market wants highuh wages and an end to the truck system, they'll get it by making it unprofitable to not provide those demands. People will refuse to buy goods from mills- that's the term for companies usin' the truck system -and they will either change their ways, scale back, or go bankrupt entirely."

"If them rioters wanted to change the market, they could have founded their own businesses and competed with the companies they deemed unethical. If they were better, they'd win. They could'a bought stock in companies n' pushed resolutions to end the truck system or raise wages. They could'a volunteered with charity or with the Church's welfare to help those they claim to advocate for."


“They have not? Have you proposed this to them?” they asked. It seemed odd that such an easy alternative would be ignored, in favor of demands that would be easier to execute, even if the bottom-up system of corporate management and this “stock market” were alien to them.

"These people are nothin' but greedy! If they cared about the poor and the common lay-bruh, they'd be servin' the poor, feedin' the hungry, and tendin' to orphans and widows! -but no, instead they're usin' the force of the state to change something the people don't want no part of!”

"That's what I'm fightin'. These rioters... they're violent. They ain't peacefully marchin' n' holdin' hands and callin' fer Jesus' love ta be acted on or nothin'. They rioted in our holiest religious days, they're riotin' in our secular holidays, n' and they don't give a care to no one but themselves. They block farmuhs from takin' food to the market, they block schoolhouses from teachin' kids... 'bout the only thing they ain't blockin' is the far-men, hearses, and the am'blances, but the poe-lease are blocked everywhere, and they're fed up. They don't listen to reason. I've given them months to try and resolve it, but they won't go away, even on holy days."

It took a minute to explain the concept of orphans and widows, and, again, the bees were surprised. Up to that point, they had thought humans emerged from eggs, like bees, and came from a central queen. They supposed this complex society of theirs made sense in that regard…

“If we may ask, how can these rioters be greedy? It does not seem to us that they gain any benefit your workers would not, should they succeed. Your current state of affairs,” the bees gestured to their palatial surroundings “would seem to justify their cry for equality. The other lodgings we saw were not nearly as big, and held more sentients.”

"I ain't no followuh of the Christian Church. I ain't no Christian." he said, beginning his reply. "The cross is just the spike on mah pickel-hob helmet n' nothin' more; honestly, it's not even the one I normally wear, but rather, was given to me by a compatriot in my unit. The one I normally wear's got a spike instead."

"Mah powuh comes from the military, and from the refusal of mah commandin' offi-suhs to handle this situation. The Kings did nothin'. The Dukem Brothers, both four star generals and the leaduhs of the Army, did nothin'. TurtleShroom's been paralyzed since spring of 2015 AD, and I think a yee-uh's long enough to wait before retaliatin'! These riotuhs ain't repentant, and it's my job to make them repent and restore orduh to the streets!"

Unfortunately for him, the General had opened yet another can of worms. Another Church, not one espousing the views of Nonvisualism? They queried Smith and Bradford, to be explained a cult surrounding a worker descended from a Sky Queen, who had the powers of a keeper, and even rose from the dead.

It was an odd tail, and likely bordered on idolatry, but when questioned the two guides talked disparagingly of some human called “the Pope”.

Once they had been informed of this, they grew concerned at the recounting of the story. Overthrowing empresses was one thing, jettisoning the entire command structure was more dubious. Nonetheless, they passed no comment and continued to listen attentively.

"Sure, the Church don't like this, but ya'll think I give a flyin' Max Barry 'bout what the Church thinks? What has the Church done to stop the greed and the riotin'? NOTHING! Sure, they give to the poor, but what do they do besides handouts? NOTHING! Nothin', they've done NOTHING! They've always been ambivalent to capitalism; they're just glorified soup kitchens where ya dress up n' go to apologize for bein' sentient! All of those pompous talkers are dead ta' me!"

The bees were surprised by the vehemence in the aging turtle’s voice. He clearly did not like this Christian cult church, not that they didn’t disapprove. They politely nodded at the General’s protests.


"........there, there was a time when TurtleShroom was as one. For gosh sakes, harmony's in our anthem! Our nation has been harmonious and unified for centuries, AND THEY TOOK IT FROM US!!"

"THEY'VE TAKEN ALL THAT MATTERS! The government is corrupted, the citizens are at each other's throats... brothers fight brothers, factories lie idle, sloth and lazieness, idleness is gripping us... no one is workin' 'cause either they're riotin' or they're bein' prevented from workin'... the harmony, the unity, the kindness for your neighbuh... the love, the love itself is GONE. I... I can't even see my country anymore. This isn't TurtleShroom."

The bees were surprised by this sudden outburst. Thus began a lengthy discussion on corruption with their guides. And left them thoroughly aghast. Why would someone betray their system, their country, even, for the pursuit of something as intangible as power? Bees had few aspirations beyond those assigned to them, and this existence of the desire to commit criminal activity in the name of something as intangible as power seemed preposterous.

“Why is it that this corruption exists? What convinces your workers to betray their hives” translated as communities “and their nation? Would they not do so, if they were not given a reason to?”

As the Russian tortoise wept, the bees asked what the problem was. Emotion was rare, and sadness was a fleeting thought, given after death, before returning to their natural state of pacific happiness. They nonetheless bowed in sadness upon learning of the reason for the General’s outbreak of emotion, and quietly hummed the funeral rites of earlier while the Junta commander recovered.

”Son, your gift is greatly appreciated, but there ain't a ballot in the world that's gone end this. We don't want or need no money. Ya'll can keep that, or spend it at one of our amazin' tourist destinations, or save it for latuh, buy gold, I don't really care. Keep it as our thanks to ya'll. The Christians can only pray to their God for mercy on the country, and while they waste their time with that, I'm gone take care of this problem permanently."

The bees raised their antennae, pleased but not surprised. Generosity was a point of order for them, and they gracefully took their cash back in limb, buzzing upbeatly in response to the General’s watery smile.

“We would not be willing to underestimate the power of the workers, nor should you. If we may ask, what would your plans be, to resolve this issue?”

As an afterthought, they added, “We were considering, given your discussion of those groups, to visit leaders of these Marxists and the Christian Church, to understand more clearly and accurately the nature of your conflict. If it would not displease you nor them, we would like to retain our guides in our visits to those organizations.”

[TURTLESHROOM II]

“We would fully support such a decision. Artificial hierarchies based upon the individual” the word carried negative connotations in the apian language, to the point of being a swear word “are always bound to lead to stressed, insane rulers, whereas a robust system of many individuals shouldering the same common cause leads to quicker and better decisions.” Having harped their doctrine of common responsibility, the bees listened again.

The General nodded.

"TurtleShroom has always believed, so to speak, that two heads are bettuh than one. We've had more than one head of state fer cent'ries. I'm sadly breakin' tradition, but I had to do it. My country is dyin', and I put my country over mahself and over any customs I got."

“How is your citizenry permitted to go hungry and destitute? Especially when you have… this?” the bees gestured to the elegant room they were in. “Surely, if you can afford paradise, you can afford it for all others, too?”

