A Sea of Agents (Western Atlantic)

[Pantocratoria]

Palais du Cabinet Impérial
Rue du Sénat, Old Quarter
New Rome

The Palais du Cabinet Impérial was a large, mid-19th Century office building half-a-block away from the Palais du Parlement, which housed the Office of the Cabinet and a good deal many ministerial offices. Some ministers, typically those belonging to long-established portfolios with large departments, chose to base themselves in the headquarters of their department itself - away from the intrigues of the Palais du Cabinet Impérial, but more junior ministers, and those whose portfolios freshly hewn out of the political zeitgeist rather than received from Time Immemorial, generally lacked the option to surround themselves exclusively with their own mandarins. So it was that Etienne Lavaud, a man on the rise in the UCF/PNA Coalition Government, and newly commissioned Minister for Homeland Security, a new portfolio carved out of the portfolios of the Attorney-General, Defence Minister, and Imperial Chancellor himself, found himself with his brand new ministerial office in the midst of the Palais du Cabinet Impérial. His political empire newly forged, it would have to wait for a capital to call its own. Until then, Minister Lavaud would have to make do with receiving officials under the watchful eyes of dozens of dismal portraits of various forgotten ministers from a dozen preceding administrations, which hung from the fading, wallpapered-walls of his repurposed office suite.

This, frankly, was how his guest, the Director of the Imperial Domestic Intelligence Service, Louis-Philippe Scleraena de Lazen, preferred things. The Palais du Cabinet Impérial had a dozen of the Director’s personal contacts installed within it, and he supposed his underlings must have had dozens more again, all keeping watchful eyes on the Service’s supposed political masters. An aristocrat several generations removed from a titled ancestor, the Director was a physically unremarkable man in his early fifties who knew better than every minister to whom he had ever previously reported as IDIS Director, but who nevertheless understood that elected governments expected to be allowed to govern. Like most career public servants, he also understood that this was a potential dangerous expectation which generally ran contrary to the national interest, and he privately treated it with the contempt it so richly deserved. Concessions had to be made, from time to time, bread and circuses, as it were, but on all matters of significant public policy and principle, Director Scleraena believed firmly that the decisions ought to be made by those who best understood their import, that is to say those who had spent their career in the service of the State, and not prima donna politicians who shamefully chased after votes and fickle public opinion.

“The Minister will see you now.” the girl at the front desk had told him, sitting underneath a temporary sign printed on cardboard bearing the Imperial coat of arms and the name “Minister for Homeland Security”.

“Thank you.” the Director had nodded gracefully as he rose to his feet and strode towards the Minister’s door.

Without exchanging more than a handful of pleasantries with the girl, he knew everything about her. Although she hadn’t introduced herself, her name was printed on the lanyard which hung around her neck. He had ascertained her age just to glance at her, and had made a variety of judgements about her parents and her relationship with them by how she answered the phone, and how she glanced at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. Her clothes, the crucifix around her neck, the engagement ring on her finger, combined with her complexion and the standard of her makeup told him the essentials of her economic situation. As he passed her desk and opened the door, he completed his mental portrait of the girl with a sniff of her perfume. Without missing a beat, the Director stepped through the door.

“Ah, Monsieur de Lazen, pleased to meet you.” the Minister began, rising to his feet and striding over from behind his desk towards the Director with an outstretched hand.

“Minister.” the Director answered politely, shaking the Minister’s hand. He knew even before he pressed the man’s palm that his grip would be disappointingly limp, and was not disproved.

“Won’t you sit down?” the Minister said, indicating two arm chairs with a coffee table between them.

On top of the coffee table were freshly made pots of coffee and tea, a little jug of cold milk, and two tea cups. When the Director sat in one of the chairs, the Minister moved towards the other, and then leaned over.

“Can I offer you tea or coffee?” the Minister asked.

“Too kind, Minister.” the Director replied. “But it isn’t proper that a Minister of the Crown should pour his own tea, allow me.”

The newly made Minister was flattered by this supercilious gesture from the career civil servant, and sat down accordingly. The Director poured him a cup of tea with milk, added a sugarcube, and handed it to him with a little spoon for stirring on the side of the saucer. The Director poured himself a black coffee (no sugar) and then sat down. The Minister observed this, as if slightly discomforted, as the Director sipped his coffee.

“I’m sorry, Minister, that is how you take your tea, is it not?” the Director asked him.

“It is, as a matter of fact.” the Minister replied, wondering how the Director knew, and then sipped the tea.

Which, of course, had been exactly what Director Scleraena intended.

“Well,” the Minister began after a mouthful of tea, setting the cup back down. “I summoned you here today to be briefed about how IDIS monitors political radicalization. As you know, saving Pantocratorian society from destructive radical elements is a major priority for the Comnenus Government, and a major commitment that we made to our coalition partners. We…”

“Pardon me, Minister,” the Director interjected. “But as a career civil servant and to preserve the political independence of the Service, I should like to avoid explicit discussion of partisan politics. This was, at least, the habit of your predecessors in their dealings with me.”

“Oh, yes, of course, pardon me.” the Minister apologised.

“Of course, Minister.” the Director said graciously. “You are, after all, still learning the job.”

“Yes.” the Minister said, suddenly acutely conscious of how new he was to the job.

Which, of course, had been exactly what Director Scleraena intended.

“So don’t worry about it. Now, you were explaining why you invited me here today to request a briefing about how IDIS monitors political radicalization, I believe?” the Director prompted, subtly correcting the Minister’s earlier tone.

“Yes, well, we’re very concerned about the rise of radical feminism and so-called LGBTQ activists, and the broader spectre of cultural Marxism.” the Minister continued. “The Government believes this sort of constructed sexual and gender identity nonsense is a direct threat to the family, the fundamental building block of our society. And, frankly, there are those who say IDIS is not doing enough to curb these malign influences.”

“Indeed, and there are those who say that vigilante groups shaving the heads of women in the street and attacking misguided youth in places of learning have no place in a civilized society.” the Director retorted, directly taking aim at the militant wing of Action-Nationale.

“Yes, well, that is also a problem.” the Minister conceded in a tone which suggested he didn’t think it was much of a problem.

“I can assure you, Minister, that IDIS monitors all political organizations, formal and informal, broad-based or single-issue oriented, for the threat of radicalization.” Director Scleraena said.

“All political organizations?” the Minister confirmed, swallowing.

“Oh yes, Minister.” the Director nodded, sipping his coffee.

“Well, these particular types of organizations must be the top priority.” the Minister asserted.

“Yes, I understand that is the Government’s position.” the Director replied.

“And, with respect, Monsieur le Directeur, IDIS is not doing enough.” the Minister asserted.

“How so, Minister?” the Director asked.

“The vigilante groups you complained about wouldn’t need to exist if IDIS was doing its job.” the Lavaud declared.

The Director suppressed an irritated scowl, and instead sipped at his coffee.

“Our universities have become hotbeds of cultural Marxism.” the Minister insisted. “The scourge of homosexuality…”

“Not our universities, Minister.” the Director said, calmly.

“Every campus has feminist and homosexual political groups, every campus…” the Minister insisted.

“Necessary evils, Minister.” the Director retorted. “You need to have those groups in order to monitor them. They’re much easier to monitor when their existence is open.”

“You monitor these groups, monsieur? All of them?” the Minister scoffed.

“Yes, Minister.” the Director answered. “On every campus in the country, in every political or para-political club, organization, and group, IDIS has assets.”

“You mean to tell me you have agents in every radfem and LGBTQ club on every campus?” the Minister asked.

“Not quite, Minister.” the Director clarified. “But we do have informants. We don’t have enough agents nor would they have enough to do justify allocating them on a one to one basis with every single campus club and society. So, no Minister, but we do have informants. And of course, teams of analysts pouring over social media, to say nothing of our data analytics for other Big Data.”

“What do you mean by informants?” the Minister asked. He pondered whether his own party branch might have such a creature in it.

“It’s very simple, Minister.” the Director began. “The agents we do have recruit informants, members of the community, to observe and report on the activities of these organizations. They’re not IDIS employees, not directly, but they are useful intelligence assets.”

“Do you pay them?”

“Some of them. Sometimes we compel through other means. Sometimes we use a combination.”

“Other means?”

“Most people have secrets they wouldn’t want other people to find out. For example, the average LGBTQ campus society, as they generally call themselves, always has several members who would prefer that their families not find out about the sexual deviancy, even though they are open about their so-called identity on campus or at least within the walls of the meeting room.”

“So you blackmail them?”

“If you want to call it that.” the Director shrugged. He finished his coffee.

“And you have one of these assets in every such group of radicals, do you?” the Minister asked.

“In this country, yes Minister, sometimes several.” the Director nodded.

“But still, it is not enough, you’re allowing too much, these deviants are still…” the Minister asserted, firmly.

“Tch tch,” the Director clucked. “Not IDIS, Minister. The problem is that so many Pantocratorians, especially of those deviant persuasions, go overseas for their higher education. Even from good families, especially once it became known that even an Imperial Princess could go abroad to study.”

“What are you saying?” the Minister asked, confused.

“I don’t like to criticize other agencies, Minister, but unfortunately my colleagues in IFIS do not take the spectre of political radicalization of our own citizens as seriously as they should.” the Director said, disingenuously. He loved criticizing other agencies, especially IFIS.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, in how many foreign universities do they have active intelligence assets?” the Director asked, as if it was self-evident that the answer should be “not enough”.

“I suppose you’re right.” the Minister agreed without any basis except the Director’s tone of voice to go on.

Which, of course, had been exactly what Director Scleraena intended.

“But their budget is enormous, what are they doing with all of that money?”

“Well, Minister, it isn’t for me to say whether the Government would get better value for money by reinvesting some small part of the IFIS budget, which is considerably bigger than the IDIS budget for arguably far less in the way of results, into domestic intelligence or not, although that would certainly be within your considerable prerogative as Minister.” the Director said. “And in defence of my dear colleagues in IFIS, I suppose they do prioritise protecting Pantocratoria from foreign terrorist threats.”

“We must do both.” Lavaud declared. “We must be able to walk, and, as it were, chew gum!”

“Well said, Minister.” the Director lied.

“I will make sure they start taking this matter seriously.” the Minister declared.

“Excellent, Minister.” the Director nodded. “And of course, IDIS would be more than willing to provide training for IFIS operatives in the business of infiltrating universities and student groups. After all, we have considerable expertise in the area. IFIS already uses us for training, unofficially, but with a ministerial directive on the matter, and a modest funding boost, we could run a properly developed training program for IFIS field operatives.”

“Interagency cooperation, excellent!” the Minister declared. “Fostering that sort of relationship between our intelligence agencies and security services is exactly why the Government created my portfolio. Bringing all of you together under the one umbrella of Homeland Security.”

