Gamzia’s President Kurt Henrichson had a headache, and it was bothering him. Not the headache particularly - no, he got plenty of those, and the pain had ceased to be an issue after a while. No, what bothered him was that he always got headaches before something bad happened. A coincidence, of course - he got them often enough that they were bound to show up before a disaster. In fact, Henrichson half believed that his prophetic headaches were entirely fictional, inserted into memories of past catastrophes just to fit the legend. But that persistent other half told him to be careful what he said as the Belltopian leaders entered.
The first to greet him was Jacus Roden, of course. The Gandian leader was one of the in Belltopia whose company he truly enjoyed.
“Hey!” Roden’s voice boomed from behind a three day beard. “How’s my favorite Nazi?”
Roden loved to make fun of Henrichson’s foreign name, which was rather uncommon in Gamzia. While inwardly he cringed at such a juvenile display at a public event, he decided to play along. Henrichson rustled some papers his aide had just handed him with a flustered air, and, putting on his best German accent, replied:
“P-p-perfectly well, mein Fuhrer. I was not expecting you here so early.”
Henrichson’s jibe at Roden’s early political career did not go unnoticed, as Roden’s poker face broke into a grin. Roden was a canny politician, and they both knew it.
“Careful, or I’ll have you put in a concentration camp. The location is a secret of course, but I hear it’s just across the Gamzian gulf.”
They giggled in a way that would put a Makara schoolgirl to shame as they looked across at Alberto Ricardo’s entrance. Surrounded by the largest trail of attendants, all in matching suits and ties, Ricardo looked like a bear being attacked by a swarm of bees. As he walked purposefully towards them, attendants would come up to talk to him every few seconds, only to be dismissed by an angry snap.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Ricardo said through a smile that was much too toothy to be real.
“On behalf of the Belltopia Security Council, Gamzia welcomes you,” Henrichson said automatically. “Won’t you have a seat?”
Henrichson gestured to a section of table across from him and Roden.
“Thank you,” Ricardo replied, evidently as anxious to end the encounter as they were. He walked stiffly to meet his delegation.
Ruben Jarvis as the next to arrive. Detaching from his small, well dressed delegation, the tall Lamporan leader took several quick strides towards Roden and Henrichson. Henrichson knew what was coming.
“So Kurt, how about those Gamzian counter cyber warfare protocols?” It was almost a joke between them at this point. Both internet-based direct democracies, Gamzia and Lampora had shared a lot of knowledge in the past, but Gamzia’s election security was far better than Lampora’s. Of course Jarvis would love to get his hands on it.
“State secrets, Ruben,” Henrichson waved him aside, guiding him to his seat. He liked having a neutral presence like Ruben Jarvis next to him, as a counterweight to the other excitable and cavalier Jacus Roden.
The other nations trickled in one by one. There was the Tharsian emperor, Vladimir Aristides, an old man arriving in a cushy wheelchair despite being fully capable of walking. He was accompanied by his favorite nephew, of course. Premier Edward Praetor was positioned in an almost fatherly way behind Aristides’s chair, in quiet conversation with various Tharsian ministers. Jacus looked warily at Aristides. The emporor did not acknowledge him, leaving his nephew to give the Gandian leader a cold stare. His lips formed a cool smile.
The Krokazia and Ashphen delegations had both replaced their leader with a laptop - the Krokazian leader, Christel Grammaticus, refused to attend conferences with those who did not share her ideology. The Ashphen leader, meanwhile, simply refuses to be seen by the public - he or she always made public addresses from a laptop, in order to protect his or her privacy.
The conference began with a dinner of course, intended for the leaders to chat and inspire good relations between them. This time, however, the leaders had nothing to talk about but politics, and not the friendly kind either. After an awkward silence, Jacus Roden was the first to open the hostilities.
“So how come the great Tharsis army is doing exercises on our border, huh?” Roden said aggressively “What are you trying to say, eh?”
There was a general murmur of discontent from around the table. They had known this topic would come up, but weren’t looking forward to it.
“Let’s save this topic for tomorrow,” Aristides said coolly “I’m sure we’re all very tired, and would rather talk about more interesting things. For instance -”
“No, let’s talk about it,” Roden snapped “I’m generally pretty interested if the Tharsian army is knocking on my door with missiles.”
“Oh please,” Aristides rolled his eyes “spare us the drama, Jacus. Eastern Thrace already has the infrastructure, and the perfect terrain for military exercises -”
“Oh, that eases my mind,” Roden mocked “There’s just one thing bothering me. I didn’t know there was a perfect terrain for military exercises, unless you were planning on going somewhere. Care to disclose, Vlad?” Roden dragged out the name in a mocking show of familiarity.
“Tharsian forces are inexperienced with that kind of terrain -”
“Good! Why don’t we keep it that way? I don’t mind not having a big stick hanging over -”
“Why? So you can walk through Thrace with no resistance?”
Their bickering was interrupted by a flurry of aides, scurrying over to their delegations. A television quietly flickered to life in the background.
“... the Tharsian Air Force has identified the assailant as an experimental Gandian drone aircraft. The drone has since been shot down in a dogfight above the streets of Undiol. We go now to Petar Illyich, live in the wreckage of the city. Petar?”
The screen changed to a bleak landscape. The once glittering glass towers of downtown Undiol cast a stark outline against the evening sky, smoke billowing up from their depths. The whole district which Petar was standing in front of looked like a viking funeral - the buildings like torches, with one great skyscraper collapsed in the middle.
“Andriy, the casualties are estimated at several thousand, though probably no more than ten thousand. The greatest tragedy here is the properties - dozens of buildings were damaged by heavy weapons, including a large bomb estimated at between 20,000 and 30,000 pounds. Broken glass is the biggest danger here, with thousands more injuries from shards. The city is in absolute chaos. No word yet as to the reason for Gandu’s aggression. Back to you, Andriy.”
The reporter broke off breathlessly. The television flickered off, the deep black of the screen contrasting Jacus Roden’s now pale face.
“Well,” Vladimir Aristides said, after a long silence “I think we know where we stand now. Good night, gentlemen. I think you’ll be hearing from us soon. This conference is over.”
“Now hold on a minute!” Roden blustered “This is clearly a rogue engineer with a grudge, or -- or -- a glitch, a programming glitch --”
The other conference-goers were already out the door, leaving Roden and Henrichson in a stunned silence.
All of a sudden, Henrichson’s head felt fine.