The turtle sat with a poker face, realizing they seemed to think of the government's role differently.

"It ain't the gov'mint's job to provide that directly. That's the job of charity, and thankfully, the gov'mint is good at subsidizin' that. The one thing, the one thing, the Christian church does right is its devotion to charity. Most'a TurtleShroom's poor, but starvation's practically nonexistent thanks to the large farmin' community and the dedication of charity. The Christian Church runs almshouses, shelters, soup kitchens, free clinics, entire hospitals, schoolhouses... you name it, the Church gives it away. That's really the only thing they should be doin', honestly. I never liked their other beliefs."

After he talked about the economy fighting the government, General Long II paused. His military training made him very observant, and he immediately saw that the bees were confused.

"Ya'll are a command economy, ain't ya? ...well, I guess that makes sense, given that bees are collectivist, efficient, and sacrificial to the betterment of the colony." he nodded. "That's certainly one thing that'll earn ya'll respect in TurtleShroom. Your humility is your strength."

After explaining capitalist economic theory to a species biologically engineered for collectivism, the bees spoke again. They actually seemd to grasp what he was speaking. These were some smart bugs.

The bees listened in awe at this description of a divine honey-distributing limb (the apian language did not lend itself well to translation). It appeared to be more a concept than an actual thing, related to what was bought and what was not. The bees had never heard of the theory before, but understood it as far as they could, having come from a command economy.

“They have not? Have you proposed this to them?” they asked. It seemed odd that such an easy alternative would be ignored, in favor of demands that would be easier to execute, even if the bottom-up system of corporate management and this “stock market” were alien to them.

"That's the thing. Like I said, they're greedy. The simple fact is that not enough TurtleShroomers support overpriced and overpaid, greedy people who forsake their humanity for their personal gain. The Free Market is against them, so they do what any Marxist or dissident does when they cain't win the hearts n' minds of the people. They turn to the gov'mint to force it on the population that don't want it. If they opened their own businesses, they'd go out of business 'cause no one would support their ideology enough t' pay the highuh prices that their exorbitant labuh costs would incur."

“If we may ask, how can these rioters be greedy? It does not seem to us that they gain any benefit your workers would not, should they succeed. Your current state of affairs,” the bees gestured to their palatial surroundings “would seem to justify their cry for equality. The other lodgings we saw were not nearly as big, and held more sentients.”

General Long II glared.

"It's hard for me to justify this grandiose palace. It was built by the people for the leaduhs. I've heard what ya'll think 'bout em'prahs n' kings and the pompous displays of the Crown from the news when they covered yer debt problems. It's a cultural thing. This palace is centuries old and is for gov'mint functions. The Kings of TurtleShroom are supposed to be hee-yuh, not a soldier like me. Me? I'm more comfortable in the barracks with mah' comrades-in-arms or in mah shell than I am in a wide-open target like this one."

He paused.

"As for the private citizens havin' big mansions while them Orientals have dusty shanties, that's a matter of work ethic. If someone's able-bodied and can work for a livin', but choose not to work, they ain't gone get no big house. If they're poor and have kids or cannot work on their own, of course we should give 'em help, but the fact of the matter is that the able-bodied are entitled to nothin' they don't earn."

The tortoise nodded.

"Imagine if one of your fellow bees, who was physically and mentally fit to work, simply refused to work? Imagine if he demanded that charity take care of him when he has six legs and functionin' wings that ain't broken? Charity's for the downtrodden, those who can't help themselves, those who need help or are facing true dangers, like stah-vation, sickness, death."

He stretched his neck closer to the bees for emphasis. He spoke calmly, with a stoic and stern tone.

"Society is not to guarentee equality of outcome. It is to guarentee equality of oppurtunity. The gov'mint is supposed to make it so that everyone who is able to work can compete and raise themselves out of poverty. Upward mobility should be guarenteed, but no one who doesn't earn wealth deserves it. That's what most of TurtleShroom believes, and that's what I believe, but that ain't what them riotuhs believe."


"I ain't no followuh of the Christian Church. I ain't no Christian." he said, beginning his reply. "The cross is just the spike on mah pickel-hob helmet n' nothin' more; honestly, it's not even the one I normally wear, but rather, was given to me by a compatriot in my unit. The one I normally wear's got a spike instead."

"Mah powuh comes from the military, and from the refusal of mah commandin' offi-suhs to handle this situation. The Kings did nothin'. The Dukem Brothers, both four star generals and the leaduhs of the Army, did nothin'. TurtleShroom's been paralyzed since spring of 2015 AD, and I think a yee-uh's long enough to wait before retaliatin'! These riotuhs ain't repentant, and it's my job to make them repent and restore orduh to the streets!"

“Why is it that this corruption exists? What convinces your workers to betray their hives” translated as communities “and their nation? Would they not do so, if they were not given a reason to?”

"The Church says corruption exists 'cause of sin in people's souls, hate within them. I say it exists 'cause folks naturally want powuh and want their way, and if they can't get their way, they'll take it. Perhaps we're both right. I subscrive to the idea of a God, but it ain't no Christian God. Perhaps this God, maybe He too deals with fallen Creation?"

The tortoise sighed, recollecting his emotions from his sadness.

"They do have reasons. It's greed. They claim our nation's humility and focus on othuhs is keeping us a technological backwater because it stifles self-advancement and self-gratification, for it is the nature of capitalism that the worst vices of society are transformed into the greatest competition and betterment. They're right. They claim that the common worker's in a cycle under the truck system where they don't leave, even though they're guarenteed the right to quit at any time. They may be right. -but I see their demands to enrich themselves and lessen the sacrifice they make to their religion- if they have one -their country, their community, and their family, as tantamount to treason against the values of TurtleShroom. It's unbecoming of the meek and humble. It's unbecoming of the country. It's brought TurtleShroom to her knees, so to speak, and the country hangs in the balance.
I'm hee'yuh 'ta stop it, before it's too late."

“We would not be willing to underestimate the power of the workers, nor should you. If we may ask, what would your plans be, to resolve this issue?”

As an afterthought, they added, “We were considering, given your discussion of those groups, to visit leaders of these Marxists and the Christian Church, to understand more clearly and accurately the nature of your conflict. If it would not displease you nor them, we would like to retain our guides in our visits to those organizations.”

He thought that through for a moment.

"The Church officially condemns the Marxists, but they also condemn me 'cause I'm fixin' 'ta use force to stop them. They have clearly stated that anyone who is harmed, displaced, or otherwise deprived by my actions or the actions of anyone else will always have a home and a meal if they are down and out. Like I said, charity is the one thing I respect 'bout the Christian Church. They said if it leads 'ta bloodshed, they're gone care for every victim on both sides, as their God commanded them. I respect that and there ain't no one who will stop it, 'cause I'll personally discipline them if they try to stop them from administering to the enemy's fallen and to civilians."

The tortoise looked to the bees again.