“You will find nothing but enthusiastic support for your agenda from IDIS, Minister.” the Director replied, already inwardly chuckling with glee at the thought of IFIS being forced to go to him for training.

“Outstanding, monsieur, I expected nothing less from a man of your reputation.” the Minister lied. “I do hope my meeting with your counterpart in IFIS goes as well as this.”

“Well Minister, you must be careful when you meet with Monsieur de Namine.” the Director said. “He’s newly promoted to Director after spending an awfully long time in his predecessor’s shadow. He may not want to cooperate as fully with your agenda as I do. You may have to put your foot down and insist, for example, on interagency cooperation on the training front.”

“Ah, I see… thank you for the head’s up.” the Minister nodded thoughtfully.

Which, of course, had been exactly what Director Scleraena intended.

“More coffee, monsieur?”

***

As he closed the door to the Minister’s office behind him, the Director glanced again at the receptionist.

“You’re wasting your life here, Marie-Louise.” the Director told her. “You should go find a husband.”

“Excuse me?” the girl underneath the makeshift sign half-asked, half-exclaimed.

“No young gentleman of quality is going to find you in a dusty old office and propose. You’re too pretty to let yourself become an old maid.”

“Uh, what?” Marie-Louise asked, incredulous. She held up her hand to show the Director her engagement ring. “I’m engaged.”

“No, my dear, you wear that cheap knick-knack to deter the no hopers which infest this building from their unwelcome attempts at flirtation.” the Director told her. He smirked and then made for the exit, calling back as he did so. “And no, this was advice, not an advance.”

“Wait, how did you know…” the receptionist called after him, but he didn’t stop. She swallowed, and her mind started to race, inventing fanciful conspiracies about IDIS monitoring her personal life and their no doubt ubiquitous surveillance.

Which, of course, had been exactly what Director Scleraena intended.

[Pantocratoria]

Palais du Cabinet Impérial
Rue du Sénat, Old Quarter
New Rome

Director Olivier de Namine of the Imperial Foreign Intelligence Service was a man in his late forties who had taken over the directorship of his service only recently, after serving as his predecessor’s deputy for a decade. The Director was optimistic about the newly created Homeland Security portfolio, even if he was ambivalent about the pre-ministerial profile of Etienne Lavaud, and he was looking forward to a productive relationship with the new Minister for Homeland Security. He waited in the reception area, quietly noting to himself how the receptionist was playing with a cheap costume ring she had been wearing as an engagement ring, apparently lost in thought about the jewellery and the relationship it purported to signify. At last there was a buzz and the girl was stirred from her introspection. Slipping the ring back on her finger, she looked up at de Namine.

“Monsieur le Directeur, the Minister will see you now.” she told him. “You probably already know that…”

“Thank you, mademoiselle.” Director de Namine replied, moving to the door as the receptionist wildly speculated to herself about the ubiquity and scope of de Namine’s knowledge. Did he know as much as Scleraena seemed to know yesterday? She had spent half an hour searching her little flat for hidden cameras after yesterday.

Director de Namine emerged into the Minister’s office, closing the door behind him.

“What an odd girl…” he murmured to himself before looking up to the figure standing behind the desk.

“Monsieur le Directeur, thank you for coming.” said Etienne Lavaud. He gestured to the empty seat across from his desk. “Please, won’t you sit down?”

“Thank you, Minister.” de Namine said simply, taking the offered seat. He noted immediately that the seat was subtly lower than the seat Lavaud occupied on the other side of the desk, and was immediately agitated by the pettiness of it.

“I will get right to the point.” the Minister began. “IFIS must do more to monitor the radicalization of Pantocratorians abroad.”

The Director frowned and there was a long pause. The Director then inhaled deeply and began to speak.

“Minister, you say we must do more, but you don’t know what we do now.” the Director said.

The Minister assumed there was more to come, but instead there was silence. After a too-long break, the Minister finally spoke.

“You focus primarily on foreign threats, not on the radicalization of Pantocratorians in other countries, no?” the Minister inquired.

“Well, yes, Minister, but that isn’t to say that we don’t do enough on the latter issue now.” the Director continued to protest.

“On Saturday, Monsieur le Directeur,” the Minister began. “I was with my family in the shopping mall. I have a fifteen year-old daughter, you know, and…”

“Yes, I know.” the Director answered, deciding to slow the Minister down. “Louise.”

“...yes…” the Minister frowned. “That’s considered impolite outside of the intelligence community, you know, making observations about personal lives like that.”

“Apologies, Minister.” the Director said insincerely. “Anyway, you were telling me about your personal life? On Saturday, with your family at the mall?”

“Yes.” the Minister said, resuming his story. “A girl the same age as my daughter accosted us. She had a tattoo on the side of her neck!”

The Director waited expectantly for an explanation but none was immediately forthcoming.

“A swastika?” the Director finally guessed.

“A butterfly, but that’s not important. It’s that she had one at all!” the Minister declared.

“Fifteen is too young to be allowed to do something so disfiguring.” the Director agreed. “Bad parenting, Minister, but what has it to do with IFIS?”

“Well, clearly she got it outside of Pantocratoria!” the Minister declared.

“Almost certainly.” the IFIS Director agreed. He frowned. “Minister, IFIS is engaged in protecting Pantocratoria and its interests, but we don’t and can’t stop Pantocratorian citizens from doing things which are legal in the foreign countries they visit.”

“Preserving our culture, our way of life, our religion, these things are integral to the protection of our country!” the Minister replied. “When Pantocratorians travel abroad and submerge themselves in degenerate culture, and radicalise, what does IFIS do? And when they return home to spread their Gospel of degenerate, hedonistic individualism, their cultural Marxism, who does IFIS inform?”

“Minister, we have limited resources, and we can only focus on those citizens travelling abroad whose involvement in these things compromises our national security.” replied de Namine.

“Do you not define national security too narrowly?” the Minister pressed.

“With respect, Minister, a teenage girl with a butterfly tattoo does not threaten our national security!” de Namine insisted.

“Not one, perhaps not, monsieur, I grant you.” the Minister nodded. “But what about two? A dozen? A hundred? A thousand? How many young people brainwashed by the cultural imperialism of degenerate foreign cultures does it take before you recognize a threat to national security? They would hand over to the Allaneans what you have spent a career striving to protect, Monsieur le Directeur.”

There was a long pause. The Director did not like that the discussion had thus far been so acrimonious.

“Well, a critical mass would constitute a sort of infiltration of the nation by hostile powers poised to capitalize on generational culture change.” the Director conceded.

“I’m glad you agree.” the Minister breathed out in relief. “Now, IDIS has an outstanding program whereby they have infiltrated Pantocratoria’s universities in order to monitor radical elements on campus - feminists, homosexuals, and other cultural Marxists. The number of Pantocratorians who study for their Bachelor’s degree outside the country is small, but approximately 20% of Pantocratorians who go on to graduate study leave the country to do so. This represents a gap which IDIS cannot cover.”

“IDIS…” de Namine almost growled and set his jaw in contempt.

“You mustn’t scowl, Monsieur le Directeur, they have generously offered to train the IFIS operatives who will be involved in these operations.” the Minister said. “Knowledge sharing.”

“Train… IFIS operatives? IDIS?” the Director struggled to compose himself. “Minister, this is highly irregular. IFIS field agents have far more extensive training than IDIS agents.” In truth the Director had no idea what training IDIS field agents did, but nevertheless, he believed absolutely that it was inferior to his Service. “And in topics which simply do not apply in mere domestic operations, Minister. For example, much of the communications monitoring which an intelligence analyst would conduct is trivial inside the country, where the telcos and ISPs cooperate with IDIS and law enforcement without question. But outside of the country, it often requires highly developed technical skills, risky field operations, and specialized equipment to effect the same thing. Minister, compared to the standard IFIS field operation, an IDIS field operation would be like… well… riding a bike with the training wheels still on.”

“But the actual act of infiltrating a foreign university…”

“Minister, we’re not talking about infiltrating foreign intelligence services. Anyone can infiltrate a university campus.”

“Monsieur le Directeur, I must insist, as the new Minister for Homeland Security, I must and do insist on inter-agency cooperation!” the Minister said definitively. “You will immediately plan and commence operations to monitor Pantocratorians who travel abroad for University study for signs of radicalization, and you will engage IDIS for training of agents assigned to these operations.”

“I request that you submit your specific directions in writing, Minister.” the Director replied.

“Fine, Monsieur le Directeur, fine.” the Minister nodded, also a little irritated. “You will have them by the end of the day.”

“Thank you, Minister.” the Director responded.

“This is just the beginning, Monsieur le Directeur.” the Minister declared. “The universities are perhaps, as you say, easy targets. But there are other bastions of cultural Marxism in our region and further afield, other bulwarks of degenerate culture, and they too must be stormed. You and I are going to be working very closely with each other, monsieur. I look forward to it.”

The Minister reached over the desk and held out his hand. The Director took it without any real enthusiasm, but begrudgingly respected the masculine firmness of the Minister’s grip.

“IFIS stands ready to defend Pantocratoria, as always.” the Director replied. As the handshake ended he stood. “Until next time, Minister.”

[Pantocratoria]

Marie-Thérèse Anne Juliette Zoë Arianites de Geronites was born on 14 August 2001. A Frank born in a noble family, she was the granddaughter of the Count of Geronites, whose heir was her father, the Viscount. She was the fourth of five of the Viscount’s children. She had two older brothers (Eugene and Quentin), one older sister (Marie-Anne), and one younger brother, named Jean-Luc for her father. The family was asset-rich, and was supported by a generous pension from her grandfather which itself was derived from the Count’s profitable winemaking businesses. The wines of Geronites were well-regarded and affordable, good quality “everyday” wines served at many middle-class tables in Pantocratoria and beyond. Marie-Thérèse’s father, who was just a shade under 50, was increasingly the visible face of the family’s vineyards, and effectively stood in for the elderly Count in the role of owner, although he did not have a job title in the business as such. Her mother, Amélie, didn’t work, of course. She was not much older than Marie-Thérèse when she was married and not even 20 when she gave birth to Eugene - she had never had time to even think about a career, but it would not be socially acceptable for a Viscountess to have any career beyond her husband and family in any event.

Fortunately, Marie-Thérèse reflected, times had changed since her mother finished school. Pantocratorian woman now studied at university and had careers of their own. Since she was not the eldest daughter, and Marie-Thérèse’s parents considered themselves very modern in their thinking, no marriage had been arranged for her. The progressive Viscount and Viscountess had only arranged marriages for Eugene, their eldest son, and Marie-Anne, their eldest daughter. Without an imminent marriage awaiting her at the end of school, there was no reason why Marie-Thérèse shouldn’t pursue whatever career she wanted (so long as it was respectable, of course), and besides, she was clearly very bright. Marie-Thérèse attended Saints Agape, Chionia, and Irene’s School for Girls, a Church boarding school in a little town named Agelien, an hour’s drive north from the outskirts of New Rome, where she was consistently near the top of her class academically.