"Dialog's broken down. Don't ya'll think we've tried dialog? The battle for the hearts n' minds of potential riotuhs has fallen on deaf ears. The Marxists consider the Church a means of keepin' the masses humble and thus enablers of what they fight, and the Church considers them lost souls and is only waitin' for them to be convicted of their sins n' turn to face their God's love. They're always naive and innocent, as they are commanded to be, and that's why I'm doing what they won't."

General Long II shook his head, moving his neck side to side.

"I do not regret what I have to do. If there was any other way, I wouldn't have put this burden upon me. TurtleShroom is in shambles and I am the one 'ta stop it before we never recover from these riots."

[Apiatica]

The turtle sat with a poker face, realizing they seemed to think of the government's role differently.

"It ain't the gov'mint's job to provide that directly. That's the job of charity, and thankfully, the gov'mint is good at subsidizin' that. The one thing, the one thing, the Christian church does right is its devotion to charity. Most'a TurtleShroom's poor, but starvation's practically nonexistent thanks to the large farmin' community and the dedication of charity. The Christian Church runs almshouses, shelters, soup kitchens, free clinics, entire hospitals, schoolhouses... you name it, the Church gives it away. That's really the only thing they should be doin', honestly. I never liked their other beliefs."

The bees muttered with each other, then nodded. While odd, it seemed like the TurtleShroomers had addressed the needs of their citizens. They sat in expressionless silence as the General continued to speak.

"Ya'll are a command economy, ain't ya? ...well, I guess that makes sense, given that bees are collectivist, efficient, and sacrificial to the betterment of the colony." he nodded. "That's certainly one thing that'll earn ya'll respect in TurtleShroom. Your humility is your strength."

The bees bowed before the praise. "We wish for no more than the better progress of our species," said 3, quietly, before the envoys brought their heads back up.

"That's the thing. Like I said, they're greedy. The simple fact is that not enough TurtleShroomers support overpriced and overpaid, greedy people who forsake their humanity for their personal gain. The Free Market is against them, so they do what any Marxist or dissident does when they cain't win the hearts n' minds of the people. They turn to the gov'mint to force it on the population that don't want it. If they opened their own businesses, they'd go out of business 'cause no one would support their ideology enough t' pay the highuh prices that their exorbitant labuh costs would incur."

"So, returning to your previous metaphor," queried 3, "the Invisible Hand does not bring honey to them, and they wish to force the hand into doing so, depriving others of the same honey?"

"It's hard for me to justify this grandiose palace. It was built by the people for the leaduhs. I've heard what ya'll think 'bout em'prahs n' kings and the pompous displays of the Crown from the news when they covered yer debt problems. It's a cultural thing. This palace is centuries old and is for gov'mint functions. The Kings of TurtleShroom are supposed to be hee-yuh, not a soldier like me. Me? I'm more comfortable in the barracks with mah' comrades-in-arms or in mah shell than I am in a wide-open target like this one."

The bees buzzed in agreement to the General's preference of accommodations. It is just like Imperiopolis, then they said among themselves, referring to the national capital, which housed the bulk of the civil service.

"As for the private citizens havin' big mansions while them Orientals have dusty shanties, that's a matter of work ethic. If someone's able-bodied and can work for a livin', but choose not to work, they ain't gone get no big house. If they're poor and have kids or cannot work on their own, of course we should give 'em help, but the fact of the matter is that the able-bodied are entitled to nothin' they don't earn."

"Imagine if one of your fellow bees, who was physically and mentally fit to work, simply refused to work? Imagine if he demanded that charity take care of him when he has six legs and functionin' wings that ain't broken? Charity's for the downtrodden, those who can't help themselves, those who need help or are facing true dangers, like stah-vation, sickness, death."

The bees stared at each other in surprise. Sentients who refused to work? Insisted upon being cared for as if they were pupae? "We would not tolerate it, why, we imagine that their death would be in short order, lest they spread such ideas throughout the colony." The bees darkly buzzed in somber agreement; the idea of laziness was a discomforting one to say the least.

"Society is not to guarentee equality of outcome. It is to guarentee equality of oppurtunity. The gov'mint is supposed to make it so that everyone who is able to work can compete and raise themselves out of poverty. Upward mobility should be guarenteed, but no one who doesn't earn wealth deserves it. That's what most of TurtleShroom believes, and that's what I believe, but that ain't what them riotuhs believe."

The bees again discussed this idea among themselves, then directed a question to the General. They were buzzing nervously, as Long had made a point of emphasizing the statement with a peculiar length of skin their guides called a "neck".

"So... every sentient achieves a position in life based upon their own merit? Like an exam?" This the bees could comprehend. Civil service exams largely determined the place of each bee in both hive and imperial society, though the positions were usually set and social mobility nonexistent afterwards.

The bees remained silent after the General's sudden outburst, as it seemed clear that, for some reason, no leader in the country had been willing to do anything. They nodded in agreement for the General's initiative, a rare trait among bees.

"The Church says corruption exists 'cause of sin in people's souls, hate within them. I say it exists 'cause folks naturally want powuh and want their way, and if they can't get their way, they'll take it. Perhaps we're both right. I subscrive to the idea of a God, but it ain't no Christian God. Perhaps this God, maybe He too deals with fallen Creation?"

Having never heard of original sin, the bees stared, puzzled. How could one be bad immediately? Corrupt by default? "We are afraid we do not comprehend how one can be corrupt by nature. Perhaps you could provide another metaphor, like the one about the Invisible Hand?" suggest 3 helpfully, mind still reeling from yet another fresh concept she had never seen before.

"They do have reasons. It's greed. They claim our nation's humility and focus on othuhs is keeping us a technological backwater because it stifles self-advancement and self-gratification, for it is the nature of capitalism that the worst vices of society are transformed into the greatest competition and betterment. They're right. They claim that the common worker's in a cycle under the truck system where they don't leave, even though they're guarenteed the right to quit at any time. They may be right. -but I see their demands to enrich themselves and lessen the sacrifice they make to their religion- if they have one -their country, their community, and their family, as tantamount to treason against the values of TurtleShroom. It's unbecoming of the meek and humble. It's unbecoming of the country. It's brought TurtleShroom to her knees, so to speak, and the country hangs in the balance.
I'm hee'yuh 'ta stop it, before it's too late."

The bees were, again, confused. "What is this greed you speak of? Is it like sin?" The bees, until now, had imagined the Invisible Hand similar to the hive mind, ensuring each sentient received what was necessary to survive in return for their services to society, and nothing else. This suggestion of yet another unknown had them again struggling to comprehend this fantastical yet seemingly flawed paradise they were now in.

"The Church officially condemns the Marxists, but they also condemn me 'cause I'm fixin' 'ta use force to stop them. They have clearly stated that anyone who is harmed, displaced, or otherwise deprived by my actions or the actions of anyone else will always have a home and a meal if they are down and out. Like I said, charity is the one thing I respect 'bout the Christian Church. They said if it leads 'ta bloodshed, they're gone care for every victim on both sides, as their God commanded them. I respect that and there ain't no one who will stop it, 'cause I'll personally discipline them if they try to stop them from administering to the enemy's fallen and to civilians."

"Dialog's broken down. Don't ya'll think we've tried dialog? The battle for the hearts n' minds of potential riotuhs has fallen on deaf ears. The Marxists consider the Church a means of keepin' the masses humble and thus enablers of what they fight, and the Church considers them lost souls and is only waitin' for them to be convicted of their sins n' turn to face their God's love. They're always naive and innocent, as they are commanded to be, and that's why I'm doing what they won't."

"I do not regret what I have to do. If there was any other way, I wouldn't have put this burden upon me. TurtleShroom is in shambles and I am the one 'ta stop it before we never recover from these riots."

The bees bowed humbly. "No leaders except the insane enjoy death and suffering," they said, wincing at the memory of when Empress 22 had massacred the Senate. Urban legend had it that she had laughed at the affair and thrown a ball the morning after.

"We are in our own war, fighting our own enemies, but we promise that our nation will come to your aid, should you request any. You are thanked for your services, and we will ourselves to them." They again bowed, waiting for the General's concluding remarks.

[TURTLESHROOM II]

"So, returning to your previous metaphor," queried 3, "the Invisible Hand does not bring honey to them, and they wish to force the hand into doing so, depriving others of the same honey?"

"That's essentially it, honestly. The Invisible Hand rewards what the majority of consumuhs want. If ya'll offer a bettuh business and highugh quality at a good price, you can entice people to buy there. They want t' intervene in the natural processes of the Free Market to receive benefits the Market ain't willin' to bare."

The bees stared at each other in surprise. Sentients who refused to work? Insisted upon being cared for as if they were pupae? "We would not tolerate it, why, we imagine that their death would be in short order, lest they spread such ideas throughout the colony." The bees darkly buzzed in somber agreement; the idea of laziness was a discomforting one to say the least.

"Yes, and I mean, they claim they's just gettin' what's fair, their fair share, so they tell themselves they ain't lazy."

"So... every sentient achieves a position in life based upon their own merit? Like an exam?" This the bees could comprehend. Civil service exams largely determined the place of each bee in both hive and imperial society, though the positions were usually set and social mobility nonexistent afterwards.

The General smiled.

"Yes. Life can be an exam. That's a good way of puttin' it. Of course, those that 'fail' because of somethin' they cannot help, like a disease or many kids, or can't find a home, these people need help 'cause they didn't 'fail' on their merits. Those with kids need help carin' for them because the kids didn't 'fail' the exam, so the're innocent and deserve charity. So do the orphans, the widuhs, n' so on, 'cause they were put into the situation by somethin' they cain't help. -but those who are childless, able-bodied, and able to work, but won't... those that can work, who don't work, neither shall they eat."

The bees remained silent after the General's sudden outburst, as it seemed clear that, for some reason, no leader in the country had been willing to do anything. They nodded in agreement for the General's initiative, a rare trait among bees.

Having never heard of original sin, the bees stared, puzzled. How could one be bad immediately? Corrupt by default? "We are afraid we do not comprehend how one can be corrupt by nature. Perhaps you could provide another metaphor, like the one about the Invisible Hand?" suggest 3 helpfully, mind still reeling from yet another fresh concept she had never seen before.

The two guides spoke up.

"The Christian viewpoint stems from a far older religion called Judaism. It's a Bronze Age religion the has cyclical patterns of good and bad: when the Jews, the people God chose above all others to keep His Law, turned from him, they were punished and scattered, but when they repented, God would forgive them and restore them to their one true home. This began with the first humans, be they evolved or just spawned by God's power, there's a debate on that, who defied God. The nature of man is to do bad. I don't know about how bees work, but only through sincere and great effort can a human not sin, and they can only be forgiven by God if they turn to Him and repent of their sins."

They paused, clearly understanding the bees needed more information.

"I'll tell ya'll what," Bradford said. "When this discussion is done, we'll talk about this more in private."

The bees bowed humbly.

"No leaders except the insane enjoy death and suffering," they said, wincing at the memory of when Empress 22 had massacred the Senate. Urban legend had it that she had laughed at the affair and thrown a ball the morning after.

"We are in our own war, fighting our own enemies, but we promise that our nation will come to your aid, should you request any. You are thanked for your services, and we will ourselves to them." They again bowed, waiting for the General's concluding remarks.

"We don't need no aid," the General said, sadly. "This is a TurtleShroomer affair and I'll bare anything that happens. The deaths in this war... I'll put the name of every loyal TurtleShroomer that died under mah command in a sapphire-encrusted box, which I'll keep with me forevuh. I know what's gone happen. I may start a civil war, or I may prevent one, but whatever happens, TurtleShroom will overcome one day."

He sighed.

"It was a honor to speak to you. I hope that, when TurtleShroom comes out of this, our two nations can prospuh. Thank ya'll for comin', and have a glorious day."

-and with that, they parted ways.

[Apiatica]

The bees listened in quiet to the General's discussion with interest. In the context of the Divine Honey-Distributing Limb, the turtle's protests over the injustice of the protesters seemed more than just and accurate. They could not, however, for the life of them, understand how one could rationalize such a distorted worldview. The discussion of exams entered much more concrete territory, though, without the family, translating the references to orphans and widows was hopeless. In the end, they assumed there were poets and artists, similar to the drones in their own hives, and nodded solemnly at the conclusion that all those capable should work. They did, however, get the odd feeling a reference had passed them by.

The bees were much more aghast at this Christianity. There appeared, to begin, to be a single Keeper, who apparently did everything. Not only that, but that Keeper appeared to punish a certain people from a distant era unheard of to them, for breaking their Law. The bees had a Holy Book, of course, but no one said it had been given to them by the Keepers. Feeling compelled to talk, the bees were about to voice their concerns, but fell silent when their guides told them it would be best to discuss the issue at a later time.

Having listened throughout, the bees nodded at Long's concluding remarks. "Your confidence is infectious, and your surety on all the present topics discussed presents us with an official of proper heart and competence, we thank you for providing us this audience, and wish you and those loyal to you a proper victory over your enemies. May the Keepers bless us all and ensure you a glorious reign." The last referred to the apian belief that sentients, particularly humans, reincarnated as queens, cycling through, before finally ascending to paradise.

With that, the delegates bowed deeply, buzzed out prayers of goodwill and fortune, before asking their guides to escort them from the paradise within which the TurtleShroomian Government was housed.

---

Once outside, heading back to the limousine, the bees asked, "Would now be a proper time to discuss this religion you spoke of earlier? If so, are their places of worship where we could seek the counsel of priestesses in understanding it?"

[TURTLESHROOM II]

THE TWENTY FIFTH FRIDAY OF MARCH, IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD TWO THOUSAND SIXTEEN
GOOD FRIDAY
4:00 AM

Even as Jesus was being adored by those who hung on his every word,
There were others in Jerusalem in secret councils, behind closed doors, who had a very different response to Him.
The religious leaders of that day saw Him as a threat to their power.
They were on the lookout for an oppurtune moment to seize Him, have Him wrongly accused, and put Him to death.
They found their chance one night in the solitude of the Garden where Jesus was going to pray.
That night, they made their move.