There was another reason Marie-Thérèse was happy that her parents had not already promised her in marriage like her sister. At Saints Agape, Chionia, and Irene’s School for Girls, Marie-Thérèse had gradually come to the realization that she was attracted to other girls much more than she was attracted to boys. It was a scary realization to come to, made scarier by a lack of people Marie-Thérèse felt safe to talk to about sexuality. There was no discernible sex education at school, not even for hetereosexual relationships. She didn’t dare speak to other students about it - at an all-girls boarding school in the countryside gossip was the main hobby, and even the friends Marie-Thérèse trusted not to judge her for her feelings could not be trusted to keep them secret.

One evening when she was back from school for the summer, and they had been lying next to each other in the grass on a hill, looking up at the stars and down at the vineyards below, Marie-Thérèse had spoken to her older sister about it. Marie-Anne was two years older than her, and already married at this stage, so the time the sisters had alone together was both shorter in duration and less frequent.

“There’s a friend of mine at school,” Marie-Thérèse had lied. “Who likes other girls. More than she likes boys.”

“Don’t we all?” Marie-Anne half-laughed. “Men are… infuriating.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Marie-Thérèse said. “I mean, she thinks she might be a lesbian.”

Marie-Anne rolled over onto her side and looked at her younger sister very seriously.

“Did she touch you? I mean, intimately?” Marie-Anne asked in concern.

“No! It’s not like that.” Marie-Thérèse said defensively. “She’s my friend but she doesn’t like me like that. Lesbians don’t just go molesting any other girl they see. She’s… she’s just confused. She hasn’t told anybody. Except me.”

“Poor girl.” Marie-Anne concluded, lying back down in the grass.

“She’s frightened.” Marie-Thérèse added, her voice wavering a little. “Frightened what might happen if she told anybody else.”

There was a long silence as Marie-Anne mulled over what her sister was saying. She slid her hand across the ground and took her sister’s hand in her own.

“If I were your friend,” Marie-Anne started. Her tone was gentle, but urgent. “I wouldn’t tell anybody. Our country is not very kind to people like her. If she never tells anybody, she can live a normal, happy life.”

“But… won’t she have to marry a man? Or be alone forever?” Marie-Thérèse asked, squeezing her sister’s hand back as she stared up at the stars.

“It’s not so bad, being with a man.” Marie-Anne said. “One can just sort of… lie there and… he does what he does and it doesn’t take too long. She could just think about something else.”

Both sisters lay there in silence for a long time, each looking up at the stars while contemplating how much more each could say to the other and how much the other was obviously hurting, but each lacking the courage to drop the pretense. The conversation was helpful for Marie-Thérèse in one respect, though. She realised Marie-Anne was right that their country was not kind to people like her, and resolved that she would study abroad when she finished school. Based on her final grades at Saints Agape, Chionia, and Irene’s School for Girls, Marie-Thérèse won a Western Atlantic Exchange Scholarship to study abroad in one of Pantocratoria’s allies in the region. She chose Excalbia, applying to the University of Landing.

***

Dr. Jean-Luc Lacroix was a tenured Associate Professor in Mathematics at St. Louis University in New Rome, who held a PhD from the University of Christ Pantocrator. He was not a superstar professor by his research profile, but he was certainly a very solid and qualified academician. A few years ago he won a significant research fellowship grant offered by the Pantocratorian Government - the creatively named International Research Fellow Grant. At the time he applied, he did not know that the grant was funded by the Imperial Foreign Intelligence Service, and he did not know that the research fellowship was in fact a second career.

The layers of screening before he found out the truth were, in retrospect, impressive, but then, so was running a completely scientifically credible research grant scheme as a cover for recruiting IFIS operatives. Winners of the grant (which was vetted by a completely legitimate academic peer review process like any other large publicly funded grant scheme) went through multiple stages of interviewing and security vetting before they found out the truth. Having made it through, they were offered a career-changing research grant in more ways than one.

On the surface, the fellowship granted winners paid leaves of absence from their host Pantocratorian institution to spend time as a visiting professor abroad fostering international research collaboration. Dr. Lacroix and other winners would apply to prestigious foreign universities offering their services as visiting professors to assist in teaching and research at no expense to the host institution, funded entirely by their grant. They would supervise postgraduate research students at both their home institution in Pantocratoria and abroad. They could even bring funds for postgraduate research student scholarships to be used in the foreign university or the Pantocratorian one. That was on the surface, and indeed, it was as deep as most winners of the grant got - their fellowships lasted 1 to 3 years, and then they’d go home, their CVs substantially enhanced.

The fellowships of some winners lasted longer, like Lacroix, who was in the sixth year of his fellowship. These fellows were the ones who had been inducted into IFIS, and completed training as a field operative. The training was a gruelling filter process in itself - few university professors could manage the rigours of the physical training program, the basic training conducted by all IFIS field operatives. Lacroix, who was certainly healthy and fit by the standards of most middle-aged professors, had barely passed the physical training program conceived for potential operatives generally in their early twenties. Fortunately, the actual work conducted by these research fellows was far less physically demanding than their training, which was only really likely to be useful if something went very wrong. For the past six years, Lacroix had moved between prestigious universities abroad, teaching the occasional class but generally working with postgraduate students and fellow faculty. That occupied most of his time just like it would for any other faculty member, but that was not all he did. Lacroix also identified potential informants and agents, building files on likely candidates, and forwarding them to IFIS analysts for consideration. Very rarely, the analysts got in touch with him and asked him to approach one of the candidates he suggested, but generally this was handled by other field operatives. The objective was to recruit foreign nationals to spy on their own countries for IFIS, people whom IFIS could completely disavow if needs be.

That was Lacroix’s real job, and he was good at it, which was why he had recently been informed that his fellowship would be extended for a seventh year, and that a position had been found for him as a visiting professor at the University of Landing. Lacroix was pleased - his experience of Excalbian students back at St. Louis University in New Rome had always been positive, and he was confident that, in addition to continuing his intelligence career, he would get enough research done in Excalbia to put him over the line for promotion to full Professor back home. It didn’t concern him that his operative’s briefing was a little different from usual - this time, IFIS was particularly interested in the University campus itself, and in student organizations and groups. He thought it a little odd that in addition to recruiting Excalbian and other foreign informants, he was also to monitor Pantocratorian students studying in Landing, but felt that this changing intelligence role was likely the result of his moving up in the IFIS organization after years of solid work in what he had already been doing.

[Excalbia]

The University of Landing

The University of Landing was founded in 1808 by Baptist missionaries following the Lowlander truce with the Highland Kingdom of Excalbia. The University was originally established as Landing Baptist Seminary and College to train ministers and teachers. By 1816, following the establishment of the Holy Empire in 1809, the local Imperial Governor and House of Delegates began to assert influence over the school. The College expanded in 1818 to offer degrees in medicine and law in addition to theology and pedagogy.

By 1824, the Baptist General Convention in Landing had lost control of the College and confidence in its curriculum. The Convention established the separate Baptist Theological Seminary of Landing in 1825. The same year, Landing Baptist Seminary and College was renamed Landing College. Today, the Baptist Theological Seminary of Landing is part to the Baptist University at Landing.

In 1827, College President Thomas Monroe introduced curriculums in astronomy, architecture, botany, philosophy and political science. The Holy Empire’s first comprehensive school of engineering opened in 1836 when the College opened its School of Engineering and Applied Sciences. The school was renamed the University of Landing in 1842.

A separate women’s college, offering degrees in nursing, industrial arts and pedagogy, was opened in 1896 as Landing Normal and Industrial Arts College for Women. The school officially became part of the University of Landing in 1926. The two schools merged and became coeducational in 1962.

Today, the original campus of the University is located in the historic centre of Landing and houses the President’s House, administrative offices and the College of Arts and Sciences. The former campus of the Women’s College, located across the Virginia River in East Landing, houses the Taylor School of Education, the McCormack School of Business and Commerce, and the School of Architecture. The New Campus, built in the 1970s and 80s in the northern areas of Landing, houses the Chestnutt School of Law, and the School of Engineering and Applied Sciences. The School of Medicine is housed in city centre at University Hospital. All the campuses are linked by a dedicated, free bus service.

Total undergraduate enrollment is about 28,000 and graduate enrollment is 10,000. The academic staff totals just over 3,500. The school is governed by a Board of Visitors, with half the board appointed by the Greater Landing Regional Government and a quarter appointed the City of Landing. The remainder is appointed by the Imperial Government, with two members elected by the Academic Senate and one by the Student Government. The Board appoints the President, the Deans and Rectors.

The University’s athletic teams are known as the Hawks. The Hawks are the current ICAA men’s basketball champions, and women’s soccer and softball champions.

Major on campus organizations include the usual array of Greek letter fraternities and sororities, and subject-matter honour societies. All students are technically members of the Student Government Society, although most choose not to participate. There are a large number of clubs, including film societies, student newspapers and journals, literary societies, language and ethnic affinity groups, social groups, advocacy groups, religious groups, intramural sporting groups, gaming groups and geek culture organizations.

[Pantocratoria]

Gabriel Boulanger was born on 6 October 2000, a blonde-haired, green-eyed Frank to an upper middle class Pantocratorian couple. His father, Pierre, was a doctor, and his mother was an artist whose paintings sold just often enough for her to assert that she was a professional. Gabriel had three sisters, two older and one younger, but was the only boy. The family grew up in Adrienople, where Pierre’s father was a partner in a successful medical practice.

All the siblings had golden hair and both Gabriel and the second of his two older sisters, Marie-Louise, had even done a little modelling while they grew up - they had both modelled the “First Communion” range of children’s clothes for special events for the Little Peacock’s clothing brand (a brand in the Peacock Family of Companies). Gabriel and Marie-Louise were particularly close growing up - they were just 13 months apart, and were often mistaken for twins especially when they were on holiday. Until Marie-Louise hit puberty, the main visual difference between the siblings (other than the slight height difference due to age) to people who didn’t know them well was that Marie-Louise had long hair and Gabriel had short hair. This was a point of some contention with both children, in fact, because other than a brief period when Marie-Louise had just started primary school and thought she was therefore so much more mature than Gabriel, both quite enjoyed being mistaken for twins. They didn’t know any twins growing up so it sort of made them special. Marie-Louise would argue with her mother to let her cut her hair short, and Gabriel would argue with his father to let him grow his hair long. Neither child prevailed.