-Easter Cantada

The cellar was lit by the dim flames of the lanterns of the Jacobins. The naked bulbs of the cellar lights had been subdued to avoid any possible detection. Men, turtles, and mushrooms, surrounded by a cache of weapons, communicated in exasparation.

An unusually slender, smaller human, draped in a long, scarlet cloak, with a black armband, sat at a round table. Many other creatures were seated with him, also with black bands and scarlet robes. Still others were standing by the walls, holding lanterns and listening intently.

"The bourgouise are closing in, and fast." a mushroom began, in a harsh whisper. The lead human nodded under his hood.

"If we're gone get this done, we 'gotta do it now. Are the troops in place?" a white human responded, as the lead human again nodded in silence.

"Yep. They's in place." said another human. A turtle near him nodded and looked to the lead human. "They're all ready."

The lead human responded in a light voice.

"Then we attack at dawn."

[TURTLESHROOM II]

THE TWENTY FIFTH FRIDAY OF MARCH, IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD TWO THOUSAND SIXTEEN
GOOD FRIDAY
7:31 AM

The sun was rising in an orange fury as TurtleShroom awoke to another day of unease. Holy Week is the most sacred time of the year in TurtleShroom, and tradiitonally, everyone was given the day off on Holy Week's last four days. Some churches of various denominations held services, but most TurtleShroomers stayed home. The rioters were also mostly at him this weekend, either to worship or to avoid bad PR, but they kept their ear to the ground and walkie-talkies in hand in case the military made its move against them.

Of course, no one expected a Christian nation's government to attack during Holy Week.







-but One Star General, Bubba Bubbavich Long II, was not a Christian.

[TURTLESHROOM II]

MARCH 25TH, 2016 AD
GOOD FRIDAY
7:54 AM

It was a blustery day in most of north and central TurtleShroom. Jonesboro remained under Martial Law and most TurtleShroomers remained on standby, be it to retreat to their shelters and cellars, or to hit the streets. The leaders of the Jacobins gathered their cache of weapons and stood in rainforests outside of Jonesboro. They radioed some of their allies in other cities and coordinated their efforts. After over a year of planning, the Jacobins were prepared to make their move.

It started in Jonesboro with a sudden swarm of Jacobins and their goons amongst the general protesting populace. Factories, empty becuase of the holy day and the riots, had their doors torn off by chains tied to busses (gifts from protestors in the bus services) and were occupied. Arms manufacturing factories were stripped of their guns and parts. Any guards or other presence were shot, the first direct casualties of the Riots.

Before the police could even react to the shock of a Good Friday attack and the coordination of the Jacobins, word got out that stores and farms, in and around the shanties outside of Jonesboro, and in the jungles, were being plundered of their supplies as the residents with arms found themselves unable to compete with the Jacobins, who had come prepared, with armor and superior firepower.

In response, the police and military mobilized and drove everyone indoors.

[TURTLESHROOM II]

MARCH 25TH, 2016 AD
GOOD FRIDAY
9:30 AM[/b]

"THEY WHAT?!"

General Long received word at that morning's Junta meeting, with his four fellow Junta committeemen. He did not take it well.

"So you didn't see it comin'?" General Long continued, audibly angered. "You didn't see it comin'? You didn't see it comin'?! DID ANYBODY SEE IT COMING?!"

"Nobody involved in the Junta's system foresaw, the dramatic and rapid appreciation of the threat." replied Bloo Gates, the incumbant Governor-General of the Border Patrol. He was a sky-blue mushroom.

General Long was visibly ticked off.

"No one?"

"Commanders..." Bloo Gates replied with a sigh, as he listed off the people he contacted that morning.

"Nobody?"

"Police agencies..."

"Anybody?"

"Espionage..."

"SOMEBODY?"

"The people... the Church, the Militia, the Junta..."

"SO YOU DIDN'T SEE IT COMIN' AT ALL?!"

Chief "Nookular" researcher and civilian, Freddy Rubin, wiped the sweat off of his greasy, acne-caked face and tossed the bangs of his black hair out of his field of view. He had to quickly jump in before General Long chewed out poor Governor-General Gates.

He gestured to a corkboard on the wall that was bedecked with pictures, with yarn plotting the links between the Jacobin attacks, its suspects, and the warning signs. The Junta committeemen had been working on it all morning, even before General Long came in.

"General, when you look back-" he stuttered a bit in his nervousness, "when you look back, you always look back, you look back... you say, well, these were the warning signs. When you look back, you always look back, you look back, and say, well, these were the warning signs."

"Freddy, why are you repeatin' youself?" General Long interjected.

Freddy snapped back from his wandering off and continued.

"It was not obvious at the time. It was only obvious in hindsight. It was not obvious at the time. It was on-"

"STOP REPEATIN' YA-SELF FREDDY!"

The General lowered his head on the table in exasparation at these proceedings. He tried to divert back to the point of the discussion.

"So no one ever could'a seen this comin' at all?"

One Star General Osha Watt, the Militaristic Space Program Captain, spoke up.

"Wellllllllllll, ya know, I'm not so sure, about that..."

" " -no words were needed to express General Long's frustration.

[TURTLESHROOM II]

MARCH 25TH, 2016 AD
GOOD FRIDAY
10:00 AM[/b]

General Long had calmed down after his outburst.

"We're 'outta options." the tortoise said in a low voice.

"They didn't listen to my ultimatum. They attacked on a national holiday. I was right this whole time 'bout them. They live by greed."

General Long paused for effect.

"Now they shall die by the sword. All in favor of beginnin' the plans I laid out, speak now..."

---

The sirens rang out immediately afterwards as armored vehicles spilled out onto the streets all over Jonesboro. Artillery Mushrooms canvassed the area looking for anyone outside. Volunteer militiamen lined up at designated mustering areas for use if need be.

It was quiet for a while, and then...


It began with a Rebel Yell.


From each neighborhood, throngs of creatures rushed out shouting, with guns, crude weapons, makeshift bombs, and Molotov Cocktails. Within minutes, they swarmed the unsuspecting creatures, and both sides promptly filled each other with lead. Rioters began clawing at the pavement and striking it with tools.

The tanks were called out to put order back on the streets, but busses and construction equipment owned by local sympathizers were rolled out to block the advance of the tanks out of their garrisons. The heavy Tsao-class "Emperor" Tanks were outside the city to avoid buckling pavement, so they had to move slowly to surround the city while the TS native "box" light tanks scooted into the city and began attempting to crush the rioters.

Within minutes, neighborhoods throught Jonesboro were going up in flames. Firemen quickly dispatched to take out the flames before they became out of control. The rioters, though, didn't stop. Owners of historical buildings, landmarks, and churches quickly called in private firms to aid in protecting their buildings from fire and damage.

All over the country's cities, word came of similar situations, as dogmatic rioters suddenly jumped out, having prepared for General Long to deliver on his promises since December of last year.

Streams of compliant citizens marched out of the cities and headed into the countryside with their belongings. They were anxious to see if the military, the police, and the Militia could curb this sudden attack. If they couldn't, well, there's a reason the right to keep and bare arms exists.


Radio and television newscasts covered the violence in details. It seemed that God had rejected the prayers of TurtleShroom.

Well, Good Friday was already bloody, anyway.....

[New Edom]

THE FINEBERG TIMES

March 13, 2016

---

---

Labour Relations Act

by Annabelle Barca

FINEBERG, New Edom-- The Labour Relations Act
The government of King Elijah IV and Queen Mara I has received a proposal from the Chamber of Deputies that it should accept certain measures on labour relations proposed by the governments of the Free Congress and the Pahath-Moab governments. The proposed compromises will it is believed establish a lasting legacy of good labour relations between the government, businesses and the labour force.

The regulations posed include:
• Unions guarantee access to financial resources and support through the Dalzeel Formula which requires all workers under a union to pay union dues in exchange for a collective bargaining unit.
• Unions are now legally recognized by national law as a legal means of negotiating work terms and conditions with employers.
• Workers have the right to share in gains of increased productivity via higher wages and benefits.
• Encourages a virtuous cycle of production and consumption to produce economic growth based on Keynesian policies.
• Creates a grievance procedure that place strict limits on management's ability to treat a worker in an arbitrary manner.

signatories
- Count Thomas Lalery, Minister of Finance
- Count Emile Sharra, Minister of the Interior
- Dr. Christina Delmar, Chair, Christian Social Demoratic Party
- Lucius Glaber, Intellectual Party of New Edom
- Dr. Marius Campion, National Wisdom Party
- Sarah Carmel, Free Congress Party

There have been some criticism of this policy. Apparently not all political party members, private citizens and some officials have raised some concerns.

• Grievance procedures will shift power away from unions and collective workers to lawyers and arbitrators.
• Unions will become bureaucratic and less political.
• Workers unions have agreed to Fordist/Taylorist working conditions and were expected to participate in increasing productivity.
• Unions will have shifted focus away from mobilizing and educating their workforce about political affairs and began focusing on policing the workers and acting as a middle-man between workers and employers.
• Union members will become highly separated from the union representatives.
• Attempts to create and maintain a distinctive working class culture will be largely abandoned.
• Wildcat and sympathy strikes will be made illegal, and unionized workers had to follow an orderly fashion to engage in striking which meant no striking during periods of collective bargaining.

The New Edomite Trade Adviser in TurtleShroom, Ezra Obadias, has said that "This may be the magic bullet for TurtleShroom. Or magic pill. Well I'm not a literary man or a marketing man, but anyway I highly recommend it and so does my son."

---

- Malaria Crisis in Teman Averted
- Heir visits Akai
- Trade Talks with Umbreria Fizzle
- Frigate Attacked by Pirates in Sanguano

[New Edom]

Fineberg, New Edom

The arrival of a delegation from Turtlreshroom was going to be treated with some respect and friendliness, although there had been some complaints. Deputy Sarah Carmel had pointed out that TurtleShroomers were notorious bigots about edenism and tended to freak out about it. "I'm not going a bloody thing to change anything, and if they drive through Edenist friendly neighborhoods they can just avert their silly eyes," the Free Congress leader said.

Others were irritated that the foreign nationals seemed to not understand the morality Act issues. "Soft on homosexuality indeed, what do they want us to do? Shoot them outright?" grumbled Lucius Glaber, one of the famous Glaber brothers who led the Intellectual Party.

In order to avoid having dignitaries stumble through the airport itself, the plane that brought the foreign delegation in was brought right to a tarmac and steps brought up for them and a ramp as art of the steps--since it was presumed that any turtles would prefer to creep down a ramp rather than awkwardly crawl down steps

A crisply dressed Navy Band, all in white full dress (which for New Edomites meant a billed cap, a striped vest visible under the white jacket for enlisted, double breasted jackets with billed kepis for officers) played the TurtleShroom National Athem, and they were formally greeted by a group of dignitaries including:
Count Samuel Beroth, the President of the Council of Ministers, a white haired gentleman in his early eighties with an erect posture thoughts low movements, wearing a three piece suit with a purple sash and a medallion with an enamled white and gold cross, using a rosewood gold headed cane.
Dr. Paul Aphek, the Foreign Minister, a greying haired man with distinguished olive tanned features wearing a white three piece suit with a blue silk tie.
Mr. Peter Misabel, the Deputy Minister of Justice, a tall thin gloomy faced balding man.
The Ethnarch (mayor) of Fineberg
Miss Elizabeth Corbulo, a pear shaped woman with a raven Dutch Boy haircut and friendly pixie face wearing a whie and blue sundress and sandals--the Senior Undersecretary of Foreign Affairs.

Upon arrival, after the anthem, Count Beroth said in a rich speaking voice, "Welcome to the Allied States of New Edom. It has been some time since there has been a formal visit from your people's leadership. We hope that your stay will be enjoyable. On behalf of Their Majesties, King Elijah IV and Queen Mara I, you are welcomed. Arrangements have been made for your delegation to stay at Betharan Palace. You will have opportunity to meet Their Majesties, as well as a delegation from the Chamber of Deputies and a delegation from our judiciary."

He proceeded to introduce himself and his companions. If the TurtleShroomers were ready, they could be guided to the waiting convoy of cars and taken into the heart of the city. The cars were air conditioned but it was a pleasant fair day of no more than 22 celsius.

Since the last civil war had ended, a lot of rebuilding had been done, including rebuilding the Olympic Stadium and improving a lot of the roads. Generally most Edomites seemed to be cycling, walking, taking buses, riding mopeds or small three wheeled taxis; few people had private cars and so they stood out. Edenism was clearly still popular, as it was normal to see half dressed or entirely naked people, some in groups, some as unselfconscious individuals who stood out in other groups. There was also a minimum of advertisement. While there were naked people out and about pushing prams, buying newspapers, repairing roads or sweeping streets, buying fruit at markets, there was no lewd behaviour. Advertisements in New Edom were never sexy. For instance an ad for "Ikram Quality Cigarettes" simply showed an array of cigarettes in a silver case with the words THAT SOOTHING TASTE YOU CAN COUNT ON.

Most shopping in New Edom looked to be done in marekts or in smalls hops, but there was a mall--the Forum Idumeum--there were two movie cineplexes, and there were many churches, mostly round and dome topped ones. The Judgmaster would be in a car with Count Beroth and Doctor Aphek with one other TS companion if one was there.

[TURTLESHROOM II]

This event was to be a diplomatic exchange of ideas that were gripping each of the countries.

On the TurtleShroomer's side, New Edom, a major source of tourists and a trading partner and conniesuer of TS agricultural goods like spices, tea, coffee, and rice, was asking for TurtleShroomer input on their Morality Act and their varying bans of homosexuality and the uproar caused by "loving", "tolerant", LGBT bigots that killed dozens of innocents in terrorist attacks.