All the Boulanger siblings attended the prestigious co-educational Saint Marguerite’s College Adrienople, one of the few co-educational Church schools in the city. Despite attending the same secondary school, Marie-Louise and Gabriel grew slightly apart through adolescence. They were still very close but no longer did everything together - each had their own friends and own activities now. Secondary school was also when Gabriel started being aware he was not like other boys. When the other boys leered at girls in their class and engaged in “locker room talk”, Gabriel always found it hard to participate with more than a grunt or a chuckle. In fact, during those locker room conversations, he found his gaze lingering on the bodies of the other boys around him. He consulted that great and most indifferent source of knowledge and wisdom for confused young teens - the Internet - and over time came to the conclusion that he was gay. Unfortunately, so did the other boys at school, or at least they seemed to. It was hard to tell really since their main way of insulting each other seemed to be to accuse each other of homosexual acts or desires, but Gabriel felt that while in most cases these were light-hearted insults, there was a ring of truth about them when they were directed at him.

In his junior year, Gabriel came out to Marie-Louise. To his great relief and even surprise, she embraced him immediately and told him that she already knew.

“I’ve known since we were kids!” Marie-Louise told him, in that way that teenagers refer to the period of when they were kids as if it was an eternity ago. She also told him she loved him and that there was nothing wrong with him, it was just how he was. In fact, Marie-Louise thought it was great because now they could even talk about boys together.

But the boys at school did not agree that there was nothing wrong with him. Gabriel’s last two years at school in particular were deeply unpleasant. Action-Nationale memes adorned the social media pages of other kids in his class, and bullies roamed the hallways of Saint Marguerite’s. He was beaten up and had his lunch money stolen half a dozen times. His parents complained to the school, which led to an awkward meeting with the Deputy Headmaster where he had told Gabriel to try to “man up a bit” as a strategy to dissuade bullying, which of course the school did not condone in any way, shape or form. The problems did not cease, and Gabriel’s academic performance suffered.

There was one particularly nasty homophobe, a boy named Marc, the ringleader of a group of kids who wore Action-Nationale badges whenever teachers didn’t tell them to take them off because they weren’t part of the uniform, who seemed particularly fixated on making Gabriel’s life a living hell. One day Marc’s crew set upon Gabriel in the hallway after school had ended for the day, and dragged him into a locker room. They shoved him inside and blocked off the door. Inside, Gabriel found Marc, waiting for him.

“Let me go!” Gabriel had insisted, trying not to sound afraid.

Marc didn’t reply, but moved closer to Gabriel. He shoved Gabriel against a locker and moved closer still. Then to Gabriel’s surprise, Marc kissed him. Gabriel certainly didn’t kiss back, but rather, shoved the bully off. Marc then unzipped his pants.

“I know what you want, faggot.” Marc said in a low growl.

Gabriel kneed the bigger boy in his exposed genitals as hard as he could. Marc doubled over and fell down, letting out a long gasp as he did so. Gabriel knew he had get away before Marc recovered, so he rushed over to a high window of opaque glass, which was generally left slightly ajar to let steam from the showers escape, and pulled it open as far as it would go, even snapping the latch which was meant to prevent it opening too far by accident. Marc was barely back on his feet by the time Gabriel squirmed out of the window and made good his escape, running all the way home.

The next day at school, Gabriel and Marc were both given detention for a month for fighting, but neither the bully nor his Action-Nationale thugs ever bothered Gabriel at school again. Despite this victory, Pantocratoria did not seem like the best place to spend the next stage of his life to Gabriel, an impression reinforced when Marie-Louise was accepted into Bolduc University in the Caldan Union after she graduated from Saint Marguerite’s. Although they stayed in touch online, Marie-Louise’s absence in Gabriel’s senior year was keenly felt, and he felt more isolated than ever, even though the bullying was less intense than it had been.

Gabriel decided that he too would study abroad, at first leaning following in his sister’s footsteps as he had for so much of his youth. He fantasized about becoming a diplomat or a foreign correspondent and travelling the world for his career, far away from Action-Nationale. As he buried his head in travel books one exotic location in the Western Atlantic in particular caught his eye - Snefaldia. Its traditional culture seemed like a dream come true to Gabriel. He fantasized that in Snefaldia he could explore that part of him he had been compelled to bury deep inside to protect himself in Pantocratoria. He applied to study at Luwatarna University, and started studying Snefaldian in his own time on his tablet computer. He could tell his parents were skeptical about studying in Snefaldia, but his mother in particular was always saying that the kids should follow their dreams, and so his father agreed to foot the bill.

His first year at Luwatarna was the most academically demanding of his life. Being immersed in the language certainly accelerated his progress, but it was genuinely hard to communicate and hard to study especially in the first semester. Gabriel learned more that semester than he ever had in a whole year before in his life - perhaps two! Not all the learning was academic, of course - Gabriel’s social life flourished in the crowded dormitories of Luwatarna University too. For the first time since the start of secondary school he felt free to be himself. Free to dress how he liked - indeed, most of his Pantocratorian clothes went unworn in favour of local clothing and a few risque international fashions, in a veritable rainbow of colours. Free to act how he liked - he didn’t feel obliged to restrain his feminine side or to pretend he liked sports or a hundred other things he needed to do back in school to present a “small target” to bullies. And of course, free at last to explore his sexuality. He had kissed a boy for the first time (he certainly didn’t count that encounter with Marc), gone on a few dates, and was working up the courage to do more still.

Still, as happy as he was, he was happiest when he was catching up with Marie-Louise via video chat. Gabriel was growing his hair, and Marie-Louise had cut hers, and it wouldn’t be too long until they met between like they always wanted. She was nearing the end of her second year at Bolduc, and was enjoying her studies there. He stayed up chatting with her about university, boys, living abroad and how much they didn’t miss Pantocratoria, how to make their allowances go further, the rest of their family and the things they did miss from Pantocratoria, and everything else. They joked that they were the Boulangers-Aventreux, and only wished that Snefaldia and the Caldan Union were a little closer together.

***

Agent Maria Koutsis was a twenty-five year old IFIS field operative, embarking on the first long-term foreign assignment in her short career. She was an attractive Roman girl with dark, curly hair, and olive skin which bronzed gloriously in the sun, but she was generally inside with her head buried in reports, illuminated by the sickly blue-light of computer screens and fluorescents which afforded little opportunity to tan. She had graduated with an upper second from Drakopolis University in Pantocratoria’s south, not the top of her class but certainly in the top quarter, having studied the liberal arts (with a lot of electives in various foreign languages), where she had first stumbled upon the idea of a career in IFIS by stumbling across their booth at a University Careers Day. She didn’t know it was their booth, of course - she thought it was the Department of International Trade, a generic civil service department. She thought the recruiter looked cute in his suit and graciously agreed when he offered to buy her a coffee. She was now embarrassed to remember how impressed she was by how interested the young man had seemed in her personally, asking her all sorts of questions and barely speaking herself, which was quite atypical in her dating experience. When, at the end of the conversation, he had given her a business card and asked her whether she had ever considered serving her country, specifically by pursuing a career in intelligence, she was quite surprised. She answered truthfully - no she hadn’t, and thought that was that, but over the course of her final year of study, she thought more and more about the idea. The seed had been planted over that cup of coffee.

By the time she graduated, Koutsis had decided to apply to IFIS. She gave the number on the business card a call, and soon had the first of half a dozen interviews. An extensive background search began. The interviews became increasingly personal and involved psychiatrists. There was nothing they didn’t want to know. She told them everything, even her darkest, half-forgotten secrets, things she had never even told her parents. They still wanted to know more. After one interview she thought she might have over-shared when the psychiatrist-interviewer gave her a referral to counselling, and she worried she had been deemed “broken” or otherwise unrecruitable, but the interviews persisted, and after seven months or so, when all of her classmates from Drakopolis University had already started their first “proper” jobs months earlier, she was finally employed by IFIS and started her training in earnest.

At first it was exciting to not be allowed to tell people who her real employer was, and that she was training to be a spy, or at least an intelligence analyst. There was an awkward family dinner conversation where her war-veteran father, after one too many drinks, was lecturing her brothers about how none of them had followed in his footsteps and served their country, and she had perhaps been over-proud of the extent to which being an Administrative Assistant in the Department of International Trade constituted service to the nation. Koutsis was disappointed that she couldn’t tell her father what her real job was, especially through the military-style basic training, but in general, she found the secrecy exhilarating.

Over time that excitement wore off. After completing training, much of her work was routine - analyst work mostly at the Hôtel des Anges (an IFIS facility) in New Rome while waiting for a foreign assignment. One had come up last year - she had been sent to South Epheron with a senior agent to contact and extract an IFIS agent who had been arrested there. The agent was what was termed a honey pot and had been arrested under suspicion of prostitution. Koutsis and her senior were sent undercover as the arrested agent’s family members, to clarify whether her cover and mission had been compromised by her arrest. Koutsis remembered thinking the agent seemed pretty shaken by the experience, but the South Epheronians apparently hadn’t caught on that anything more was going on than a promiscuous young woman sleeping around with mining executives, and the combination of a good lawyer and a bribe or two meant that Koutsis, her senior, and her “sister” the agent were back on a plane to Pantocratoria after a few months.

The operation seemed to have convinced her superiors that she was capable, as now Koutsis was being trusted with a longer-term foreign assignment. Although initially perplexed as to why her superiors wanted her to infiltrate Luwatarna University in Snefaldia primarily to monitor Pantocratorian students, Koutsis decided it was better than being a “honey pot” in Zamimbia or South Epheron looking out for the interests of Pantocratorian mining companies like the agent she had helped to extract, and accepted the assignment gladly. She was given a false identity - Maria Zervos, with a complete social media profile and academic transcript from Drakopolis University (which was very similar to her own transcript, albeit with slightly higher grades in several courses), a fake passport (complete with stamps for South Epheron from last year) and Snefaldian student visa, and an admission to the graduate program at Luwatarna.

The next few months were filled with Snefaldian and Karduniyash Luwite language classes and training which Koutsis/Zervos noted to her confusion was conducted by IDIS operatives, not IFIS. The other IFIS operatives undergoing the same training all had varying degrees of hostility towards their IDIS trainers, and she assimilated the collective belief of her colleagues that there was nothing IDIS knew which IFIS didn’t which was worth knowing, a mindset which was not entirely conducive to learning. At last, she was ready for the mission, and arrived at the airport with her bags packed and an economy class ticket to Luwatarna on Peacock Airlines, a student once more.