On the other side, New Edom had prepared to discuss the labor relations of TurtleShroom and the current ongoing conflict that was fast nearing a civil war.


Four humans and a turtle were invited, and they arrived in procession.

The first was Judgemaster Zodak Law. Zodak was one of TurtleShroomer's brightest and wisest legal minds. A well-learned scholar, he was famous for his perfectly calm temperment and his level-headed, slow to anger personality.
[spoiler=OOC description of the Judgemaster's appearence]

His High Honor, Zodak Law, was the Judgemaster of TurtleShroom, and he had been for over fourty years. Appointed in 1971 to head the Supreme General Court and Congress, he was always considered totally neutral with few exceptions and revered as a centrist politician that never jumped into the fray. (Bias did show in his opinions on the Haizite Sad Days' War, but everyone slips now and then.)
Jurists and scholars overwhelmingly approved of how he carried his branch-spanning job, and indeed, he was considered the model for his office.

He had served for so long that most people never addressed him by name. Most simply called him "Judgemaster". He and the office were one, and those who paid attention to the upper judiciaries had trouble imagining his sobering, level-headed demeanor against the often fiery (and duly elected by the people) colleagues on both the Supreme Court and the Congress.

He was in his sixties now, having grown from a short, plucky young adult to a wisened statesman. As was required of him, Zadok was always wearing his black robe, trimmed in gold at the bottom seams and the sleeves, with its white sash draped over him from his left shoulder to his right hip. An ornate, multi-jewelled, golden pectoral cross hung just below his chest on a heavy, equally golden chain. The cross dated to the 1850s and was considered a very special relic to the judiciary, although Judgemasters throughout the years compared it to wearing a cow around their neck.

In appearence, Zadok was less absurd and more wisened than many of his people. He was shorter than many, at seven foot two, and he had long since become bald, with a silver horseshoe of hair encircling his scalp. His ears were bigger than most TurtleShroomers, and this was a routine joke in political cartoons. He had a center-aligned buck tooth, but it wasn't nearly as bad as many of his people, barely jutting out of his lip. Zadok had long learned that, in international summits, sucking in his lip and obscuring that tooth was very efficient at increasing the respect other world powers saw him as.

He was famously broad-shouldered (think Dick Cheney), but also very scrawny, as was customary of his people. His crimson red eyes were obscured by yhick, heavy, and black coke-bottle glasses, without which he was completely blind. The outer edges of the glesses and the temple pieces were embroidered with a fine line of gold, and they rested on his small, pointed nose. He had a curly, handlebar mustache.
Since must every TurtleShroomer needed such extreme spectacles, it was no real difference.

[/spoiler]

Next was Cardinal Jason Icfella. At the age of twenty two, the Cardinal had now served in his position for five years. He was six feet even and wore the stardard Catholic vestments for his rank, varied only in a yellow zuccetto, a green and brown stole, and a large, ornate cross necklace that put rappers to shame. Cardinal Icfella had long, dark brown hair (particularly his bangs) that, when alone and when off the clock, he usually let cover his left eye, as was the style for TS youth. In the presence of others and when conducting Church business, he tucked his bangs behind his left ear, because he, like all TurtleShroomers, took looking in the eyes of others seriously. The Cardinal was a pale, white man with the usual TS red eyes. His teeth were crooked, but clean, but he had no problems with buck teeth.
Cardinal Icfella received his high office for his zeal for the faith, his deep understanding of Scripture, and his reform-minded, spiritual orientation of Catholicism. Due to his youth, he was jokingly referred to as "Cardinal-Nephew". He was easily excited and happy-go-lucky, always seeing the good in things. He was also a klutz.

Lastly was the (Acting) Barrister Sober, Sakamoto Atshushi. With the February death of the previous occupant, a mushroom, Sakamoto received the position due to his brilliant understanding of and adaptation to TurtleShroomer law. The position of Barrister Sober is actually elected, but the crisis in TS demanded an appointment until an election could be scheduled.
He was the son of immigrants, arriving in TurtleShroom in 2011 AD. Having been placed in law school by the Greater Imperial Japanese Dystopian government from an early age, he graduated shortly before his family escaped the collapsing nation and entered TS.
Sakamoto converted to Christianity in 2012 AD and used his previous expertise in laws concerning banning and cracking down on things undesirable to the regime to benefit TS. Having grown up used to strongmen and merciless dictators, Sakamoto was aggressive in all matters concerning his office, advocating for stiff penalties and even capital punishment for most drug dealers. He was a zealous soldier of the Prohibition and a foremost scholar in both Eastern and Western morality and thought. He was also known for not tolerating lazieness or entitlement of any kind, and was one of General Long II's most zealous supporters.
Sakamoto, as his name suggests, was ethnic Japanese Dystopian, hailing from the conquered GEIJD-Chinese coast. He was fairly dark-skinned, with narrow, slanted eyes and a thick head of black hair, which he preferred to style similarly to Ronald Reagan. Standing about five foot eight, he was the shortest of the group. He had somewhat large ears and a long nose, and spoke with an extremely thick GEIJD accent. He was fluent in Cantonese, Japanese, Manchurian-Chinese, and, of course, English.
As was expected of his office, Sakamoto wore the ancient robes of the Barrister Sober, which predated TurtleShroom as a nation and was directly influenced by Imperial Russia.

A female pancake tortoise named Sue Poler crawled out with a six foot flagpole fastened on his her. She was the standard-bearer for the delegation. On the flagpole was the national flag of TurtleShroom, with the Junta flag underneath it.


The TurtleShroomers stepped off the boat and approached their greeting party. In unison, each human bowed before raising back up and extending a firm handshake, while the turtle lowered her neck in respect.

"Hello." the Judgemaster began, smiling to the delegation. "It is a honor to be on the soil of such a noble realm as New Edom. We have been briefed on the nudity problem in your country and will, in respect of your people and customs, not comment on it at any time henceforth. We can always look away, and will gladly do so in respect of your way of life."

The others nodded.

"We hope that you will benefit from our advice and testimonials. We have prayed for your nation consistently." Zodak concluded.

Sakamoto spoke up in his severe accent.

"Homos sure are loving and tolerant, yes?" he chuckled a bit before turning serious. "We cannot express our sympathies and condolences to innocents suffered in your nation. We hope, we pray, that you will pull through it. Is not your motto 'cannot break a bundle of sticks'? The hands of Devil are grasping tightly on sticks, but he cannot break so long as New Edom stays determined. You must crush these terror ingrates under the jackboots of your glorious people's army, or at least their policemen."

Cardinal Icfella was the last to speak.

"Thank you for having us. Peace be upon your nation, blessings to you. Ladies and gentlemen, we are ready to travel to where you seek to take us."

[New Edom]

Fineberg, New Edom

Seeing the flag bearing turtle, Elizabeth Corbulo whispered to Peter Misabel under her breath so no one could hear before the TurtleShroomers got close, "Ooh...I love turtles..."

"Shut up..." he muttered, mouth twitching.

The TurtleShroomers stepped off the boat and approached their greeting party. In unison, each human bowed before raising back up and extending a firm handshake, while the turtle lowered her neck in respect.

"Hello." the Judgemaster began, smiling to the delegation. "It is a honor to be on the soil of such a noble realm as New Edom. We have been briefed on the nudity problem in your country and will, in respect of your people and customs, not comment on it at any time henceforth. We can always look away, and will gladly do so in respect of your way of life."

The others nodded.


The New Edomites bowed and shook hands, both greeting customs satisfied.

"No no, " chuckled old Count Beroth, "There's no nudity problem, merely a disagreement about strict interpretation of scripture. After all, if our relationship with God is restored through the blood of Christ and His resurrection, then surely Edenism makes sense. But we do not require all people to practice it. Some can be overzealous on both sides. And Edenists believe that what is made in God's image cannot be sinful--merely what you do with it. But I'm glad we can recognize one another's customs."
"We hope that you will benefit from our advice and testimonials. We have prayed for your nation consistently." Zodak concluded.

Sakamoto spoke up in his severe accent.

"Homos sure are loving and tolerant, yes?" he chuckled a bit before turning serious. "We cannot express our sympathies and condolences to innocents suffered in your nation. We hope, we pray, that you will pull through it. Is not your motto 'cannot break a bundle of sticks'? The hands of Devil are grasping tightly on sticks, but he cannot break so long as New Edom stays determined. You must crush these terror ingrates under the jackboots of your glorious people's army, or at least their policemen."

"Well, being a homosexual is not the issue; we're all sinners," said Peter Misabel with a smile that transformed his gloomy face into a friendly one. "It's the practice. You can feel all the impulses you want, but we must control our impulses or we are no better than unthinking creatures. And the practices, while sinful and illegal, are not so bad as the terrorism. But that's what we'll all figure out. And,' he smiled more, "We don't wear jackboots!" he laughed and beckoned to the car.

TurtleShroomers were odd but friendly people in the sight of many Edomites. They had quaint weird money and quaint weird customs, and they were often odd beanpoles who were homely and funny looking and talked funny, but they were often the charming geeky people in television shows. If you wanted an eccentric clerk, an emigre TurtleShroomer was a go to trope. One popular character was Reuben High, often depicted as the new guy, particularly in a show called "Fighting 4th" about a fiction company of Marine Infantry. His funny drawl and goofy cluelessness had him a very popular character. Kids would repeat his "Aw shucks" and "Well by gum!" with glee.

However in spite of stereotypes, they weren't considered stupid by people who knew them, just...odd and insular.

"We have some issues with these laws, because people are worried about what extremes we will go to, but also the Intellectual Party wants to secularize the laws," explained Peter Misabel in the car along the way. "I know in some countries it may look like 57% of the vote means a clear victory, but not here. It just means a weight of opinion, becuase we still need a coalition to work. The Chamber also doesn't control policy, it erely makes laws and budgets. The proposed bill has to nto only achieve genuine consensus but also must be agreed to by both the King and Queen. And that is the main issue before us. if the King and Queen won't back it, then it must go back to committee...and the vote can be taken again. however in teh meantime all kinds of deals will be going on."

They flashed by the cathedral, an ancient Cornellian building with a great sculpted dome six stories high. "No one can forget that millions of Christians have in part ceased civil war because of common creed. Without it, I shudder to imagine what will happen," said Count Beroth. "By the way, when you are presented to the King and Queen--a few things you should know. The King has been ill, had a severe fever, so audience with him will be brief. The Queen is recently pregnant and needs her rest. A lo tof the executive authority is being dealt with by the Heir and the Council of Ministers. You will meet the Heir later today. A most...remarkable young woman."

[TURTLESHROOM II]

The TurtleShroomers listened with intent as the New Edomite system was overviewed.

Sakamoto was a bit confused at their reluctance to use force. Despite his adopted homeland treating him well, he still grew up in an authoritatarian regime, and expected crackdowns. Cardinal Jason, meanwhile, made the Sign of the Cross as he was lead past the cathedral. He was impressed with their answers regarding homosexuality, which mirrored TurtleShroom's own laws on the subject. He immediately informed them of that fact.

Zodak decided to begin with a lighthearted note of his own.

"Actually, our military and police do use jackboots. They have since the thirties. The troops goosestepped until the nineties."

They were surprised when they heard that they were receiving an audience before the New Edomite rulers. They had not expected an audience before a monarch. This was a particular honor they were not about to screw up.

Zodak was particularly interested in New Edom's exotic politcal system.

"Isn't there a sort of danger to allowing the monarch's spouse to have equal regnal power in the affairs of the realm, especially since yyour monarch wields actual power? I mean, what if your heir fell in love, despite the parent's attempts to stop it, with a man who was from an enemy nation? When she assumed the throne, would there not be a risk that her husband, now King, would influence New Edomite legislation and withold Assent for issues that may not pertain to his former homeland?"

The Judgemaster paused.

"-and I see your royal succession is absolute-cognatic, like ours. When a female assumes the throne, does she marry martilinnealy to preserve the family dynasty? A political environment where a spouse, even a foreign one, acts as ruler in New Edom could lead to compromising by a foreign government. I mean, yes, your veto can oe overridden, but doesn't it carry risks for the spouse of the monarch to automatically receive power? Are potential suitors vetted before ruling?"

Sakamoto was the most in awe of the diverse buildings and architecture of the buildings of this city. His childhood was surrounded by cramped, classical Oriental and Japanese designs, and he could still remember his all-wood home and the heated tables in the winter months. In his adopted home of Jonesboro, he had grown accustomed to the distinctively Slavic and depressing architectural styles of the city. Fascist architecture and Southern Antebellum architecture were the styles in most every large building, a "gift" from former movements in the country. He wanted to make that known.

"Ethnarch-sama, your city is gleaming, shiny, it's beautiful!" the Asian Barrister Sober began. "So much different from Jonesboro. All their builldings, they're symmetric, rectangles. Every office, public building is the same, white and imposing. I mean, it's like their Fascists never stepped down! Or, if you didn't see depressing Russian rectangle buildings, you dealt with PILLARS on every front facade. So much glass! So much glass is here on these buildings! Some buildings are all glass! You never see that in downtown Jonesboro. It's just fascist rectangles everywhere. I am very impressed!"

Sue, meanwhile, was too distracted to listen: she was simply looking around at the city.

As they entered the cars, Zodak turned to ask.

"In addition to my earlier questions, I'd like to lob another one your way. You said that your Congress needed a consensus, and that fifty seven percent of the vote did not meet the threshold to advance a bill. Do you mean that your Congress is a consultive body with no real power, and merely drafts bills as suggestions to the Crown, or do you mean some more difficult procedure? In my country, Congress was an unicameral body of five hundred, which I chaired, and it needed merely a majority vote to reach the Crown, where both, now two of three, had to give assent, otherwise the bill was irrevocably dead."