[Excalbia]

Old Campus, University of Landing

Digne Kristine Arbolite – Digne (pronounced Deeg-nA) to her friends – was rushing from the redbrick chapel towards her 11:30 am class when she nearly crashed into her friend Henry Bouchard. Still a little bleary-eyed from waking up for her 7 am workout, 8:30 am practice and 10:30 Anglican chapel service, Digne took a moment to recognize her friend and fellow LGBTQ Alliance member.

“Hey, Digne,” Henry said, touching her the shoulder as he steadied himself from their near collision, “you look a million miles away.”

“Sorry, Henry,” she answered, shifting her backpack from one shoulder to the next. The tall girl brushed stray strands of reddish-blonde hair from her face. “Just in a hurry to get to my Old Excalbian class.”

Henry nodded. “Will we see you at the meeting tonight?”

The young woman shook her head. “No, we’ve got a game tonight.” Digne, though just a second-year student, had just worked her way into the girls softball team’s starting lineup at shortstop. “Then I’ve got to study for a Chem test tomorrow.” Although she had not yet declared a major, she was certain it would not be in the “hard” sciences, so her chemistry class was only basic chemistry – often called “Chem for Social Science Majors” – it fulfilled the laboratory science requirement without requiring too much math beyond basic algebra.

“That’s too bad,” Henry shrugged. Like Digne, Henry was a second-year student. “I was talking to Angela,” he said, referring to Angela Hennessy, another second-year student and already well-known campus activist, “and it seems like we haven’t seen you for weeks.”

Digne shrugged. “Well, we are heading into the playoffs and we do want to repeat as national champions.” She gave a lopsided smile. “You know, some of you guys could skip a meeting for once and come support the team.”

Henry tilted his head and nodded. “Some of the guys on my hall have been saying we ought to support more of the women’s teams. We go to almost all the football and men’s basketball games…” He paused, then smiled. “If I can get some guys to go, I’ll ditch the meeting and we’ll come cheer you on!”

“That’d be great,” Digne smiled. “Why don’t you see if Angela will come, too.”

“That might be a bridge too far. You know she’s all about social conscience… I’m not sure if a ballgame fits her idea of fun.”

Digne laughed. “You’ve never seen her a party, then! Ask her. Tell her it’ll be fun.”

At the sound of chapel bells ringing, Digne’s face fell. “Crap! I’m late!” She started running and looked over her shoulder. “See you at the game! Seven o’clock!”

[Pantocratoria]

That evening, Marie-Thérèse Arianites de Geronites sat in the stands at the first ever softball game she had ever watched, wearing a "Hawks" hoodie she had freshly bought from the University of Landing's campus store. It was, coincidentally, the first sports team-branded article of clothing she had ever worn. The young Pantocratorian huddled in her hoodie as if the temperature was considerably colder than it actually was, not because she was cold, but because she was lonely and felt out of place. She had decided to go to the softball game on a whim to try to break her anti-social pattern and maybe form more of a connection with other students than partnering in a lab or on an assignment, but as she sat among a group of students watching a game which was entirely foreign to her, she didn't feel particularly social. Still, she was trying. And it was nice to see any supporters at all at a women's sporting match, even if she didn't understand the sport.

Excalbia was a kinder place to people like her than Pantocratoria, Marie-Thérèse had long ago decided, but thus far she had still lacked the bravery to be open about her sexuality even in this kinder place. She was still pretending to be "normal", like everyone else, just like she had done back at Saints Agape, Chionia, and Irene’s School for Girls back home for all those years. She wondered whether it was not a mistake, attending the University of Landing as "Marie-Thérèse Arianites" as opposed to using a false name as was traditional for noble girls educated away from home. She remembered declaring to her parents as she filled in the paperwork that she wanted to be her true self in Excalbia (little did they know what she meant), and being "progressive" aristocrats, they had professed to be fully supportive of her decision. Now that she had spent nearly a whole academic year not being her true self, she wondered whether a false name would have given her a bit more courage.

Take tonight, for example. She had seen the flyer, many times, for the LGBTQ Alliance meetings. She had told herself that tonight was the night she was going to come, and she had meant it. She had set off for the meeting, and then overheard some other students talking about going to the softball game, and one "Go Hawks" hoodie purchase later, here she was. Delaying being her true self once again. And worse, she couldn't even buy a drink from the concession stand yet, so there was nothing to do but watch the game. In truth, it wasn't a difficult sport to pick up - even if some of the finer rules still escaped her, it was perfectly clear that hitting the ball with the bat was good, and so on. Except when the umpire cried foul for some reason she couldn't understand yet, then it was apparently bad.

Ugh! What a stupid game! What a stupid girl she was! She frowned, told herself enough pretending, and pulled back her hood, and shook her long brown hair free. She was going to be open about who she really was, she decided, or there had been no point coming to Excalbia. She could have been a timid mouse back home, pretending to be like everyone else and pretending to be happy like her sister both advised her to pretend and herself pretended to be. She was going to tell the next person she met who she was! She nodded to herself in silent affirmation, or perhaps she was just really intent on the softball.

[Excalbia]

Werth Stadium, University of Landing

Arbolite, wearing number 7 on her jersey, charged a ground ball. She fielded it cleanly, allowing her momentum to carry her towards the first base side of the infield. She flipped the ball to the girl at second, who turned briskly and fired it to the tall, brown-haired girl covering first.

“Arbolite to Makenzie to Samuels on the double-play,” the stadium announcer said as Arbolite and her teammates jogged towards the first base dugout. “For the University of Sigulda Brown Bears, that’s no runs on one hit and no one left on base.”

In the stands, a small group of students approached Marie-Thérèse, taking the seats around her. A girl with light brown hair streaked with purple, pink and red and wearing a Hawks sweatshirt with ripped jeans leaned over slightly.

“Hi! You looked kind of lonely sitting here. I’m Angela,” the girl smiled and nodded towards the young man beside her, “this is Henry,” the boy smiled and waved, “and these are some of Henry’s hallmates – Ilmars,” a tall, blonde boy in a Hawks polo shirt smile, “Brent,” another blonde boy, this one in a loose-fitting gridiron football jersey made a slight wave, “and Tom,” the fourth boy, with jet-black hair and brown complexion nodded. “And,” the girl continued, “Tom’s girlfriend Kris,” the short, red-haired girl smiled and waved.

“I hope you don’t mind if we join you,” Angela said. “So, are you new to campus? I haven’t seen you around.”

[Snefaldia]

Luwatarna University, Karduniyaš Province, Snefaldia

In 1865, when the great Kaššian scholar Zaluganu-Parkues laid the first stone of what would become Luwatarna University, he was asked by the leading lights of the city what he planned for his school, the first non-Aatem Nal place of learning in more than 600 years. What was the goal for the students? For the teachers? For the city? He responded with a single word in the old Matoluwian dialect: uliliya, “to blossom!” His response struck his interrogators, and they presented him with a bronze plaque inscribed in fine calligraphy with that single word, the motto of Luwatarna University.

Nearly a century and a half later, that motto still held true. Over the past hundred years, Luwatarna University had grown to be the largest in Karduniash, and became one of the elite National Colleges for the top-scoring students on the national exams. It had produced Senators, Lords Chancellor, top Ministers, famed scholars, authors, and politicians of all stripes. Of all the National Colleges, it was also considered one of the most liberal; it’s campus culture was always decidedly activist, even radical, and despite the stifling of much dissent under the military government they continued to find modes of free expression, like a mass of trees growing through concrete.

One of those trees was Kanissuwar-Izata, a first-year graduate student in public policy who was also the head of the Hiyarunaa Society, a group dedicated to the free expression of love according to ancient tradition, the Snefaldian equivalent of an LGBT rights group. Hiyarunaa, roughly translated, meant “Universal Love,” and took a decidedly more political approach than its cousins in other universities, advocating for the Snefaldian government to promote LGBT rights abroad.

Kannisuwar-Izata, "Kai" to his friends, was something of a firebrand, and even a bit of a nationalist, arguing forcefully for Snefaldian culture spreading abroad and likening it to a civilizing, liberating force in the world. He cut a dashing figure, with smooth, olive skin, flashing green eyes, and an unruly head of curly hair that made him look like an ancient carving from the archaeological excavations outside the city. He had even been arrested once for organizing a protest against the local mayor for inviting a Braslander consul, organizing a “same-sex kiss-in” to draw attention to the poor treatment of LGBT people in the deeply Catholic country. He was on a dangerously thin ice much of the time; if he wasn’t so much of a nationalist and vocal defender of Snefaldian culture and values, he probably would have been kicked out of school or imprisoned years ago.

Most days, when not busy with his studies, Kai would be seen handing out flyers for the Hiyarunaa Society, or sticking posters advertising their next meetings, pushing the photocopied leaflets into the hands of anyone who slowed down or got close enough to listen. Today he was outside the Primuaa Library, advertising a new speaker series about cross-dressing and gender-swapping among the Mallash ethnic group. “Love is love!” he said, smiling, to any man or woman he saw. “Come learn more! Uliliya, blossom with us! Love is love!”

[Pantocratoria]

Werth Stadium, University of Landing

Arbolite, wearing number 7 on her jersey, charged a ground ball. She fielded it cleanly, allowing her momentum to carry her towards the first base side of the infield. She flipped the ball to the girl at second, who turned briskly and fired it to the tall, brown-haired girl covering first.

“Arbolite to Makenzie to Samuels on the double-play,” the stadium announcer said as Arbolite and her teammates jogged towards the first base dugout. “For the University of Sigulda Brown Bears, that’s no runs on one hit and no one left on base.”

In the stands, a small group of students approached Marie-Thérèse, taking the seats around her. A girl with light brown hair streaked with purple, pink and red and wearing a Hawks sweatshirt with ripped jeans leaned over slightly.

“Hi! You looked kind of lonely sitting here. I’m Angela,” the girl smiled and nodded towards the young man beside her, “this is Henry,” the boy smiled and waved, “and these are some of Henry’s hallmates – Ilmars,” a tall, blonde boy in a Hawks polo shirt smile, “Brent,” another blonde boy, this one in a loose-fitting gridiron football jersey made a slight wave, “and Tom,” the fourth boy, with jet-black hair and brown complexion nodded. “And,” the girl continued, “Tom’s girlfriend Kris,” the short, red-haired girl smiled and waved.

“I hope you don’t mind if we join you,” Angela said. “So, are you new to campus? I haven’t seen you around.”

"Hi, no, please go ahead, I..." Marie-Thérèse replied. "Hi, Angela, and... sorry, was it Henry, erm... Ilmars? Brent, Tom, and Kris."

Just moments before the other students had interrupted her, Marie-Thérèse had just promised herself that she was going to tell the next person she met who she really was. She took a couple of deep breaths.

"I'm Marie-Thérèse, pleased to meet you. I'm still kind of new, it's my first year. And I'm..." she began. "...Pantocratorian."

That's it? Your nationality? You said you'd tell the next person... but it's kind of weird to just blurt it out right?

"I'm g...lad to meet you." she added.

She couldn't just say it. Not to strangers. At the very least they'd think she was weird. And what if they didn't like people like her? No, she had to get to know them first. She swallowed her nerves and smiled at them, Angela especially.

"I really like your hair." Marie-Thérèse added.

I really like living my true self and your hair. Or you know, just your hair. That's good too.

[Pantocratoria]

Luwatarna University, Karduniyaš Province, Snefaldia

In 1865, when the great Kaššian scholar Zaluganu-Parkues laid the first stone of what would become Luwatarna University, he was asked by the leading lights of the city what he planned for his school, the first non-Aatem Nal place of learning in more than 600 years. What was the goal for the students? For the teachers? For the city? He responded with a single word in the old Matoluwian dialect: uliliya, “to blossom!” His response struck his interrogators, and they presented him with a bronze plaque inscribed in fine calligraphy with that single word, the motto of Luwatarna University.

Nearly a century and a half later, that motto still held true. Over the past hundred years, Luwatarna University had grown to be the largest in Karduniash, and became one of the elite National Colleges for the top-scoring students on the national exams. It had produced Senators, Lords Chancellor, top Ministers, famed scholars, authors, and politicians of all stripes. Of all the National Colleges, it was also considered one of the most liberal; it’s campus culture was always decidedly activist, even radical, and despite the stifling of much dissent under the military government they continued to find modes of free expression, like a mass of trees growing through concrete.

One of those trees was Kanissuwar-Izata, a first-year graduate student in public policy who was also the head of the Hiyarunaa Society, a group dedicated to the free expression of love according to ancient tradition, the Snefaldian equivalent of an LGBT rights group. Hiyarunaa, roughly translated, meant “Universal Love,” and took a decidedly more political approach than its cousins in other universities, advocating for the Snefaldian government to promote LGBT rights abroad.

Kannisuwar-Izata, "Kai" to his friends, was something of a firebrand, and even a bit of a nationalist, arguing forcefully for Snefaldian culture spreading abroad and likening it to a civilizing, liberating force in the world. He cut a dashing figure, with smooth, olive skin, flashing green eyes, and an unruly head of curly hair that made him look like an ancient carving from the archaeological excavations outside the city. He had even been arrested once for organizing a protest against the local mayor for inviting a Braslander consul, organizing a “same-sex kiss-in” to draw attention to the poor treatment of LGBT people in the deeply Catholic country. He was on a dangerously thin ice much of the time; if he wasn’t so much of a nationalist and vocal defender of Snefaldian culture and values, he probably would have been kicked out of school or imprisoned years ago.

Most days, when not busy with his studies, Kai would be seen handing out flyers for the Hiyarunaa Society, or sticking posters advertising their next meetings, pushing the photocopied leaflets into the hands of anyone who slowed down or got close enough to listen. Today he was outside the Primuaa Library, advertising a new speaker series about cross-dressing and gender-swapping among the Mallash ethnic group. “Love is love!” he said, smiling, to any man or woman he saw. “Come learn more! Uliliya, blossom with us! Love is love!”

Maria Koutsis, aka Maria Zervos, saw Kai as she walked across the campus past the library on her way to her graduate class. She was, as far as anybody else could see, a grad student in her mid-20s, pretty and youthful by the standards of the professors but mature and sophisticated by the standards of undergraduate students. With Kai's olive skin and curly dark hair, he reminded of her more than a few cute Roman boys she had known back home. She smiled back at him as she passed but didn't engage. Passing her classes was an important part of her cover after all.

Some time later Gabriel Boulanger came by. As a blonde-haired "Frank" he may have stood out as more obviously foreign than Maria. He certainly stood out in other ways, too. Although he was not entirely cross-dressing his choice of clothing was both flamboyant and form-fitting - he wore women's jeans and his golden hair was quite long. Most notably, and unusual even for him, he wore a touch of mascara, which he had freshly applied back in his dorm room with the assistance of his sister via video chat. It was the latest of his flirtations with make-up, which would have been unthinkable in his native Pantocratoria. Even Marie-Louise had worried that her little brother may have been going too fast, all the while teaching him how to do it. Now Gabriel resolved whether to find out whether he had gone too far too soon, and strode directly towards Kai.

"Hello!" Gabriel said in Standard Snefaldian, batting his long-lashed green eyes at Kai as he did so. "I'd love to learn more."

[Snefaldia]

Maria Koutsis, aka Maria Zervos, saw Kai as she walked across the campus past the library on her way to her graduate class. She was, as far as anybody else could see, a grad student in her mid-20s, pretty and youthful by the standards of the professors but mature and sophisticated by the standards of undergraduate students. With Kai's olive skin and curly dark hair, he reminded of her more than a few cute Roman boys she had known back home. She smiled back at him as she passed but didn't engage. Passing her classes was an important part of her cover after all.

Some time later Gabriel Boulanger came by. As a blonde-haired "Frank" he may have stood out as more obviously foreign than Maria. He certainly stood out in other ways, too. Although he was not entirely cross-dressing his choice of clothing was both flamboyant and form-fitting - he wore women's jeans and his golden hair was quite long. Most notably, and unusual even for him, he wore a touch of mascara, which he had freshly applied back in his dorm room with the assistance of his sister via video chat. It was the latest of his flirtations with make-up, which would have been unthinkable in his native Pantocratoria. Even Marie-Louise had worried that her little brother may have been going too fast, all the while teaching him how to do it. Now Gabriel resolved whether to find out whether he had gone too far too soon, and strode directly towards Kai.

"Hello!" Gabriel said in Standard Snefaldian, batting his long-lashed green eyes at Kai as he did so. "I'd love to learn more."

Kai responded with a broad smile, proffering a flier printed in blocky Snefaldian script. “And we are happy to teach you!” he said, continuing his winning smile. “We are meeting tonight at the Amphitheatre, on the South Lawn. Starts at 7:00. Our guest speaker is a Mallash shaman from the northwest, it’s incredibly exciting! The Mallash people preserve some of the ancient traditions of gender-swapping that the Luwites used to practice millenia ago, and their shamans sometimes present as dual-gender. We want to talk about trans rights and cross-dressing in a modern and ancient context. It’ll definitely be stimulating.”

As he spoke, Kai looked Gabriel over. He was definitely attractive, with his soft, delicate features and slight frame. With the long hair and accent he had to be from Neer Dal, a large province in southern Snefaldia with a non-Luwite ethnic group. “What’s a southerner like you doing at our little school in Karduniyash?” Kai joked. “I don’t see many Neeri on campus. You’ll be one of the first to come to Hiyarunaa. You will be coming, won’t you?”

He let his gaze linger, looking into Gabriel’s eyes, a winsome smile on his lips. He liked the flair he saw, the touch of makeup, the tight clothes, the confident way the younger man had walked up to him. “I’d like it if you did come to the meeting,” he continued, “as a favor to me. I think you’ll find it very exciting.”

[Excalbia]

"Hi, no, please go ahead, I..." Marie-Thérèse replied. "Hi, Angela, and... sorry, was it Henry, erm... Ilmars? Brent, Tom, and Kris."

Just moments before the other students had interrupted her, Marie-Thérèse had just promised herself that she was going to tell the next person she met who she really was. She took a couple of deep breaths.

"I'm Marie-Thérèse, pleased to meet you. I'm still kind of new, it's my first year. And I'm..." she began. "...Pantocratorian."

That's it? Your nationality? You said you'd tell the next person... but it's kind of weird to just blurt it out right?

"I'm g...lad to meet you." she added.

She couldn't just say it. Not to strangers. At the very least they'd think she was weird. And what if they didn't like people like her? No, she had to get to know them first. She swallowed her nerves and smiled at them, Angela especially.

"I really like your hair." Marie-Thérèse added.

I really like living my true self and your hair. Or you know, just your hair. That's good too.

“Thank you,” Angela said with a grin. “I just added the red this week. I went to a Landing Comic Con a couple of weeks ago and cosplayed Raven,” she said flatly as if that explained everything that need explaining. “It’s nice to meet you, Maire Therese,” she pronounced the name in a flat Excalbian accent. “And welcome! Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Pantocratoria?” Brent muttered. “Aren’t they like fascists?”

Angela frowned and shot the boy an angry look. “Hush!”

“But you were protesting them a couple of weeks ago…”

“I was protesting the Pantocratorian government. Not Pantocratorians! Obviously, Marie Therese isn’t responsible for the government’s behaviour!”

Angela turned back to Marie-Thérèse. “I apologize for Brent. He’s a football player,” she said again, as if that explained everything.

Brent rolled his eyes and turned to Ilmars. “That doesn’t make me an idiot,” he muttered.

“And you’re only the punter,” Ilmars replied softly in a snarky tone.

Henry leaned closer to the Pantocratorian girl. “So, Marie-Thérèse,” he said approximating the Pantocratorian accent, “which dorm are in?” He gestured to the students around him. “We’re all mostly second-years – Ilmars and Kris are a first-years, too – and live over in Miller Court.”

“Do you like softball?” Brent asked in his friendliest voice. “Do they play in Pantocratoria?”

[Pantocratoria]

Kai responded with a broad smile, proffering a flier printed in blocky Snefaldian script. “And we are happy to teach you!” he said, continuing his winning smile. “We are meeting tonight at the Amphitheatre, on the South Lawn. Starts at 7:00. Our guest speaker is a Mallash shaman from the northwest, it’s incredibly exciting! The Mallash people preserve some of the ancient traditions of gender-swapping that the Luwites used to practice millenia ago, and their shamans sometimes present as dual-gender. We want to talk about trans rights and cross-dressing in a modern and ancient context. It’ll definitely be stimulating.”

As he spoke, Kai looked Gabriel over. He was definitely attractive, with his soft, delicate features and slight frame. With the long hair and accent he had to be from Neer Dal, a large province in southern Snefaldia with a non-Luwite ethnic group. “What’s a southerner like you doing at our little school in Karduniyash?” Kai joked. “I don’t see many Neeri on campus. You’ll be one of the first to come to Hiyarunaa. You will be coming, won’t you?”

He let his gaze linger, looking into Gabriel’s eyes, a winsome smile on his lips. He liked the flair he saw, the touch of makeup, the tight clothes, the confident way the younger man had walked up to him. “I’d like it if you did come to the meeting,” he continued, “as a favor to me. I think you’ll find it very exciting.”

"Really?" Gabriel almost gushed, immediately flattered by the invitation being framed by way of a favour. "I'd love to come! I'll come!"

Gabriel enjoy's Kai's lingering gaze and his smile, and beamed back at the Snefaldian. Then, almost as an afterthought, Gabriel hastened to add something:

"I'm not a Neeri, by the way." he said. "My name is Gabriel. I'm Pantocratorian."

[Pantocratoria]

“Thank you,” Angela said with a grin. “I just added the red this week. I went to a Landing Comic Con a couple of weeks ago and cosplayed Raven,” she said flatly as if that explained everything that need explaining. “It’s nice to meet you, Maire Therese,” she pronounced the name in a flat Excalbian accent. “And welcome! Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Pantocratoria?” Brent muttered. “Aren’t they like fascists?”

Angela frowned and shot the boy an angry look. “Hush!”

“But you were protesting them a couple of weeks ago…”

“I was protesting the Pantocratorian government. Not Pantocratorians! Obviously, Marie Therese isn’t responsible for the government’s behaviour!”

Angela turned back to Marie-Thérèse. “I apologize for Brent. He’s a football player,” she said again, as if that explained everything.

Brent rolled his eyes and turned to Ilmars. “That doesn’t make me an idiot,” he muttered.

“And you’re only the punter,” Ilmars replied softly in a snarky tone.

Henry leaned closer to the Pantocratorian girl. “So, Marie-Thérèse,” he said approximating the Pantocratorian accent, “which dorm are in?” He gestured to the students around him. “We’re all mostly second-years – Ilmars and Kris are a first-years, too – and live over in Miller Court.”

“Do you like softball?” Brent asked in his friendliest voice. “Do they play in Pantocratoria?”

"Sure, some of them. Some of them are fascists and some of them play softball." Marie-Thérèse told Brent, with a wry smile. "I am neither a fascist nor a softball player. I like the game so far though."

"I'm not in a sorority yet, if that is what you mean, Henry." Marie-Thérèse answered Henry's question about her dorm slightly evasively. She didn't want to give him the wrong idea.

Turning away from the boys, Marie-Thérèse turned back to Angela. Her strangely coloured hair made her seem quirky, brave, and independent to Marie-Thérèse. She smiled back at Angela. I hope you can tell I'd rather talk with you than the boys! I mean, obviously I expect you to be a mind-reader.

"Cosplay, that sounds really cool." Marie-Thérèse said, skipping over that she had no idea who Raven was. "Are you a talented seamstress?"

[Excalbia]

"Sure, some of them. Some of them are fascists and some of them play softball." Marie-Thérèse told Brent, with a wry smile. "I am neither a fascist nor a softball player. I like the game so far though."

"I'm not in a sorority yet, if that is what you mean, Henry." Marie-Thérèse answered Henry's question about her dorm slightly evasively. She didn't want to give him the wrong idea.

Turning away from the boys, Marie-Thérèse turned back to Angela. Her strangely coloured hair made her seem quirky, brave, and independent to Marie-Thérèse. She smiled back at Angela. I hope you can tell I'd rather talk with you than the boys! I mean, obviously I expect you to be a mind-reader.

"Cosplay, that sounds really cool." Marie-Thérèse said, skipping over that she had no idea who Raven was. "Are you a talented seamstress?"

Brent bent his head and blushed slightly when Marie-Thérèse mentioned his fascists comment. Henry smiled slightly and cast Brent a sideways glance as the Pantocratorian turned her attention to Angela.

Angela laughed. “Oh, heavens no.” She nodded towards Henry. “Henry’s the seamstress. He makes all my costumes.”

“I do, but…” Henry began, shaking his head.

“He likes to point out that he’s no walking-talking stereotype,” Tom interjected. “He also tinkers with cars and plays gridiron football with me.” Tom winked. “I’ve heard his speech before. But, he is our best wide receiver.”

“It’s only flag football,” Brent said chuckling, subtly tugging on his jersey.

“At least I get to carry the ball instead of just punting,” Henry stuck his tongue out at Brent.

Brent shook his head. “It’s a good thing we’re friends.”

“Best friends.”

Brent laughed. “Lord help me, yes, best friends.”

Angela rolled her eyes. “Ignore them, Marie Therese. They’ve known each other since high school and they’re always like this.” Her smile returned. “Are you interested in cosplay?” She pointed to the field, where Digne Arbolite was coming up to bat. “Digne, number 7 down there, is going with me to Star Con next month. Henry and I are dressing her up as UltraWoman. She has the physique for it, doesn’t she? I’ll be going as a character from StarNavy and Henry will going as a mage from some game or another. We could help you with your costume, if you’re interested.”

[Snefaldia]

"Really?" Gabriel almost gushed, immediately flattered by the invitation being framed by way of a favour. "I'd love to come! I'll come!"

Gabriel enjoy's Kai's lingering gaze and his smile, and beamed back at the Snefaldian. Then, almost as an afterthought, Gabriel hastened to add something:

"I'm not a Neeri, by the way." he said. "My name is Gabriel. I'm Pantocratorian."

Kai really was surprised. "Oh, I'm sorry!" he said quickly, and then hurried again to follow up. "Sorry for assuming, I mean. Not for you being Pantocratorian. Although it can't be easy there. All I hear about are the worst things. You speak excellent Luwite, though! How long have you been studying here in Snefaldia? And you do look like you come from southern Snefaldia. Blond and fair and refined and... elegant." he said.

"I'm Kanissuwar-Izata. You can call me Kai. My friends do." he said with another glowing smile. "And here, Gabriel. Before you forget, take a flyer."

He stuck one of pamphlets out, holding it so that Gabriel would have to graze his hand to take it.

[Pantocratoria]

Marie-Louise Boulanger, born 15 September 1999, was the second child of Dr Pierre Boulanger and his wife Estelle. She grew up in Adrienople, Pantocratoria, where she attended Saint Marguerite’s College. She was two years younger than her elder sister, Laudine. She had two younger siblings - a brother, Gabriel, to whom she was especially close (both in age and, in early childhood at least, appearance), and her youngest sister Margaux. All of the children in her family were blonde, but only Marie-Louise and Gabriel shared green eyes. She applied to study at Bolduc University in the Caldan Union after one of her close school friends, Elaine Makris, was assaulted by Action-Nationale bullies and had her hair half-shaved off in the schoolyard before the teachers could intervene. Both girls resolved soon after that they were going do their degrees abroad. Marie-Louise is nearing the end of her second year of study at Bolduc University. (see also: Gabriel Boulanger)

Elaine Makris, born 29 August 1999 to a “Roman” father and a “Frank” mother, was the youngest of six siblings in her family. Born in New Rome, she moved with her family to Adrienople at age 11, where she attended Saint Marguerite’s College. Elaine “developed” at an early age and was an object of continual male attention throughout her secondary schooling. Unfortunately, she also attracted more unwelcome male attention at home, from her father’s friends and from her uncle, who molested her while visiting the house several times between the ages of 13 and 15. Like so many victims of childhood sexual abuse, Elaine was afraid to tell her parents or seek help. At school she became promiscuous, and other than a handful of close friendships she managed to maintain (such as with Marie-Louise Boulanger), she became socially ostracized, bullied, and increasingly victimized, culminating in an incident during which Elaine was assaulted by Action-Nationale sympathizing students, who attempted to shave her head with an electric razor. After teachers intervened and stopped the assault, Elaine’s parents became aware of the scope of their daughter’s behavioural problems and sent her for counselling. They also thought it would be in her best interest to send her abroad for University, given the unforgiving current climate in Pantocratoria for “fallen” young women like Elaine. Like her friend Marie-Louise, Elaine is nearing the end of her second year of study at Bolduc University.

Raymond Urbain was born 27 April 2001 to a Frank family in New Rome. He had three siblings, one older brother, and two younger sisters. His parents were public servants, employed in the bureaucracy of the Imperial Government in the capital. After attending a Church school for the first several years of his primary schooling, Raymond’s parents moved him to one of the first public schools when they were opened by the Drapeur Government - Sir Thierry Romain Imperial School. The school had both primary and secondary campuses located at either end of the Rue de l'Évêque in the Second District of the Blue Quarter in New Rome, and Raymond completed his entire schooling there. A talented footballer for most of his school career, Raymond suffered a bad knee injury in his junior year which prevented him from playing competitively at a high level, even after he had largely recovered. Focussing himself on his academic work instead, Raymond lifted his grades significantly by the end of junior year, and during his senior year won a Western Atlantic Exchange Scholarship, to allow him to study abroad in any of the participating countries in the region. He chose Bolduc University because it was one of the best French-language universities outside of Pantocratoria more than for any other reason, and intends to major in Civil Engineering.

***

There were agents IFIS recruited as experienced professionals, for whom intelligence was a secondary career, an “add-on” to practice while they worked internationally in their original profession. There were agents IFIS recruited as fresh-faced graduates, whom the Service could shape as it saw fit into what it saw fit. And there were those agents whom IFIS was given as already fully-formed killing machines. Jacques Manasses was the latter type of agent.

A highly decorated infantry veteran of the War in Iesus Christi, Corporal Jacques Manasses was involved in brutal hand to hand fighting in labyrinthine tunnels. He had been wounded twice and bore the scars on his body - one bayonet wound on his left ribs, and one bullet wound in his right bicep. He had over 18 confirmed kills, and many more “probables” besides - many in the most gruesome of close quarter combat. He was recuperating from his injuries in Pantocratoria when the war ended, and although he returned to active service, he was not destined to stay in the Imperial Army for long.

Considered to be leadership material, Manasses was offered a scholarship in the Officer Training Program and obtained a bachelor’s degree from Demetriopolis University. When he graduated he was commissioned as a Lieutenant in the Imperial Army Legions. His psychological profile upon being commissioned as an officer identified him as having potential for intelligence work, and he was moved into Military Intelligence. A political re-organisation rolled Military Intelligence into IFIS in due time, and suddenly Lieutenant Manasses became Agent Manasses.

Agent Manasses had a very particular set of skills and experience under the most extreme pressure, the combination of which made him valuable in the extreme to IFIS. He was assigned missions which would rarely be assigned to other agents - Code Black missions which were rated as extremely dangerous to the agent. Assassinations. Forcible extractions. Missions with a high chance of capture. Manasses took them all. His body count grew. He gained a reputation as one of the most ruthless killers in IFIS.

Ruthless killers are useful in other ways other than killing, of course. Without compunctions of conscience holding them back, they can also make effective interrogators in the field where an operative’s access to the Service’s specialists was restricted. Of course, torture tended to produce the answers the interrogator was seeking, so Manasses was always careful to get his facts as straight as possible before an interrogation session. He was as meticulous as he was ruthless, and as brutal and uncompromising as he had been as an infantryman in Iesus Christi.

Even still, IFIS did worry for agents like Manasses. In a recent “extraction” assignment, Manasses had spent seven months in an undisclosed country, systematically eliminating “potentially compromised assets”. In this case, an asset was an informant, somebody who had been recruited by IFIS to spy on their own country, for any number of a hundred reasons. When such an asset was captured, it was easy for IFIS to wash its hands of the unfortunate informant, since they were generally a foreign national with no formal link to IFIS at all. However, when a handler agent went rogue and was considered to have been “turned”, their entire network of assets was potentially compromised. Each asset had to be eliminated, but preferably only after capture and interrogation to determine whether the other side had “debriefed” them or even conducted their own interrogation first. It was inevitable that in such a “clean-up” operation as the one Manasses had been assigned to, a significant proportion of the “assets” in question had never knowingly betrayed IFIS or whatever cause had been used to recruit them as an IFIS asset in the first place. As a statistical certainty, his mission had seen him interrogate and execute a lot of friendlies.

Assigning Manasses to the Bolduc University infiltration mission was almost a kind of holiday, at least in a psychological sense. He had been given cover as a graduate student, and the mission was expected to be infiltration and monitoring only - no violence expected.

[Pantocratoria]

Brent bent his head and blushed slightly when Marie-Thérèse mentioned his fascists comment. Henry smiled slightly and cast Brent a sideways glance as the Pantocratorian turned her attention to Angela.

Angela laughed. “Oh, heavens no.” She nodded towards Henry. “Henry’s the seamstress. He makes all my costumes.”

“I do, but…” Henry began, shaking his head.

“He likes to point out that he’s no walking-talking stereotype,” Tom interjected. “He also tinkers with cars and plays gridiron football with me.” Tom winked. “I’ve heard his speech before. But, he is our best wide receiver.”

“It’s only flag football,” Brent said chuckling, subtly tugging on his jersey.

“At least I get to carry the ball instead of just punting,” Henry stuck his tongue out at Brent.

Brent shook his head. “It’s a good thing we’re friends.”

“Best friends.”

Brent laughed. “Lord help me, yes, best friends.”

Angela rolled her eyes. “Ignore them, Marie Therese. They’ve known each other since high school and they’re always like this.” Her smile returned. “Are you interested in cosplay?” She pointed to the field, where Digne Arbolite was coming up to bat. “Digne, number 7 down there, is going with me to Star Con next month. Henry and I are dressing her up as UltraWoman. She has the physique for it, doesn’t she? I’ll be going as a character from StarNavy and Henry will going as a mage from some game or another. We could help you with your costume, if you’re interested.”

"Stereotype?" Marie-Thérèse repeated, genuinely not understanding what Tom meant.

Marie-Thérèse followed Angela's arm pointing down to Digne Arbolite on the field. Of course Marie-Thérèse had no idea who or what UltraWoman was but the athlete definitely had a notable physique. She didn't know the first thing about cosplay really, but she also realised that this was the first real social invitation she had received since coming to Excalbia.

"I'm interested in cosplay but is it OK that I don't know anything about StarNavy or this game?" Marie-Thérèse answered. "Is it OK to be a complete neophyte in such things?"

[Pantocratoria]

Kai really was surprised. "Oh, I'm sorry!" he said quickly, and then hurried again to follow up. "Sorry for assuming, I mean. Not for you being Pantocratorian. Although it can't be easy there. All I hear about are the worst things. You speak excellent Luwite, though! How long have you been studying here in Snefaldia? And you do look like you come from southern Snefaldia. Blond and fair and refined and... elegant." he said.

"I'm Kanissuwar-Izata. You can call me Kai. My friends do." he said with another glowing smile. "And here, Gabriel. Before you forget, take a flyer."

He stuck one of pamphlets out, holding it so that Gabriel would have to graze his hand to take it.

Gabriel risked Kai's assessment of him as refined and elegant by giggling a little at the compliments the other student paid him as he took the proffered pamphlet, his hand brushing against Kai's as he did so.

"Thanks, Kai." Gabriel said. "I'm still a freshman, but I have been really trying to submerse myself in the language and the culture. I'm really looking forward to this! It's so lucky I met you!"

Gabriel then checked the time on his phone and then glanced back up at Kai.

"So sorry, I have to run, I'm late to class, but I'm definitely going to coming to the meeting, I promise!" Gabriel said sincerely.

[Excalbia]

"Stereotype?" Marie-Thérèse repeated, genuinely not understanding what Tom meant.

Marie-Thérèse followed Angela's arm pointing down to Digne Arbolite on the field. Of course Marie-Thérèse had no idea who or what UltraWoman was but the athlete definitely had a notable physique. She didn't know the first thing about cosplay really, but she also realised that this was the first real social invitation she had received since coming to Excalbia.

"I'm interested in cosplay but is it OK that I don't know anything about StarNavy or this game?" Marie-Thérèse answered. "Is it OK to be a complete neophyte in such things?"

“Oh,” Angela’s eyes widened, then she smiled sweetly. “Of course, my dear! Of course it’s ok!” She looked down at the field and shrugged. “I don’t know much about softball myself. I just came because Henry came, and because Digne is our friend…”

“And to see the girls in their uniforms,” Brent teased.

Angela gave Brent a sharp look, then turned back to Marie-Thérèse. “We’re happy to explain things to you.” She looked at Henry. “Henry and Brent are our sports guys; they can explain softball to you, if you’re interested.” Both boys smiled and nodded. “And I can tell you about the characters we cosplay.”

As Angela paused for a breath, Henry leaned in slightly. “But why don’t you start by telling us what interests you, Marie-Thérèse?”

[Pantocratoria]

“Oh,” Angela’s eyes widened, then she smiled sweetly. “Of course, my dear! Of course it’s ok!” She looked down at the field and shrugged. “I don’t know much about softball myself. I just came because Henry came, and because Digne is our friend…”

“And to see the girls in their uniforms,” Brent teased.

Angela gave Brent a sharp look, then turned back to Marie-Thérèse. “We’re happy to explain things to you.” She looked at Henry. “Henry and Brent are our sports guys; they can explain softball to you, if you’re interested.” Both boys smiled and nodded. “And I can tell you about the characters we cosplay.”

As Angela paused for a breath, Henry leaned in slightly. “But why don’t you start by telling us what interests you, Marie-Thérèse?”

"Well, I am interested in... horticulture." Marie-Thérèse began, nodding as she said it. I can do this. "Erm... viticulture. And uh..."

Tell them. Marie-Thérèse turned pink as she looked away to the field.

"Girls." Marie-Thérèse concluded, turning back to face the Excalbians. She monitored their facial expressions tentatively, hoping that she had read them right. "I like girls."

[Excalbia]

"Well, I am interested in... horticulture." Marie-Thérèse began, nodding as she said it. I can do this. "Erm... viticulture. And uh..."

Tell them. Marie-Thérèse turned pink as she looked away to the field.

"Girls." Marie-Thérèse concluded, turning back to face the Excalbians. She monitored their facial expressions tentatively, hoping that she had read them right. "I like girls."

There was silence for just a second or two, then Brent laughed. “Well, you sure picked the right group to hook up with!”

“What Brent means,” Angela said, giving the gridiron player another sideways look, “is that Henry and I… and Digne,” she nodded to the player on the field, who was walking back to the dugout after grounding out to second, “are all members of the LGBTQ Alliance here on campus…”

“We’re actually missing the weekly meeting,” Henry interjected, “to watch Digne play. Support the team and all.”

“So,” Angela, leaning towards Marie-Thérèse, “judging from the way you just kind of blurted it out, I’m guessing that you haven’t really come out back in Pantocratoria…”

Henry nodded sagely. “It must be tough growing up gay in Pantocratoria. It was hard enough here when the guys on our high school team,” he looked at Brent with a small smile, “realized I was gay. Having Brent’s support meant a lot.”

Brent blushed slightly and turned away. “It was just what any friend should have done…”

Angela nodded. “Fortunately, my family was really supportive.” She shrugged. “It’s a bit of mix bag for us here in Excalbia… people are… accepting for the most part. But the Church still won’t let us marry, and some people… still harbor prejudices.” She studied Marie-Thérèse’s face. “But I’m guessing it’s still a lot easier here than in Pantocratoria.”

[The Resurgent Dream]

Café Point Royal, Villeneuve-d'Aunay
Merotte, Arcadia

Bolduc University, founded in 1823 with a bequest from Sebastien Bolduc whose statue towered over the central square, was one of the most prominent universities in the Caldan Union. It was the most prominent where French was the language of instruction and the most common language of the campus, although students not already proficient were required to have two years of English. The university mostly drew rural Arcadians who spoke only French at home, the historical elite of the province, Caldans interested in French who wanted to immerse themselves fully, and foreign nationals. All four groups were represented at the table where Marie-Louise Boulanger and Elaine Makris sat with some other young women in their year. Dominique Cordeau was a shorter woman with dark brown hair who tended to dress in dark-toned and a slightly retro style. She was born into local academia. Her parents were both professors at Bolduc. Her father was a scholar of French-language literature and her mother a classicist. Marlène Teclou was a full-figured blond with sparkling blue eyes and fashionable tastes. She was the daughter of a prominent barrister and a cousin of the Duke of Thériault. Lorraine Bissonnette, on the other hand, came from the small town of Gendron in rural Arcadia. Her father was a non-com in the Royal Caldan Army and her mother worked in retail. Her black hair and olive skin showed her father's Apatan heritage. Of the Caldans, Aubrey Corrigan, was a student of French who had seriously considered study in Pantocratoria. She had long brown hair and tended to dress well but with a bit of an upper-class Anatan flair. She was an equestrian and an accomplished tennis player. Her friends knew her to be an eighth Epheronian although one wouldn't know it to look at her. Her wavy brown hair and tan skin did not stand out in Arcadia.

Students at Bolduc did not generally live on campus after the first year. With the university's student housing programme and the policies of certain private landlords, most students easily found apartment housing in the Villeneuve-d'Aunay community, often half-jokingly called the 'Bolduc Ghetto'. Café Point Royal, where the students were now gathered, was one of the nicer establishments in the community. The conversation that day was like it was many others. They gossiped about friends and guys they liked, complained about classes and gushed about their passions, and discussed television, movies, and music.'Some people my dad knows from work actually have extra tickets to Lise Charest when she comes to Merotte next,' Marlène was saying. 'Would any of you like to go?' She smiled at her friends but then she added, rather tactlessly, to Marie-Louise and Elaine, 'I don't she'll play New Rome again.'

'Shut up,' Aubrey said. 'Show a little taste. Anyway, what happened to Dame Emma right in Narich was worse.'

'So....Labour's going to have a minority government now...' Lorraine said, less from any abiding interest in politics than from a desire to change the subject.